Is it just Me?

It was a tough week at the new job. I got the usual new guy pass on things for the first couple of weeks, but eventually the real people emerge from those smiling helpful folks that I was introduced to. Oh well. Nothing I haven't dealt with before, but it still wears a body down. So Wednesday I got my arm twisted into going to McBrides. There was serious twisting involved too, I'd passed on trivia Tuesday night and I never pass on trivia. McBrides is a perfectly grungy Irish Pub with perfectly greasy pub food a mere quarter mile from the condo.

Mmmm grungy pub!

So I'm in there eating my bacon burger, Mmm bacon!, when a few of the young ladies to my right order oreotinis. Seriously people? A martini is ice cold gin ( vodka if you must) with a swish, a soupcon, a tad of vermouth and an olive ( again, if you must). My Buddy ordered a cherry lager. Freaking cherry, are you kidding me? Consuming the stuff doesn't bother me. Knock yourself out. This is America; you can drink out of the toilet for all I care. I just don't think you can put a Dairy Queen drink in a martini glass and pretend you are a grown up just because you are drinking out of a big peoples cup. Ditto with the cherry lager. I was coerced into trying it. You don't call it beer when it tastes like Dr. Pepper.

Even looks like the guy serving it should be wearing a paper hat.

Gin, vermouth, olive;that's it!

Well That was Terrible.

Yesterdays post was weak, Damn you Turkey hangover. So today I'm going to step back and take a few deep breaths. Of coarse in life you have to be willing to be terrible if you ever expect to be good.



For the youngsters in the crowd that was good for the gong show. Maybe things really did suck when I was a boy. Anyway I was thinking about the body paint, Mmmm body paint, and I decided that you could use simple syrup instead of corn syrup in the recipe. The advantage to this is that you can make simple syrup yourself, it is super cheap, and you can put it in daiquiris and lemonade.

You will need water and sugar. That's why they call it simple, Duh!

This is not about fried turkey.

So we were having fried turkey last night. Mmmm fried Turkey! Everyone was having a good time. The food was great. People were laughing, telling jokes, telling stories, arguing, just doing what friends do, when K suggested that her friend, and everyone for that matter, wants to find true love. If you want to ruin a party...



Now I'm not  big on discussing gender anything. A known misanthrope with obvious emotional issues I'm the last one to comment on the nature of love. For example I picked the Snow White clip mainly because the whole concept it portrays is destructive to the future happiness of every young girl that sees it. There are many number  other examples ...perhaps Cinderella hooker from "Pretty Woman" or maybe converting to slutdom from the end of "Grease". I might be a misogynist, but I wouldn't feed my kids, if I ever stopped  hating long enough to have some, fairy tale nonsense or destructive stereotypes if I could help it. But that's Hollywood love. It doesn't really answer the question. Doesn't everyone long for true love?

Well there's a problem here. What is "True Love"? If  by "True Love" you mean everyone has a soul mate that is born to be your other half you have already lost me, and since all you need is one person to say no to end the concept of "everyone agrees with this", this case is closed. That was easy except...

What if "True Love" isn't something you have, but something you get too? I posted this morning about pay-offs in life. What if true love is the end of your journey? Not that fade to black moment from the movies when your  journey together would normally start? That's the moment you're all-in, head over heels, can't bare to be apart, in love, right? That's true love, right?How about 2, 3, 5 years along, still young, still getting you some 5 times a week; that's true love, right? But then come kids, and mortgages, and aging parents, and accidents, and illness, and money issues, and money woes, and desire, and neglect and they're all in the future and they're all going to always be there, but they're not simple to deal with and they don't always have good outcomes. Whoa!

I don't know how love starts for women, hell I don't know how love starts for men, but since I am a man I can venture a guess for my peeps. You ladies aren't going to like it, but for most of us it starts as a carnival ride.

"Look Ma, no hands"

I am not proud of the fact that for most of my gender when we see a woman we are attracted to we are hardwired to want to climb on and go for a spin. Crude I know, but also true. Now how do you separate that feeling, which starts in your drawers but ends in your head, from your emotions, which start in your head and stay there. The answer is you can't if you are a well raised man, but it is no problem if you are a sociopath. Too many man are sociopaths; and I'm sorry ladies but I have no tips on how to avoid them other than take your time, make sure you are not the only one he treats well, and erase that prince charming bull from your DVD player right now. We aren't talking about sociopaths though we are talking about "True Love". Most men are not sociopaths, but they do have a case of the munchies for lady parts every bit as strong as a stoner has for oreos. Again crude but mostly true. Boy are we crude.

The Big Pay-off.

It's Sunday morning again. Wow, that long slow march to the big dirt nap at the end will not be put off. Knowing that makes it easy to understand why people like themselves some religion. No matter what I do all week long Sunday is going to show up whether I like it or not. Then the next Sunday, then the next Sunday after that, until there are finally no more Sundays. If the march must continue relentlessly to its' final conclusion you definitely want a big pay off at the end.  Every Sunday I like to post a little spiritual, or spiritual feeling, music as a nod to my desire for that pay-off. Like a winning lottery ticket, or a night with Pam Anderson, knowing it is not likely to happen doesn't change the fact that you would like it to happen. Well this Sunday we're going all in on the payoff. Don't listen to the music though until you let me blabber. We are modern folk in need of context. If  you get "it" you'll be all "Beethoven? Sex? What to choose? What to choose?" If you don't get it... well I don't know... sorry?



So back in the late 18th century classical music had run it's coarse. There was nothing new under the sun. Short of cutting the music loose from it's tonal base (Hello Wagner) everything had been done and done well. I don't know if Beethoven wrote his 9th symphony as a punctuation mark on the whole period, ( or on music in general, it's that good) but that's the way it plays.



Symphonies are in sonata form, (which means music, as opposed to voice i.e. no singing). Like I said, up until the 9th everything had been done. This is only the last movement of 4 (if you have an hour read my little tips for listening then go all in) but even at the beginning of this movement you can hear the music struggling with form. It's muddy, straining at it's tonal base. The strings are tentative, themes are lost or not even there. It dithers. It strains. This sucks! It seems like Beethoven has no place to go. What the hell is he going to do? Then Bang! the whole things bursts into song. (sonata form remember, voices are a no no. Good thing Beethoven doesn't care about rules). Not just any song either. Beethoven chose Schiller's "Ode to Joy" for his words.

O friends, no more these sounds!
Let us sing more cheerful songs,
more full of joy!

Joy, bright spark of divinity,
Daughter of Elysium,
Fire-inspired we tread
Thy sanctuary.

Thy magic power re-unites
All that custom has divided,
All men become brothers
Under the sway of thy gentle wings.

Whoever has created
An abiding friendship,
Or has won
A true and loving wife,
All who can call at least one soul theirs,
Join in our song of praise;
But any who cannot must creep tearfully
Away from our circle.

All creatures drink of joy
At nature's breast.
Just and unjust
Alike taste of her gift;

She gave us kisses and the fruit of the vine,
A tried friend to the end.
Even the worm can feel contentment,
And the cherub stands before God!

Gladly, like the heavenly bodies
Which He set on their courses
Through the splendor of the firmament;
Thus, brothers, you should run your race,
As a hero going to conquest.

You millions, I embrace you.
This kiss is for all the world!

Brothers, above the starry canopy
There must dwell a loving Father.

Do you fall in worship, you millions?
World, do you know your creator?

Seek him in the heavens;
Above the stars must He dwell.

(Probably better in the original German.)

---

This is important. It is not "Ode to God" The poem celebrates the unity of man not the mightiness of god. So in one giant blast of music Beethoven finishes off the classical period, turns all tonal music to come into a pale imitation of his talent, ( yes Bono even you) and echos that "All men are created equal" thing from the Declaration of Independence which was written around the same time. I know it seems like I am disproving my own first paragraph, but that paragraph is about wanting a pay-off for life's hard slog. The 9th symphony is all about pay-off. After 80 years of the classical period it is it is nothing but pay-off. It takes you from a birthing train wreak to an orgasmic finish in less than an hour. ( think about it ladies, a whole hour not the usual 2 minutes). It is the moment Dirty Harry plugs Scorpio  times a thousand. If that isn't spiritual I don't know what is.

I'm all in this morning. I've loaded up on some 9th symphony, I've got my Boston Globe, and I'm off to Linda's for a asparagus omelet with swiss cheese and a bucket load of hollandaise sauce. It's a long march, the pay-off is unknown and unknowable, but the trip is worth the price of admission if you are just open to how much greatness is around you.

I Got Skills

Well I've been at my new job for 3 weeks now and all I can say is "Same company different building." I have had 5 jobs in my entire life so I would be wrong to suggest that I have definitive insight into the workplace. Still, with-in the confines of the transportation industry all problems seem to be the same. Everyone complains about communication, but it's always that other guy who messes up. Everyone complains about people being late or banging out, but Hey, my kid missed the bus so I needed to be late.
Everyone hates the politics, but if you don't play the game you'll never get ahead. "There's nothing new under the sun". Darn that bible always proving wise just when you want to finally shed religion completely.

So what does that have to do with me having skills. Well I'm the punching bag guy. That's bragging by the way. In 1976 I was fooling around my dorm room at UMass when through every fault of my own and with the assistance of several controlled substances I managed to break the first 2 vertebra in my neck. I'd say bummer, but I didn't die, and I wasn't paralyzed, so actually I was pretty happy with the outcome despite a few ongoing physical problems.(there's another post in that when I feel like I want to discuss it) It gave me one thing though; I am the luckiest bastard ever! I fell bad about the state of the world sometimes, but it absolutely feels like a sin to complain.

At work I know that whatever the problem is it can be solved. I also know that in the big picture what ever the problem is isn't important. It's cool, I get to spend my day traveling on an even keel which in turn helps everyone else level off if things get screwy. I can't actually make a living being the uncle nobody wanted so I did have to learn computer things and such, but I'm pretty happy that when ever I'm out of work they come calling. Sadly you need a whole lot of passion to become the king so I'm a little behind the eight-ball on that one. Hey no worries, king of the moving industry means you're still in the moving industry. It would be like being the smartest person on "The Jersey Shore"



I guess I'll just have to settle for the rewards life tosses my way. Like this Saturday. I get to go to Karen and Joe's house for fried Turkey. Mmm fried turkey, it's a party in my mouth. That's not why it's great though (even though it is), it's great because I get to hang with everyone. If you offered to fly me to NYC, put me in a limo, and pay for me to eat at Le Bernardin (29 rating on Zagats) I'd still go to K+J's

$385 for the tasting menu.

K won't even let me bring any dessert, which is cool because that means she's making something kick-ass good. I love kick-ass good. Sucks to be you Le Bernardin, I'm having me some fried turkey. I actually was going to New York this weekend but that's another thing my little accident taught me, you'll never be on your death bed bummed out because you spent too much time with your family and friends.

Since I don't get to bring dessert this weekend I guess we can make something to go with our Sunday gravy. How about some Tiramisu?

Everything Old is New Again

Some folks have the impression that I am merely a cranky old timer ( which is true) tilting at windmills, cooking unhealthy food, and playing the occasional ancient music track. Guilty. Well damn-it those windmills have been out there a long time turning the same unrelenting way. If I'm going to be Quixotic I'm going all in. As for the food I promise you it will taste great right up to the moment of your bypass. Music is the one that stings because we've been using it to divide us. Music is one of the 4 great things in life, along with eating, sleeping, and sex. Wait, sex with a partner makes 5. Anyway, who says it has to be new to be good?



Pretty good and brand spanking new. If you haven't already heard it 50 times on the radio your radio is broken. Old timers couldn't possible be that good could they?


Well of coarse the 60's started the modern era. That's the dividing line right. Similarities are purely intentional. What's 40 years?



Or 80? Why we look for reasons to divide ourselves I will never understand. We could be eating good food, debating whether Piaf was better than Adele, and waiting for opening day. (Go Sox, irony alert, Yankees Suck) Instead we go around looking for reasons to get angry with that other guy. You know, the guy we need to blow up.

Today was pop, but you could do the same thing with any kind of music. Good to know cause it will give me another post someday when I run out of ideas. Maybe I'll do rap next.

I need a hug.

So now the liberals have an illegal war they can call their own. I don't remember anyone asking congress to vote on if a military intervention in Libya was a good idea. At least the Bush administration had the good sense to fake some evidence for their war of choice. By the way dropping bombs on people is absolutely an act of war, calling it a no fly zone doesn't change that.

Gaddafi is a bad guy, Saddam was a bad guy, Mugabi is a bad guy; wait, we didn't bomb him, Than Shwe is a bad guy but we didn't bomb him either, al Bashir is a bad guy ( a really bad guy) but we didn't bomb him even though we should have bombed him twice. I'm stopping now because I don't want to do 3 pages of this. The point is who our humanitarian wars (Orwell much?) are as capricious as our other wars.

While we're at it I want to ask why we are not helping the rebels in Bahrain or Yemen. Or for that matter why isn't there a no fly zone over Gaza? Aren't their psycho leaders colorful enough to warrant our attention? Are Israeli drones that blow up civilians justified?

 I don't know what scares me more, Obama the not left winger, the unhinged right-wingers on the radio trying to say intervention in foreign countries is bad (  you owe it to yourself to listen to that twisted dance. Be afraid, be very afraid), or the rest of us that don't get angry about a third war. Of coarse why should we? We didn't get mad when they botched the war in Afghanistan. We certainly had no problem attacking Iraq (cause you know the Iraqi navy was bobbing off the coast of New Jersey just waiting to take out Snookie). Why get in a huff now? It's March Madness.

Well I'm not going to get a hug. Hell I have to pay my Mom $20 for one and she's a three hour drive away. So a little food solace will have to do to ease my weary heart.

Oh yeah. In this sad world you need comfort that you can bath in. Now it's called gravy because you are going to load it up with meat. Meatball, yes! Sausage, yes! Chicken thighs, yes! Pork chops,yes! We'll hold off on the braciola for another meal. Maybe when we start a forth war.

Mmmm braciola!

I Shall Be Released

Sunday morning. Maybe not always a day for worship but certainly a day for reflection. While many of us go to a house of worship  many others go to the networks to hear the nattering heads make sense of the weeks events. They'll be talking Libya and Japan this week. Back and forth they'll go. How do you create democracy? What do you do to prevent or mitigate natural disasters? Is nuclear power safe? They'll babble-on puffed up with the majesty of their own revealed word. They will spin a mighty tale about the horrors, or bet money on, the safety of nuclear power. They'll wonder aloud why it is so hard to get democracy to take root. Some will blame Obama because it's their job to blame Obama. Blame for what I'm not sure. Others will just defend their point of view sans interest in facts or morality.

I'm not interested in blame. Not on Sunday, not during the week. I am interested in numbers though, even numbers that are only accurate estimates. Numbers like 250, 7,500, and 250,000. If you didn't know those are the death tolls for the earthquakes in New Zealand, Japan and Haiti.

Wow I'm old!

...and "Archie's was the quiet bar"

So I get home from work at 5:30. I'm all hopped up because it's Saint Paddy's day and downtown will be jumping. I'm definitely jonesing big time for corned beef and cabbage. (Hey, I just post this stuff, that doesn't mean I have the time to actually cook any of it.) That should have been the tip off. Some young folk might enjoy corned beef and cabbage, most young folk might even eat some politely while making plans to get pizza later, but no one under the age of 40 "Joneses" for boiled dinner. I feel like the Shac O'Neil of partying, I can do it old style for short spurts but I can't keep up the rhythm for an extended period. (Hey that sounds like my sex life too, I really am getting old)

I go to Archie's around 6 to meet friends. Nice night, nice walk from the condo. I haven't seen this many 

drunks in Haverhill since last Friday and the weather was way worse then. I'm behind the curve though. Totally sober, hungry and tired. My friends, subscribing to the American axiom that nothing succeeds like excess, were already obliterated. Now in my youth I might, only "might" mind you, have tried to play catch-up, but even as I hit the door my older more boring brain was reminding my older less elastic body that we both had to get up at 5:30 tomorrow and go to work. Yeah, but I could still enjoy a few drinks and dinner right?

Well there was no place to sit and little kids were trying to step dance where I was standing and the waitresses were cranky cause the crowd was so big and woman that were not longer girls were doing the Unicorn moves while a guitar guy played the unicorn song and I know that men paint themselves for sports event but so do women and then they paint themselves for all other holidays as well and why does anyone want to wear green deely boppers on their head and I wish the tv was off cause the news was showing footage from Japan plus footage from the aftermath of Hiroshima because those two things are exactly the same if you are lazy, and have scary file footage you want to show instead of doing actual reporting and it made me queazy thinking about it cause somehow it was way worse with the Unicorn song playing in the background and people were pushing me did I mention there was no place to sit but that didn't mater because they were already out of boiled dinner so I had a corned beef sandwich and a Guinness but it came out of a can but it still tasted good so now I was feeling a little tipsy which would have been a good thing if I was going to stay but it was a bad thing because I have to work tomorrow so I resisted the 2 women with the big shamrocks painted on their cheeks even though the had an extra seat which my friend who by now had a giant tomato head from all the alcohol he had consumed which the shamrock girls though was hilarious even though he was slurring his attempts at seduction then Two and A Half Men came on the tv and everyone cheered so loud for Charlie Sheen that you couldn't hear the guitar guy playing a mighty rebel song... 

Top of the Morning!

It's said that if you want to eat well in the British Isles you should order breakfast at all 3 meals. I don't know if that is true but it definitely sounds like a plan. For the lucky few who didn't go out and ruin their St Paddy's day by finding employment there's only one way to go...

Heart attack on a plate...Mmmm!

 I love me an Irish breakfast , you will need :

Perspective people; perspective.

Red corned beef, or gray? Mantle, or Mays? Beatles, or Stones? Chili, beans or no beans? Coke, or Pepsi? Weed, or Beer? Creationism, or Evolution? Democrats, or Republicans? Celtics, or Lakers? Red Sox, or Yankees? (Yankees suck) Baked, or mashed? Mozart, or Beethoven? Hockey, or boxing? Beer, or Coors Lite? O'Rielly or intelligence? Kerry, or a personality? Up, or down? Pedophilia, or Catholicism? Banks, or home owners? Sauce, or gravy? Rich, or poor? Bieber, or Cyrus? Men, or women? Obama, or an American? Bush, or a post? Cheney, or Satan? (no fair comparing the same thing). Argue much? It seems as a people we just love ourselves a good argument. We like to throw down over it too. If your team decides to crush working people as a matter of policy you better be on board even if you happen to be a working people. Yeah I'm talking to you Joe the plumber.

Fight, fight, fight, cry, cry, cry, work yourself into a lather, get ready to go to war... Then suddenly the Big Kahuna reminds us just what misery is really like. Japan is destroyed. Boom, gone. I heard a radio commentator say he had never seen such destruction before in his life time. I guess he forgot the earthquake in Haiti. I guess he forgot the tsunami that hit the Indian ocean. Really people? When we're not fighting over whether the banks, or Acorn crashed the economy do we really forget the lessons we should have learned just a year ago? What lesson? Just that getting in a huff over the color of the corned beef or the proper use of condiments is maybe a waste of time when 10s of thousands of people can be obliterated because nature got cranky.

The color of the meat is purely arbitrary.

Hallelujah!

I had to modify this post. Originally it was just about the glories of Sunday mornings off from work and the joy of Hollandaise sauce. In view of the event in Japan that seemed cavalier and more than a little tasteless. Instead my agnostic soul  hopes that I am just wrong. I hope there is a reason for the pain, redemption for the lost, and comfort for those left behind. A secular song that feels more spiritual than most religious songs is all I have. (the original post follows)




I love Sunday morning. As I have repeatedly said nothing is quite as spiritually satisfying as breakfast out. Food just tastes better when people make it for you. It also tastes better when you cover it with hollandaise sauce like the Irish benedict at Rafts in Haverhill.

Mmmm Irish benedict. Instead of english muffins use soda bread. Instead of canadian bacon use hash. Instead of poached eggs use poached...oops! brain freeze absolutely use poached eggs. Finally drench the whole thing in hollandaise sauce. Mmmm Hollandaise sauce.

Are you red, or... gray?

It was a tough week for working people. Wisconsin governor Scott Walker managed to strip the collective bargaining rights from government workers (at least the government workers that people don't care about. Fireman and policeman still have their right... well not a right, a privilege, since rights are for everybody, to bargain collectively). Same old same old. At least there was a fight.

"irony alert, he was a British dude"

Funny thing. Or maybe ironic. We'll be celebrating Saint Patrick's day this week. Probably with a big corned beef and cabbage hootenanny. Guess what, people in old Ireland didn't eat corned beef. As a British colony the best Irish lands were used  to raise cattle for meat. Meat that was not for British consumption but for export to other colonies. Meat that could travel in ships. Meat that was salt-cured so it wouldn't go bad, i.e. corned beef. If you were an Irish peasant and you wanted to eat  you helped your British masters raise cattle on the good land then planted rugged crops that took well to bad soil, i.e. potatoes, on the land that was left.

Corned beef was a money maker. Sucked about that potato blight though. Of coarse the Irish people didn't have any collective bargaining rights either, so the good lands were used for cattle, the food was for export, and you could either flee or die. Of coarse we wouldn't want to deny the Achievers in society their just due now would we? That would be socialism.

One Thin Mint

Food porn, or real porn? One degrades us all, one involves naked people. At my house it is almost impossible to tell the difference until you try and clean the rugs. As cultures go we are a hedonistic lot, wallowing in pleasure, defining ourselves by our stuff, and reaching so hard to grab the next bit of happy we completely miss being satisfied.



Not that I have ever posted a recipe that is even remotely healthy. In fact at least 2 of the Mardi Gras and 1 of the Valentines recipes are known to cause seizures in lab animals. Oh well, I wanted to leave you with something funny for you Friday, unfortunately you get this post instead. Irish food to follow.

The Supremes

Oh Judge Roberts, everyone hates you activist bastards. Letting the Reverend Phelps rip on gays and fallen soldiers at funerals just goes to show that conservative and liberal judges can agree on free speech, and conservative and liberal pundits can hate on any decision they don't like.


Me, me, me! When you live in a nation of narssistists this is the enemy.

The Last Supper

It is a little known fact that I am one of the most trivial people in America. My trivia team racks up the wins. I know the names of all 9 supreme court justices, how far the earth is to the sun, and who holds the current stolen base record and who he beat to get it. Well last night one of my teammates asked me if I knew what I wanted for my last meal. I was kind of stumped.

At first I went with the obvious, excess. Bring it on! Gold dusted truffles, platypus skewers, a salad of endangered rainforest ferns, a giant chocolate cake shaped like Madonna's mole. You know, live out a food porn dream that would make the food network and the travel channel bow their heads in shame. I thought about it though and it occurred to me that if it was my last meal wouldn't I want all my tried and true favorites?

So how about a slice of Regina's Pizza, a cannoli from Modern, which isn't the same as a fry cake from Lyndell's, or a donut at Kanes, add some stuffed peppers from Borrellis, and a hot dog at Lawton's, now we're styling. The question is if I do all that will I have room for an italian sub from Bob's, clams from Woodman's, or a pulled pork sandwich from Redbones? Hell, I'm still just eating take out that's with-in 30 miles of my house. It's my last meal, if I can have anything I want how about somebody brings me a clam pie from Frank Pepes in New Haven? Mmm! clam pizza.

That's what I'm talking about, in fact why stop in New Haven? If it's my last meal on this green earth I might as well make it a traveling show.  We'll put a keg in the hatch back and just keep going. We'll stop at Lombardi's in NYC then blast down the Jersey pike to... to... wait a minute. It's my last meal, why am I hung up on pizza, and excess, and rushing about? Why be such a modern American?

After all isn't the best thing you ever ate the best because of where you where and what you were doing? A hot dog at Fenway Park on a clear June night with the Sox up by 2 and Pap coming on to close. How about the pancakes you made in a big cast iron skillet that time you were camping over labor day.  The whole gang was there and it turned so cold and Shelly shared the sleeping bag with you and it was great even though there wasn't enough room to do anything. Remember those hamburgers you were grilling after the kids ball game. The whole neighborhood showed up and Frank and Ralphie took your truck and came back with a trash can full of ice and beer? That stuff was so cold it hurt your arm by the time you reached the bottom of the barrel. All the kids had sparklers but the real show was the fireflys. How good were those burgers? Even the ones you dropped on the coals. No one noticed anyway.

It seems that I have my answer about my last meal. You can do excess, you can indulge your personal favorites, or you can just be happy. I choose my Mom's Thanksgiving dinner, the night before was always with friends, the morning was at the football game, everybody is running around, Dad's eating olives by the TV, the house smells great, there's a fire going... Yeah, it's definitely my choice.

It's a real Holiday.

Remember how a month ago  you proved your true love, to corporations, by taking part in the big Valentines day rip off? How are those $100 roses looking right  about now? I thought so. Well it's Fat Tuesday. Maybe here in America its just a regular work day, but in the rest of the world people are laying in gutters or dancing their asses off as you read this. Is she still your favorite girl? Is he the only one for you? Make a reservation, make a date, buy some daisies, wear the naughty panties, treat yourself to a little romance not because corporations say you have to, but because you actually love each other.

A little prep always makes the romance so much sweeter. So after a nice meal out, The Black Cow or Michael's in Newburyport have sweet harbor views, you can come home to...



It's not New Orleans authentic, screw authentic,  but it has that perfect sleepy souther vibe that invokes languid, almost bed time,  heat. Dance her around a little bit. Get a good grab on his but. Tell her what you're going to do to her, put your head on his shoulder. Then have dessert.

Let's get southern.

So I started a new job today. Unemployed was harsh so why doesn't working make me feel better? I'll tell you what does make me feel better. A little Fat Tuesday Zydeco music, and some serious southern cooking.



Just go with it kids. I now it's not rock. I know it's not current. Did you ever notice how when you are at a party where people are really enjoying themselves you love whatever music is playing? Think about weddings, Mambo #5, The Electric Slide, The Chicken Dance? To really enjoy music  is just like really enjoying anything; you just have to be open to it. Clifton Chenier is an American icon and Zydeco is great party music. Go with it gall-darn-it!

Smothered pork chops, smothered anything, is about as dixie as you can get. So for Fat Tuesday Smothered pork chops is my first choice. It's a 2 step process, sear and braise, which can be adapted to an infinite number of pork chops. It's all process, amounts are for sissies.

1. Buy Double thick bone in pork chops. There is a lot of flavor in bones.
2. Salt them. Pepper them. Sear them in hot oil in a cast iron skillet.
3. Both sides.
4. Butter, Mmmm butter, a pan that will hold the chops in one layer.
5. Slice an onion into thin rings, slice a pepper into thin rings, julianne some celery. Add more or skip it altogether, what ever amount you like.
6. Put the Vegetables in the pan. Salt and pepper them. 
7. Layer the cops on top.
8. Deglaze the frying pan with some white wine. Get all the brown bits.
9. Pour the pan juice over the chops. 
10. Throw in 3 or 4 sprigs of thyme and some chopped sage. Skip it if you don't have any, or use dry.
11. Seal the pan with foil. 300 degrees for 2.5 hours.
12. Make a roux in a sauce pan. Equal parts flour and butter, Mmmm Butter, stirred on the heat for just a couple of minutes after they combine.
13. Remove everything from the pan to a platter. Cover with the foil
14. Pour the juices on top of the roux, blast the heat, stirring until the gravy comes together.
15. If you need more gravy add some chicken broth, I didn't see you use canned, and stir. 
16. Pour the gravy over the chops. 
17. Sprinkle with chopped parley or sliced green onion.
18. Mashed potatoes would be nice.

Fat, Dumb, and Dead

It's been a tough week for unions. It's been a tough week for teachers. It's been a tough week for working people. I'd like to just tee off on the usual suspects. Limbaugh, Fox News, Republicans, Wisconsin governor Scott Walker, but that's a waste of time. Those people are dancing on the coffin of working people, but they never claimed for one second that they would do otherwise. In New Orleans they dance at funerals. It's called the second line, and it's made up of the folks following the hired band (1st line) on the march to and from the cemetery.




No, I never do things the easy way, so lets talk about the guy in the coffin. Since before there was a labor movement in this country the powerful have been trying to destroy the labor movement. Why did you think the work was done?

• Gorged on the American dream you still flew when Reagan crushed the air traffic controllers ( a EAW friend of mine told me he wasn't ruining his vacation over an illegal strike.(Of coarse if the right has it's way they will all be illegal). 
• When the trucking industry turned almost everyone that was an employee into an independent contractor, who could only sell his services to one place, you circled the wagons to make sure the work that was slipping away went to your people. Keep the death grip on a style long after you've been p'wned is a bad idea.
• You made a big deal about buying American, but the Sonys and Motorolas in your play room (another friend) didn't matter as long as you had a Ford truck with the right bumper sticker.
• When we'd go to a job that should have paid prevailing wage (something we didn't know and our company wouldn't tell), you didn't try to get us prevailing wage. You tried to kick us out and called us scab. I never once in 35 years disrespected a union line. I never once in 35 years ever felt like anything but an enemy at a union site.
• At the convention halls in Boston a bunch of you were drunk back in the 80's when I delivered there. Every time for years and years.
• At Javits in NYC I used to have to pay a "toll" to get unloaded.
• When I worked election sites in Boston in the early 2000's the Carpenters Union would show up, but not know the names of the people whose signs they were holding. 

I never meet Investment bankers. Anything they have done, and they have done plenty, is remote. There is no personal connection there. There is a difference between the anger you feel for an abstract on the television and the anger you feel for a person in front of you extorting money or threatening your safety. Personal is always more powerful. You hear me teachers?

Bloody Marys

It's Sunday morning. Maybe you need a little hair of the dog. Maybe a little brunch. Maybe... hey this is America, we should be at our respective houses of worship! (I choose Linda's at the beach. Nothing says almighty power like a lobster benedict, side of hash browns, and a grilled cinnamon roll). Worship doesn't mean you have to cancel the party though.



Hey, it's Mardi Gras. Since when does spirit and jazz not mix?



Okay! You want a traditional approach fine!



Ah come on, more country? Really?



Well if we're all going to be fussy about our worship I'll take...



I do indeed love me some Patsy Cline. America, you can do anything 10 different ways and as long as you aren't hurting anybody you should be left alone. It's true of your choice of worship, your choice of political belief, your choice of music, your choice of art, hell, even the way you make a Bloody Mary.

Let the Good Times Roll!

It's Friday Night. Time to kick rev the party up a few notches. First you should fuel up though, don't want those Hurricanes pileling up in an empty stomach. How about something quick and easy. Did you know there were a lot of italians in New Orleans?

                                           BoscoliFamily

Moonbat.

I guess if you are reading this blog you know or figured out that I am a kind of a left wing moon-bat type person. Truth. On the other hand I don't like granola, never wear birckenstocks, think incorporating is a valuable financial tool, and love a little hedonism once and awhile. I just think companies and governments need rules to keep them in line. I also don't like this:

1. Nestle
2. Nestle again.
3. Chiquita
4. Chiquita(United Fruit)
5. Chiquita again
6. Shell Oil
7. Debeers
8. Massy Energy
9. The American Work Place
10. Union Carbide

 Take a minute, peruse a few of the links, see why I don't sign on to the uncontrolled free market. I bet neither do you. So I guess the real question is how much of a moon-bat are you? This stuff isn't going away tomorrow, but it will never go away unless we try to stop it.

Carnival; It's everybody's party.

Who said Fat Tuesday and Carnival belong to New Orleans? They are kicking it all through South America, the Caribbean, and southern Europe this week. Anywhere catholics hang out. So there's Mighty Sparrow another famous guy that you probably never heard of because you live in the United States. Now I know you're not digging on those tunes, but for today just let yourself go. You're on a cruise ship, it's hot, even if you'd never buy his record, you're knocking back rum punches and having a great time. In America it should be all melting pot all the time, so let's move from your ears to your mouth.

                                           Manuel González Olaechea y 

A little ceviche maybe? Hey, you've been doing sushi for about 15 years now so you know you're ready for this. What! OK you sissies, not too much new odd stuff in one post. Instead of fish we will use shrimp.

Get a pound of small to medium shell on shrimp, a habanero or serrano pepper, a medium purple onion, 3 limes, 1 orange, 1 tablespoon catsup, fresh cilantro if you like cilantro, parsley if you are a complete sissy.

1. Get a pot of salted water to boiling, toss in the shrimp. 2 minutes tops. Drain and hit with cold water.
2. Peel and devein the shrimp. Lose the tails. If you are using medium cut them in half.
3. Cut the pepper in half. You can take away a lot of the heat if you lose the seeds and the white membrane inside. Cut it in very thin strips.
4. Peel the onion. Cut it in half, then slice it very thin.
5. Chop the cilantro, or the parsley (sissy)
6. Mix everything in a bowl then chill for 2 hours so the acid from the citrus has time to permeate the shrimp.
7. Serve with crackers, tortilla chips, crudites, whatever you want.

 If you are feeling brave and you trust your fish monger just get a nice piece of white fish like flounder, cut it into a 1 inch dice, skip the boiling water and combine everything in the bowl. Give it 4 hours instead of 2. I'll be the guy in back dancing around in a Hawaiian shirt and a speedo.

It must be good, It's Authentic!

Time to get our Mardi Gras party rolling. We're going to have some authentic food, play some authentic jazz, drink authentic cocktails, get authentically banged up, no, no, no... We're going to have a great time, eat some tasty food, drink dangerous cocktails and definitely get banged up. It's Fat Tuesday! They had Fat Tuesday in Germany 500 years before New Orleans ever existed. That's the beauty of the place. It is as American as it gets. French settlers, Spanish settlers, slaves from west africa, Native Americans, Acadians banished from the Maritime provinces , Colonists from the first push west, people following the Mississippi south; all kinds of people from all kinds of places showing up in one spot. Maybe they wanted to, maybe they had to, but there they were blending their music, their culture, their lives with the local flora and fauna. Authentic New Orleans just means you picked a point in history and decided that everything that happened before isn't important. Authentic New Orleans means you picked a point in history and decided that everything that happened after isn't important. Authentic... it's the death of New Orleans, it will be the death of America.

Did that sound preachy? It did didn't it? My bad, we're supposed to be getting ready to party! So forget authentic. What kind of a party do you get from authentic anyway...

                                           Arria Belli

"Hey Babe! I'll go try to kill something that tastes good or at least something we can digest. I should be back in 3 days unless it kills me first. You take the kids down by the river and see if those red berries are safe to eat. Give them to little Johnny first, he's looking a little scrawny and we need to figure out if he can survive the winter."

Even the loin cloths put a crimp in things. Trust me, me in a loin cloth, unless the room is very, very, very dark, is going to be a buzz kill. So if we are going to leave the authentic cuisine to run free out in the woods, and we are going to protect the eye sight of all by including a blanket to cover my loin clothed form, how do we get this party started?



There we go. Fat's is a little old school for modern tastes, but that will take care of itself after a few sazeracs. If you don't like Fats play something else. You won't hurt my feelings. I just figured that since this is a web sight about food, politics, our dumb culture, our brilliant culture, history, art, life-style and me bloviating, you might like to try some things that you aren't familiar with. So now that we have the music on track how about some food? We started our roux yesterday so in keeping with the spirit of New Orleans how about some gumbo?

Party!

Fat Tuesday is a week from today. Back in the day that meant you had one week to cram in as much excess as possible before lent. Seriously, what could be more American than wallowing in excess. Hippies in the sixties, teabaggers today, gay pride parades in between, has there ever been a cause or movement that couldn't be helped along with freaky costumes, alcohol, and narcissism. The trick is to combine all those things in such a way that when you wake up the next morning the worst  you might need is an aspirin and a hosing off. Quick! For bonus points is this picture of a) hippies b) teabaggers c) gay pride advocates?

                                           (Infrogmation)

Probably all 3 because this is a picture of Mardi Gras. Strip out the politics, leave in the self indulgence and you have a) My last date b) a democratic fundraiser c) fun.  So lets have some fun.

We have 7 days to cook up a big spread, so I'm going to chug me a VooDoo lager,  throw a Meters record on the turntable, and get to cooking. Now there are a few things we have to deal with. The first is you can't always find authentic creole and cajan ingredients in the local Market Basket. Who cares? You heard me. Authentic is where posers and jackasses go to die. If I hear one more food, music, art, film, theater, whatever snob punish somebody's efforts with a sneer and a "Well, I guess it was alright even though it is not...." Ahhhh! I'm ruining my party mood so I'll just let that on go for now.