Coleslaw is the reason the gods don’t talk to us anymore. It is a violation of the natural order of things; it is man playing god in places where he had no right to tread. Men, women, and children in developing countries starve to death while here in America we have the audacity to create inedible abominations that are the culinary equivalent of sacking a village and then desecrating its temple purely for the purpose of insulting its people. Even its very name evokes a sense of disgust: coleslaw. You can’t say it with a smile unless it’s physically forced, your lips wrapping uncomfortably around your teeth in a grimace that displays not happiness, but a cry for help. Why coleslaw? What have you done to deserve this? What sins have you committed in this life or your last that the cosmos felt the only due punishment was being served a dish that resembles (in both looks and taste) the slurry that gathers in the kitchen sink strainer? What sadist decided that this defilement of once perfectly edible food should be a staple at company picnics or as a steakhouse side-dish? Is it perhaps a conspiracy, cheap product thrown together into an inedible sludge but offered in the stead of a real side-dish, forcing the diner to make the choice of either paying more for real food or risk poisoning themselves? Can we blame capitalism for coleslaw? Or is it something more sinister? Perhaps we’ll never know. But I, for one, will have none of it. And neither should you.