Yeah, you finished your Fourth NaBloPoMo in a row. You can haz pat on bak now.
I cares.
Rly.
Monday, November 30, 2009
I Can Haz Care
Yeah, you finished your Fourth NaBloPoMo in a row. You can haz pat on bak now.
I cares.
Rly.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Trying Angles
A report on National Public Radio the other day reported on something I've known intuitively for years: sandwiches taste better if they're cut diagonally.
Triangles taste better than rectangles? Apparently so! It was on the radio. Must be true.
The reporter even went so far as to dig up (literally, I think) an historian who argued that the triangle was one of the original Platonic Solids and, thus, by dint of being Greek, I guess, tasted better. I never knew one could have a Platonic relationship with a sandwich, but there you have it. It was on the radio. Must be true.
Sandwiches taste better if they're cut diagonally. Furthermore, people know this either innately or by experience which explains why people preferentially select triangle-shaped over rectangle-shaped sandwiches.
I pondered this for quite a while, several minutes at least, and mused about my own sandwich eating preferences and concluded that I must operate at a simpler, less Platonic, level. Call it "reptilian."
See sandwich. Eat sandwich.
That's about it.
I tried to harken a time in which I thought, "Ah, the Rectangle! Four 90-degree angles on the inside, four perfect corners on the outside. My, oh, my is this sandwich going to be good!"
Nor, I confess, could I recall a time thinking, "Ah, the Triangle! Oh, and an isosceles Right Triangle at that. Why, bless Plato, this sandwich is going to be good!"
Nope. All I could dredge up were vague, disturbing images of my forked tongue flicking in and out, and then everything went blank.
So, being unable to confirm the NPR report, regardless of the fact that it was on the radio, must be true, I set out to conduct my own scientific study on Sandwich Shape Preference.
I started out by constructing two identical sandwiches: turkey salad with tomato, avocado and Romaine lettuce on home-baked wheat bread. (See Figure 1, below.)
Figure 1
Next, using my best English steel carving knife honed to surgical standards I cut one sandwich perpendicular to the crust to form two rectangles, and the other sandwich was cut along the diagonal to form two triangles. Identical ingredients served on identical plates, the only difference being The Cut. (See Rectangle Cut and Triangle Cut, below.)
Rectangle Cut
Triangle Cut
The next part of the experiment was a little tricky. I wanted to solicit the opinions of twenty people at random, but where to get twenty random people? Turns out the solution was right in front of my nose, rather, my house.
The walkers.
On a Sunday there is a continuous parade of neighbors out for a stroll or walking their dogs. All day long. Back and forth, often the same people. Very random and very perfect.
So, I decided to stop people as they walked by the house to get their opinion and settle the sandwich shape debate once and for all, scientifically.
Now, do you have any idea how many people either start walking faster or even break into a run if you stop them and ask a simple question like, "Do you want to have a look at my turkey sandwich?"
Seriously! After an hour I had to change my approach totally. First, be polite. Second, sound more scientific. Third, invoke authority.
"Excuse me, sir or madam, would you be interested in offering your educated analysis for a project somewhat under the guise of PNR?"
"Are you working under the auspices of N-P-R?"
"More like under the influence."
"Yes, I'd be delighted."
In no time I had twenty considered opinions and the results were both unequivocal and conclusive.
Rectangles are preferred. TWENTY to ZERO! Yes, every random person picked Rectangle. No hesitation.
I know, I was shocked, too. This shakes my faith in radio. Can nothing be trusted? What about Plato and the Solids and the aesthetics of triangles over rectangles. Was that all just hype? What else has NPR got wrong? Does this mean that in Lake Woebegone the women aren't strong and all the children aren't above average? Or instead of Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me we should tell people right away? Should Science Friday be on Wednesday? Should we only consider Some Things?
Clearly, the conclusion to be drawn from this scientific experiment is not to accept things at face value. We must place a higher premium on skepticism. We should all move to Missouri. There's more at stake here than Triangles or Rectangles, Boxers or Briefs. I believe that we are talking about Civilization or Savagery.
Seriously. Think about it.
In conclusion let's contemplate the once-maligned Rectangle whose tarnished reputation was given a slight buff today. Here's to you, Rectangle, well done! (See the Winner, below.)
The Winner
Triangles taste better than rectangles? Apparently so! It was on the radio. Must be true.
The reporter even went so far as to dig up (literally, I think) an historian who argued that the triangle was one of the original Platonic Solids and, thus, by dint of being Greek, I guess, tasted better. I never knew one could have a Platonic relationship with a sandwich, but there you have it. It was on the radio. Must be true.
Sandwiches taste better if they're cut diagonally. Furthermore, people know this either innately or by experience which explains why people preferentially select triangle-shaped over rectangle-shaped sandwiches.
I pondered this for quite a while, several minutes at least, and mused about my own sandwich eating preferences and concluded that I must operate at a simpler, less Platonic, level. Call it "reptilian."
See sandwich. Eat sandwich.
That's about it.
I tried to harken a time in which I thought, "Ah, the Rectangle! Four 90-degree angles on the inside, four perfect corners on the outside. My, oh, my is this sandwich going to be good!"
Nor, I confess, could I recall a time thinking, "Ah, the Triangle! Oh, and an isosceles Right Triangle at that. Why, bless Plato, this sandwich is going to be good!"
Nope. All I could dredge up were vague, disturbing images of my forked tongue flicking in and out, and then everything went blank.
So, being unable to confirm the NPR report, regardless of the fact that it was on the radio, must be true, I set out to conduct my own scientific study on Sandwich Shape Preference.
I started out by constructing two identical sandwiches: turkey salad with tomato, avocado and Romaine lettuce on home-baked wheat bread. (See Figure 1, below.)
Next, using my best English steel carving knife honed to surgical standards I cut one sandwich perpendicular to the crust to form two rectangles, and the other sandwich was cut along the diagonal to form two triangles. Identical ingredients served on identical plates, the only difference being The Cut. (See Rectangle Cut and Triangle Cut, below.)
The next part of the experiment was a little tricky. I wanted to solicit the opinions of twenty people at random, but where to get twenty random people? Turns out the solution was right in front of my nose, rather, my house.
The walkers.
On a Sunday there is a continuous parade of neighbors out for a stroll or walking their dogs. All day long. Back and forth, often the same people. Very random and very perfect.
So, I decided to stop people as they walked by the house to get their opinion and settle the sandwich shape debate once and for all, scientifically.
Now, do you have any idea how many people either start walking faster or even break into a run if you stop them and ask a simple question like, "Do you want to have a look at my turkey sandwich?"
Seriously! After an hour I had to change my approach totally. First, be polite. Second, sound more scientific. Third, invoke authority.
"Excuse me, sir or madam, would you be interested in offering your educated analysis for a project somewhat under the guise of PNR?"
"Are you working under the auspices of N-P-R?"
"More like under the influence."
"Yes, I'd be delighted."
In no time I had twenty considered opinions and the results were both unequivocal and conclusive.
Rectangles are preferred. TWENTY to ZERO! Yes, every random person picked Rectangle. No hesitation.
I know, I was shocked, too. This shakes my faith in radio. Can nothing be trusted? What about Plato and the Solids and the aesthetics of triangles over rectangles. Was that all just hype? What else has NPR got wrong? Does this mean that in Lake Woebegone the women aren't strong and all the children aren't above average? Or instead of Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me we should tell people right away? Should Science Friday be on Wednesday? Should we only consider Some Things?
Clearly, the conclusion to be drawn from this scientific experiment is not to accept things at face value. We must place a higher premium on skepticism. We should all move to Missouri. There's more at stake here than Triangles or Rectangles, Boxers or Briefs. I believe that we are talking about Civilization or Savagery.
Seriously. Think about it.
In conclusion let's contemplate the once-maligned Rectangle whose tarnished reputation was given a slight buff today. Here's to you, Rectangle, well done! (See the Winner, below.)
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Who You Calling a Goober?
Goobers.
Not a great sounding word, but good eating as they say.
I'm talking about boiled goobers, aka boiled peanuts.
Once you start eating them, get comfortable. You're going to be there a while. I'd suggest laying in a supply of cold beer, too. And some tall tales.
Let's see. Goobers, check. Beer, check. Tall tales, check and double check. (Is there any other kind?)
Boiled peanuts take planning. First, it's not easy to get raw peanuts year round. They usually appear in the Fall, like about NOW and don't last long at the supermarket. I bought two bags this year on a whim. I saw "Raw Peanuts" and thought "Boiled Peanuts" and the rest was history.
The process is easy but time consuming. You have to boil the peanuts in a large pot of water with plenty of salt for 3-4 hours. I let the peanuts soak in the brine after cooking for another hour to let them soak in as much brine as possible. Then I drain and refrigerate them overnight.
Chilled boiled peanuts are fun, if messy, to eat, succulent and salty. Don't forget salty. That's the best part. Next to the beer and tall tales.
When I was a kid we used to hike to Old Man Carter's for boiled peanuts. It was a long way. About two days hike. Uphill. And it was always snowing. We couldn't afford shoes so we wrapped our bare feet with barbed wire for traction in the snow.
Old Man Carter would always tell us that he just sold out to make us cry, then charge us double because he could.
Then it was a three day hike home. Uphill. In the snow.
But worth it, yes, every frostbit amputated toe was worth the trek. I saved those toes and I've got them in the fridge here in a jar labeled "Gerkins" just so I don't get in trouble with the FBI.
Ah, I seem to be getting ahead of myself in the Tall Tale Department. Oh, well, there's always tomorrow!
Friday, November 27, 2009
Nobbs Sighting
Nobbs
Short version: We raised Nobbs from a kitten. He ran away.
A longer version: We moved to Houston about a decade ago when housing was tight and found "a place" to call Home until we could find "another place" to call Home. In the 18 months we lived at "a place" our cats, Nobbs and Sandy, staked out their territory. Sandy, more of a homebody, staked out the kitchen and the couch. Nobbs, the explorer, ranged about a mile in radius. He could be sighted far and wide around the neighborhood, so much so that the kids on the next street over thought he lived there. They named him "Cow" because of his striking markings.*
After we moved to "another place" Nobbs was never quite settled and could often be found slinking around the old neighborhood nearly two miles away. His range had increased considerably. Nobbs was always a survivor and we called him the Dust Bin King of the neighborhood because of his uncanny way of living in the rough: eating out of trash cans, mooching off of people and living off the land. Nobbs had quick reflexes, sharp claws and a hair trigger. You'd cross Nobbs at your peril.
Nobbs would disappear for weeks at a time only to show up at the window ready for some chow and a long nap. Then he'd be off again. We found that he had taken up residence at another house in the neighborhood and his absences grew longer and longer. Finally he stopped coming home altogether.
After about a year he showed up in a yard and I saw him as I drove by. I stopped and called him and he trotted over as if he owned the place, which he did. He was wearing a collar with the name "Domino." Nobbs, Cow, Domino - he's a man of mystery. I went on my way and he went on his.
Another year passed without a Nobbs sighting and we figured either he moved to a farther neighborhood, or his adopted family moved or he had gone to the Great Dust Bin in the Sky.
Not so.
Recently I was driving through the neighborhood and there he was, big as day, sleeping in the tall grass. I pulled over, got out my camera and gave him a call. He perked up his ears, trotted over and gave me a rub around the ankles as if we were old buddies. Then he turned tail, walked into a flower bed and went to sleep.
What a character. One of these days he's going to show up pawing at the window for some chow and a nap and, you know, he's welcome to it.
*The name "Nobbs" referred to a peculiar broken bone at the end of his tail that fused into a knob. Later in life he got his tail caught in something and it had to be amputated, the stub of which is seen in the photo. What's with our cats and strange tails?
Short version: We raised Nobbs from a kitten. He ran away.
A longer version: We moved to Houston about a decade ago when housing was tight and found "a place" to call Home until we could find "another place" to call Home. In the 18 months we lived at "a place" our cats, Nobbs and Sandy, staked out their territory. Sandy, more of a homebody, staked out the kitchen and the couch. Nobbs, the explorer, ranged about a mile in radius. He could be sighted far and wide around the neighborhood, so much so that the kids on the next street over thought he lived there. They named him "Cow" because of his striking markings.*
After we moved to "another place" Nobbs was never quite settled and could often be found slinking around the old neighborhood nearly two miles away. His range had increased considerably. Nobbs was always a survivor and we called him the Dust Bin King of the neighborhood because of his uncanny way of living in the rough: eating out of trash cans, mooching off of people and living off the land. Nobbs had quick reflexes, sharp claws and a hair trigger. You'd cross Nobbs at your peril.
Nobbs would disappear for weeks at a time only to show up at the window ready for some chow and a long nap. Then he'd be off again. We found that he had taken up residence at another house in the neighborhood and his absences grew longer and longer. Finally he stopped coming home altogether.
After about a year he showed up in a yard and I saw him as I drove by. I stopped and called him and he trotted over as if he owned the place, which he did. He was wearing a collar with the name "Domino." Nobbs, Cow, Domino - he's a man of mystery. I went on my way and he went on his.
Another year passed without a Nobbs sighting and we figured either he moved to a farther neighborhood, or his adopted family moved or he had gone to the Great Dust Bin in the Sky.
Not so.
Recently I was driving through the neighborhood and there he was, big as day, sleeping in the tall grass. I pulled over, got out my camera and gave him a call. He perked up his ears, trotted over and gave me a rub around the ankles as if we were old buddies. Then he turned tail, walked into a flower bed and went to sleep.
What a character. One of these days he's going to show up pawing at the window for some chow and a nap and, you know, he's welcome to it.
*The name "Nobbs" referred to a peculiar broken bone at the end of his tail that fused into a knob. Later in life he got his tail caught in something and it had to be amputated, the stub of which is seen in the photo. What's with our cats and strange tails?
Thursday, November 26, 2009
New Yam in the Hood
Grilled Sweet Potatoes with Chipotle Cream Sauce
It takes lots of paperwork to change the Thanksgiving Dinner Menu. Lots of paperwork.
First there's the Petition to Substitute which has to be signed by at least four people.
Then you have to get past the Recipe Review Board and the Intolerance Panel.
The Quantity Compensation Committee might demand a backup dish to be provided from the Approved List.
Fail to follow protocol and you could be looking at sanctions ranging from a few hours of Normal Family Derision to twelve months of Hell To Pay or a permanent place on the Wall of Remembrance.
"Remember when we had asparagus mashed potatoes?"
"Ewwwwww! Or how about the garlic cheese cake?"
"My favorite was the peanut butter stuffing. We had to throw away the entire turkey."
"No, no! My favorite was when the oven got switched off by mistake and nobody noticed until it was time to eat and the turkey was all raw and everything. Remember? We had to eat a cheese ball and drink beer until the turkey was done. Wait a minute, that wasn't so bad. Never mind."
Surprisingly, those mini-disasters did not qualify for the Wall of Remembrance. No, the Wall is a special place for Memorable Meals such as:
As I am the only one in the family who not only enjoys but looks forward to my Special Candied Yams, a recipe honed to perfection over 25 years, I decided that it would be a safe bet and easy sailing through the Review Boards to propose a change to the "yam" part of the meal.
I was right! Not an eye was batted when I proposed grilling the yams outside and serving them with a smoked chipotle pepper cream sauce.
"You'll be grilling them outside?"
"Yes, Madam Board President, outside."
"Well, anything you do with a yam outside is fine by me. I presume you won't be bringing them back inside, then."
"Uh, negative, Madam Board President, the yams will be returned to the domicile whereupon they will be relegated to their own serving dish so as not to, uh, so as not to, that is, uh ... "
"Contaminate?"
"Yes, Madam Board President, thank you. 'Contaminate' the other delicacies."
Madam's eyes narrowed, her lips pursed as if sucking a very large lemon through a very small straw.
"Very well. Permission to Substitute granted for a probationary period of one meal. Case dismissed, next case!"
Great. I had permission, a plan but no recipe. More of a vague notion. Grilled yams and a spicy red sauce. I consulted my sidekick and expert chef, Emeril LeGoogle.
In short order I had a recipe put together but, alas, no experience. The Wall loomed.
Here's the blueprint:
Although I wasn't totally pleased with the sauce and I scorched several of the yam slices, I tried a distraction with a nice presentation.
I prepared a serving for Madam Board President.
"Ummm," said Madam Board President thoughtfully, "as a rule I'm not a big fan of yams and, in fact, I'm a microscopic fan of candied yams."
Madam Board President fixed me with a stare and paused for effect.
I started to sweat.
She continued, "However, these yams are not quite as bad as I had expected. The spicy smoked pepper sauce complements the sweetness of the yam and they go together better than either one separately. To be honest, though, the sauce needs work and you'll have to improve it next time."
Next time, I thought?
"You are hereby granted a Recipe Extension for a period of one year to work out the kinks. Speaking of whom, where is Kink?"
It takes lots of paperwork to change the Thanksgiving Dinner Menu. Lots of paperwork.
First there's the Petition to Substitute which has to be signed by at least four people.
Then you have to get past the Recipe Review Board and the Intolerance Panel.
The Quantity Compensation Committee might demand a backup dish to be provided from the Approved List.
Fail to follow protocol and you could be looking at sanctions ranging from a few hours of Normal Family Derision to twelve months of Hell To Pay or a permanent place on the Wall of Remembrance.
"Remember when we had asparagus mashed potatoes?"
"Ewwwwww! Or how about the garlic cheese cake?"
"My favorite was the peanut butter stuffing. We had to throw away the entire turkey."
"No, no! My favorite was when the oven got switched off by mistake and nobody noticed until it was time to eat and the turkey was all raw and everything. Remember? We had to eat a cheese ball and drink beer until the turkey was done. Wait a minute, that wasn't so bad. Never mind."
Surprisingly, those mini-disasters did not qualify for the Wall of Remembrance. No, the Wall is a special place for Memorable Meals such as:
Scorched Cabbage with Pork that required the house to be aired out. In December.
Rubber Band Chocolate Mousse caused by many chunks of undissolved gelatin. One-quarter yum, three-quarters patooie.
Goat Neck and Honey Stew. Putting the "ewwwww" in stew.
Peanut Butter Salsa ice cream. No, it didn't taste better than it sounds. Worse. Much worse.
Cantaloupe Cream Soup in the Shell. One of those few things that actually tasted better coming up than going down.
As I am the only one in the family who not only enjoys but looks forward to my Special Candied Yams, a recipe honed to perfection over 25 years, I decided that it would be a safe bet and easy sailing through the Review Boards to propose a change to the "yam" part of the meal.
I was right! Not an eye was batted when I proposed grilling the yams outside and serving them with a smoked chipotle pepper cream sauce.
"You'll be grilling them outside?"
"Yes, Madam Board President, outside."
"Well, anything you do with a yam outside is fine by me. I presume you won't be bringing them back inside, then."
"Uh, negative, Madam Board President, the yams will be returned to the domicile whereupon they will be relegated to their own serving dish so as not to, uh, so as not to, that is, uh ... "
"Contaminate?"
"Yes, Madam Board President, thank you. 'Contaminate' the other delicacies."
Madam's eyes narrowed, her lips pursed as if sucking a very large lemon through a very small straw.
"Very well. Permission to Substitute granted for a probationary period of one meal. Case dismissed, next case!"
Great. I had permission, a plan but no recipe. More of a vague notion. Grilled yams and a spicy red sauce. I consulted my sidekick and expert chef, Emeril LeGoogle.
In short order I had a recipe put together but, alas, no experience. The Wall loomed.
Here's the blueprint:
Chipotle Cream Sauce
6-8 dried chipotle peppers, soaked in hot water (or simmered) for 15 minutes, peeled.
1 onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
some pepper soak water (from above)
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
salt
Sauteé onions and garlic in a little butter. Put to one side.
Peel peppers and discard seeds, stems and skin.
Blend in a food processor onion mixture and peppers.
In a small skillet add cream and syrup to the mixture, blend and bring to a simmer. Sauce will be thick and you'll have to adjust it with cream and water.
I found the sauce to be a little bitter and thought lemon juice might help by providing some sweetness and tang.
Grilled Yams
2-3 medium sized yams, peeled, cut into 1/2 inch slices
olive oil
salt/pepper
Brush the yams with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill on a medium heat 5-10 minutes a side, depending on the yam, and pay more attention to the grill than I did to prevent burned spots. Brush with more olive oil if the yams dry out. When cooked the yams should be soft enough to easily insert a small knife, fork, skewer, etc
Although I wasn't totally pleased with the sauce and I scorched several of the yam slices, I tried a distraction with a nice presentation.
I prepared a serving for Madam Board President.
"Ummm," said Madam Board President thoughtfully, "as a rule I'm not a big fan of yams and, in fact, I'm a microscopic fan of candied yams."
Madam Board President fixed me with a stare and paused for effect.
I started to sweat.
She continued, "However, these yams are not quite as bad as I had expected. The spicy smoked pepper sauce complements the sweetness of the yam and they go together better than either one separately. To be honest, though, the sauce needs work and you'll have to improve it next time."
Next time, I thought?
"You are hereby granted a Recipe Extension for a period of one year to work out the kinks. Speaking of whom, where is Kink?"
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Manchester 0, Dragonfly 1
"Hey, you guys, keep it down! I'm trying to watch the almost-not-quite World Cup-ish game on the tube here!"
"It's not a 'tube.' It's a High Definition Liquid Crystal Display Light Emitting Diode backlit Binford 3000 Strato-Viewer. Tube is so last year."
"Whatever. This is a Big Game and I'm watching it so pipe down. I've been waiting to see this game for over a decade. Or at least since this afternoon."
"Who's playing?"
"Manchester and some other team. Doesn't matter. Be quiet!"
"All right! All right! Excuuuuuuuuuuse me for breathing. I'll go play in the freeway or something. Hey, look, there's Kink outside."
Opening the back door …
"Hey, buddy boy, what are you doing outside? Having fun? Come in and get a Kat Snak."
"Meowwww-ffff!"
"Meowwww-fff? What do you have in your mouff, little buddy? Come on, give us a look, that's a good kitty."
"No, Kink, don't let it loose!"
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkk! Kink let a dragonfly loose in the house! A GIANT DRAGONFLYYYYYYYYY!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKK!!!! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!"
"That's no dragonfly! That's a pterodactyl!!"
"EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!! PTERODACTYL!! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!"
"Someone get a net!"
"Someone get a cricket bat! Did I say that out loud?"
"Someone get some duct tape."
"Duct tape?"
"Yeah, it's good for anything. We can stickify the dragonfly!"
"YOU GUYS KEEP IT DOWN I'M TRYING TO WATCH THIS VERY IMPORTANT GAME THANK YOU VERY MUCH AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON!"
"Look! The dragonfly is buzzing around the kitchen light! He likes the light! Quick, turn off the kitchen light!"
**click**
"Oh My Gosh, it's heading to the TV! Quick, get the net!"
"I got it! I got it! I don't got it."
"GET AWAY FROM THE TV! I CAN'T SEE THE GAME! IT'S ONLY 20 SECONDS LEFT! CATCH THE DRAGONFRICKINGFLYADACTYL LATER!"
"I've got an idea! If we turn off the TV and turn on the porch light, the dragonfly will go out the back door all by himself! Ready? On three. One, two … THREE!!"
**CLICK** **beep fweep beep**
"AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH! THE GAAAAAAAAME!"
"YEAAAAAAAHH! THERE HE GOES! THERE HE GOES!"
"THE GAAAAAAAAME!!"
"HE'S OUT!! HE'S OUT!!"
"QUICK, SHUT THE BACK DOOR!"
"QUICK, TURN ON THE LIQUID TUBE DIODE THING!"
"QUICK, WHERE'S KINK?"
"You ruined the game!"
"We saved the dragonfly!"
"Where's Kink?"
"He must have gone back out. Oh, look, open the door, here he comes!"
"What's he got in his mouth … "
"It's not a 'tube.' It's a High Definition Liquid Crystal Display Light Emitting Diode backlit Binford 3000 Strato-Viewer. Tube is so last year."
"Whatever. This is a Big Game and I'm watching it so pipe down. I've been waiting to see this game for over a decade. Or at least since this afternoon."
"Who's playing?"
"Manchester and some other team. Doesn't matter. Be quiet!"
"All right! All right! Excuuuuuuuuuuse me for breathing. I'll go play in the freeway or something. Hey, look, there's Kink outside."
Opening the back door …
"Hey, buddy boy, what are you doing outside? Having fun? Come in and get a Kat Snak."
"Meowwww-ffff!"
"Meowwww-fff? What do you have in your mouff, little buddy? Come on, give us a look, that's a good kitty."
"No, Kink, don't let it loose!"
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkk! Kink let a dragonfly loose in the house! A GIANT DRAGONFLYYYYYYYYY!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKK!!!! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!"
"That's no dragonfly! That's a pterodactyl!!"
"EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!! PTERODACTYL!! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!"
"Someone get a net!"
"Someone get a cricket bat! Did I say that out loud?"
"Someone get some duct tape."
"Duct tape?"
"Yeah, it's good for anything. We can stickify the dragonfly!"
"YOU GUYS KEEP IT DOWN I'M TRYING TO WATCH THIS VERY IMPORTANT GAME THANK YOU VERY MUCH AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON!"
"Look! The dragonfly is buzzing around the kitchen light! He likes the light! Quick, turn off the kitchen light!"
**click**
"Oh My Gosh, it's heading to the TV! Quick, get the net!"
"I got it! I got it! I don't got it."
"GET AWAY FROM THE TV! I CAN'T SEE THE GAME! IT'S ONLY 20 SECONDS LEFT! CATCH THE DRAGONFRICKINGFLYADACTYL LATER!"
"I've got an idea! If we turn off the TV and turn on the porch light, the dragonfly will go out the back door all by himself! Ready? On three. One, two … THREE!!"
**CLICK** **beep fweep beep**
"AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH! THE GAAAAAAAAME!"
"YEAAAAAAAHH! THERE HE GOES! THERE HE GOES!"
"THE GAAAAAAAAME!!"
"HE'S OUT!! HE'S OUT!!"
"QUICK, SHUT THE BACK DOOR!"
"QUICK, TURN ON THE LIQUID TUBE DIODE THING!"
"QUICK, WHERE'S KINK?"
… and who could have predicted that, eh, Chris? No, Marv, you're not going to see an ending to a game like that if you live to be a hundred. Could you believe that last-minute play, Chris? No, Marv, I saw it live and on the instant replay and I still can't believe it. That's for sure, Chris, and I can tell you this is one game I'll be telling my grandkids about. What an ending. What an AMAZING, ASTOUNDING, AWESOME ENDING!! We saw Sport History tonight, Marv. Once in a lifetime, once in a lifetime. Well, that wraps it up for tonight. I'm Chris. And I'm Marv and we'll see you in a decade or maybe tomorrow. After that finale they might just retire the sport! Good-night, everybody!
"You ruined the game!"
"We saved the dragonfly!"
"Where's Kink?"
"He must have gone back out. Oh, look, open the door, here he comes!"
"What's he got in his mouth … "
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Not Our Sponsor
In a word, BLECH!
In other words, ACK! YUCK! BARF-O! CHOKE! YAAAAK! ARGGA-BARGGA-BARGGA-BARGGA! PITOOIE!
File this under: Sounded good. Tasted not so much.
Kink wanted to bury it. Smart cat.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Evil Weevil Redeaux
Weevils. Paprika. Again.
Yes, again. Weevils ait my paprika!
I didn't even notice as I dumped them into my stew. No weevil screams. No weevil shouts of, "Weevil overboard!" Just shake, shake, shake, stir, stir, stir.
Only later when I removed the lid and stirred the sauce did I notice "foreign bodies." Dead foreign bodies. Floating.
I fished their little corpses out one by one, rather than starting over with dinner. According to the Food and Drug Administration weevils are "mostly" protein with some "crunchy bits." (Unless, of course, they've spent an hour in a stew hot tub.) I gave the sauce an extra good stir and ran some draglines along the bottom. No more weevils surfaced.
Note to self: buy sieve.
Unfortunately, I didn't discover the Weevil Holiday Resort in Paparika until I had dumped a sightseeing busload into my stew.
Unfortunately, I didn't discover the little freeloaders until they were free-styling in my sauce.
Fortunately, my family won't read this until tomorrow.
Yes, again. Weevils ait my paprika!
I didn't even notice as I dumped them into my stew. No weevil screams. No weevil shouts of, "Weevil overboard!" Just shake, shake, shake, stir, stir, stir.
Only later when I removed the lid and stirred the sauce did I notice "foreign bodies." Dead foreign bodies. Floating.
I fished their little corpses out one by one, rather than starting over with dinner. According to the Food and Drug Administration weevils are "mostly" protein with some "crunchy bits." (Unless, of course, they've spent an hour in a stew hot tub.) I gave the sauce an extra good stir and ran some draglines along the bottom. No more weevils surfaced.
Note to self: buy sieve.
Unfortunately, I didn't discover the Weevil Holiday Resort in Paparika until I had dumped a sightseeing busload into my stew.
Unfortunately, I didn't discover the little freeloaders until they were free-styling in my sauce.
Fortunately, my family won't read this until tomorrow.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Eleven Two Two
Party Alert!
This is a Party Alert!
Twelve Two Two Fondue will be held exactly one month from today on, you guessed it, December 22nd!
Hence the name.
Twelve Two Two Fondue began as a fondue party on December 22, 2004 and has continued annually since.
This will be Twelve Two Two Fondue VI. Sort of like Rocky VI but with food and a plot.
You are all invited!
You are all invited around the World to host your very own Twelve Two Two Fondue party and webcast it, send us live pictures, stories, videos and your leftover cheese. (Waste not, want not. I always say that.)
It's twue that 12-22-fondue has been hosted in many countries and on all Seven continents. And, yes, I do count my friend the Polie who at least thought about eating cheese while in Antarctica. The penguins, of course, ate Fish Tacos.
So be there or be square. The Fonduemeister commands it.
This is a Party Alert!
Twelve Two Two Fondue will be held exactly one month from today on, you guessed it, December 22nd!
Hence the name.
Twelve Two Two Fondue began as a fondue party on December 22, 2004 and has continued annually since.
This will be Twelve Two Two Fondue VI. Sort of like Rocky VI but with food and a plot.
You are all invited!
You are all invited around the World to host your very own Twelve Two Two Fondue party and webcast it, send us live pictures, stories, videos and your leftover cheese. (Waste not, want not. I always say that.)
It's twue that 12-22-fondue has been hosted in many countries and on all Seven continents. And, yes, I do count my friend the Polie who at least thought about eating cheese while in Antarctica. The penguins, of course, ate Fish Tacos.
So be there or be square. The Fonduemeister commands it.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Perspective
It was the best of nights. It was the worst of nights. It was the Fall of rain, and rain was falling.
There was a chill in the air but not enough to deter the mosquitoes who, judging from their size, had been feasting on pizza and beer.
Snugly wrapped in my Victoria's Secret Hot Devil outerwear I observed that nothing beats Fall camping.
From across the fire I heard, "I'm cold and I'm wet and I'm going to my tent. Whose idea was this anyway?" There was some shuffling and muttering that faded into the distance.
Snugly wrapped in my Victoria's Secret Hot Devil outerwear and silence I observed that nothing beats Fall camping.
The fire crackled and hissed as the drizzle met its doom but soon the drizzle turned into serious rain and I decided to turn in, too.
My tent, my domain. It needed fixing up because I just tossed my stuff in after I set it up. First, I inflated my Thermarest sleeping pad to the full Blue Whale setting for maximum comfort, redistributed the down in my personal sleeping enclosure ("sleeping bag" is so 60's) and checked the surroundings for any vermin who decided to join me for the night.
Safe and sound I snuggled down for a short not-quite-winter's nap. Dark-thirty would come soon enough and as camp cook I'd be expected to have hot coffee ready before dawn. That's a tough assignment because Dawn has coffee ready early!
I slept like a baby. That is, waking up every two hours crying, but otherwise I enjoyed the pitter patter of rain on the tent, the gentle wind and especially being snugly wrapped, etc, etc.
Dawn came all too soon and before I knew it I was standing over a hot stove brewing the first pot of coffee of the day. It was still raining, cold, and everything was wet, but the smell of brewing coffee revived my spirits and I was sure it was going to be a grand day.
Hark! Was that the sound of thunder? Er, no, it was the sound of grumble. Trudging towards me was an obviously unhappy camper.
"Top of the morning! Could I interest you in a cup of hot, freshly brewed coffee? Did I mention that it's free?"
"Whatever."
Not the reply I was expecting, usually people ask to have my baby for a cup of hot coffee on a cold wet morning, I just poured out a cup of brew and handed it over.
"How was your night?" I asked, knowing the answer.
Camper looked up and related a tale of woe, call it the Rime of the Ancient Wet Camper. Camper told me that he pitched his tent in a depression that filled up with water. His tent leaked. His sleeping bag got wet and then cold. He forgot his stocking cap so his head was cold, and his socks were wet so his feet were cold. He tried mopping up the water in his tent using a t-shirt but when he opened his tent to wring out the shirt, more rain came in than shirt wrung water went out. There was more woe to tell but I was all woed out and don't remember the details.
He was cold, wet and not a happy camper.
"So," he asked, "how was your night?"
I thought about how I had selected a site for my tent which was on harder, more uneven ground, but higher than the surrounding pasture. I thought about how I had planned for the Fall weather and, since it had been raining all day while I was packing, threw in some extra socks and clothes just in case. I thought about how I had re-sealed the seams of my tent so they wouldn't leak and how I had brought an extra ground tarp because I knew the ground would be wet when I pitched my tent.
I thought about my sleeping pad inflated to Blue Whale comfort and that I had brought an Indian blanket which made it Sleeps-Like-Blue-Whale.
I thought about how I was woken up hours before dawn by a sudden intensity of rain, but in my Blue Whale warmness quickly drifted back to the Land o' Squid and deep six sleep.
I thought that because I was prepared for the weather I had a great night, enjoyed it immensely and would look back on this weekend as a great camping experience.
Yep, one of the best nights ever.
"Well," he persisted, "how was your night?"
Not wanting to ruin his coffee I replied,
"Much the same, my friend, much the same."
There was a chill in the air but not enough to deter the mosquitoes who, judging from their size, had been feasting on pizza and beer.
Snugly wrapped in my Victoria's Secret Hot Devil outerwear I observed that nothing beats Fall camping.
From across the fire I heard, "I'm cold and I'm wet and I'm going to my tent. Whose idea was this anyway?" There was some shuffling and muttering that faded into the distance.
Snugly wrapped in my Victoria's Secret Hot Devil outerwear and silence I observed that nothing beats Fall camping.
The fire crackled and hissed as the drizzle met its doom but soon the drizzle turned into serious rain and I decided to turn in, too.
My tent, my domain. It needed fixing up because I just tossed my stuff in after I set it up. First, I inflated my Thermarest sleeping pad to the full Blue Whale setting for maximum comfort, redistributed the down in my personal sleeping enclosure ("sleeping bag" is so 60's) and checked the surroundings for any vermin who decided to join me for the night.
Safe and sound I snuggled down for a short not-quite-winter's nap. Dark-thirty would come soon enough and as camp cook I'd be expected to have hot coffee ready before dawn. That's a tough assignment because Dawn has coffee ready early!
I slept like a baby. That is, waking up every two hours crying, but otherwise I enjoyed the pitter patter of rain on the tent, the gentle wind and especially being snugly wrapped, etc, etc.
Dawn came all too soon and before I knew it I was standing over a hot stove brewing the first pot of coffee of the day. It was still raining, cold, and everything was wet, but the smell of brewing coffee revived my spirits and I was sure it was going to be a grand day.
Hark! Was that the sound of thunder? Er, no, it was the sound of grumble. Trudging towards me was an obviously unhappy camper.
"Top of the morning! Could I interest you in a cup of hot, freshly brewed coffee? Did I mention that it's free?"
"Whatever."
Not the reply I was expecting, usually people ask to have my baby for a cup of hot coffee on a cold wet morning, I just poured out a cup of brew and handed it over.
"How was your night?" I asked, knowing the answer.
Camper looked up and related a tale of woe, call it the Rime of the Ancient Wet Camper. Camper told me that he pitched his tent in a depression that filled up with water. His tent leaked. His sleeping bag got wet and then cold. He forgot his stocking cap so his head was cold, and his socks were wet so his feet were cold. He tried mopping up the water in his tent using a t-shirt but when he opened his tent to wring out the shirt, more rain came in than shirt wrung water went out. There was more woe to tell but I was all woed out and don't remember the details.
He was cold, wet and not a happy camper.
"So," he asked, "how was your night?"
I thought about how I had selected a site for my tent which was on harder, more uneven ground, but higher than the surrounding pasture. I thought about how I had planned for the Fall weather and, since it had been raining all day while I was packing, threw in some extra socks and clothes just in case. I thought about how I had re-sealed the seams of my tent so they wouldn't leak and how I had brought an extra ground tarp because I knew the ground would be wet when I pitched my tent.
I thought about my sleeping pad inflated to Blue Whale comfort and that I had brought an Indian blanket which made it Sleeps-Like-Blue-Whale.
I thought about how I was woken up hours before dawn by a sudden intensity of rain, but in my Blue Whale warmness quickly drifted back to the Land o' Squid and deep six sleep.
I thought that because I was prepared for the weather I had a great night, enjoyed it immensely and would look back on this weekend as a great camping experience.
Yep, one of the best nights ever.
"Well," he persisted, "how was your night?"
Not wanting to ruin his coffee I replied,
"Much the same, my friend, much the same."
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Manjula Strikes Again
A recent edition of Manjula's Kitchen featured Spinach Salad with Walnut Ginger Dressing.
I was intrigued with the idea of using ginger juice which is obtained by grating fresh ginger onto a cutting board then squeezing the ginger pulp over a small bowl. The ginger juice drops out quite freely and it doesn't take much grating to obtain a tablespoon or so of juice. I'm sure I'll find other uses for this technique.
Here are the main ingredients: olive oil, balsamic vinegar, ginger juice, walnuts, salt/pepper/sugar and (not shown) lemon juice. These are buzzed up in a small food processor. Add a little water if the dressing is too thick, a function of the walnuts, I think.
Chop fresh spinach leaves into bite sized pieces and toss with chopped tomato and chopped apple.
Add the dressing, toss and finish with feta cheese. I didn't have feta, but I had some fresh goat cheese that worked out great. Note the sloppy presentation! Serving guests the salad looks better with the dressing drizzled around the leaves, garnished by the cheese and tossed just before serving.
And, finally, Baked Salmon with Rosemary. Salmon is placed on a bed of rosemary and sliced red onion, topped with rosemary and lemon, and baked at 500 degrees for 20 minutes.
I was intrigued with the idea of using ginger juice which is obtained by grating fresh ginger onto a cutting board then squeezing the ginger pulp over a small bowl. The ginger juice drops out quite freely and it doesn't take much grating to obtain a tablespoon or so of juice. I'm sure I'll find other uses for this technique.
Here are the main ingredients: olive oil, balsamic vinegar, ginger juice, walnuts, salt/pepper/sugar and (not shown) lemon juice. These are buzzed up in a small food processor. Add a little water if the dressing is too thick, a function of the walnuts, I think.
Chop fresh spinach leaves into bite sized pieces and toss with chopped tomato and chopped apple.
Add the dressing, toss and finish with feta cheese. I didn't have feta, but I had some fresh goat cheese that worked out great. Note the sloppy presentation! Serving guests the salad looks better with the dressing drizzled around the leaves, garnished by the cheese and tossed just before serving.
And, finally, Baked Salmon with Rosemary. Salmon is placed on a bed of rosemary and sliced red onion, topped with rosemary and lemon, and baked at 500 degrees for 20 minutes.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Bacon Wrapped Twinkie?
If you value your health in the SLIGHTEST, do not go to this website.
You have been warned!
This Is Why You're Fat dot Com documents those gastronomic inventions that have to be seen (not eaten) to be believed.
Some of my "favorites" are:
And, finally, my favorite, two taste treats in one, the Taco Burger:
Jack-in-the-Box taco stuffed into a Jumbo Jack Burger with Cheese.
Ain't it purdy!
So, what would you do if you could create a taste treat likely to kill you?
Me, I'd create an enchilada dinner taco: chicken enchiladas and refried beans with extra beef, cheese, lettuce and sour cream in a taco shell.
Oh, hang on, I've already done that.
Nevermind.
You have been warned!
This Is Why You're Fat dot Com documents those gastronomic inventions that have to be seen (not eaten) to be believed.
Some of my "favorites" are:
Bacon Wrapped Pigs in a Blanket - actually, that doesn't sound too bad!
Deep Fried Chocolate Cake - slices of cake batter coated, deep fried and served with ice cream.
Ultimate Hot Dog - cheese infused hot dog, batter coated, deep fried, wrapped in bacon and deep fried again.
El Niño - giant "taco" made out of a pepperoni pizza folded over ground beef, onions, cheese, lettuce and sour cream
Deep Fried Brat Loaf - bratwurst, sauerkraut and bun, batter coated and deep fried
(there's definitely a theme to these dishes!)
And, finally, my favorite, two taste treats in one, the Taco Burger:
Jack-in-the-Box taco stuffed into a Jumbo Jack Burger with Cheese.
Ain't it purdy!
So, what would you do if you could create a taste treat likely to kill you?
Me, I'd create an enchilada dinner taco: chicken enchiladas and refried beans with extra beef, cheese, lettuce and sour cream in a taco shell.
Oh, hang on, I've already done that.
Nevermind.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Doodle Jump
I have a new addiction! We all need those.
This one is a game that you can play on your iPhone or iPod Touch called Doodle Jump.
The object is to get your little doodle guy to jump from one platform to the next earning points as you go. The more platforms you jump the higher your score. To help you along the way are springs that boing you past several platforms, a propeller cap a rocket pack that fly you to great heights. Of course, to make it challenging you have to grab the cap and pack while jumping. The platforms are not in a straight line so you have to constantly move the iPhone back and forth to "steer" the doodle guy left and right. Also, he can only jump so high so you have to guestimate which platform he can reach in a jump. Miscalculate and you've got an ongoing plummeting to one's demise situation followed by starting over from scratch.
To impede your progress there are a series of challenges: moving platforms, platforms that break under your weight, platforms that pop when you land on them and others that pop if you don't land on them soon enough. There are elevator platforms that move up and down, and very tricky platforms that you have to move into position with your finger while keeping the doodle guy from missing and plummeting to his demise and the end of your high score aspiration.
There are also hazards like a variety of monsters that you can land on for a boost, but if you hit them on the way up your doodle is knocked cuckoo and plummets to his demise. There are also black holes and an alien spaceship to make you disappear, presumably the same as plummeting to your demise.
As with any great addiction my main problem is finding enough time to tend to it. Typically I'm engrossed in a game concentrating on the moving platforms, avoiding the aliens, when Kink decides to conduct a Gravity Experiment.
What to do? Dodge the alien or sweep up the debris in the kitchen? You're right, the experiment is over and the debris can wait.
What I can't wait to do is play again! Must. Doodle Jump.
To make time I've started going to appointments early. Like way early.
"Excuse me, sir, but your appointment isn't until tomorrow."
"No prob. I can wait." Boing, boing, boing ...
Did I mention that Doodle Jump goes "boing, boing, boing?" Oh, yeah, and pop, pop, and sproing, and whoosh, and thuppa-thuppa, and gronga-gronga-gronga, and, of course, the ever disheartening plummeting to one's demise sound, a long Doppler-shifted whistle into the abyss.
After much consideration and experimentation, I found a great way to extend my game play. By mounting my iPhone on the steering wheel of my truck I can "steer" the doodle guy while driving. Perhaps that would be better written steer the doodle guy while "driving."
I can't take full credit for my invention, though. Judging from what I see on the road lots of people are playing Doodle Jump.
Hey, gtg, doodle guy's calling me.
l8r
This one is a game that you can play on your iPhone or iPod Touch called Doodle Jump.
The object is to get your little doodle guy to jump from one platform to the next earning points as you go. The more platforms you jump the higher your score. To help you along the way are springs that boing you past several platforms, a propeller cap a rocket pack that fly you to great heights. Of course, to make it challenging you have to grab the cap and pack while jumping. The platforms are not in a straight line so you have to constantly move the iPhone back and forth to "steer" the doodle guy left and right. Also, he can only jump so high so you have to guestimate which platform he can reach in a jump. Miscalculate and you've got an ongoing plummeting to one's demise situation followed by starting over from scratch.
To impede your progress there are a series of challenges: moving platforms, platforms that break under your weight, platforms that pop when you land on them and others that pop if you don't land on them soon enough. There are elevator platforms that move up and down, and very tricky platforms that you have to move into position with your finger while keeping the doodle guy from missing and plummeting to his demise and the end of your high score aspiration.
There are also hazards like a variety of monsters that you can land on for a boost, but if you hit them on the way up your doodle is knocked cuckoo and plummets to his demise. There are also black holes and an alien spaceship to make you disappear, presumably the same as plummeting to your demise.
As with any great addiction my main problem is finding enough time to tend to it. Typically I'm engrossed in a game concentrating on the moving platforms, avoiding the aliens, when Kink decides to conduct a Gravity Experiment.
What to do? Dodge the alien or sweep up the debris in the kitchen? You're right, the experiment is over and the debris can wait.
What I can't wait to do is play again! Must. Doodle Jump.
To make time I've started going to appointments early. Like way early.
"Excuse me, sir, but your appointment isn't until tomorrow."
"No prob. I can wait." Boing, boing, boing ...
Did I mention that Doodle Jump goes "boing, boing, boing?" Oh, yeah, and pop, pop, and sproing, and whoosh, and thuppa-thuppa, and gronga-gronga-gronga, and, of course, the ever disheartening plummeting to one's demise sound, a long Doppler-shifted whistle into the abyss.
After much consideration and experimentation, I found a great way to extend my game play. By mounting my iPhone on the steering wheel of my truck I can "steer" the doodle guy while driving. Perhaps that would be better written steer the doodle guy while "driving."
I can't take full credit for my invention, though. Judging from what I see on the road lots of people are playing Doodle Jump.
Hey, gtg, doodle guy's calling me.
l8r
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Not Half
"Yes, sir, what'll it be tonight?"
"Uh, I'll have a half of ESB."
"Sorry, squire, we're all out of halves."
"OK, make it a pint."
"Right, pint of ESB coming up."
That was "our little joke," a jest among friends, an amusement, a diversion at my local pub. I'd go in and ask for a half-pint but, alas, they'd be out of halfs and I'd be forced to drink a pint. Or four.
On some nights four was half way.
In darts if I got about half-way, say, to 150, I could go out with triple 20, triple 20, double 15. But not after four. Who am I kidding? Not after zero!
Half full or half empty?
Me, I'm a half-empty kind of guy. Yes, it's twue. Half-empty. That's because I knew it was full at one time but now it's not. It's half-empty and going down. I mean, it's nearly December! What happened to July? Did we even have a July? I don't remember, which raises an interesting question: Is the year nearly empty or is it nearly full? Do we start with a full year and empty it out or do we start with an empty year and fill it up?
Going back to the glass half empty thing, if it's nice and sunny, bright and happy, then the contents of the glass are evaporating and going down, but if it's cloudy and raining, dark and mournful, then the contents of the glass are filling up.
Therefore, according to that logic, if your glass is half empty you should be bright and happy, but if its half full you should be cloudy and sad.
I was thinking about opening up a restaurant half way between Houston and Austin. Actually, that point is in the middle of nowhere, although since it's somebody's ranch I guess it's somewhere, at least to the rancher. Anyway, I was going to call it the Half Way House. Coming or going it would be half way. However, since a "half way house" is a place where you go to recover from something I figured it probably wasn't a great idea. After all, I've heard of Centerville and Middleton but never Halfway City.
So, here we are smack dab half way through November. Fifteen days behind us and fifteen days in front of us.
What to do, what to do. The first half of November was pretty good. I'd hate for things to go downhill from here, glass half empty or not.
I know!
I'll do it all over again. I'll simply subtract 15 from each day which makes tomorrow November 16-15 or November 1st. I don't know why I didn't think of this before.
Now, if only I can get every day in December to be the 25th I'll have it knocked.
"Uh, I'll have a half of ESB."
"Sorry, squire, we're all out of halves."
"OK, make it a pint."
"Right, pint of ESB coming up."
That was "our little joke," a jest among friends, an amusement, a diversion at my local pub. I'd go in and ask for a half-pint but, alas, they'd be out of halfs and I'd be forced to drink a pint. Or four.
On some nights four was half way.
In darts if I got about half-way, say, to 150, I could go out with triple 20, triple 20, double 15. But not after four. Who am I kidding? Not after zero!
Half full or half empty?
Me, I'm a half-empty kind of guy. Yes, it's twue. Half-empty. That's because I knew it was full at one time but now it's not. It's half-empty and going down. I mean, it's nearly December! What happened to July? Did we even have a July? I don't remember, which raises an interesting question: Is the year nearly empty or is it nearly full? Do we start with a full year and empty it out or do we start with an empty year and fill it up?
Going back to the glass half empty thing, if it's nice and sunny, bright and happy, then the contents of the glass are evaporating and going down, but if it's cloudy and raining, dark and mournful, then the contents of the glass are filling up.
Therefore, according to that logic, if your glass is half empty you should be bright and happy, but if its half full you should be cloudy and sad.
I was thinking about opening up a restaurant half way between Houston and Austin. Actually, that point is in the middle of nowhere, although since it's somebody's ranch I guess it's somewhere, at least to the rancher. Anyway, I was going to call it the Half Way House. Coming or going it would be half way. However, since a "half way house" is a place where you go to recover from something I figured it probably wasn't a great idea. After all, I've heard of Centerville and Middleton but never Halfway City.
So, here we are smack dab half way through November. Fifteen days behind us and fifteen days in front of us.
What to do, what to do. The first half of November was pretty good. I'd hate for things to go downhill from here, glass half empty or not.
I know!
I'll do it all over again. I'll simply subtract 15 from each day which makes tomorrow November 16-15 or November 1st. I don't know why I didn't think of this before.
Now, if only I can get every day in December to be the 25th I'll have it knocked.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Pineapple Man
If someone told me 20 years ago that today I'd be growing pineapples on my computer I would have said, "Whatever you're drinking I'll have a double!"
(probably a piña colada)
Friday, November 13, 2009
Last of the Last
Creole Crab Dip
Makes about 2 1/2 cups
Active time: 15 minutes Start to Finish: 15 minutes
*With motor running, drop garlic into a food processor and chop.
*Stop motor and add roasted red peppers, vinegar, cayenne and 1/2 tsp salt to food processor and purée until smooth. Add mayonnaise and process until combined.
*Transfer roasted red pepper mixture to a heavy medium pot and heat or a low heat. Gently stir in crabmeat and cook until just heated through, then stir in chives.
That's it.
That's it. That's how Gourmet Magazine ends 70 years of recipes, articles, reviews, stories, interviews and celebrating all things food.
That's it. The final recipe from the final issue of Gourmet. RIP, November, 2009. The "Thanksgiving" Issue. Big, brown, roasted turkey on the cover, no different than the 69 previous big, brown, roasted Thanksgiving turkeys.
Only this is the last one. No more turkey. No more "discoveries" that Martha Washington can haz the best turkey recipe evah: put the turkey into a hot oven and cook until it's done.
Marvelous!
Adios Gourmet. It's been a good run.
You know, the thing I noticed about the final issue was the smell. Rather, the lack of smell. In recent years some of the major advertisers in Gourmet have been perfume companies who placed sachets of perfume or scratch-n-sniff pads on the pages. Seriously, there's nothing more off-putting when you're reading a recipe or trying to follow it in the kitchen than to be smacked in the nose with Chanel No. 5 or whatever.
I wrote a letter to Gourmet about the perfume ads but never got a reply. I suggested that perfumers develop scents more in line with kitchen smells: BBQ No. 5, or Bacon No. 5.
Yeah, I'd wear Bacon No. 5. I'd wear No. 6, 7 and 8, too!
Back to Gourmet. I subscribed to Gourmet for nearly 20 years. I would have made 20 years and beyond if the magazine hadn't folded! Duh. I even bought the annual recipe books, the Best of Gourmet. They line my kitchen bookshelf along with Julia Child, Emeril Lagasse, Alton Brown, Molly Wizenberg, James Beard, Jamie Oliver and many, many others.
About 10 years ago, having kept all the Gourmets since I started my subscription, I had a great purge. I simply couldn't keep much less keep track of all the magazines and recipes. Something had to be done. So, I went through each magazine with my handy dandy clipping tool and I extracted all the recipes I thought I might possibly cook, and articles that I might read again given a hundred years or so. Recipes like "bacon wrapped shrimp with Thai dipping sauce" survived, while "beet fritters" went to the landfill. Harsh, but it had to be done.
Looking at the ultimate Gourmet I asked myself what recipes would I keep and to be honest, this rare issue is a winner from aubergine to zucchini. I balked at "deviled eggs with pickled beets" but I might give it a try for old time's sake if for nothing else. (Actually, I was encouraged by the direction to "discard the beet mixture" which moved this recipe from the No Way category to Maybe.)
So, there you have it. Seventy years of turkeys, beets, titanium spoons, impossible to find ingredients and, all in all, wonderful food, wonderful times, wonderful experiences and always the excitement of what the next month would bring.
I'll miss Gourmet. Yeah, sometimes I took it for granted but I always looked forward to the next issue, knowing it was just a few weeks away.
As for the November issue, it's a keeper. Uncut, as it were. It goes on the Kitchen Bookcase with the other big guns.
On, and for a touch of irony, on the back cover the advertisement is for Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, and the model looks like she's starving ...
Makes about 2 1/2 cups
Active time: 15 minutes Start to Finish: 15 minutes
2 garlic cloves
1 cup sliced bottled roasted red peppers
1 1/2 tsp red wine vinegar
1/4 cayenne pepper
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 lb crabmeat, picked over
1 1/2 Tbsp finely chopped chives
*With motor running, drop garlic into a food processor and chop.
*Stop motor and add roasted red peppers, vinegar, cayenne and 1/2 tsp salt to food processor and purée until smooth. Add mayonnaise and process until combined.
*Transfer roasted red pepper mixture to a heavy medium pot and heat or a low heat. Gently stir in crabmeat and cook until just heated through, then stir in chives.
That's it.
That's it. That's how Gourmet Magazine ends 70 years of recipes, articles, reviews, stories, interviews and celebrating all things food.
That's it. The final recipe from the final issue of Gourmet. RIP, November, 2009. The "Thanksgiving" Issue. Big, brown, roasted turkey on the cover, no different than the 69 previous big, brown, roasted Thanksgiving turkeys.
Only this is the last one. No more turkey. No more "discoveries" that Martha Washington can haz the best turkey recipe evah: put the turkey into a hot oven and cook until it's done.
Marvelous!
Adios Gourmet. It's been a good run.
You know, the thing I noticed about the final issue was the smell. Rather, the lack of smell. In recent years some of the major advertisers in Gourmet have been perfume companies who placed sachets of perfume or scratch-n-sniff pads on the pages. Seriously, there's nothing more off-putting when you're reading a recipe or trying to follow it in the kitchen than to be smacked in the nose with Chanel No. 5 or whatever.
I wrote a letter to Gourmet about the perfume ads but never got a reply. I suggested that perfumers develop scents more in line with kitchen smells: BBQ No. 5, or Bacon No. 5.
Yeah, I'd wear Bacon No. 5. I'd wear No. 6, 7 and 8, too!
Back to Gourmet. I subscribed to Gourmet for nearly 20 years. I would have made 20 years and beyond if the magazine hadn't folded! Duh. I even bought the annual recipe books, the Best of Gourmet. They line my kitchen bookshelf along with Julia Child, Emeril Lagasse, Alton Brown, Molly Wizenberg, James Beard, Jamie Oliver and many, many others.
About 10 years ago, having kept all the Gourmets since I started my subscription, I had a great purge. I simply couldn't keep much less keep track of all the magazines and recipes. Something had to be done. So, I went through each magazine with my handy dandy clipping tool and I extracted all the recipes I thought I might possibly cook, and articles that I might read again given a hundred years or so. Recipes like "bacon wrapped shrimp with Thai dipping sauce" survived, while "beet fritters" went to the landfill. Harsh, but it had to be done.
Looking at the ultimate Gourmet I asked myself what recipes would I keep and to be honest, this rare issue is a winner from aubergine to zucchini. I balked at "deviled eggs with pickled beets" but I might give it a try for old time's sake if for nothing else. (Actually, I was encouraged by the direction to "discard the beet mixture" which moved this recipe from the No Way category to Maybe.)
So, there you have it. Seventy years of turkeys, beets, titanium spoons, impossible to find ingredients and, all in all, wonderful food, wonderful times, wonderful experiences and always the excitement of what the next month would bring.
I'll miss Gourmet. Yeah, sometimes I took it for granted but I always looked forward to the next issue, knowing it was just a few weeks away.
As for the November issue, it's a keeper. Uncut, as it were. It goes on the Kitchen Bookcase with the other big guns.
On, and for a touch of irony, on the back cover the advertisement is for Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, and the model looks like she's starving ...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Oh, Yeah?
I've been told that posting a picture with a few comments isn't really blogging and barely in the spirit of National Blog Posting Month.
Oh, yeah? OH, YEAH?
Well, Ms. Smarty Pants, check this out ...
(insert picture below)
Oh, gee, no picture. Too bad, so sad.
Coulda had a cute picture of Kink in a Basket, but nooooooooooooo. You had to go and complain and all.
Bet you're sorry, now.
Oh, yeah? OH, YEAH?
Well, Ms. Smarty Pants, check this out ...
(insert picture below)
Oh, gee, no picture. Too bad, so sad.
Coulda had a cute picture of Kink in a Basket, but nooooooooooooo. You had to go and complain and all.
Bet you're sorry, now.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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