Krab, with a "K"

I don't know if just me, but for the life of me I think that the word "Frankfurter" is dirty.  "Frank" I get, and I have eaten many of frank -both the processed food and men with that name. It's the "furter" that leaves me feeling dirty.   Maybe because it reminds me furtive. Even back on the farm that grandparents and then aunt and uncle had, where you soon learned that "sweetbreads" were not cinnamon sugar toast, a hot dog was fine, so were franks.  But "frankfurter" was as alien to me as those damned "New England Style Hot Dog Roll." And I have to add that the "New England Style Hot Dog Roll" v "Hot Dog Bun" argument rages in our house.  My husband is from New England.  I am from the "Western Reserve" in Ohio - land owed to Connecticut after the Revolutionary War for service in the fight for Independence.  And in the Western Reserve is a hot dog bun, damn it. But I digress - ...

So, as I was saying, life in Bawlimore is mostly like Milwaukee, but without the glamour. Sorta like Velveeta - it looks like cheese, but its not.  Anyhow, I found the above headline picture and it made me feel a wee bit nostalgic.  This is how I remember grocery stores from my early childhood.  Mother's dressed to go shopping, looking over the space-age foods that we were lucky enough to afford.  And there, on the top shelf, I spotted the old familiar VELVEETA box of my childhood. I did a search on Google for the old Velveeta boxes from my childhood - the ones like this: Well, this is the box, but in my Ohio childhood, all the writing was in English.  But everything is better in French, right? I mean - "Fromage Fondue Pasteurise" sounds so glamorous, right? There was nothing pissy about the name.  I mean it is VELVEETA in bold block letters that mean this stuff is all business, people. "Take no shit, take no prisoners". And then I star...