3/17/12 Kiss Me

3/17/12, 3:32 AM; Crap, crap, crap, the train was late, I was late, now it's late. I told everyone I was getting up for St Paddy's day breakfast. I try really hard to keep my word. It's a rule or something I'm pretty sure. Maybe I should just keep going. Party! Party! naaaw! No matter how much my 20 year old brain wants to party my 50 year old body says no. Damn you 50 year old body. St Paddy's day is when everybody is Irish. Let me see... Larocco, Humpfelt, Triggs, Pederson. Apparently not me though. Italian, German, Welsh (Doh! So close!) and Danish + I'm 3rd generation which makes me completely and totally American. Wait I have a button...

... a button changes everything.

 Thank God! I was afraid I was going to have to wear those stupid shamrock deelyboppers to fake being Irish. I fell asleep thinking about how lame that would look...

Idiot, you forgot your pants again!

3/17/12, 6:38 AM: ... I don't want to get up! This is a bad idea. I partied in the 70's that was plenty for any one life time. Hell, there are still stains on the sidewalk in front of the Roxy. (The Bradford Ballroom at the time Hoo! Ha!). You can't expect a man that partied in the 70's to party in Haverhill, that's like asking Tom Brady to hold for extra points. Crap, crap, crap I gave my word. I have to go, it's a rule or something.

3/17/12, 7:05 AM; ...hmmm, the shower feels pretty good... really good in fact. Maybe I'll just stay here in the shower all day. I love hot showers. Besides I don't have anything green to wear, well except for that thing in the back of the closet, but that isn't even supposed to be green and besides the last time I went that far into the closet something bit me.

3/17/12, 8:20 AM; ... walking to Archie's because I keep my word. It's a rule or something.

Ha, I'm using this picture again.

3/17/12, 8:35 AM; ... coffee + a shot of Baileys + a breakfast buffet. Not bad, they even made red and gray corned beef. If you don't remember what I think of the great gray and red corned beef wars you can read about it here. 30 or 40 customers milling about, all but 2 male. It looks like what a gay bath house would look like if everyone inside was fully clothed and looked like their career was  sanitation worker. My group has one of the women so don't tell me we don't know how to party.

3/17/12, 9:32 AM; ... hear the first "YeeHaa" of the day. It is always a bad sign when middle-aged white people scream Yeehaa! Actually any cutting loose by middle-aged white people usually requires excessive alcohol. In the early morning hours no good can come of that. Thank the Lord I have my button, all 3 bartenders are wearing  shamrock deelyboppers. Fay is the only one that doesn't look stupid. How come women can wear stupid stuff and not look stupid? I order a Dark'N'Stormy. 1 part rum to 2 parts ginger beer over ice in a highball glass. Add a squeeze of lime. Not an Irish drink, but so what? It's St Paddy's day. I'm not Irish I'm just pretending to be, so as long as I get drunk everything is cool. It's a rule or something.

3/17/12, 10:45 AM; "YeeeeeHaaaaa!"

3/17/12, 10:46 AM; Time to go to Smithy's. The score after a 2 and a half hour hang at Archie's; 1 baileys + coffee, 2 Dark'N'Stormys, "Shipping Up to Boston" by the Dropkick Murphy's was played 2 times on the jukebox,  "Danny Boy" by Bing Crosby was played 1 time on the jukebox and I ate enough eggs + corned beef to fill the caloric needs of 4 African chocolate harvesting slave children.

3/17/12, 11:17 AM; Smithy's is full but not jammed. The lady factor might have climbed to 30%. Everyone looks like either they where in a fight last night, ladies included, or they were left out in the sun and they started to melt. A lot look like both. Wasn't this a Twilight Zone episode? Everyone's settling or making March madness bets. The only nod to St Paddy's day was the sign out front and the barmaids wearing shamrock deelyboppers on their heads. They both looked fine. Damn you women and your stylish ways.

3/17/12, 11:30 AM; Everyone else orders BlueMoons. I order water. I'll switch to Budweiser when the Bruins game comes on.

3/17/12, 12:35 PM; "Shipping Up To Boston" has played 3 more times since I walked in, no "YeeHaas" yet. I finally had to spend a buck of my own to play Bing. "The Departed" was a kick-ass movie and the Dropkick Murphys are a great live band but is everyone just too cool to enjoy a little rank sentimentality? Does anger create more authentic art than sweetness? I'm having a Bud now, screw it, the game will be on in 20 minutes.

3/17/12, 1:01 PM; Juke box off, bruins on. Yee Haa!

3/17/12, 03:15 PM; "YeeHaa! Bruins win! Beers for everybody!" It was a shoot out though which is crap. One of our guys gets luckier than one of their guys in a contrived and artificial add on to what was a great game. Instead of overtime in football they should just have 5 guys see who can throw the football the farthest. Still, winning isn't everything it's the only thing. In America that's a rule or something. USA! USA! Bruins win!

3/17/12, 04:15 PM; Time to hit the Peddlers Daughter. The tally after a 5 hour hang at Smithy's is 3 glasses of water, 4 Budweiser, 7 plays of "Shipping up to Boston", 1 play of "Danny Boy", 1 overly fatty grey corned beef sandwich that African children would probably refuse to eat and a Bruins victory.

Owned and run by actual Irish people.

3/17/12, 04:23 PM; Big line waiting to get into Peddlers. They are doing live music so no worries about  "Shipping Up to Boston". The line is full of well behaved celebrants that are just loose enough to make the sidewalk a party and one huge goomer sipping from a flask and wearing a little tiny leprechaun hat on his shaved head, it's like a party hat only it's held on with one of those deely bopper bands. The guy is massive but no one is going to tell him he looks ridiculous, it's "St Paddy's day Beyond Thunder-dome". Goomer keeps telling his extremely attractive girlfriend that he's had it and the next guy that messes with her "is going down". She just rolls her eyes. He keeps saying it loud enough to make sure we all know she's his property. Does she know that she is his property? She tries to shush him but he shakes off her hand and glares at the nebbishy fellow in front of him who is making a disgusted face well out of his ability to back up without a police escort. What fun!

3/17/12, 4:42 PM; Time to move on, the line isn't moving, big goomer is getting increasingly vocal about the line not moving, hot girlfriend looks about ready to storm off, and I'm hungry. No tally for the Peddlers.

3/17/12, 05:01 PM: Hans Garden is jumping way more than I would have though.

Surprisingly good chow for a Chinese bar 45 miles from Boston

The staff are all dressed in their leprechaun clothes which brings out a knee jerk reaction from that this is some kind of Irish minstrel show, that it is insulting and they shouldn't be doing it. Because Chinese people are different from Italian, Welch, German, Danish mixed breeds like me how? Shame on me again, they have as much right to be fake Irish as I do. Where do all the wrong things I think come from? Why can't I get rid of them? Do they qualify me to be a priest or a republican congressman? "Shipping Up to Boston" is blasting away as I walk in. Stop, please stop!

3/17/12, 05:10 PM: There is a buffet with corned beef and cabbage! Nooo! Enough with the Dropkicks and the corned beef! I order a Fog Cutter. Christy the tall blond bartender is wearing something that was probably supposed to make her look Irish but instead makes her look like the St Paulie Girl. This is not a complaint. The rest of the staff is all Chinese and under 5'5", It's Snow White and the 7 Leprechauns! Christy's big goomer boyfriend is going to play guitar so at least they shut off the Dropkicks. Do all tall pretty girls have to have goomer boyfriends? I think it is a rule or something.

3/17/12, 05:21PM: I order a hot and sour soup (really, really good here) and broccoli in garlic sauce ( Damn good also). Christy makes a pouty face because I don't want the buffet. She cooked it at home, "Don't you just want to try it?" If there is one reason I will be forever single (yeah, yeah I know, you could all name at least 50) it's the pouty face. I Hate the Pouty Face!

3/17/12, 05:52 PM: Time to leave, Goomer is singing Jim Croce songs. Jim Croce? How does anyone 10 years younger than me even remember Jim Croce? He must be saving the Irish Rovers for his encore. The tally for a 1 hour hang at Hans garden is 2 fog cutters, a great meal, 1 "Shipping Up to Boston" no Bing.

3/17/12, 06:05 PM: I'm standing in front of Hans looking across the street. The Chit Chat has a live band! Yea! The door is open and I can hear them playing "Shipping Up to Boston". I will never be able to watch "The Departed" again.

An actual live music club. It's like a museum only with drinks and fights.

3/17/12, 6:08 PM; I was going for the Chit Chat anyway when I notice Big goomer #1 coming up the street minus his girlfriend. His little hat was askew and he had replaced the flask, or put the flask in, a brown paper bag. Very old school. He stopped a couple he came across for an animated conversation  the boyfriend  pointed at the Chit Chat while his girlfriend tried to pull down his arm. My survival instincts tell me it might be a good idea to skip the Chit Chat for the near future and to go back to Archie's. Does that make me a wiener?

3/17/12, 6:32 PM; Archie's is jammed. I get one more Dark'N' Stormy but there is no place to sit, no place to lean, and no place to stand where you aren't being pushed and bumped constantly. All the women that weren't there this morning are here now, because getting pushed and shoved while surrounded by big goomers that have been drinking since 8 AM is fun? I see 50% pouty faces, the goomers move around like I do not have a corporal form which is not fun since I am around elbow hight,  and "Shipping Up to Boston" is playing on the jukebox. Time to go home.

3/17/12, 7PM; The tally for the day is, 3 Dark'N'Stormys, 2 Fog Cutters, 4 Budweisers, 1  Baileys and coffee, 1 breakfast buffet, 1 fatty corned beef sandwich, 1 hot and sour soup (best ever), 1 broccoli in garlic sauce, no interest from the ladies, 12 plays of "Shipping Up to Boston", 2 plays of Bing's "Danny Boy" a Jim Croce medley that will haunt me for days to come, a mildly satisfying bruins victory, damn you shoot-out solution, tons of walking, and home alone completely sober on Saturday night. Sweet hang! Another great day.


3/18/12, 5 PM; If you have half a brain after a day of wandering and a good nights sleep you went out for breakfast today. Fine, but now it's evening, brunch is wearing off, and you spent too much yesterday to justify ordering out. Well, if you're backed up with boiled dinner in your fridge and you are watching the Southie parade on television your answer is keep it simple. Bubble and Squeak! Mmmm! Bubble and squeak!

Better than it looks.

1. Pull the left over boiled dinner out of the fridge.
2. Pick out the potatoes and turnips. (What! no turnips? shame on you. So just go with the potatoes).
3. Mash them up with a squirt of cream, pepper, salt ( only if they were cooked in a different pot than the corned beef otherwise pass) and a tablespoon or 2 of flour. 
4. Take everything else in the pot, beef, cabbage, carrots, parsnips, whatever, and chop it fine. An onion is a good idea.
5. Then chop it fine again.
6. Then mince it. You want it minced but resist the urge to use the food processor you don't want goo.
7. Fold the minced boiled dinner into the mashed potato/turnip (you really should learn to like turnips).
8. Form into patty's then refrigerate for a half hour or so. You want the flour to absorb some of the liquid you've freed. 
9. Melt some butter, Mmm butter! in a cast iron skillet.
10. Get it hot, but watch it. Once it stops foaming you want to add your patty's. Butter, Mmmm butter! will burn.
11. Let a crust form. Try and flip too soon and you will have a mess in the pan so patience is important. Use plenty of butter too. More oil will help make the crust form without sticking. It won't make things greasy if the oil temperature is hot enough. These things are not really going to be healthy no matter what you do. Trying to get around the fat calories by using a no stick pan will also get you nowhere, a crust won't really form in non-stick pans unless you have the really expensive calphalon kind.
12. 3 minutes a side in a hot pan is all you need.

If you want you can just serve this as is with a garden salad or you could hold back the corned beef at the chopping phase, slice it, and heat it in the left over broth. Dark bread would be nice on the side as would a soft farmers cheese.

St Paddy's day as observed in this country was invented in this country. It was a holy day of obligation in Ireland. That meant church not parties. It's only recently that our faux celebration migrated across the Atlantic to infect the home country and I'm cool with that. Anything that gets us all grooving together is worth keeping, even if it includes a Jim Croce sing-a-long between chinese leprechauns and a big goomer with a guitar. It should be a rule or something.

Gimme Shelter.

This winter sucks. Valentine Day sucks. The Republican war on sanity sucks. Working for a living sucks. The economy sucks. Me trying on my summer speedo sucks. The price of gasoline sucks. Working on Fat Tuesday sucks. Getting an extra leap year day in February instead of in July sucks. Saint Patty's Day is coming on a Saturday so I can't blow off work and will have to drink with amateurs, which sucks. I'm still short, which sucks. They only managed to table the Blunt amendment by a 51 to 48 vote after it passed in the house, plus Olympia Snow voted against it which means a bunch of democrats voted for it, which sucks. Lindsey Lohen hosted Saturday Night Live, which sucks. A silent movie seen by 14 people won the Oscar for best picture, which sucks. STOP, STOP, STOP! Am I kidding me? This is the winter of my discontent?

It must be, I have a button.

So I guess I was feeling a little down this winter. I didn't get the girl, I didn't change the world, I didn't get rich, I didn't win an Olympic gold medal in luge, I never danced with the bulls, I never learned how to bowl overhand, this blog is still several million hits behind "Cat falls off a TV". I guess it is pretty safe to say things didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted. That's no excuse to spend the winter moping around feeling sorry for myself. The speedo alone was worth a good laugh.

...and yet I am still a babe magnet.

Then Milly died and all the things that seemed to suck didn't matter anymore ( except the speedo which I had to cut off with scissors because it was chafing). Milly dying was simply profoundly and totally sad. Milly dying was expected. Milly dying was all of us losing a sweet, funny lady. Milly dying was a serious gut punch to a narcissistic blogger that was having trouble blogging because he was feeling sorry for himself. Milly dying was a bit of real intruding on all the imagined hardships I wallow in to justify my surly moods and rude demeanor.

We are a particularly rude people.

The only way to really honor Milly, who had a smile for everyone and knew the value of a budwiser and a laugh, was to snap out of it. It really isn't hard if you just try. For example you could play the new Black Keys album. The first two songs offer up a crunchy bass line so enjoyably dirty even nuns and Imen have to start grinding after a quick listen. You could invite some people over for dinner and impress yourself with the brajole you made until the homemade cannoli R brought put you back in your place. You could go to K's for brunch and wallow in her french toast casserole with blueberries, or you could skip eating it altogether, throw on some Black Keys, and just roll in it, it was that good. You could vote on Super Tuesday not because there is anything on the democratic side of the ballot that needs immediate attention but because it's the least you can do as a citizen of this country. If you are a republican good for you there was all kinds of choices on the ballot so you vote is actually important. You could go to your town party caucus and get elected to be a delegate to the state convention (yea me!). You could go to Archie's on Tuesday night, 24 taps no waiting, or you could wait until Saturday (St Patty's day) and add a fine Irish breakfast at 8AM. Then you could tear up Haverhill for 16 hours of revelry. The key of coarse is to not to bum about the things you are missing, but rather savior the things you have. You could skip the John Carter Hollywood extravaganza and just be glad you read all 12 of the books ( 7 now out of print) when you were a kid. You could with a whiff of kindness feel bad for a new generation that won't ever experience the quit awesomeness of Carter, or Tarzan, or Remo Williams, or Oz, or Conan. Instead of rolling your eyes and saying " kids now-a-days" like they just told you they don't like chocolate and don't understand people that do, you should just saver  all of the cool stuff the future has brought then double saver  all the great things that were around when you where a kid that they will never experience. Just turn off the Black Keys and put on some Funkadelic, then turn that off and put on some Rolling Stones, then turn that off and put on  some John Lee Hooker. And leave that nun alone!

Whoa! Writing, typing? or streaming? I'll slow it down for something tasty. While I would love to give you the recipes for the cannoli or the french toast casserole ( maybe there is room for guest bloggers down the line) I'm going to keep it simple with the pasta coarse I served at the cannoli dinner.

Keeping it simple.

This is incredibly easy, and while not a cannoli, is incredibly good. You will need 1/3 pound of prosciutto cut thick, a cup of cream, not half and half, not milk, cream! a large shalliot, 3 garlic cloves, some sage leaves, a pound of pasta, and butter, Mmmm butter!

1. The prosciutto will have a thick layer of fat in it. This is a good thing. With a sharp knife separate the fat from the lean, 2 strokes should do it. Then dice them up small keeping the fat separate from the meat.
2. Melt the butter Mmm butter! in a skillet over medium heat.
3. Dice the shallot, not an onion a shallot.
4. Chiffonade the sage. (Look it up, duh!)
5. Crush the garlic with the side of your knife blade then mince fine with a sprinkle of salt.
6. Once the butter starts to brown add the prosciutto fat
7. When the fat renders and becomes crisp add the shallot and sage.
8. When the shallot becomes translucent add the prosciutto lean. Keep everything moving for 2 minutes. Use a spatula or a wooden spoon, Duh!
9. Add the garlic.
10. Have the cream ready. Before the garlic begins to brown, 30 seconds maybe, you need to toss it in.
11. While all this was going on I hope you cooked the pasta. When you do leave it underdone so it will finish in the cream sauce.
12. Toss it with the cream sauce. Work it in the pan so it gets coated with the cream and finishes cooking.
13. Pecorino romano would be nice on top, or parmesan, or gorgonzola. Go nuts.
14. Between the salt you added to the garlic, the prosciutto, and the romano you won't need to salt this dish. (if you were wondering).
15. This will taste like sex, it would be my go to Valentines day recipe if I believed in Valentines day, so throw the Black Keys on and see if that nun is still around.

I know it took me a long time to do this post. Sorry, but living is easy, blogging is hard. I really was in a funk. It really was self-indulgent BS. It really did take a real tragedy to shake me out of my whiny baby downer. Milly was the best, and even though I have my doubts about heaven I'll bet a whole paycheck that right now there are a mess of seraphim having a beer and a laugh.