Finally, we have a sense of reason and balance in Congress. Squeaker of the House Nancy Pelosi has initiated new rules for the 117th Congressional session. It’s going to make Congress great again and assist in bringing about Build Back Better, whatever that is.

Congress is going to be a gender neutral body of legislation and boy, (sorry,Nancy) that is long overdue. My wife, who has always been in favor of gender neutrality said to me just the other day, “Sir, I wish congress was more gender neutral.” I don’t demand that my wife address me as Sir anymore. I figured that the first 40 years of marriage was sufficient but now it’s just a habit that she can’t seem to break.

If Congress is going to command gender neutrality, terms like sir are going to be terms of the past.

Even baby’s are going to have to adjust in our very woke culture of the future.

A baby’s first word will have to change. When baby says “mama” a correction will follow because mama is not gender neutral. Perhaps Nancy and Congress will work on that extremely important issue. I’m just not woke enough in my old age to come up with something better than mama. Even baby names will have to change to something neutral until the gender is chosen by the child somewhere around the age of 3.

Let’s say a child is born with a dangling participle. He might be called Kevin in the age of unwokeness and the dark age on gender solidity. But now, in the Golden Age of Kamala, baby will need to be gender aware of 100 choices. I’m thinking that if the child is called KevinStephania, the woke parents might encourage a response that is so much more progressive, you know something like, “womb provider.” Maybe even the sweet sound, “mammary gland provider” would be prefferable. Can’t you imagine that tender warm moment when the XX chromosome carrier will encourage her little toddler, “Can you say womb provider.”

Or how about, “Mammary gland provider”? There is so much work to be done to make our culture gender neutral.

Thank goodness (oops, I almost said thank God) that Nancy has taken the bold step in martial law D.C. to correct this abomination of gender absolutism.

May I suggest Congress work on the ignorance of people being pronounced man and wife during a wedding ceremony. How about something like this?

“I now pronounce you XY chromosome carrier, gender 38 and XX chromosome carrier gender 49. You may kiss the not so opposite one.”

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Mmm, mmm, good! How’s this for lip smacking goodness? Researchers at McMaster University in Canada have some tastefully satisfying bombshell news for the world. They’ve developed a process of making meat in a laboratory. The trouble is getting cows to fit in a test tube. Nah, just kidding

If you were going to depend on any group of people to make good food news for you, who wouldn’t go to the Canadians? When you think of world class cuisine, you automatically think of Canada, right?

You’re at home. The thought comes to mind, “Let’s go out for dinner, dear. What do you feel like? You want some Italian, Chinese, Greek, Spanish, Mexican. Or how about the new Canadian restaurant that just opened. I hear they’ve got a great filet of maple syrup. Or maybe maple syrup over Canadian bacon. Then we can go to the emergency room right after dinner and wait for that entree to kick in. They’ll have the paddles ready to hammer your sweet little heart back into action.”

When one thinks of Canadian cuisine, I would guess it might include spectacular recipes of perhaps moose brisket, beaver tail stir fry, or bacon on la mode. But no, as opposed to most anything else that I tell you, this is true. I asked my vast research staff to find the most popular, number one dish in Canada and this is what they found. It’s poutine.

No kidding, it’s poutine. That happens to be french fries and cheese curds bathed in gravy. That’s Canada’s most famous contribution to the world’s diversity of recipes.

It’s not exactly exotic, but hey, it makes sense. It’s something you can prepare with one hand and still maintain control of a hockey stick with the other. So you can see why, a bunch of guys and gals from McMaster U in Canada would lead the world in fake meat.

The road to bringing about lab created fake meat started with mouse cells which leads to this warning. Someday, if you see package at your local WaldiTops freezer compartment of lab meat labeled Mickey Burger, you might want to keep searching. The McMasters guys’ second experiment built a hunk of meat using rabbit cells. You might want to stay away from the Easter B Pot Roast.

Actually, this lab meat stuff could lead to some great new adventures in a dazzling combination of flavorful delights. The new menu at MacKing could be a cornucopia of culinary features.

Chicken McNuggets will become so oh boring. One might want to order a Rainbow Delight which could feature a pleasant combination of peacock, kinka ju, and to spice it up with some surprising hedge hog. All from the lab, of course.

Big Mac or the Whopper is so 20th century. The MacKing world of lab meat haute couture can offer you the WhirlyWhopper of beluga whale, mixed with 5 ply of rhinoceros, and 7 ply hippo on a sesame seed bun.

Hot dog will take on a whole new meaning. You get a choice of golden retriever, Pekingese, or The Kennel and kitchen sink.

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There’s even more food news besides fake meat. We now have the European Food Safety Authority about to give the go ahead on approving insects for food. It looks like the dried yellow mealworm is going to be offered up to satiate your craving for creepy crawly things. Don’t be fooled by the wet yellow meal worm or even the semiwet ones. Remember to stick with dry.

I don’t think I’m ready for meal worms yet. To be perfectly honest with you, the term worm does not go well with the word meal. All the meal worm is going to do is going to lead me looking at the bottom of a toilet bowl.

But now that insects on a bun are coming our way, get ready ready for praying mantis burger. At least with this lunch you don’t even have to say grace before you dig in; your food does it for you.

Every summer fruit flies always become a nuisance. It’s about time they pay up and become fruit. I figure about 10,000 fruit flies molded into a sphere, with a bit of flavoring, could be a nice refreshing fake peach. 20,000 wings and 40,000 tiny feet are absolutely loaded with life giving protein. Now those are true-blue fruit flies.

Being of an Italian-American heritage opens up all kinds of possibilities besides insects on a stick. We Italians are miracle workers with pasta sauce used to be the great unwashed macaroni and sauce in my youth. Throw a little red liquid, garlic, and olive oil on top and any Italian worth his cannoli can put down a hefty piece of aluminum siding.

I can see in the future new menu at the The Cricket/Olive Garden. Speaking of crickets, how about cannelloni and cricket balls smothered in Valle Dolmo sauce. Bingo, you’ve got Sunday lunch with mama. Next week it’ll be Lady Bug lasagna with Palermo Picante.

If you’re of Italian heritage you know that anything added to spaghetti sauce is eatable. On the other hand, there are some Italian palates that have no need for sauce. My Aunt Mary from Buffalo nearly jumped for joy when she saw burdock growing in my backyard. A gold mine would take second place of significant importance to a wild gardune cluster. The secret of King Solomon’s Mines are second only to the location of Joe Shungganuni’s source of gardune. Second place in importance in Fredonia’s Little Italy was the season for mustard greens or rumbuda. Dandelion, known as chicodia, and other green weeds that could be fried with flour and eggs were what people did to get through the Depression. So bring on the insects, our forks are ready.

So, what’s the big deal about insects? Not a thing when I remember my grandfather’s cure for some neurological ailment. One summer day, he had a headless snapping turtle hanging upside down from a clothes line. The dripping blood was caught in a kettle on the lawn. It was mixed with sugar for a brain tonic recipe that road on the ship with him from Sicily when he was 16. So, with that image in mind, a Jimminy Cricket candy bar does not intimidate the grandson of Joe Privitera.

Nin Privitera is a Fredonia resident. His column appears the second weekend of each month. Send comments to editorial@observertoday.com