Stuffing.
Stuffed cat.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Just Pie
Chess Pie is a favorite treat in our house, probably because I don't cook it all that often. I got the recipe from an old cook book years ago and tried it a couple of times and I guess it worked out OK.
I often get requests for Chess Pie.
This Thanksgiving we're having Chess Pie and it's already in the pie pan ready to be served. Since it keeps very well we can cook it a day before.
Here's the blueprint:
3 eggs
1/2 cup Kayro Syrup
3 oz butter
tablespoon corn meal
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
2 tbsp lemon juice
vanilla
pie shell
Mix all the ingredients, pour into pie shell and cook at 350 for an hour or until set. It's best to lightly blend the ingredients rather than mixing them into a frothy foam.
Chess Pie is sometimes called Just Pie in the Southern United States. It's a simple custard pie made with ingredients on hand and is nothing fancy. It's very tasty, though, and if you haven't had it before it's worth trying. Check out Google for recipes.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Dog's Dinner?
Can you believe Someone referred to my new shoes as a "dog's dinner?"
Here's the blueprint:
According to the Free Dictionary a "dog's dinner" or "breakfast" is defined thusly:
A dog's breakfast/dinner (British & Australian, informal) something that has been done very badly. She tried to cut her hair and made a real dog's breakfast of it. You should have seen the ceiling after he'd finished painting it. It was a complete dog's breakfast.
Meaning, food or scraps only fit for our canine garbage disposal friend to eat.
However, I say that one man's dog's dinner is another man's gourmet feast. Especially if said man (moi) possesses exceptionally fine taste and No Fear.
In conclusion I present Exhibit A, The Shoes:
Here's the blueprint:
1 looking for something new and different (thank you very much) to wear
1 sale in a shoe store
1 pr Adidas Oddities ZX 750
large dose of No Fear
According to the Free Dictionary a "dog's dinner" or "breakfast" is defined thusly:
A dog's breakfast/dinner (British & Australian, informal) something that has been done very badly. She tried to cut her hair and made a real dog's breakfast of it. You should have seen the ceiling after he'd finished painting it. It was a complete dog's breakfast.
Meaning, food or scraps only fit for our canine garbage disposal friend to eat.
However, I say that one man's dog's dinner is another man's gourmet feast. Especially if said man (moi) possesses exceptionally fine taste and No Fear.
In conclusion I present Exhibit A, The Shoes:
Mushroom Soup 2.0
The other day I bought a new computer because I needed a new computer, not wanted a new computer, right? Needed. Not like needed knee surgery but more like needed a Swedish au pair. That sort of needed.
Computer stores are very special. You walk in with that certain look in your eye and within billions of nanoseconds trained personnel help you select what you need, give you a bunch of free stuff and sell you a whole bunch of other stuff you had no idea how you lived without. They make you king of your world .
Anyway, I had the most excellent experience at the computer store, and how can one have anything but a most excellent experience at a computer store, got me to thinking about how it would be if all stores were like computer stores.
I mean, what if Kroger’s operated like a computer store.
Cue “Dream Sequence” music...
“Hello, Sir, welcome to Kroger’s. My name is Bob and I’m here to make your shopping experience efficient and memorable. How might I help you today?”
“Well, actually, I’m looking for a can of mushroom soup.”
“Mushroom soup? Excellent choice! (Bob scans the store for a Soup Specialist.) Here, let me introduce you to Hari who is one of our Soup Specialists. Hari, this gentleman is interested in our Mushroom Soup offerings and perhaps you could get him acquainted with our product line. Nice meeting you, Sir.” Bob spotted a new customer and set off to greet her.
Hari said, “If you will accompany me to Aisle 9 I can show you what we have in stock and answer any questions you have about applications for Mushroom Soup. Were you planning on just cooking the soup or making some other kind of dish with it?”
“Well, I was thinking about making a green bean casserole that would use mushroom soup, topped with fried onion bits.”
Hari noted this on his ScratchPad, and subtly signaled for Bean and Onion specialists to meet him at Aisle 9.
“Here we are, sir,” said Hari, arriving at Aisle 9, “As you can see we have a lot of Mushroom Soup in stock. Uh, were you contemplating any particular size?”
“Yes, I was thinking of getting a seven point five ounce can. The recipe called for an eight ounce can but I figured I could get by with seven point five.”
Hari looked at his feet, then at the ceiling as if invoking wisdom from the gods, then locked eyes and delivered the facts, that is the bad and good news.
“If you had come in two months ago, sir, we would have had seven point five ounce cans of Mushroom Soup in stock and plenty to spare. But, soup technology moves on and the company has upgraded the entire product line.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, sir, that the most basic Mushroom Soup we provide today is ten point seven five ounces.”
“Whoa, baby! Ten point seven five? Really! That’s amazing. I didn’t think anybody could ever use ten point seven five. That just boggles the mind.”
About that time the Bean and Onion specialists arrived and, Hari thought, not a moment too soon.
Hari pulled a can of Mushroom Soup off the shelf and presented the problem to the new specialists.
“We have a requirement for a bean and mushroom soup casserole with fried onion topping that calls for a seven point five ounce can of mushroom soup, but our new product line starts at ten point seven five. So, what can we do to help this customer meet his business requirement?”
The Bean Specialist spoke first. “Well, Bean technology has been keeping pace with the Mushroom Soup and we now offer a nine point zero ounce can of French cut green beans that, if drained properly, would be the perfect compliment to the increased size of Mushroom Soup.”
The Onion Specialist picked up on the cue and added, “Yes, in addition our new line of Fried Onions come in eight, nine and ten ounce cans and I think the mid-range offering, nine ounce, would be perfect for this application.”
Hari mulled this over briefly and didn’t look too happy. “But what about the casserole dish? Won’t we need at least a one quart glass dish?”
A pall descended on the team. This new revelation seemed to be a sticking point. Granted, the upgraded sizes of soup and beans presented a delivery problem for the customer.
Suddenly, the Bean Specialist had an idea. “Wait a second! We just got a shipment of one quart flan dishes over on Aisle 7 and they would be perfect.”
“Are you sure,” Hari inquired.
“Certain, sir. The expansion factor with the new bean can size is negligible and the onions will cover it perfectly.”
Hari keyed his radio, “Hari to Aisle 7. We need a Flan Dish Specialist over here on Aisle 9 and bring a one quart. Over.”
Soon I was on my way back to the truck with my ingredients and a brand new one quart flan dish that I didn’t even knew I needed. Arriving at the truck I unloaded the shopping and in doing so a small piece of paper fluttered to the asphalt.
Oh, the shopping list. I had a quick check and read “mushroom soup, beans, fried onions, milk, bread.”
Dang, forgot the milk and bread. No matter, as long as I’m here I’ll just go back and get them.
Entering the store...
“Hello, Sir, my name is Bob how might I help you today.”
“No problem, Bob, I’m just picking up some milk and bread.”
Bob keyed his radio, “I need Milk and Bread Specialists to the red zone. I repeat. I need Milk and Bread Specialists to the red zone.”
Bob turned and said, “Don’t worry, sir, someone will be here to help you shortly.”
Computer stores are very special. You walk in with that certain look in your eye and within billions of nanoseconds trained personnel help you select what you need, give you a bunch of free stuff and sell you a whole bunch of other stuff you had no idea how you lived without. They make you king of your world .
Anyway, I had the most excellent experience at the computer store, and how can one have anything but a most excellent experience at a computer store, got me to thinking about how it would be if all stores were like computer stores.
I mean, what if Kroger’s operated like a computer store.
Cue “Dream Sequence” music...
“Hello, Sir, welcome to Kroger’s. My name is Bob and I’m here to make your shopping experience efficient and memorable. How might I help you today?”
“Well, actually, I’m looking for a can of mushroom soup.”
“Mushroom soup? Excellent choice! (Bob scans the store for a Soup Specialist.) Here, let me introduce you to Hari who is one of our Soup Specialists. Hari, this gentleman is interested in our Mushroom Soup offerings and perhaps you could get him acquainted with our product line. Nice meeting you, Sir.” Bob spotted a new customer and set off to greet her.
Hari said, “If you will accompany me to Aisle 9 I can show you what we have in stock and answer any questions you have about applications for Mushroom Soup. Were you planning on just cooking the soup or making some other kind of dish with it?”
“Well, I was thinking about making a green bean casserole that would use mushroom soup, topped with fried onion bits.”
Hari noted this on his ScratchPad, and subtly signaled for Bean and Onion specialists to meet him at Aisle 9.
“Here we are, sir,” said Hari, arriving at Aisle 9, “As you can see we have a lot of Mushroom Soup in stock. Uh, were you contemplating any particular size?”
“Yes, I was thinking of getting a seven point five ounce can. The recipe called for an eight ounce can but I figured I could get by with seven point five.”
Hari looked at his feet, then at the ceiling as if invoking wisdom from the gods, then locked eyes and delivered the facts, that is the bad and good news.
“If you had come in two months ago, sir, we would have had seven point five ounce cans of Mushroom Soup in stock and plenty to spare. But, soup technology moves on and the company has upgraded the entire product line.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, sir, that the most basic Mushroom Soup we provide today is ten point seven five ounces.”
“Whoa, baby! Ten point seven five? Really! That’s amazing. I didn’t think anybody could ever use ten point seven five. That just boggles the mind.”
About that time the Bean and Onion specialists arrived and, Hari thought, not a moment too soon.
Hari pulled a can of Mushroom Soup off the shelf and presented the problem to the new specialists.
“We have a requirement for a bean and mushroom soup casserole with fried onion topping that calls for a seven point five ounce can of mushroom soup, but our new product line starts at ten point seven five. So, what can we do to help this customer meet his business requirement?”
The Bean Specialist spoke first. “Well, Bean technology has been keeping pace with the Mushroom Soup and we now offer a nine point zero ounce can of French cut green beans that, if drained properly, would be the perfect compliment to the increased size of Mushroom Soup.”
The Onion Specialist picked up on the cue and added, “Yes, in addition our new line of Fried Onions come in eight, nine and ten ounce cans and I think the mid-range offering, nine ounce, would be perfect for this application.”
Hari mulled this over briefly and didn’t look too happy. “But what about the casserole dish? Won’t we need at least a one quart glass dish?”
A pall descended on the team. This new revelation seemed to be a sticking point. Granted, the upgraded sizes of soup and beans presented a delivery problem for the customer.
Suddenly, the Bean Specialist had an idea. “Wait a second! We just got a shipment of one quart flan dishes over on Aisle 7 and they would be perfect.”
“Are you sure,” Hari inquired.
“Certain, sir. The expansion factor with the new bean can size is negligible and the onions will cover it perfectly.”
Hari keyed his radio, “Hari to Aisle 7. We need a Flan Dish Specialist over here on Aisle 9 and bring a one quart. Over.”
Soon I was on my way back to the truck with my ingredients and a brand new one quart flan dish that I didn’t even knew I needed. Arriving at the truck I unloaded the shopping and in doing so a small piece of paper fluttered to the asphalt.
Oh, the shopping list. I had a quick check and read “mushroom soup, beans, fried onions, milk, bread.”
Dang, forgot the milk and bread. No matter, as long as I’m here I’ll just go back and get them.
Entering the store...
“Hello, Sir, my name is Bob how might I help you today.”
“No problem, Bob, I’m just picking up some milk and bread.”
Bob keyed his radio, “I need Milk and Bread Specialists to the red zone. I repeat. I need Milk and Bread Specialists to the red zone.”
Bob turned and said, “Don’t worry, sir, someone will be here to help you shortly.”
Monday, November 19, 2007
Spag Bol
This recipe has been discussed here before and, again, it's one of those things you just throw together and let cook for a while.
Here's the blueprint:
hamburger
onion
garlic
bacon, chopped
box of chopped tomatoes
can of tomato paste
Worcestershire Sauce
mushrooms
red wine (lots for the sauce, more for the cook)
hot sauce
nutmeg
oregano
spices from the garden
Basically, fry up the bacon, hamburger and onions. Toss into a large pot with the rest of the ingredients. Stir and cook for a while. Adjust the seasonings to make it hotter or saltier or whatever. Thicken with corn flour and water. Serve over spaghetti.
It's an easy favorite at our house and sometimes we add smoked sausage just for fun. This batch turned out very dark because the wine used was a Cabernet Sauvignon from Chile.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Chicken Soup
We had these Cornish Game Hen carcasses that we picked over for a couple of meals and it seemed like a good idea to boil them up and make a stock. Turns out there was about a cup and a half of meat to be picked over so a chicken soup seemed reasonable.
Here’s the blueprint:
2 carcasses of Cornish Game Hens
1 onion
2 leeks
3 carrots
1 turnip
2 small red potatoes
2 ears corn, stripped plus one cob
1 can chopped tomatoes
fresh spinach
pepper, garlic, etc
The carcasses were cooked in water for a few hours, then picked over to remove the bones. Into the resulting stock went all the vegetables, chopped. This was brought to a boil, salted, and left to simmer for an hour or so. Then, the picked over chicken meat was added. Simmered for an hour longer.
The corn cob was tossed in to add thickening to the soup and was removed before serving.
A little fresh spinach was tossed in at the last minute and the final dish was served with fresh, warm wheat bread.
A perfect winter’s meal, except that it’s 74 degrees here.
Chicken soup. It’s good for the soul.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
TV Gone Wonky
The TV's gone black and white!
What did you do to it?
I just watched it!
That explains it!
What did you do to it?
I just watched it!
That explains it!
Cornish Hens
A cold wind blows in Houston. It must be at least 60 degrees or lower! Time for a fur coat.
Here's the blueprint:
The plan was to create a wine mushroom sauce for the hens. This was to be accomplished by reducing an entire bottle of chardonnay, mixing with mushrooms and butter and making a sauce. Somehow.
The hens were roasted in the oven at 375 for about an hour.
The wild rice was cooked according to directions, about an hour.
The acorn squash was sliced up, placed in a bread pan (because it fits in the oven next to my roasting pan) and it cooked for an hour or so.
The carrots took 10 minutes to steam.
In the bottom line I added the mushrooms and reduced wine to the pan containing the Cornish hen drippings and stirred it around. It made a nice gravy which I served over the hens and rice.
Here's the result of about 2 hours work.
Here's the blueprint:
2 cornish game hens
wild rice
acorn squash
carrots
mushrooms
bottle of chardonnay
The plan was to create a wine mushroom sauce for the hens. This was to be accomplished by reducing an entire bottle of chardonnay, mixing with mushrooms and butter and making a sauce. Somehow.
The hens were roasted in the oven at 375 for about an hour.
The wild rice was cooked according to directions, about an hour.
The acorn squash was sliced up, placed in a bread pan (because it fits in the oven next to my roasting pan) and it cooked for an hour or so.
The carrots took 10 minutes to steam.
In the bottom line I added the mushrooms and reduced wine to the pan containing the Cornish hen drippings and stirred it around. It made a nice gravy which I served over the hens and rice.
Here's the result of about 2 hours work.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Tastes Like Hot Chicken
Having slept on yesterday's conversation I awoke with the immediate thought, "What's for dinner?"
Chicken! Really. Says so right there on the package. Somewhere. Oh, there it is. "Chiken"
Close enough.
Again with the tight schedules we had to do something quick and fewer dishes are quicker or easier to prepare than Chicken Enchilada Casserole.
Here's the blueprint:
First, the chicken was boiled with a chopped onion for about 30 minutes. The chicken was strained out, cooled and shredded, while the chicken stock will be used for something this weekend.
Then, a casserole dish is coated with some enchilada sauce, corn tortillas layered on, more enchilada sauce, chicken, shredded cheese and some chilies. Add another layer of corn tortillas and repeat until you run out of chicken. Grate a healthy layer of cheese on the top and bake in the oven at 350 for about 30 minutes.
Serve with lots of shredded lettuce and chopped tomato. Quick, tasty and filling. Yep, that's just what we needed for tonight.
Friday I have the day off so I'll be out shopping and thinking up something spectacular with which to end the week.
Until then, here's a shot of the remains of the day.
Chicken! Really. Says so right there on the package. Somewhere. Oh, there it is. "Chiken"
Close enough.
Again with the tight schedules we had to do something quick and fewer dishes are quicker or easier to prepare than Chicken Enchilada Casserole.
Here's the blueprint:
chicken
onion
corn tortillas
can of green enchilada sauce
can of green chilies
cheese
lettuce
tomatoes
First, the chicken was boiled with a chopped onion for about 30 minutes. The chicken was strained out, cooled and shredded, while the chicken stock will be used for something this weekend.
Then, a casserole dish is coated with some enchilada sauce, corn tortillas layered on, more enchilada sauce, chicken, shredded cheese and some chilies. Add another layer of corn tortillas and repeat until you run out of chicken. Grate a healthy layer of cheese on the top and bake in the oven at 350 for about 30 minutes.
Serve with lots of shredded lettuce and chopped tomato. Quick, tasty and filling. Yep, that's just what we needed for tonight.
Friday I have the day off so I'll be out shopping and thinking up something spectacular with which to end the week.
Until then, here's a shot of the remains of the day.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Tastes Like...
Overheard at the mall.
I didn't even look back.
Food vendor: Hey, you want to try stir-fry chicken.
Young lady: No, thanks. I don't eat chicken.
Food vendor: No worry. This not chicken.
I didn't even look back.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Salmon Finale
Finally, the end of the salmon extravaganza!
Simple salmon salad made with salmon, green onions, celery, mayonnaise and seasoning. Served on a bed of lettuce and spinach leaves.
Supposedly good for you.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Irish Sorta Bread
I wrote about yesterday's meal before I ate it. Don't worry, it was great! But, I mentioned how well it would go with some crusty bread. The only problem was I didn't have any crusty or non-crusty bread. No tortillas. No pitas. Not even a cracker.
Dinner was about 40 minutes away. What to do?
Then I thought about Irish Soda Bread and looked up a recipe.
Here's the blueprint:
Notice for a change I've included quantities. Usually for "regular" cooking I can find my way with just the ingredients and not much of a guide on quantities, but when it comes to baking that's a whole 'nother story!
Baking is an art and if you're not a baking artist (include me in that category) then it's best to go with an exact recipe and follow it as closely as possible.
Soda bread is a so-called "quick" bread because it doesn't use yeast and, thus, does not need to rise. The rising happens in the oven. Carbon dioxide bubbles are created by the reaction of baking soda and the acidic buttermilk, which is why I added the Real Lemon to ordinary milk; boost the acidity of the milk.
I didn't have any buttermilk so I simulated buttermilk by adding a couple of tablespoons of Real Lemon juice to two cups of milk. That seemed to do the trick.
Here's the basic procedure:
Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Cut the butter into the flour mixture until the consistency is like bread crumbs. I ended up adding an extra tablespoon of butter to get the desired consistency. Make a well in the center and mix in the egg. Then mix in the buttermilk a bit at a time stirring to combine. The resulting mixture should be a stiff dough.
Mine ended up not so stiff and I probably should have added more flour. I'll try that next time.
Knead the mixture briefly but not as much as you would do a yeast dough, but more than you'd do for muffin batter. I ended up with a somewhat sticky mess that I covered with flour so it wouldn't stick to my hands.
Transfer the dough to a greased cast iron skillet or baking sheet and bake for 30-40 minutes at 425.
My bread took about 45 minutes to cook through and even so it was a little moist in the middle. I probably should have added more baking powder or kneaded the mixture more.
In any case, the bread turned out OK and it was certainly crusty enough. Better yet, it was quick and provided the crustiness I needed.
Other recipes for Irish Soda bread call for raisins or caraway seeds, but for my needs a plain bread was perfect.
Dinner was about 40 minutes away. What to do?
Then I thought about Irish Soda Bread and looked up a recipe.
Here's the blueprint:
4 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp sugar
3 tbsp butter
1 egg
2 cups buttermilk
Notice for a change I've included quantities. Usually for "regular" cooking I can find my way with just the ingredients and not much of a guide on quantities, but when it comes to baking that's a whole 'nother story!
Baking is an art and if you're not a baking artist (include me in that category) then it's best to go with an exact recipe and follow it as closely as possible.
Soda bread is a so-called "quick" bread because it doesn't use yeast and, thus, does not need to rise. The rising happens in the oven. Carbon dioxide bubbles are created by the reaction of baking soda and the acidic buttermilk, which is why I added the Real Lemon to ordinary milk; boost the acidity of the milk.
I didn't have any buttermilk so I simulated buttermilk by adding a couple of tablespoons of Real Lemon juice to two cups of milk. That seemed to do the trick.
Here's the basic procedure:
Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Cut the butter into the flour mixture until the consistency is like bread crumbs. I ended up adding an extra tablespoon of butter to get the desired consistency. Make a well in the center and mix in the egg. Then mix in the buttermilk a bit at a time stirring to combine. The resulting mixture should be a stiff dough.
Mine ended up not so stiff and I probably should have added more flour. I'll try that next time.
Knead the mixture briefly but not as much as you would do a yeast dough, but more than you'd do for muffin batter. I ended up with a somewhat sticky mess that I covered with flour so it wouldn't stick to my hands.
Transfer the dough to a greased cast iron skillet or baking sheet and bake for 30-40 minutes at 425.
My bread took about 45 minutes to cook through and even so it was a little moist in the middle. I probably should have added more baking powder or kneaded the mixture more.
In any case, the bread turned out OK and it was certainly crusty enough. Better yet, it was quick and provided the crustiness I needed.
Other recipes for Irish Soda bread call for raisins or caraway seeds, but for my needs a plain bread was perfect.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Twelve Tattoo Fondue
Tattoos intrigue me but I’m not planning on getting one any time soon, although I’ve often wondered how many tattoos are actually planned.
I can visualize myself waking up with a tattoo after a hard night out during which it seemed an eminently grand idea to get a tattoo, in fact, how could such a grand night not end by getting a tattoo.
Now, when I was a kid only men had tattoos and they were invariably ex-Navy men. Anchors, skulls, knives, slogans like “Victory or Death!” were common. Almost always in blue with a little red, these tattoos looked like they had been through the hot rinse cycle a few times too many. Most were faded and splodgy looking. Sometimes the tattoo looked like a bruise in the shape of a heart or whatever.
I don’t remember when I saw my first woman with a tattoo, outside of the circus, of course, but my eyes must have bugged out. Tattoos for women became popular in the 80’s and all the hot singers had a dainty ankle tattoo of a rose or a bear or for the more edgy singers, a strand of barbed wire. Cher was famous for her tattoos. These tattoos were small, discrete and easily hidden by hiking boots and thick socks.
Time marches on, though, and so have women’s tattoos. Today it’s not uncommon to see elaborate filigrees on a lower back, or Chinese letters on the back of a neck.
But, nothing prepared me for what I saw today at the grocery store. The grocery store! Not some heavy metal rock concert with people waving their iPhones in the air. No, a grocery store where one goes to be with the vegetables and contemplate less filling with tastes great.
A young mother with her two young kids in tow was checking out a few lines down from me and from that distance I could tell she was wearing a sleeveless denim vest. But, it was her arms that caught my attention. They were COVERED with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. Tattoo upon tattoo upon tattoo to the extent you couldn’t tell where one ended and the next one started. Her arms were a mass of red and blue and green, and from the distance I couldn’t tell if it was skulls, hearts, knives, snakes or whatever.
All I knew instinctively was “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”
I was shocked, I say, shocked! I mean, how could you walk around in public like that? Call me fuddy-duddy, but it took me quite a while to get over the heart-on-the-ankle, but this ... this!
It was like a horror show in real life. I couldn’t take my eyes away. As I pushed my cart to the door past where this unfortunate woman was standing I could only think
“Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”
As I drew closer I prepared to scuttle past her and try not to look, even though it was like a human train wreck, terrible and fascinating at the same time.
At which point I made a startling discovery. She didn’t have any tattoos at all! No, shock upon shock, she was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt that was printed with a denim vest along the body, and tattoo images down the flesh-colored sleeves.
I stopped to have a good old stare.
It was a shirt, not tattoos. The whole thing was an optical illusion, a fake, a deception.
As my mind shifted gears, my first thought was, “How cool is this! That is such a cool shirt!” None of the pain and all of the gain.
I gotta get me one of those. Santa! Tattoo shirt, please and make it an XL!
I can visualize myself waking up with a tattoo after a hard night out during which it seemed an eminently grand idea to get a tattoo, in fact, how could such a grand night not end by getting a tattoo.
Now, when I was a kid only men had tattoos and they were invariably ex-Navy men. Anchors, skulls, knives, slogans like “Victory or Death!” were common. Almost always in blue with a little red, these tattoos looked like they had been through the hot rinse cycle a few times too many. Most were faded and splodgy looking. Sometimes the tattoo looked like a bruise in the shape of a heart or whatever.
I don’t remember when I saw my first woman with a tattoo, outside of the circus, of course, but my eyes must have bugged out. Tattoos for women became popular in the 80’s and all the hot singers had a dainty ankle tattoo of a rose or a bear or for the more edgy singers, a strand of barbed wire. Cher was famous for her tattoos. These tattoos were small, discrete and easily hidden by hiking boots and thick socks.
Time marches on, though, and so have women’s tattoos. Today it’s not uncommon to see elaborate filigrees on a lower back, or Chinese letters on the back of a neck.
But, nothing prepared me for what I saw today at the grocery store. The grocery store! Not some heavy metal rock concert with people waving their iPhones in the air. No, a grocery store where one goes to be with the vegetables and contemplate less filling with tastes great.
A young mother with her two young kids in tow was checking out a few lines down from me and from that distance I could tell she was wearing a sleeveless denim vest. But, it was her arms that caught my attention. They were COVERED with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. Tattoo upon tattoo upon tattoo to the extent you couldn’t tell where one ended and the next one started. Her arms were a mass of red and blue and green, and from the distance I couldn’t tell if it was skulls, hearts, knives, snakes or whatever.
All I knew instinctively was “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”
I was shocked, I say, shocked! I mean, how could you walk around in public like that? Call me fuddy-duddy, but it took me quite a while to get over the heart-on-the-ankle, but this ... this!
It was like a horror show in real life. I couldn’t take my eyes away. As I pushed my cart to the door past where this unfortunate woman was standing I could only think
“Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”
As I drew closer I prepared to scuttle past her and try not to look, even though it was like a human train wreck, terrible and fascinating at the same time.
At which point I made a startling discovery. She didn’t have any tattoos at all! No, shock upon shock, she was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt that was printed with a denim vest along the body, and tattoo images down the flesh-colored sleeves.
I stopped to have a good old stare.
It was a shirt, not tattoos. The whole thing was an optical illusion, a fake, a deception.
As my mind shifted gears, my first thought was, “How cool is this! That is such a cool shirt!” None of the pain and all of the gain.
I gotta get me one of those. Santa! Tattoo shirt, please and make it an XL!
Lamb Hot Pot
Due to various activities going on today and this evening we needed a meal that could be cooked over a period of time and served when needed, but was not time-critical.
Lamb Hot Pot was the answer.
Here's the blueprint:
Hot Pot is the ultimate simple dish. Brown the meat in a large casserole dish, add the chopped vegetables, water to cover and cook slowly for as long as you like.
That's it.
There are variations of Hot Pot, but the basics include lamb, potato and onions. Lancashire Hot Pot contains just these ingredients. Irish Stew adds parsley.
There are many variations of Hot Pot that include carrot, leeks, turnip, parsnips, thyme and Worcestershire Sauce, however, the basic recipe seems to call for lamb and vegetables cooked slowly as a stew.
The quantity of meat is not important as the dish was created to use up scraps of lamb like neck and shank. Lamb imparts a wonderful flavor to this simple dish, and the flavor improves considerably between 1 and 2 hours of cooking.
Because Hot Pot can be "stretched out" by adding water it has been a staple of poor students for centuries. Hot Pot, crusty bread and cheap wine have inspired great discussions into the meaning of life on many a cold winter's evening at campuses around England.
Lamb Hot Pot was the answer.
Here's the blueprint:
lamb (chops, neck, shank - whatever is available)
potato
carrot
onion
turnip
Worcestershire sauce
bay leaf
Hot Pot is the ultimate simple dish. Brown the meat in a large casserole dish, add the chopped vegetables, water to cover and cook slowly for as long as you like.
That's it.
There are variations of Hot Pot, but the basics include lamb, potato and onions. Lancashire Hot Pot contains just these ingredients. Irish Stew adds parsley.
There are many variations of Hot Pot that include carrot, leeks, turnip, parsnips, thyme and Worcestershire Sauce, however, the basic recipe seems to call for lamb and vegetables cooked slowly as a stew.
The quantity of meat is not important as the dish was created to use up scraps of lamb like neck and shank. Lamb imparts a wonderful flavor to this simple dish, and the flavor improves considerably between 1 and 2 hours of cooking.
Because Hot Pot can be "stretched out" by adding water it has been a staple of poor students for centuries. Hot Pot, crusty bread and cheap wine have inspired great discussions into the meaning of life on many a cold winter's evening at campuses around England.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Salmon Two Two
Yesterday, in order to cover my bases in case the Salmon Cider/Cream recipe didn't work out, I bought a LARGE piece of salmon. I nearly needed a second shopping cart to haul it out of the store.
"Feeding an army," Kathy the Fish Lady asked?
"Nope, just me."
"Hope you have a cat," Kathy offered as a parting shot.
If she only knew!
As we all know the Salmon Cider/Cream recipe was a great success, but I baked the other half of salmon figuring I could use it to make salmon croquets or salmon salad sandwiches or something like that.
Tonight, Chef Helen entered the kitchen arena and invented a version of Shepherd's Pie using salmon and cheese instead of ground beef and vegetables.
Here's the blueprint:
The recipe outline is to make a cheese sauce, mix it with the salmon, cover it with mashed potatoes and cheese and bake until heated through.
First, get the potatoes boiling. You'll want them cooked soft enough to mash.
The cheese sauce is made by taking a cup of milk or so, mixing in a tablespoon or less of corn starch, and stirring like mad over a medium heat until the mixture thickens. If you don't stir constantly the sauce will clump up which is not good. Once thickened, remove the sauce from the heat and add a couple of handfuls of grated cheese. Stir so the cheese melts.
Flake the salmon in a bowl, add the cheese sauce and mix.
Once the potatoes are cooked, mash them in the pot with a little butter and milk. You can also add grated cheese at this point if you'd like cheesy mashed potatoes.
Spoon the salmon mixture into small baking dishes if you're making individual servings, or into a large one if not. Cover with mashed potatoes and grate some cheese on top.
Pop into the oven at 350 and bake for 15-20 minutes or until the top is crusty brown.
WARNING: Like Shepherd's Pie this dish will remain incredibly hot on the inside for an incredibly long time and you will, like, so incredibly burn your mouth if you're not careful that you will shout incredibly sailor-ish words.
The vegetables tonight consist of a saute of zucchini, onion, grape tomatoes and nopalitos (prickly pear cactus) because we had some in the fridge and they add a tangy, zesty taste.
Thus ends Day 10 of National Blog Posting Month. Where does the time go!
(Blogger image uploads isn't working at the moment. I'll have to post a picture later.)
"Feeding an army," Kathy the Fish Lady asked?
"Nope, just me."
"Hope you have a cat," Kathy offered as a parting shot.
If she only knew!
As we all know the Salmon Cider/Cream recipe was a great success, but I baked the other half of salmon figuring I could use it to make salmon croquets or salmon salad sandwiches or something like that.
Tonight, Chef Helen entered the kitchen arena and invented a version of Shepherd's Pie using salmon and cheese instead of ground beef and vegetables.
Here's the blueprint:
cooked salmon
sharp cheddar cheese
milk
corn starch
potatoes
The recipe outline is to make a cheese sauce, mix it with the salmon, cover it with mashed potatoes and cheese and bake until heated through.
First, get the potatoes boiling. You'll want them cooked soft enough to mash.
The cheese sauce is made by taking a cup of milk or so, mixing in a tablespoon or less of corn starch, and stirring like mad over a medium heat until the mixture thickens. If you don't stir constantly the sauce will clump up which is not good. Once thickened, remove the sauce from the heat and add a couple of handfuls of grated cheese. Stir so the cheese melts.
Flake the salmon in a bowl, add the cheese sauce and mix.
Once the potatoes are cooked, mash them in the pot with a little butter and milk. You can also add grated cheese at this point if you'd like cheesy mashed potatoes.
Spoon the salmon mixture into small baking dishes if you're making individual servings, or into a large one if not. Cover with mashed potatoes and grate some cheese on top.
Pop into the oven at 350 and bake for 15-20 minutes or until the top is crusty brown.
WARNING: Like Shepherd's Pie this dish will remain incredibly hot on the inside for an incredibly long time and you will, like, so incredibly burn your mouth if you're not careful that you will shout incredibly sailor-ish words.
The vegetables tonight consist of a saute of zucchini, onion, grape tomatoes and nopalitos (prickly pear cactus) because we had some in the fridge and they add a tangy, zesty taste.
Thus ends Day 10 of National Blog Posting Month. Where does the time go!
(Blogger image uploads isn't working at the moment. I'll have to post a picture later.)
Friday, November 09, 2007
Cider Time
It's late autumn and fresh apple cider is on the shelves.
I love fresh apple cider. It's refreshing, tangy and good for you. So I'm told.
It turns out that you use fresh apple cider in a number of "glazed" dishes, that is, using the cider to add a little sweet, tangy touch to your favorite recipe.
Here's one with salmon.
Season a couple of cups of boiling cider with onion and pepper. Add some salmon filets and cook for about ten minutes.
Remove the fish and reduce the liquid to a quarter of a cup or so. Add some butter and cream. Boil to thicken and spoon over the cooked fish.
As our Cute as a Button Pal would say, Yum-O!
Check this out.
The potatoes were done by slicing them, seasoning and spraying with Olive Oil Pam and baking for 10 minutes a side. The acorn squash was baked with butter for about 40 minutes at the same temp as the potatoes, 350.
The spinach was prepared by frying a chopped onion in butter, adding the spinach, cooking for a bit, adding some water, and a few ounces of diced Mexican farm cheese. Any mild cheese will do and if you make your own Indian cheese, that's ideal.
I love fresh apple cider. It's refreshing, tangy and good for you. So I'm told.
It turns out that you use fresh apple cider in a number of "glazed" dishes, that is, using the cider to add a little sweet, tangy touch to your favorite recipe.
Here's one with salmon.
Season a couple of cups of boiling cider with onion and pepper. Add some salmon filets and cook for about ten minutes.
Remove the fish and reduce the liquid to a quarter of a cup or so. Add some butter and cream. Boil to thicken and spoon over the cooked fish.
As our Cute as a Button Pal would say, Yum-O!
Check this out.
The potatoes were done by slicing them, seasoning and spraying with Olive Oil Pam and baking for 10 minutes a side. The acorn squash was baked with butter for about 40 minutes at the same temp as the potatoes, 350.
The spinach was prepared by frying a chopped onion in butter, adding the spinach, cooking for a bit, adding some water, and a few ounces of diced Mexican farm cheese. Any mild cheese will do and if you make your own Indian cheese, that's ideal.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Curry Up
Tonight's dinner was a bit rushed because I had to be on the road by 7 PM. To make matters worse, rather, challenging, I didn't have a plan.
A quick look through the fridge and pantry uncovered enough for a decent dinner: chicken curry and lentils.
Here's the blueprint:
In the picture you'll see a box of chopped tomatoes which at the time I took the picture I planned to use, but later decided against.
To prepare the chicken I tossed the tenders with a small tub of plain yogurt, about 6 oz, with some curry powder and put it in the fridge to marinate.
While the chicken was getting zesty in the fridge I covered a cup of lentils with about two fingers of water and got it boiling. Turning down the heat I simmered the lentils for 5-6 minutes then added a tablespoon of chutney and the coconut milk. I turned down the heat to the lowest setting and let it cook while I got the chicken going.
I cooked the onions and carrots together over a high heat in some peanut oil then dumped in the chicken/yogurt mixture. After stirring this messy looking mixture for a few minutes, I transferred it to a casserole dish, added enough chicken stock to nearly cover the chicken and popped it into the oven, set to 350.
That's basically it. Aside from checking on the lentils from time to time to make sure they weren't sticking to the bottom of the pot or scorching, there wasn't anything to do for about an hour, although I turned off the lentils after about 30 minutes and just let them sit and soak up all that coconuttyness and mango mojo.
A quick look through the fridge and pantry uncovered enough for a decent dinner: chicken curry and lentils.
Here's the blueprint:
chicken tenders
plain yogurt
curry powder
onion
carrots
chicken stock
dried lentils
mango chutney
coconut milk
curry powder
In the picture you'll see a box of chopped tomatoes which at the time I took the picture I planned to use, but later decided against.
To prepare the chicken I tossed the tenders with a small tub of plain yogurt, about 6 oz, with some curry powder and put it in the fridge to marinate.
While the chicken was getting zesty in the fridge I covered a cup of lentils with about two fingers of water and got it boiling. Turning down the heat I simmered the lentils for 5-6 minutes then added a tablespoon of chutney and the coconut milk. I turned down the heat to the lowest setting and let it cook while I got the chicken going.
I cooked the onions and carrots together over a high heat in some peanut oil then dumped in the chicken/yogurt mixture. After stirring this messy looking mixture for a few minutes, I transferred it to a casserole dish, added enough chicken stock to nearly cover the chicken and popped it into the oven, set to 350.
That's basically it. Aside from checking on the lentils from time to time to make sure they weren't sticking to the bottom of the pot or scorching, there wasn't anything to do for about an hour, although I turned off the lentils after about 30 minutes and just let them sit and soak up all that coconuttyness and mango mojo.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Beef Stroganoff
Beef Strog is one of my favorites and one of the first thing I learned to cook. I'm sure I deviate from the "proper" recipe but I do that a lot, anyway.
Here's the blueprint:
I sauté the sliced onions or shallots in butter until soft. Then I add the beef which has been sliced into strips. After the beef has cooked for a while I add the mushrooms, stock cube, some water and red wine and let it simmer for a while, maybe 40 minutes or so. Then I add some tomato paste, stir and add more water if it looks too thick and let it go for another 20-30 minutes, checking occasionally that it's not drying out or sticking.
That's it.
I serve the Strog over rice with a dollop of sour cream, but it's fine without.
You have a lot of flexibility with the Strog sauce, that is, the water and wine and tomato paste. If it's too thick add some water. If you add too much water you can either cook it down or add some corn starch (mixed with a little water) to thicken it. It's a very flexible recipe and can be stretched to feed a crew.
I have read that a really proper Beef Stroganoff calls for a very good cut of beef cut against the grain into thin slices, and the entire cooking process is very quick. Basically, searing the meat and onions, then creating a sauce with tomato paste, water, wine or brandy very quickly and reducing it to a sauce. I once tried to cook Strog like this using filet mignon, shallots and brandy and although the result was very good, the cooking was quite frantic and the dish was not that memorable from the more pedestrian version I've described.
When it comes to flavor, color, texture and taste, flavor and yummyness I don't think you can beat Beef Strog. I'd go have a second helping right now, except I know it's all gone. All that remains is the memory.
p.s. The candle is on the dish because the kitchen light burnt out and I didn't fix it because I was working with the garage door people to fix the broken garage door spring. Priorities, people, priorities!
Here's the blueprint:
good cut of beef, top sirloin, roast, ribeye steak, whatever you got
onions or shallots
mushrooms
beef stock cube (I use Knorr)
tomato paste
I sauté the sliced onions or shallots in butter until soft. Then I add the beef which has been sliced into strips. After the beef has cooked for a while I add the mushrooms, stock cube, some water and red wine and let it simmer for a while, maybe 40 minutes or so. Then I add some tomato paste, stir and add more water if it looks too thick and let it go for another 20-30 minutes, checking occasionally that it's not drying out or sticking.
That's it.
I serve the Strog over rice with a dollop of sour cream, but it's fine without.
You have a lot of flexibility with the Strog sauce, that is, the water and wine and tomato paste. If it's too thick add some water. If you add too much water you can either cook it down or add some corn starch (mixed with a little water) to thicken it. It's a very flexible recipe and can be stretched to feed a crew.
I have read that a really proper Beef Stroganoff calls for a very good cut of beef cut against the grain into thin slices, and the entire cooking process is very quick. Basically, searing the meat and onions, then creating a sauce with tomato paste, water, wine or brandy very quickly and reducing it to a sauce. I once tried to cook Strog like this using filet mignon, shallots and brandy and although the result was very good, the cooking was quite frantic and the dish was not that memorable from the more pedestrian version I've described.
When it comes to flavor, color, texture and taste, flavor and yummyness I don't think you can beat Beef Strog. I'd go have a second helping right now, except I know it's all gone. All that remains is the memory.
p.s. The candle is on the dish because the kitchen light burnt out and I didn't fix it because I was working with the garage door people to fix the broken garage door spring. Priorities, people, priorities!
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Mousey, Mousey
Kink the Cat has an endearing habit of bringing a toy, usually one of several stuffed mice, to the bedroom in the morning and having a little pre-dawn play. Kink rattles around the room tossing the toy and by the time we notice him, the alarm is shrieking and day has begun. Kink will continue to play while we shower, get the coffee started and prepare for the day.
Often, (OK, always!) I’m the last one up and Kink will hop on the bed and try to get me to play Toss the Mouse, a game that entails me tossing his toy across the room, causing him to dash off the bed, retrieve the mouse and return for another go. He can do this about a dozen times before I get tired of the game.
This morning the ritual started just before the alarm.
Bound, bound, bound. Leap, leap, leap. Toss, toss, toss. Accompanied by the little meow-purrs that Kink makes when he’s playing.
Meow-purr-bound. Meow-purr-leap. Meow-purr-toss.
Nice kitty, Kink, me tired. Go away.
Kink was insistent, digging into my bare back with his claws and pouncing around the bed chasing his imaginary prey. Then, as I rose to a minimal level of consciousness I felt something distinctly un-Kink like scrabble across my back.
I opened one eye. There on the floor in front of me was Kink, tail twitching, ears forward, looking alert.
There on my back behind me was the scrabbling.
Urrrrrough? No scrabbling on my back should there be. I propped myself on one elbow and looked behind me and there on the bed looking pretty pathetic and not scrabbling all that much was a good sized mouse.
Now, I’ve been to Disneyland several times. And never, not once, in all the times I’ve been to Disneyland have I seen a kid turn around, see Mickey Mouse and exclaim, “Holy shit!”
Just never happened.
However, I don’t live in Disneyland and Mickey Mouse doesn’t visit me all that often and that’s exactly what I said as I leapt out of bed, switching into Mouse Out of the House Mode!
I grabbed a wastepaper basket and a sock and scooped up the nearly comatose mouse , but missed the basket and he fell to the floor, crawling between the bed and the nightstand.
“Get the mousie!” I urged Kink, who surprisingly obliged and neatly hooked the critter and pulled him back.
That was enough for me to re-scoop mousie into the basket, scuttle to the back door and heave-ho my uninvited guest into the back yard. I figured he could fend for himself out there and just as I closed the back door the lawn sprinklers came on as if to add insult to injury.
(Yes, lawn sprinklers. In November. Houston, people, Houston!)
By this time my heart was racing, adrenaline pumping, coffee was brewing and I was awake. Might as well shower and get on with the day.
Calming down in the shower I had a chuckle at the image of old Kink dragging in a half-dead mouse and playing with it in my bed.
Ah, Kink, you are such a lovable skamp!
Toweling off and walking back to the bedroom there was Kink sitting on the bed all perky-looking and ready for some play.
At his feet, on my pillow was a large, even more near-death, wet mouse.
Kink gave me his Aren’t-I-Clever look and I was too not-awake to care. I picked up the mouse by the tail and headed to the kitchen. Kink bounded ahead of me, into the garage, out the cat door and waited in the back yard for another “go” at the mouse. By this time, though, mousey had passed to that Great Swiss Cheese in the sky and I unceremoniously disposed of him in a plastic bag placed in the dumpster in the street.
I looked at the clock. 7 AM. The day was young. I could see Kink out back prowling along the hedge swatting at grasshoppers. In the distance a young squirrel was making his way towards our oak tree to harvest some acorns. Kink spied him and crouched low.
I closed the garage door, then the curtains and poured myself a cup of coffee.
A few minutes later I thought I heard a high pitched squeak, but figured it was just the wind.
Yeah, just the wind.
Often, (OK, always!) I’m the last one up and Kink will hop on the bed and try to get me to play Toss the Mouse, a game that entails me tossing his toy across the room, causing him to dash off the bed, retrieve the mouse and return for another go. He can do this about a dozen times before I get tired of the game.
This morning the ritual started just before the alarm.
Bound, bound, bound. Leap, leap, leap. Toss, toss, toss. Accompanied by the little meow-purrs that Kink makes when he’s playing.
Meow-purr-bound. Meow-purr-leap. Meow-purr-toss.
Nice kitty, Kink, me tired. Go away.
Kink was insistent, digging into my bare back with his claws and pouncing around the bed chasing his imaginary prey. Then, as I rose to a minimal level of consciousness I felt something distinctly un-Kink like scrabble across my back.
I opened one eye. There on the floor in front of me was Kink, tail twitching, ears forward, looking alert.
There on my back behind me was the scrabbling.
Urrrrrough? No scrabbling on my back should there be. I propped myself on one elbow and looked behind me and there on the bed looking pretty pathetic and not scrabbling all that much was a good sized mouse.
Now, I’ve been to Disneyland several times. And never, not once, in all the times I’ve been to Disneyland have I seen a kid turn around, see Mickey Mouse and exclaim, “Holy shit!”
Just never happened.
However, I don’t live in Disneyland and Mickey Mouse doesn’t visit me all that often and that’s exactly what I said as I leapt out of bed, switching into Mouse Out of the House Mode!
I grabbed a wastepaper basket and a sock and scooped up the nearly comatose mouse , but missed the basket and he fell to the floor, crawling between the bed and the nightstand.
“Get the mousie!” I urged Kink, who surprisingly obliged and neatly hooked the critter and pulled him back.
That was enough for me to re-scoop mousie into the basket, scuttle to the back door and heave-ho my uninvited guest into the back yard. I figured he could fend for himself out there and just as I closed the back door the lawn sprinklers came on as if to add insult to injury.
(Yes, lawn sprinklers. In November. Houston, people, Houston!)
By this time my heart was racing, adrenaline pumping, coffee was brewing and I was awake. Might as well shower and get on with the day.
Calming down in the shower I had a chuckle at the image of old Kink dragging in a half-dead mouse and playing with it in my bed.
Ah, Kink, you are such a lovable skamp!
Toweling off and walking back to the bedroom there was Kink sitting on the bed all perky-looking and ready for some play.
At his feet, on my pillow was a large, even more near-death, wet mouse.
Kink gave me his Aren’t-I-Clever look and I was too not-awake to care. I picked up the mouse by the tail and headed to the kitchen. Kink bounded ahead of me, into the garage, out the cat door and waited in the back yard for another “go” at the mouse. By this time, though, mousey had passed to that Great Swiss Cheese in the sky and I unceremoniously disposed of him in a plastic bag placed in the dumpster in the street.
I looked at the clock. 7 AM. The day was young. I could see Kink out back prowling along the hedge swatting at grasshoppers. In the distance a young squirrel was making his way towards our oak tree to harvest some acorns. Kink spied him and crouched low.
I closed the garage door, then the curtains and poured myself a cup of coffee.
A few minutes later I thought I heard a high pitched squeak, but figured it was just the wind.
Yeah, just the wind.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Maque Choux Two Two
First, let me proclaim Happy Guy Fawkes Day to all my English friends. Both of them.
You can read about Guy then ask the burning question. What does this posting have to do with Guy Fawkes?
The answer is: Absolutely Nothing.
It just happens to be November 5th, which you now know has significance if you read the history lesson above.
Today's meal is a reincarnation of yesterday's Rib Feast with a tasty addition, Maque Choux, a cajun recipe provided to me by NOLA Cuisine. It's easy to make and tasty to boot, a great combination.
Here's the blueprint:
Basically, you saute the sausage or bacon, add the ingredients up to the celery, cook for a while, then add the remaining ingredients, cook for a while longer and dinner is served.
EEEEEE ZZZZZZZ!
Where is Rachael Ray to say "Yum" about a million times?
Here's the cooking
And here's the presentation
You can read about Guy then ask the burning question. What does this posting have to do with Guy Fawkes?
The answer is: Absolutely Nothing.
It just happens to be November 5th, which you now know has significance if you read the history lesson above.
Today's meal is a reincarnation of yesterday's Rib Feast with a tasty addition, Maque Choux, a cajun recipe provided to me by NOLA Cuisine. It's easy to make and tasty to boot, a great combination.
Here's the blueprint:
4 Tbsp Unsalted Butter
1/4 cup Tasso, finely diced
3 Ears of Corn
1/2 cup Onion, finely diced
1/4 cup Celery, finely diced
1/2 cup Green Pepper, finely diced
1 Tbsp Fresh Thyme leaves
1/8 cup Garlic, minced
1 Cup Tomato, diced
1/2 Cup Green Onions, finely sliced
Kosher salt, black pepper and Cayenne to taste
Basically, you saute the sausage or bacon, add the ingredients up to the celery, cook for a while, then add the remaining ingredients, cook for a while longer and dinner is served.
EEEEEE ZZZZZZZ!
Where is Rachael Ray to say "Yum" about a million times?
Here's the cooking
And here's the presentation
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Rib Rub
Spices rubbed into meat, left to do its thing for a while, then cooked.
I have learned that the success to a dry rub is brown sugar. I used to just rub the spices into the meat and hope for the best. Now I mix the spices at least half-and-half with brown sugar and let the magic happen.
Here's a mixture of the following stuff:
Mix a tablespoon of this with a tablespoon of brown sugar and you've got Rub Magic.
Spread it on neat and you've got Salty Nastiness.
Here's what it looks like after an hour or so of resting in the fridge:
Of course, if you don't want to risk making your own rub, check out the professionals like my friend Shane of Payne County.
Here's his stuff which he recommends cutting with brown sugar. Like the Stones said, brown sugar.
I have learned that the success to a dry rub is brown sugar. I used to just rub the spices into the meat and hope for the best. Now I mix the spices at least half-and-half with brown sugar and let the magic happen.
Here's a mixture of the following stuff:
paprika
garlic powder
salt
onion powder
chili powder
chili flakes
cumin
Mix a tablespoon of this with a tablespoon of brown sugar and you've got Rub Magic.
Spread it on neat and you've got Salty Nastiness.
Here's what it looks like after an hour or so of resting in the fridge:
Of course, if you don't want to risk making your own rub, check out the professionals like my friend Shane of Payne County.
Here's his stuff which he recommends cutting with brown sugar. Like the Stones said, brown sugar.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Veggie Stoup Redoux
Just keep adding water and eventually it will go away. That was the idea anyway.
The veggie stoup finally met its end tonight as the base for a leftover extravaganza.
Here’s the blueprint:
I heated up the rice and meatballs separately and combined the ingredients right in the bowl.
Everyday is an invention around here, whether using original or pre-cooked ingredients.
The veggie stoup finally met its end tonight as the base for a leftover extravaganza.
Here’s the blueprint:
leftover rice base
leftover vegetable soup
leftover lamb meatballs with pine nuts and cilantro
leftover lamb meatballs sauce of yogurt, lemon and cumin
last two flour tortillas, toasted
I heated up the rice and meatballs separately and combined the ingredients right in the bowl.
Everyday is an invention around here, whether using original or pre-cooked ingredients.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Vegetable Stoup
I planned to make some kind of chicken soup. I was thinking of making dumplings or noodles to go with it. In the end it turned out completely different.
Not quite a vegetable stew.
Not quit a vegetable soup.
I called it Vegetable Stoup.
Here’s the blueprint.
Most of the ingredients I had in the fridge and I bought the tomatillos for another dinner but decided to toss them in to give the dish a tangy taste.
In a large pot (I use a cast iron Dutch oven) sauté the onions in Rachael Ray Extra Virgin Olive Oil to make them cute-as-a-button. Chop and toss in the rest of the ingredients, add some water and seasoning. I used salt, pepper, garlic powder and a good shake of Tabasco sauce.
Simmer for 1-2 hours, checking the liquid level and topping up with water as necessary. Layer in more seasoning to your taste.
I served this with warm tortillas since I seem to have an abundance of tortillas at the moment, but a good, crusty bread would be excellent also.
Not quite a vegetable stew.
Not quit a vegetable soup.
I called it Vegetable Stoup.
Here’s the blueprint.
onion
carrots
turnip
potatoes
celery
tomatillos
can of chopped tomatoes
garlic
ear of corn
can of red kidney beans
seasonings
Most of the ingredients I had in the fridge and I bought the tomatillos for another dinner but decided to toss them in to give the dish a tangy taste.
In a large pot (I use a cast iron Dutch oven) sauté the onions in Rachael Ray Extra Virgin Olive Oil to make them cute-as-a-button. Chop and toss in the rest of the ingredients, add some water and seasoning. I used salt, pepper, garlic powder and a good shake of Tabasco sauce.
Simmer for 1-2 hours, checking the liquid level and topping up with water as necessary. Layer in more seasoning to your taste.
I served this with warm tortillas since I seem to have an abundance of tortillas at the moment, but a good, crusty bread would be excellent also.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Chicken Curry Salad
It’s November!
And that means NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month.
This year I’m going to attempt to write about food I prepare every day this month. It’s a crazy challenge.
On the menu today was everybody’s favorite: leftovers.
Mmmmmmm, leftovers.
Let’s see what we had in the fridge:
some roasted chicken
a celery rib
an orange bell pepper
mayonnaise
curry powder
pistachio nut kernals
a flour tortilla
Add chives from the garden and we have lunch. I chopped all the ingredients and mixed them in a small bowl with curry powder to coat. Then I added about ‘this’ much mayo, mixed again and served it on the tortilla which I toasted lightly.
Here’s the result:
And that means NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month.
This year I’m going to attempt to write about food I prepare every day this month. It’s a crazy challenge.
On the menu today was everybody’s favorite: leftovers.
Mmmmmmm, leftovers.
Let’s see what we had in the fridge:
some roasted chicken
a celery rib
an orange bell pepper
mayonnaise
curry powder
pistachio nut kernals
a flour tortilla
Add chives from the garden and we have lunch. I chopped all the ingredients and mixed them in a small bowl with curry powder to coat. Then I added about ‘this’ much mayo, mixed again and served it on the tortilla which I toasted lightly.
Here’s the result:
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Mr. Observant Man
Mr. Observant Man needed corn starch. Argo corn starch. It comes in a bright yellow box and is located on the top shelf, mid-way on the north side of the baking aisle.
Mr. Observant Man could find Argo corn starch blindfolded. It’s that easy. Six giant steps, reach left and stretch and corn starch is at hand and in hand. Done.
Mr. Observant Man should have been blindfolded because with his eyes wide open he couldn’t find the Argo corn starch to save his hide.
Bright yellow box. Top shelf. Mid-way. North side of baking aisle.
Mr. Observant Man stared and he stared. He stared until his eyeballs dried out and shrank two sizes. No yellow boxes in sight. No corn starch! Argo, where for art thou?
Then, suddenly, without warning a bright PINK Argo corn starch box leapt out at Mr. Observant Man and conked him on the head.
“Wow,” said Mr. Observant Man, “a flying Argo corn starch box. And, hey, it’s PINK .”
Whaaaa? PINK ?
The conk on the head threw Mr. Observant Man into full Observant Mode and as he gazed around the store all sorts of PINK things grabbed his attention. Soup, candy, cereal, breath mints and products of all shapes and sizes screamed at him in PINK .
What did it mean?
Mr. Observant Man purchased several PINK products and made his way home to study them. He Googled Susan G. Komen and discovered this.
Nancy G. Brinker promised her dying sister, Susan G. Komen, that she would do everything in her power to end breast cancer forever.
In 1982, that promise became Susan G. Komen for the Cure and launched the global breast cancer movement. Today, Komen for the Cure is the world's largest grassroots network of breast cancer survivors and activists fighting to save lives, empower people, ensure quality care for all and energize science to find the cures. Thanks to events like the Komen Race for the Cure, we have invested nearly $1 billion to fulfill our promise, becoming the largest source of nonprofit funds dedicated to the fight against breast cancer in the world.
Corporations who support Susan G. Komen for the Cure pledge large sums of money and show their support for finding a cure for breast cancer by displaying their products in PINK .
Mr. Observant Man learned a valuable lesson and pledged to do his best to help. After the conk on the head he became
Mr. Observant Man .
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Introducing "The Hulk"
Leopard arrives Friday and with it Time Machine. Finally, Zero Touch backup for the entire house.
Right there on The Hulk. All backup, all the time.
I need a bumper sticker: Ask Me About My Terabyte
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Said and Done
"Hey, did you run some laundry?"
It was an innocent question full of promise.
It could have meant, "Hey, you ran some laundry and folded it and put it away! That was nice!"
Or, "Hey, thanks for running the laundry! You're so thoughtful."
Or, "Hey, I didn't expect you to run some laundry! What a nice surprise."
In fact, simple questions often require long, drawn-out answers and I'm always looking for a way to cut to the chase and move on.
So, when the kids asked, "Where does air come from?"
I would answer, "Ask Mom. She knows."
Ninety percent of all questions can be answered with those four words. Here, though, I was stuck. Yes, I had run some laundry but it was only my camping gear smelling of bug spray, sunscreen, smoke and whatever chemicals my feet produce. I'm sure they have scientific names, but they are collectively known as Ewww-What's-That-Smell.
To the question, "Hey, did you run some laundry?" I should have answered, "Yes, I did. I sorted all the laundry and I have two more loads to run, but I did my camping stuff first to protect your delicate nose."
That's what I should have said; wordy, but correct.
What I actually said was this:
"Yeah, I ran my stuff."
As soon as I heard my words with my own ears, my brain all the while screaming, "Noooooooooooo!" I knew I was doomed.
A deafening silence followed. There were footsteps in the distance and the sound of a door closing. With emphasis. The conversation, such as it was, was over.
Mouth said, "Sorry, Brain, I guess I let you down. Again. What do we do now?"
After a short pause Brain said, "We die."
I sloped off to the laundry room and got the dark wash going. Might as well finish it up, I told Brain, it's going to be a long night.
It was an innocent question full of promise.
It could have meant, "Hey, you ran some laundry and folded it and put it away! That was nice!"
Or, "Hey, thanks for running the laundry! You're so thoughtful."
Or, "Hey, I didn't expect you to run some laundry! What a nice surprise."
In fact, simple questions often require long, drawn-out answers and I'm always looking for a way to cut to the chase and move on.
So, when the kids asked, "Where does air come from?"
I would answer, "Ask Mom. She knows."
Ninety percent of all questions can be answered with those four words. Here, though, I was stuck. Yes, I had run some laundry but it was only my camping gear smelling of bug spray, sunscreen, smoke and whatever chemicals my feet produce. I'm sure they have scientific names, but they are collectively known as Ewww-What's-That-Smell.
To the question, "Hey, did you run some laundry?" I should have answered, "Yes, I did. I sorted all the laundry and I have two more loads to run, but I did my camping stuff first to protect your delicate nose."
That's what I should have said; wordy, but correct.
What I actually said was this:
"Yeah, I ran my stuff."
As soon as I heard my words with my own ears, my brain all the while screaming, "Noooooooooooo!" I knew I was doomed.
A deafening silence followed. There were footsteps in the distance and the sound of a door closing. With emphasis. The conversation, such as it was, was over.
Mouth said, "Sorry, Brain, I guess I let you down. Again. What do we do now?"
After a short pause Brain said, "We die."
I sloped off to the laundry room and got the dark wash going. Might as well finish it up, I told Brain, it's going to be a long night.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
George's Grill
This is a real American hamburger made in a real American diner, the kind of place that has been around forever and, hopefully, forever more. It's the kind of place your parents went to when they were young. The kind of place you went to. And the kind of place you're kids will go to. Good food, atmosphere, reasonable prices and a guy named George behind the counter.
George has been working this joint for 47 years and by now he knows the ropes. All of them.
The ropes include "plate" lunches, served on a real plate and set on the menu from Monday through Friday.
Monday is meatloaf with mashed potatoes and green beans.
Tuesday is spaghetti with garlic bread and a green salad.
Wednesday is fried chicken with cut corn and apple pie.
Thursday is roast beef with gravy, baked potato and salad.
Friday is pork chops with apple sauce and cole slaw.
I chose a cheeseburger with the works: lettuce, tomato, pickle and onion. With a side of fries. Fresh, not frozen. And iced tea, shaken not stirred.
George busied himself around the kitchen making sure everything was being served to his standard, and he worked the cash register.
After our lunch the waitress asked us if we had saved room for dessert. By a strange stroke of fate we had, and ice box pie was made to order to fill that room.
Ice box pie. Made in George's kitchen daily. Never a slice remaining at the end of the day, according to George. An ice box pie consists of a flakey crust filled with a pudding or fruit filling and topped with meringue. So good. I was half-way into it before I remembered to take a picture!
And, here's George, the owner, cook and chief bottle washer.
George said, "Haven't I seen you before? You've been here before."
"It's been a while, George, like 43 years. I was probably a bit skinnier."
"Yeah," George said, "I remember. Your hair wasn't so grey."
And he was absolutely right.
George's Grill
175 E. Kings Highway
Shreveport, Louisiana
Friday, October 05, 2007
Monday, October 01, 2007
Happy Birthday, Kink!
Kink the Kat turns One Year Old on his official birthday today. Based on fang size the vet estimated Kink's birthday to be sometime in early October so we picked the 1st as the grand day.
Happy Birthday, Kink, and many more. On channel 4.
Kink, aka the Kinkster, aka Kink-O, aka Kinkers, aka Kinkilito, aka Kinky Dinky has taken the celebrations in stride by sleeping all day. No doubt, there is an all-night party planned and I'm not invited, thank you very much, Kink. Really.
At the grand old age of 1 Kink has outgrown the Slashing and Gnashing Phase which means I'll no longer have to explain the Little Mermaid band-aids.
Kink's favorite sport is Knocking Things off of Other Things and I think he's going pro. However, if you like clean surfaces in your house then Kink's your guy. He can clear a table in a few minutes using a variety of techniques.
There's the Casual Bat, a slight nudging of the object until it falls off the edge.
There's the Two-Pawed Swipe that not only sends objects to the floor but at a great distance.
There's the Full-Frontal Slide that involves a high-speed skid for maximum disruption (especially effective with newspapers).
And there's the Pick-n-Toss that is a double action lift and throw, almost a ballet.
We're happy that the Kinkster brings some excitement to the house and we're looking forward to his second year during which he discovers, hopefully, that's it's not cool to party at 3am.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
PizzaNet
Am I the last person on the planet to have ordered pizza over the Internet?
I've been in a pizza mood lately, something to do with the phase of the moon. I woke up this morning and my first thought was
"Boy, I'd sure like a hot cup of coffee and a slice of pizza."
(Memo to Special K people. Two words: pizza flavor.)
So, this evening as the moon peaked over the horizon looking like a large pepperoni with anchovies and extra cheese, I fell prey to primitive urges and started looking around the kitchen for the phone number to Papa John's. I'm sure many of you out there have that number memorized, but I don't. It's on a yellow Post It note.
Somewhere.
After a few minutes of fruitless searching I thought, "D'oh! I can get the number off the Internet. Mmmmmmm, Internet..."
Off I scurried upstairs and after a few chops on the keyboard Google served me up Papa John's website complete with phone number and order button.
Order button?
What is this "order button?"
Well, nothing kills my appetite faster than a new button on a website so I pushed it and was launched into the Land of Customer Information which I expertly navigated with a few clicks and like an apparition appearing before my eyes was a screen full of pizza thumbnails.
"Mmmmmmm, thumbnails....."
"Order me! Order me!" they all screamed.
I clicked on "The Works," hit Confirm and seconds later my email dinged with a confirmation note. Delivery in 30 minutes.
That's it? Yep, that's it. I went downstairs and sat by the window like a lonely hound dog waiting for its master to return. Sure enough, right at 30 minutes a pizza delivery car pulled up to the curb and Dinner was Served.
"Sign here," Pizza Delivery Guy said.
"No prob," I enthused, "I ordered this pizza over the Internet. All by myself."
"All by yourself, sir?" Pizza Delivery Guy said uncertainly.
"All by myself," I said proudly, "on the Internet. I've got an Internet upstairs." And I pointed up the stairs.
Pizza Delivery Guy slowly backed down the sidewalk saying, "That's freaking awesome, sir, freaking awesome." He got in his car, locked the doors and drove off.
Kink the Kat was sniffing around the pizza box anticipating a handout.
“Whaddya think about that, Kink? Pizza over the Internet.”
Kink gave me The Look, then said, “I can has pizza?”
And we did.
I've been in a pizza mood lately, something to do with the phase of the moon. I woke up this morning and my first thought was
"Boy, I'd sure like a hot cup of coffee and a slice of pizza."
(Memo to Special K people. Two words: pizza flavor.)
So, this evening as the moon peaked over the horizon looking like a large pepperoni with anchovies and extra cheese, I fell prey to primitive urges and started looking around the kitchen for the phone number to Papa John's. I'm sure many of you out there have that number memorized, but I don't. It's on a yellow Post It note.
Somewhere.
After a few minutes of fruitless searching I thought, "D'oh! I can get the number off the Internet. Mmmmmmm, Internet..."
Off I scurried upstairs and after a few chops on the keyboard Google served me up Papa John's website complete with phone number and order button.
Order button?
What is this "order button?"
Well, nothing kills my appetite faster than a new button on a website so I pushed it and was launched into the Land of Customer Information which I expertly navigated with a few clicks and like an apparition appearing before my eyes was a screen full of pizza thumbnails.
"Mmmmmmm, thumbnails....."
"Order me! Order me!" they all screamed.
I clicked on "The Works," hit Confirm and seconds later my email dinged with a confirmation note. Delivery in 30 minutes.
That's it? Yep, that's it. I went downstairs and sat by the window like a lonely hound dog waiting for its master to return. Sure enough, right at 30 minutes a pizza delivery car pulled up to the curb and Dinner was Served.
"Sign here," Pizza Delivery Guy said.
"No prob," I enthused, "I ordered this pizza over the Internet. All by myself."
"All by yourself, sir?" Pizza Delivery Guy said uncertainly.
"All by myself," I said proudly, "on the Internet. I've got an Internet upstairs." And I pointed up the stairs.
Pizza Delivery Guy slowly backed down the sidewalk saying, "That's freaking awesome, sir, freaking awesome." He got in his car, locked the doors and drove off.
Kink the Kat was sniffing around the pizza box anticipating a handout.
“Whaddya think about that, Kink? Pizza over the Internet.”
Kink gave me The Look, then said, “I can has pizza?”
And we did.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Peas Call
I try to be on top of the latest trends in technology but nothing could have prepared me for the cell phone vending machine at the grocery store.
You can buy a cell phone at Kroger’s?
Yep, there it was big as life between the ice machine and the bar-b-que display, a bright, shiny cell phone vending machine with brightly shined cell phones behind glass like candy bars, which is pretty much what it was: ear candy.
Insert a credit card, key in some information on the little touch screen display and clank-bang a cell phone drops down a chute and you’re on your way.
I thought, oh, great, now we’ve given little kids something else to whine about at the store.
“Mommmeeeeee! I wanna cell phone. I wanna cell phone! CELL PHONEEEEE!”
“No, honey, you already have a cell phone. You don’t need another cell phone.”
“Mommmmeeeeee! I wanna BLUE cell phone! BLUUUUE CELLLL PHONEEEE!”
As if we need something else to spoil kids with. Why, when I was a kid I was lucky to get a gumball that cost a penny. And, I’d have to walk to the store to buy it. Uphill. Both ways. In the snow.
“Another gumball, boy? What happened to the one we bought you two years ago, huh? Spoiled brat, I tell you. When I was your age we chewed tar from the road.”
It won’t get any better, either. Years from now we’ll be hearing the same conversations.
“Grammaaa! I wannnnnnt one! PLEEEESSSSSEEEEEEE!”
“I told you no. You haven’t used the anti-gravity belt you got last week. You’re not getting another one.”
“But, Grammaaa! I wanna BLUUUUE one!”
Is there no safe haven even at a grocery store? It’s not like a grocery store had its own line of cell phone, you know, like Apple or Blackberry.
But, isn’t that a great idea! What if grocery stores could market their own line of distinctive cell phone that would allow you, the customer, to distinguish yourself from all those pink, black and blue cell phone owners.
Fruit and vegetable phones could give grocery stores the competitive advantage they need in the fierce cell phone vending market.
I can see the marketing campaign now...
The possibilities are endless. I’ll expect to see fruit and veg phones on the stands within a week. You just can’t hold back great ideas like this.
You can buy a cell phone at Kroger’s?
Yep, there it was big as life between the ice machine and the bar-b-que display, a bright, shiny cell phone vending machine with brightly shined cell phones behind glass like candy bars, which is pretty much what it was: ear candy.
Insert a credit card, key in some information on the little touch screen display and clank-bang a cell phone drops down a chute and you’re on your way.
I thought, oh, great, now we’ve given little kids something else to whine about at the store.
“Mommmeeeeee! I wanna cell phone. I wanna cell phone! CELL PHONEEEEE!”
“No, honey, you already have a cell phone. You don’t need another cell phone.”
“Mommmmeeeeee! I wanna BLUE cell phone! BLUUUUE CELLLL PHONEEEE!”
As if we need something else to spoil kids with. Why, when I was a kid I was lucky to get a gumball that cost a penny. And, I’d have to walk to the store to buy it. Uphill. Both ways. In the snow.
“Another gumball, boy? What happened to the one we bought you two years ago, huh? Spoiled brat, I tell you. When I was your age we chewed tar from the road.”
It won’t get any better, either. Years from now we’ll be hearing the same conversations.
“Grammaaa! I wannnnnnt one! PLEEEESSSSSEEEEEEE!”
“I told you no. You haven’t used the anti-gravity belt you got last week. You’re not getting another one.”
“But, Grammaaa! I wanna BLUUUUE one!”
Is there no safe haven even at a grocery store? It’s not like a grocery store had its own line of cell phone, you know, like Apple or Blackberry.
But, isn’t that a great idea! What if grocery stores could market their own line of distinctive cell phone that would allow you, the customer, to distinguish yourself from all those pink, black and blue cell phone owners.
Fruit and vegetable phones could give grocery stores the competitive advantage they need in the fierce cell phone vending market.
I can see the marketing campaign now...
Who’s that cool person with the cucumber phone?
Got cauliflower ear?
Corn is so obvious a choice it doesn’t bear mentioning.
Lettuce talk!
So much phone, so little cabbage.
His and hers: a pear.
I’ve bean meaning to call you!
Is that a banana in your ear or are you happy to call me?
Orange you glad you bought this cool fruit phone?
Onions bring a tear to my eye, but your call brings a smile to my lips.
The possibilities are endless. I’ll expect to see fruit and veg phones on the stands within a week. You just can’t hold back great ideas like this.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Vegan
I have no idea who Alicia Silverstone is.
Really.
No. Idea. What. So. Ever.
Never heard of her, never saw a film she was in, never read about her in Science or Natural History Magazine, and basically never heard of her.
Who is Alicia Silverstone?
I am clueless.
But, that didn't stop me from watching her pull her wet, naked body out of a swimming pool and deliver some kind of message, which during the massive testosterone rush I forgot.
The conversation went something like this.
"What are you looking at on YouTube?"
"Uh, it's an advertisement for P.E.T.A. The animal people. People for animals. Animal people. You know." I was hastily trying to shut down YouTube but I was so too slow and Alicia was so too naked and I was so too busted.
"How come she isn't wearing any clothes?"
"She's a vegetarian. A virgin. I mean, a vegan. Not from Vega, ha ha, you know, but a plant person. Plant eater. Herbivore. Cow sort of person." I babbled the incoherent language of the so busted. I tried a weak smile as a diversion.
"So, how come she's naked?"
"Well," I stammered, "because she's a vegan. True vegans, I mean, really true vegans don't even wear animal hides." This was a weak defense and I knew I was going down for hard time.
"She could be wearing Spandex, don't you think?"
My brain, saturated by the testosterone rush was sluggish, but instinctively I picked up on the key element, animal hides, and attempted to minimize the damage I had already inflicted on myself.
“Well, that’s true. You don’t get Spandex from squirrels.” Immediately I knew that I wouldn’t have to analyze that statement in retrospect. It sounded totally lame in real-time.
As the Cold Stare bore down upon me I realized that my only option at this point was to take a flying leap off the cliff and hope the net was there.
“We eat too much red meat,” I blurted, “and we’d be healthier if we ate more vegetables and that’s what they’re trying to show with the swimming girl that if you don’t eat so much red meat you won’t look like a manatee coming off a six-month binge at Ben an Jerry’s.” At which point my brain ran out of fuel and sputtered to a halt.
Guilty as charged, Your Honor, with my remaining dignity I awaited execution.
There was a pause and I looked up hopefully.
“Yeah, I can see that. It’s good. Really good. We should do a vegetarian meal two or three times a week. Yeah, I’m on board with that. You can start tonight.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had survived! Caught in the act watching Alicia Silverstone, about whom I have not the foggiest idea, slowly pull her wet, taut, bronze, slippery, lustful body out of a pool of water and say blah blah, so, blah blah, and so blah blah, so amazing, or something like that and live to tell the tale was like Game, Set and Match plus Bonus!
I basked in my euphoria as visions of Alicia slipped below the surface.
Dinner.
Ah, the brain started up again. (Darn you, brain!) I had to come up with a vegan dinner. What to do? What to do? I thought of the great chefs from the Food Network.
I thought, What Would Emeril Do?
Deep fried pork in pork fat with pork fat fritters and deep fried pork fat. Hmmmm, no.
I thought, What Would Bobby Do?
Bar-B-Que whole hog stuffed with chickens stuffed with prairie dogs stuffed with lizards... Hmmmm, no.
What Would Rachael Do?
Pour in the EVOO and throw in your onions (yum-mie!), zucchini (yum!), lots of garlic (double yum!), tomatoes (yum-a-rum-tum-yum) and this is going to be so yummy that my yummer is in overdrive! Yum!...
And that was it: Ratatouille!
There was even a vegan movie about a rat by the same name. I was saved!
Ratatouille: zucchini, egg plant, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, garlic, tomato paste, spices and I was a Vegan Hero.
I got busy and in no time had my vegan creation simmering and giving off good smells. Well, mostly good smells. I lifted the lid and wafted the aroma into my nostrils. Yeah, garlicky and onioney and tomatoey but something was missing. Something was missing. What could it be?
Something...
(Later that night.)
“Ummmmm, this is great! So flavorful. So hearty. So healthy.”
“It’s all in the spices,” I waffled, “you layer them in. First onion, then garlic, then basil...”
“Whatever.” I was cut off. “Yummmmmy, this is good. I had no idea vegan could be so tasty. Maybe we should do this all the time, you know, go all veggie.”
I pretended to focus on a piece of corn bread.
“This is soooo good,” the compliments kept coming. Then a pause.
“Hey, what’s this?” holding a spoon towards me.
“Uh, I think that’s a piece of mushroom.”
“It doesn’t look like mushroom. It doesn’t smell like mushroom. What is this?”
“Well,” I stammered, feeling my brain about to shut down for the second time today, “it could be a piece of sausage. But, a very small piece. Tiny. No account. Not worth bothering about. I mean, not like a whole squirrel or something...” I was starting to blather.
“So, what do you call this,” pointing to her bowl, “this is supposed to be vegan. What do you call this?”
The missing ingredient was provided by a pound of Andouille sausage, chopped small. I cursed my luck at getting busted twice in one day. In my mind I heard the clanks and bangs of gears shifting, rods pushing, hydraulic lines tensing and out of all that noise forged in desperation came this:
“I call this the Spirit of Vega. It is the essence of Alicia, slim and savory with just a hint of meat.”
After a few moments I cautiously opened one eye.
“Well, it’s very good, and I think it’s a step in the right direction.”
What? I passed? I made it? I thought, Yessssssss! Who da man? Who da man? And as I was about to do my end zone victory dance I heard,
“I’ll expect more meals like this but if I catch you watching any more P.E.T.A. ads on the Internet I’ll break all your fingers.”
Fair trade, I thought, as I Googled “recipes squirrel Spandex.”
Really.
No. Idea. What. So. Ever.
Never heard of her, never saw a film she was in, never read about her in Science or Natural History Magazine, and basically never heard of her.
Who is Alicia Silverstone?
I am clueless.
But, that didn't stop me from watching her pull her wet, naked body out of a swimming pool and deliver some kind of message, which during the massive testosterone rush I forgot.
The conversation went something like this.
"What are you looking at on YouTube?"
"Uh, it's an advertisement for P.E.T.A. The animal people. People for animals. Animal people. You know." I was hastily trying to shut down YouTube but I was so too slow and Alicia was so too naked and I was so too busted.
"How come she isn't wearing any clothes?"
"She's a vegetarian. A virgin. I mean, a vegan. Not from Vega, ha ha, you know, but a plant person. Plant eater. Herbivore. Cow sort of person." I babbled the incoherent language of the so busted. I tried a weak smile as a diversion.
"So, how come she's naked?"
"Well," I stammered, "because she's a vegan. True vegans, I mean, really true vegans don't even wear animal hides." This was a weak defense and I knew I was going down for hard time.
"She could be wearing Spandex, don't you think?"
My brain, saturated by the testosterone rush was sluggish, but instinctively I picked up on the key element, animal hides, and attempted to minimize the damage I had already inflicted on myself.
“Well, that’s true. You don’t get Spandex from squirrels.” Immediately I knew that I wouldn’t have to analyze that statement in retrospect. It sounded totally lame in real-time.
As the Cold Stare bore down upon me I realized that my only option at this point was to take a flying leap off the cliff and hope the net was there.
“We eat too much red meat,” I blurted, “and we’d be healthier if we ate more vegetables and that’s what they’re trying to show with the swimming girl that if you don’t eat so much red meat you won’t look like a manatee coming off a six-month binge at Ben an Jerry’s.” At which point my brain ran out of fuel and sputtered to a halt.
Guilty as charged, Your Honor, with my remaining dignity I awaited execution.
There was a pause and I looked up hopefully.
“Yeah, I can see that. It’s good. Really good. We should do a vegetarian meal two or three times a week. Yeah, I’m on board with that. You can start tonight.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had survived! Caught in the act watching Alicia Silverstone, about whom I have not the foggiest idea, slowly pull her wet, taut, bronze, slippery, lustful body out of a pool of water and say blah blah, so, blah blah, and so blah blah, so amazing, or something like that and live to tell the tale was like Game, Set and Match plus Bonus!
I basked in my euphoria as visions of Alicia slipped below the surface.
Dinner.
Ah, the brain started up again. (Darn you, brain!) I had to come up with a vegan dinner. What to do? What to do? I thought of the great chefs from the Food Network.
I thought, What Would Emeril Do?
Deep fried pork in pork fat with pork fat fritters and deep fried pork fat. Hmmmm, no.
I thought, What Would Bobby Do?
Bar-B-Que whole hog stuffed with chickens stuffed with prairie dogs stuffed with lizards... Hmmmm, no.
What Would Rachael Do?
Pour in the EVOO and throw in your onions (yum-mie!), zucchini (yum!), lots of garlic (double yum!), tomatoes (yum-a-rum-tum-yum) and this is going to be so yummy that my yummer is in overdrive! Yum!...
And that was it: Ratatouille!
There was even a vegan movie about a rat by the same name. I was saved!
Ratatouille: zucchini, egg plant, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, garlic, tomato paste, spices and I was a Vegan Hero.
I got busy and in no time had my vegan creation simmering and giving off good smells. Well, mostly good smells. I lifted the lid and wafted the aroma into my nostrils. Yeah, garlicky and onioney and tomatoey but something was missing. Something was missing. What could it be?
Something...
(Later that night.)
“Ummmmm, this is great! So flavorful. So hearty. So healthy.”
“It’s all in the spices,” I waffled, “you layer them in. First onion, then garlic, then basil...”
“Whatever.” I was cut off. “Yummmmmy, this is good. I had no idea vegan could be so tasty. Maybe we should do this all the time, you know, go all veggie.”
I pretended to focus on a piece of corn bread.
“This is soooo good,” the compliments kept coming. Then a pause.
“Hey, what’s this?” holding a spoon towards me.
“Uh, I think that’s a piece of mushroom.”
“It doesn’t look like mushroom. It doesn’t smell like mushroom. What is this?”
“Well,” I stammered, feeling my brain about to shut down for the second time today, “it could be a piece of sausage. But, a very small piece. Tiny. No account. Not worth bothering about. I mean, not like a whole squirrel or something...” I was starting to blather.
“So, what do you call this,” pointing to her bowl, “this is supposed to be vegan. What do you call this?”
The missing ingredient was provided by a pound of Andouille sausage, chopped small. I cursed my luck at getting busted twice in one day. In my mind I heard the clanks and bangs of gears shifting, rods pushing, hydraulic lines tensing and out of all that noise forged in desperation came this:
“I call this the Spirit of Vega. It is the essence of Alicia, slim and savory with just a hint of meat.”
After a few moments I cautiously opened one eye.
“Well, it’s very good, and I think it’s a step in the right direction.”
What? I passed? I made it? I thought, Yessssssss! Who da man? Who da man? And as I was about to do my end zone victory dance I heard,
“I’ll expect more meals like this but if I catch you watching any more P.E.T.A. ads on the Internet I’ll break all your fingers.”
Fair trade, I thought, as I Googled “recipes squirrel Spandex.”
Monday, September 10, 2007
9-11 Remembered
Where were you when...
President Kennedy was assassinated.
I was sitting at my desk in the 7th grade home room. It was just after lunch. Our teacher, Polly Alford, came in and she looked particularly grim. She normally looked grim but at this moment she looked Particularly Grim.
Mrs. Alford brought us to order and then rambled on about government and democracy and how great America was, and we were trying to figure out if we should be taking notes or hiding under our desks.
Then, she paused, looked out the window and when she turned around she looked less grim but very, very sad. She said quietly, almost in a whisper, “The President has been shot.”
There was a momentary pause and the kind of silence during which you could hear a pin drop. Suddenly, one of our goofier classmates started laughing and blurted out, “Good! My mom and dad voted for Nixon!” Many of us laughed, but Mrs. Alford didn’t laugh. No, Mrs. Alford drew herself to her entire six-foot height and hissed like the python I always knew she was, “Sssssssssilenssssse!”
The babbling stopped at once and before Mrs. Alford could unleash the tirade about Respect that we knew was coming the Librarian appeared in the doorway.
The Librarian was a nice, old lady with grey hair and librarian glasses. She stood in the doorway quietly like you’d expect a librarian to do, and then she took off her glasses and dabbed the corner of her left eye with a tiny handkerchief. My desk was nearest the doorway and I could see that the handkerchief was embroidered along the edge.
Mrs. Alford turned and faced the librarian who simply said, “He’s dead. The President is dead.”
I thought that Mrs. Alford was going to faint. She blanched, turned to her desk and sat down in her chair, heavily. After a few minutes of silence she looked up and said,
“The President has been shot dead. Can anybody tell me who will now become President? Let’s write on the board the order of succession. Who can name the Vice President?”
And, so, we discussed government in real-time and life went on.
Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landed on the moon
I was in Titusville, Pennsylvania during a summer road trip around America. My high school buddy and I had set off from Phoenix in June, travelled and camped around the edge of the country and into Canada and ended up at his aunt’s house in Titusville for a week or so of decent food and a solid roof over our heads. We decided to spend a few extra days in Titusville because his aunt had a TV and the moon landing was coming up.
The moon landing was to be two events. The actual landing did not have a live video feed but the networks would broadcast the radio traffic as it happened. The next evening the networks would broadcast live video from the moon of the actual descent to the surface by Neil Armstrong.
For some reason I was the only person in the house when the landing occurred. The aunt was not too interested in the whole affair and my traveling companion was lukewarm also. I, however, always the geek, couldn’t get enough and was riveted to the TV even though it was a radio transmission.
I grew up with the space program and knew by heart all the terminology. So, as Neil and Buzz transmitted to Houston flight data I was right there with them. As copied from the flight transcript I heard the following:
Aldrin: 40 feet , down 2 and a half. 2 forward. 2 forward. That’s good.
Aldrin: 40 feet, down two and a half. Picking up some dust.
Aldrin: 30 feet, two and a half down. Shadow.
Aldrin: 4 forward. 4 forward. Drifting to the right a little. 20 feet, down a half.
Aldrin: Contact light.
Armstrong: Shutdown.
Aldrin: OK. Engine stop.
Aldrin: ACA out of Detent.
Armstrong: Out of Detent. Auto.
Aldrin: Mode Contro, both Auto. Descent Engine Command Override, Off. Engine Arm, Off. 413 is in.
Houston: We copy you down, Eagle.
Armstrong: Engine arm is off. (pause) Tranquility Base here, the Eagle has landed.
Houston: (pause) Roger, Twan (pause) Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You’e got a bunch of guys here about to turn blue. We’re breathing again. Thanks a lot.
We were all turning blue. I was turning blue. I could imagine the entire descent sequence because I had studied the procedures for years. Looking back, I had no concerns that there would be a problem. Of course they would land. Of course they would return home. What could go wrong?
To me the subsequent descent to the surface the following evening was anticlimactic. The hard part was landing. After that, what could go wrong?
Apollo 11 came and went and life went on.
9-11-2001
On the morning of September 11th, 2001 I was sitting at my desk doing the usual: reading email, getting ready for staff meeting and going through some papers.
The phone rang. It was my colleague, Mike, in Odessa, Texas.
“Hey, Bill, are you scanning CNN,” Mike asked?
“Well, I was about 10 minutes ago but not now. What’s up?”
“Check it out,” Mike continued, “a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in New York.”
“No shit,” I said, “like a Piper Cub or something? Did air traffic control send it there?”
I had no idea of what had really happened but as I surfed to CNN and brought up the live video feed I could see thick black smoke billowing out of one of the towers. I still thought it was a light aircraft that had been misdirected, somehow, to fly on course into the building.
“Mike, wouldn’t the pilot see the building and go around it or over it?”
Mike said, “I dunno. Maybe there was an engine problem or something.”
As we discussed what could have caused a small aircraft to fly into a building I surfed other news feeds for information and lost the live CNN video. Finally, I got a live video from the BBC News website.
I told Mike. “Hey, I can’t get back to CNN but I’ve got a live feed from the BBC. Man, that building is smoking. Do you think there are people on the roof?”
Mike replied that he didn’t know but there were helicopters circling and maybe they were trying to rescue people from the roof.
Moments later there was a flash and a huge fireball erupted.
“Oh, man,” I exclaimed to Mike, “did you see that? The fire just exploded.” I thought the eruption came from the building on fire. Seconds later it became obvious that the other building had exploded. Mike and I both thought that the fire had “leapt” to the other building.
Moments later the BBC reporters said that a second aircraft had impacted the other World Trade Center tower.
This was all very confusing.
“You mean air traffic control sent a second airplane through the middle of the city? What’s going on?” I asked Mike.
Then the reporters on the scene started to piece the story together. These weren’t light aircraft, they were commercial airliners and they were flown into the buildings intentionally. Within a few minutes there was video of the second plane circling over the city and heading directly into the World Trade Center.
Soon, the hallways were filled with people talking about the “attack” on New York City. We moved up to the conference room on the 8th floor where CNN was being broadcast over two large projectors onto two floor-to-ceiling screens.
We watched black smoke billow out of the twin towers, we watched helicopters and aircraft circle the stricken buildings and we watched people jump.
That was quite disturbing. Because of the telephoto camera shots of the buildings we could see figures plummeting from the open windows. We watched in horrified silence.
Then the first tower wavered, quivered a little, swayed ever so gently, and collapsed in a heap. There were screams on CNN. There were screams in the room on the 8th floor. Nobody expected to see that. However, in a room full of engineers soon the discussion went from horror to an analysis of what had happened and how the floors of a high rise would “pancake” down once the support structure was weakened enough.
All eyes turned to the second tower. It was burning fiercely and there was no hope of stopping the fire. It was only a matter of time and that’s all it took; a matter of time. The second tower swayed back and forth then collapsed into itself in a cloud of smoke, dust, fire and screams. Even though we had seen one tower go down, the sight of the second tower collapsing was just as horrific.
How many people were in the building? What about the people on the streets below?
We had lots of questions, no answers, and thought of work on that day in 2001 went out the window. I remember following the news during the day about the Pentagon attack and the flight that went down in Pennsylvania. The news finally pieced together enough of the story to announce that we were under attack by “terrorists” and my thought at that time was of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and how it galvanized this country to go to war. Awakened the Sleeping Giant came to mind.
And I thought, this is going to be bad. Very, very bad because you don’t tug on Superman’s cape and you don’t mess around with Jim.
It’s been bad and life has gone on.
President Kennedy was assassinated.
I was sitting at my desk in the 7th grade home room. It was just after lunch. Our teacher, Polly Alford, came in and she looked particularly grim. She normally looked grim but at this moment she looked Particularly Grim.
Mrs. Alford brought us to order and then rambled on about government and democracy and how great America was, and we were trying to figure out if we should be taking notes or hiding under our desks.
Then, she paused, looked out the window and when she turned around she looked less grim but very, very sad. She said quietly, almost in a whisper, “The President has been shot.”
There was a momentary pause and the kind of silence during which you could hear a pin drop. Suddenly, one of our goofier classmates started laughing and blurted out, “Good! My mom and dad voted for Nixon!” Many of us laughed, but Mrs. Alford didn’t laugh. No, Mrs. Alford drew herself to her entire six-foot height and hissed like the python I always knew she was, “Sssssssssilenssssse!”
The babbling stopped at once and before Mrs. Alford could unleash the tirade about Respect that we knew was coming the Librarian appeared in the doorway.
The Librarian was a nice, old lady with grey hair and librarian glasses. She stood in the doorway quietly like you’d expect a librarian to do, and then she took off her glasses and dabbed the corner of her left eye with a tiny handkerchief. My desk was nearest the doorway and I could see that the handkerchief was embroidered along the edge.
Mrs. Alford turned and faced the librarian who simply said, “He’s dead. The President is dead.”
I thought that Mrs. Alford was going to faint. She blanched, turned to her desk and sat down in her chair, heavily. After a few minutes of silence she looked up and said,
“The President has been shot dead. Can anybody tell me who will now become President? Let’s write on the board the order of succession. Who can name the Vice President?”
And, so, we discussed government in real-time and life went on.
Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landed on the moon
I was in Titusville, Pennsylvania during a summer road trip around America. My high school buddy and I had set off from Phoenix in June, travelled and camped around the edge of the country and into Canada and ended up at his aunt’s house in Titusville for a week or so of decent food and a solid roof over our heads. We decided to spend a few extra days in Titusville because his aunt had a TV and the moon landing was coming up.
The moon landing was to be two events. The actual landing did not have a live video feed but the networks would broadcast the radio traffic as it happened. The next evening the networks would broadcast live video from the moon of the actual descent to the surface by Neil Armstrong.
For some reason I was the only person in the house when the landing occurred. The aunt was not too interested in the whole affair and my traveling companion was lukewarm also. I, however, always the geek, couldn’t get enough and was riveted to the TV even though it was a radio transmission.
I grew up with the space program and knew by heart all the terminology. So, as Neil and Buzz transmitted to Houston flight data I was right there with them. As copied from the flight transcript I heard the following:
Aldrin: 40 feet , down 2 and a half. 2 forward. 2 forward. That’s good.
Aldrin: 40 feet, down two and a half. Picking up some dust.
Aldrin: 30 feet, two and a half down. Shadow.
Aldrin: 4 forward. 4 forward. Drifting to the right a little. 20 feet, down a half.
Aldrin: Contact light.
Armstrong: Shutdown.
Aldrin: OK. Engine stop.
Aldrin: ACA out of Detent.
Armstrong: Out of Detent. Auto.
Aldrin: Mode Contro, both Auto. Descent Engine Command Override, Off. Engine Arm, Off. 413 is in.
Houston: We copy you down, Eagle.
Armstrong: Engine arm is off. (pause) Tranquility Base here, the Eagle has landed.
Houston: (pause) Roger, Twan (pause) Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You’e got a bunch of guys here about to turn blue. We’re breathing again. Thanks a lot.
We were all turning blue. I was turning blue. I could imagine the entire descent sequence because I had studied the procedures for years. Looking back, I had no concerns that there would be a problem. Of course they would land. Of course they would return home. What could go wrong?
To me the subsequent descent to the surface the following evening was anticlimactic. The hard part was landing. After that, what could go wrong?
Apollo 11 came and went and life went on.
9-11-2001
On the morning of September 11th, 2001 I was sitting at my desk doing the usual: reading email, getting ready for staff meeting and going through some papers.
The phone rang. It was my colleague, Mike, in Odessa, Texas.
“Hey, Bill, are you scanning CNN,” Mike asked?
“Well, I was about 10 minutes ago but not now. What’s up?”
“Check it out,” Mike continued, “a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in New York.”
“No shit,” I said, “like a Piper Cub or something? Did air traffic control send it there?”
I had no idea of what had really happened but as I surfed to CNN and brought up the live video feed I could see thick black smoke billowing out of one of the towers. I still thought it was a light aircraft that had been misdirected, somehow, to fly on course into the building.
“Mike, wouldn’t the pilot see the building and go around it or over it?”
Mike said, “I dunno. Maybe there was an engine problem or something.”
As we discussed what could have caused a small aircraft to fly into a building I surfed other news feeds for information and lost the live CNN video. Finally, I got a live video from the BBC News website.
I told Mike. “Hey, I can’t get back to CNN but I’ve got a live feed from the BBC. Man, that building is smoking. Do you think there are people on the roof?”
Mike replied that he didn’t know but there were helicopters circling and maybe they were trying to rescue people from the roof.
Moments later there was a flash and a huge fireball erupted.
“Oh, man,” I exclaimed to Mike, “did you see that? The fire just exploded.” I thought the eruption came from the building on fire. Seconds later it became obvious that the other building had exploded. Mike and I both thought that the fire had “leapt” to the other building.
Moments later the BBC reporters said that a second aircraft had impacted the other World Trade Center tower.
This was all very confusing.
“You mean air traffic control sent a second airplane through the middle of the city? What’s going on?” I asked Mike.
Then the reporters on the scene started to piece the story together. These weren’t light aircraft, they were commercial airliners and they were flown into the buildings intentionally. Within a few minutes there was video of the second plane circling over the city and heading directly into the World Trade Center.
Soon, the hallways were filled with people talking about the “attack” on New York City. We moved up to the conference room on the 8th floor where CNN was being broadcast over two large projectors onto two floor-to-ceiling screens.
We watched black smoke billow out of the twin towers, we watched helicopters and aircraft circle the stricken buildings and we watched people jump.
That was quite disturbing. Because of the telephoto camera shots of the buildings we could see figures plummeting from the open windows. We watched in horrified silence.
Then the first tower wavered, quivered a little, swayed ever so gently, and collapsed in a heap. There were screams on CNN. There were screams in the room on the 8th floor. Nobody expected to see that. However, in a room full of engineers soon the discussion went from horror to an analysis of what had happened and how the floors of a high rise would “pancake” down once the support structure was weakened enough.
All eyes turned to the second tower. It was burning fiercely and there was no hope of stopping the fire. It was only a matter of time and that’s all it took; a matter of time. The second tower swayed back and forth then collapsed into itself in a cloud of smoke, dust, fire and screams. Even though we had seen one tower go down, the sight of the second tower collapsing was just as horrific.
How many people were in the building? What about the people on the streets below?
We had lots of questions, no answers, and thought of work on that day in 2001 went out the window. I remember following the news during the day about the Pentagon attack and the flight that went down in Pennsylvania. The news finally pieced together enough of the story to announce that we were under attack by “terrorists” and my thought at that time was of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and how it galvanized this country to go to war. Awakened the Sleeping Giant came to mind.
And I thought, this is going to be bad. Very, very bad because you don’t tug on Superman’s cape and you don’t mess around with Jim.
It’s been bad and life has gone on.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Tag! I’m IT!
In a former life I worked in Information Technology, aka “IT.” IT started as “computer stuff” then became more refined as Data Processing, then Computer Applications, then Management Information Services, then just Information Services and finally Information Technology.
I guess the names meant something to someone but to those of us on the front line of the business it was still “computer stuff.” We programmed computers, we loved them and hated them in the same day. We lovingly unpacked them, fed them clean power and dusted their little blinking displays, and, years later, hurled them into a dumpster without so much as a good-bye, more a good riddance.
Yes, we in Information Technology were tough taskmasters; always distracted by the next shiny object.
And we were a fickle bunch. I remember the lunchroom discussions when Hewlett-Packard decided to switch from light olive to pewter as a color for their computer enclosures.
We were deadly serious.
“I hope they cornered the market on that pewter Pantone color or they could find themselves shades different, SHADES DIFFERENT, in a few years,” I recall hearing a co-worker foam.
Shades different! Heavens to Betsy that could sink the stock price!
Good old Hewlett-Packard or HP as we in the know refer to it. HP is still hanging in there in spite of not cornering the pewter Pantone color market twenty years ago. HP developed one of the first and arguably the best handheld calculator back in 1972. They followed with a line of mini-computers that brought computing power into colleges and small businesses for a few thousand dollars at a time when mainframe computers cost millions.
And during my years of servitude in IT I programmed on those HP minicomputers in an era before the Internet, before cell phones…
It was way cool.
Now, here I am at home. Home. Not a business. Not a corporation. A place inhabited by cats. And I’ve got more computers than you can shake a stick at. Upstairs, downstairs, wireless network, wireless printers, scanners, stereo hook-ups. You name it and I’m running it. It’s a full time job just keeping the printers supplied with paper!
I’ve got drawers of spare print cartridges, drawers full of wires and old power supplies, connector cables, antennas, tools and all sorts of stuff. Need a framastat? No problem, I’ve got two!
Every day I go around the house doing IT maintenance; checking print levels and paper supplies, checking bandwidth, doing backup, cleaning up spam. I tell you, it’s a job.
And, so, it’s with some poignancy that my venerable home computer, faithfully running Windows 98 for nearly ten years, finally cratered, kicked the bit bucket, shrugged its mortal modem coil and displayed one last Black Screen of Death. It’s death rattle was a rakkity-rack, rakkity-rack of a crashed disc drive and, in the end, I pulled out the power cord and heard that final Doppler whine down of it’s fans and motors until there was only silence.
It was dead. Not kipping on its back, it was. This pavilion was dead. A goner. Deceased. Met its maker. Passed beyond. Departed.
In short, toast.
Realizing that we were now One Computer Down in the house I switched into IT mode and determined immediately what had to be done.
“Hey, I’m going up to the mall. Do you need anything?” I offered innocently.
“It’s raining. Why are you going to the mall in the rain? You’re not going to buy a computer, are you?”
Dang those managers! Think fast, think fast.
“Uh, no, er, don’t be silly. Why would I do that? I, uh, need to get a, uh, um, er, power cord. Yeah, that’s it, a power cord. I, I mean WE, need a power cord. New one. Pewter.” I was rambling.
“OK, that sounds good. Just make sure you get a 20-inch power cord with 320 Gb of disc space and at least 2 Gb of memory. Oh, and don’t forget Apple Care. Hurry home!”
Stunned momentarily I let the commands sink in before running to the garage lest I wake up. That sounds like one of these:
In a trice I was returned with the “power cord” and proceeded to set it up. Fortunately, Setup Assistant was there to help me through the process and soon we were synchronizing files, loading this and that and having a wonderful time.
About half way through the setup procedure, now that I was in full IT mode, I started thinking about the network. It’s old our network is. Very old. Ancient. 802.11.b sort of old. I’m surprised we can download any videos from Girls Gone Wild, I mean, CNN at that speed. We definitely need an upgrade. I might have to wait a week or so before going out for another “power cord” although if I’m careful I can hide the cost in our Tater Tots budget.
Hey, I didn’t spend all that time in IT and learn nothing!
While I’m at it we could use a laser printer and a big screen TV, and surround sound and, well, as Chief Information Officer of the house I’ll need a Corvette to drive around in. And a condo. Definitely need a condo for off-site planning meetings. And if I go over budget I can blame the kids! Perfect, just like the old days.
I can’t wait!
I guess the names meant something to someone but to those of us on the front line of the business it was still “computer stuff.” We programmed computers, we loved them and hated them in the same day. We lovingly unpacked them, fed them clean power and dusted their little blinking displays, and, years later, hurled them into a dumpster without so much as a good-bye, more a good riddance.
Yes, we in Information Technology were tough taskmasters; always distracted by the next shiny object.
And we were a fickle bunch. I remember the lunchroom discussions when Hewlett-Packard decided to switch from light olive to pewter as a color for their computer enclosures.
We were deadly serious.
“I hope they cornered the market on that pewter Pantone color or they could find themselves shades different, SHADES DIFFERENT, in a few years,” I recall hearing a co-worker foam.
Shades different! Heavens to Betsy that could sink the stock price!
Good old Hewlett-Packard or HP as we in the know refer to it. HP is still hanging in there in spite of not cornering the pewter Pantone color market twenty years ago. HP developed one of the first and arguably the best handheld calculator back in 1972. They followed with a line of mini-computers that brought computing power into colleges and small businesses for a few thousand dollars at a time when mainframe computers cost millions.
And during my years of servitude in IT I programmed on those HP minicomputers in an era before the Internet, before cell phones…
It was way cool.
Now, here I am at home. Home. Not a business. Not a corporation. A place inhabited by cats. And I’ve got more computers than you can shake a stick at. Upstairs, downstairs, wireless network, wireless printers, scanners, stereo hook-ups. You name it and I’m running it. It’s a full time job just keeping the printers supplied with paper!
I’ve got drawers of spare print cartridges, drawers full of wires and old power supplies, connector cables, antennas, tools and all sorts of stuff. Need a framastat? No problem, I’ve got two!
Every day I go around the house doing IT maintenance; checking print levels and paper supplies, checking bandwidth, doing backup, cleaning up spam. I tell you, it’s a job.
And, so, it’s with some poignancy that my venerable home computer, faithfully running Windows 98 for nearly ten years, finally cratered, kicked the bit bucket, shrugged its mortal modem coil and displayed one last Black Screen of Death. It’s death rattle was a rakkity-rack, rakkity-rack of a crashed disc drive and, in the end, I pulled out the power cord and heard that final Doppler whine down of it’s fans and motors until there was only silence.
It was dead. Not kipping on its back, it was. This pavilion was dead. A goner. Deceased. Met its maker. Passed beyond. Departed.
In short, toast.
Realizing that we were now One Computer Down in the house I switched into IT mode and determined immediately what had to be done.
“Hey, I’m going up to the mall. Do you need anything?” I offered innocently.
“It’s raining. Why are you going to the mall in the rain? You’re not going to buy a computer, are you?”
Dang those managers! Think fast, think fast.
“Uh, no, er, don’t be silly. Why would I do that? I, uh, need to get a, uh, um, er, power cord. Yeah, that’s it, a power cord. I, I mean WE, need a power cord. New one. Pewter.” I was rambling.
“OK, that sounds good. Just make sure you get a 20-inch power cord with 320 Gb of disc space and at least 2 Gb of memory. Oh, and don’t forget Apple Care. Hurry home!”
Stunned momentarily I let the commands sink in before running to the garage lest I wake up. That sounds like one of these:
In a trice I was returned with the “power cord” and proceeded to set it up. Fortunately, Setup Assistant was there to help me through the process and soon we were synchronizing files, loading this and that and having a wonderful time.
About half way through the setup procedure, now that I was in full IT mode, I started thinking about the network. It’s old our network is. Very old. Ancient. 802.11.b sort of old. I’m surprised we can download any videos from Girls Gone Wild, I mean, CNN at that speed. We definitely need an upgrade. I might have to wait a week or so before going out for another “power cord” although if I’m careful I can hide the cost in our Tater Tots budget.
Hey, I didn’t spend all that time in IT and learn nothing!
While I’m at it we could use a laser printer and a big screen TV, and surround sound and, well, as Chief Information Officer of the house I’ll need a Corvette to drive around in. And a condo. Definitely need a condo for off-site planning meetings. And if I go over budget I can blame the kids! Perfect, just like the old days.
I can’t wait!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Returned
Hello All.
I have returned from a month-long journey and have taken care of some nasty spam that infected the site.
I also finished the final Harry Potter book and thought it was brilliant. No spoilers here. JK did a masterful job of ending the story and tying up the loose ends. I'll have to read them all again just for fun.
More later.
I have returned from a month-long journey and have taken care of some nasty spam that infected the site.
I also finished the final Harry Potter book and thought it was brilliant. No spoilers here. JK did a masterful job of ending the story and tying up the loose ends. I'll have to read them all again just for fun.
More later.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Closings
The closing ceremony for the 21st World Scout Jamboree was held last night in true Scouting fashion - in the rain. However, the weather did not dampen the spirits of the 40,000 participants who celebrated 100 years of Scouting, ending nine days of activities, meeting people from other countries and general good fellowship.
The little city we built two weeks ago is coming down around our ears and every hour more of the park is visible. By tomorrow all that will be left will be neat piles of equipment, tents, flags, poles and fittings waiting to be picked up and distributed. Most of the equipment purchased by the Jamboree will be donated to Scouting and humanitarian organizations.
More stories and pictures will be forthcoming when I have more than a few minutes of Internet time.
The Internet. Who knew?
The little city we built two weeks ago is coming down around our ears and every hour more of the park is visible. By tomorrow all that will be left will be neat piles of equipment, tents, flags, poles and fittings waiting to be picked up and distributed. Most of the equipment purchased by the Jamboree will be donated to Scouting and humanitarian organizations.
More stories and pictures will be forthcoming when I have more than a few minutes of Internet time.
The Internet. Who knew?
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
100 Years of Worldwide Scouting
Celebrate 100 years of Scouting around the world. Scouts from all 158 countries who are members of the World Scouting Organization are represented here at Hylands Park to participate in the 21st World Jamboree.
Check out the fun!
Check out the fun!
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