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Suddenly domesticated Hillary's Salad Days?By Rick Horowitz
So she's locked up the arugula vote -- now what? You may have missed the news. Or maybe you thought you'd already heard the news months and months ago. Hillary Clinton is running for the Senate. From New York. Where she lives. (More or less.) And where, any day now, in the kitchen of that cozy little $1.7 million cottage in Chappaqua, she's going to work her magic on a pile of mixed greens and some country-fresh eggs. Or so they'd like you to believe. This latest rendition of news for the redundantly inclined -- this formal announcement of the perfectly obvious -- wasn't just an announcement, of course. More of a pageant -- banners and bombast, choruses and cameras. And the highlight of the day, more important even than the candidate's speech, was the candidate's video, designed by some of the very same Hollywood talent that once upon a time turned Bill Clinton into "The Man from Hope." The assignment this time? A kinder, gentler Hillary. A major player in her own right, yes, and a force for all that's noble and good in the world. But most of all, a kinder, gentler Hillary. Which is how she came to be talking about her hidden domestic talents. "I make a mean tossed salad," Mrs. C. is saying in this video, "and a great omelet." This nugget of information is in the video. It's not something she mentioned once and decided never to mention again, something they left on the cutting-room floor. This is something her campaign actually wanted the voters of New York, from Buffalo to Brooklyn, to know about her: Hillary Clinton makes a mean tossed salad, and a great omelet. And from all across the Empire State came squeals of delight, and sighs of relief. "That's what we've been missing all these years!" New Yorkers cried, slapping their foreheads in amazement. "A United States senator who can make a mean tossed salad!" "And don't forget the omelet!" other New Yorkers shouted and slapped right back at them. "She makes a great omelet, too!" It wasn't that they'd been dissatisfied with Pat Moynihan, the retiring senator whose seat Hillary was so ardently pursuing. His resume was impressive enough, as far as it went. After all, he'd been assistant secretary of labor under President Kennedy and President Johnson. He'd been President Nixon's chief domestic adviser, President Ford's ambassador to the United Nations. He'd been ambassador to India. He'd been a major legislative craftsman in the Senate. He'd written books on approximately everything. He was, his constituents were perfectly willing to acknowledge, one of the great visionary political figures of our time. But was he any good with radicchio? Did he know the difference between the fancy vinaigrette dressing and the simple French? Did he know how to get three eggs to fluff up and slide out of a pan just so? Can you blame New Yorkers for feeling just a bit unfulfilled? And now here was Hillary the Housewife, ready to set things right. Hillary the Happy Homemaker, no different from any other hardworking New Yorker. Hillary in her salad days. Can you blame New Yorkers for feeling excited? When Al D'Amato occupied New York's other Senate seat, people used to call him "Senator Pothole." He loved it. So why not "Senator Watercress"? Or "Senator Iceberg"? No word yet on whether she prefers the freshly ground pepper or the other kind. And a grain of salt for the rest of us? Do you even have to ask? Posted 2/8/00. For
appetizing satire and the freshest ingredients, drop in on "Rick's"
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Rick Horowitz