Convention

• 1a way in which something is usually done, especially within a particular area or activity:the woman who overturned so many conventions of children’s literature
• behavior that is considered acceptable or polite to most members of a society:he was an upholder of convention and correct formsocial conventions
• Bridge an artificial bid by which a bidder tries to convey specific information about the hand to their partner.

• 2an agreement between countries covering particular matters, especially one less formal than a treaty.

• 3a large meeting or conference, especially of members of a political party or a particular profession:a convention of retail merchants
• (in the US) an assembly of the delegates of a political party to select candidates for office.
• an organized meeting of enthusiasts for a television program, movie, or literary genre:a Star Trek convention

a body set up by agreement to deal with a particular issue:the convention is a UN body responsible for the regulation of sea dumping.
I went to the Democratic State convention last Saturday. I was a delegate for Elizabeth Warren. This was a huge problem for me. First off the Convention, but  I'm guessing every Convention since this was my first one, struck me as a strange land of sharks and sheep. The sharks show up with an agenda that includes obtaining power, status, and benefits with in the shell of a political event. The sheep show up as good citizens intent on doing their civic duty and maybe feeling like they have some control over the way things work. Almost everybody there had taken a good healthy swig of the kool-aid. I hate kool-aid.

Red State? Blue State? Doesn't matter; Kool Aid sucks!

 Chanting? What is this, Cub Scouts? Hand claps? Yep, Cub Scouts. Flattery? For showing up? For participating? Do I get a massage with a happy ending if I actually do something, or will a hefty campaign contribution suffice? Meet the stars? Over greasy eggs in a hall full of other people that "showed up" ? Stand in line, I guess a handshake is better than a pat on the head. You get the gist, yet for all the moments I rejected as cheese-ball, corrupt, or corruptly cheesy I still tip my hat to the folks that at least try to get in the fight. As sad as the process got, and trust me sometimes it was killing Old Yeller sad, at least all of the people in that hall have picked a team, taken a position, supported a side. I imagine the same is true at a Republican convention only with more blazers and a side serving of KKK. What bothers me is most registered voters in this country self identify as having no identity. Independent? WTF? Pick a team people. Do the research. Convention is good, convention is how society holds together, convention is how things get done. More importantly you aren't unconventional by refusing to choose. You are conceding the fight to those that do.

Yeah Fat man, maybe you have time for politics but I have important things to do.

Rich sociopaths run our country. They bath in babies tears. They pay $20,000 dollars for a court-side ticket to tonights Celtic game then don't bother to go because they're tired. They feed porterhouse to their dogs while they rail against food-stamps. They hate welfare but put their hand in your pocket when their too big to fail schemes actually fail. They own factories full of illegal aliens unless their factory is in Bangladesh avoiding our environmental and safety laws. They have spent literally billions of dollars over the last 30 years to convince you that freedom and them bending you over a chair are the same thing. (billions) 

Oh no! He's going for the sports metaphor!

Convention has it that a team, instilled with the fundamentals, working together, with a singular goal, can beat a crap load of money, privileged behavior and a loaded deck. Game 6 of the Celtics/Heat series is still a couple of hours away so that theory is still in flux right now, which is how I want it to always be. I want the working people of this country to rejoin the process. I want you to join a team and out work the sociopaths.
 If you are a right winger who thinks that corporations should run free and unchecked, that social security and medicare are a scam, that illegal aliens are horrible unless you need a nanny or a gardner or cheap factory labor, that health care isn't a right, that banks should be able to play roulette with your savings, that poor people deserve to be poor, and that Obama was born in Kenya I want you to go down to the local registry and sign up as a republican.

...but I'm a liberal!

Well that makes 4 of us. So if you are a left winger who believes that if only everyone had a collage degree toilets would start cleaning themselves, that the money that Clinton, Bush, and Obama stole from the the social security fund to make their budgets look better doesn't matter because social security is fine dammit! that instead of the worlds biggest military we don't need any military at all, that you can wallow in consumer goods and still be a good lefty, that unions didn't abandon the rest of us these last 30 years while they tried desperately to "keep theirs", that there is no difference between a public and private union, I want you to go down to the local registry and sign up as a democrat.
Neither of you is going to get exactly what you want, because you're both bat-shit crazy, but at least if you participate you might learn a little more about how thing work than Rush or the Kardashians have been telling you. Maybe I won't have to go to a convention and rubber stamp a bunch of candidates the got picked in back rooms by party hacks, and maybe when you step into the voting booth you won't have to hold your nose and vote for your "side", but rather pull a lever for your choice. There are only two parties in this country with serious power; decide, pick, and get on with it. Join the convention and maybe it won't be so lame anymore.
When I got back from the convention I went right to G-girls house for Greek food. If you are going to be unconventional that is a great place to start. Hell I wasn't there 20 minutes and I was stuffing my face with carp eggs and taboli, and hummus and chickpea salad and fresh feta, and olives and that was just the crudites. By the time I was on my second plate of pastichio (greek mac and cheese) I had a full bore food coma coming on. G-girl was relentless though and rolled out the galaktoboureko.

The next time I hire a hooker, after I've paid for my hour and done my business, I'm going to use the other 57 minutes to have her make galaktoboureko.

I'm not even going to give you a recipe for this stuff. I've never made it myself so I don't know what pitfalls you might run in to so I'll just say find a recipe and give it a try. I've never seen this in any store and it is way to good to not eat all the time. A party in my mouth sums it up. What I will tell you to make since the fresh mint is already in season is mojitos.

Sunshine in a glass.

Muddle that thing into submission

You will need fresh mint, limes, light rum, simple syrup, and sparkling water. A muddler can be obtained from you better stocked liquor stores.

1. Put 5 or 10 mint leave in a Collins glass.
2. Add a hefty wedge of lime, but not that hefty. You want to perfume the drink not overwhelm it.
3. Add a squirt of simple syrup. 
4. Muddle. Downward pressure with a twist. Torture that stuff. Don't break the glass!
5. Add a couple of shots of rum, maybe 3.
6. Ice. Crushed if you have it cubes if you don't.
7. Top it with sparking water or club soda.
8. Drink, repeat.

Go Celtics! I'm a conventional guy, confirm my world view.

No Cute Dogs.

I was depressed these last two weeks. My post from the 11th got more readers than any other post I have ever done. Now I don't want to seem like a crybaby, but I try to create pithy political commentary, I try to share my love of good food+ an occasional recipe, I want to remind you of neglected music or interesting art, I hope that sometimes you say, "I never thought about things that way before," and sometimes I hope you laugh at least a little bit. Fine. " Hey, look at me! I'm blogging! People are reading stuff I write! I must be more important than I thought!" Then along comes a post that just happened to have a cute dog picture up front and suddenly I double my readership over night. Well, I have news for you people there ain't going to be any cats that haz cheezbergurs. No memes of any kind. (Well maybe duct tapped babies) And just so you know I'm not fooling around...

Cute pictures my ass!

How you liking me now? I am a serious blogger and not some-one to be trifaled with. That YouTube video "cat falling off a TV"? I just replaced it with a video of a TV falling off a cat. Messy! Now you might be wondering "What's up with fat boy? Why so cranky?" I guess it could be about the Supreme Court deciding that cops can do full cavity searchs for things like traffic violations...

Come here America!

...or maybe I have been thinking too long about the "Stand your ground law" in Florida. If you keep giving someone a wet willy until they justifibly try to beat you to death can you then execute them in self defense? Is gunning down an unarmed teenager less of a crime if it wasn't racially motavated? Do you really think anything like actual justice will occur if someone is finally arrested only after massive media attention? It seems like there are at least 10 black panthers in this country, should I be as worried as Fox News wants me to be...

You heard me! Drop the twizzlers!

... or maybe I'm not cranky at all, maybe it is just the ridiculous hours that I , and every other American,  are working just to make ends meet. Then when the ends meet there are suddenly more ends. Plus you can't even complain, you have to make a half smile and say "Well at least I've got a job"...

More rocks please.

... or maybe you don't have a job, but you live in Massachucetts where Romney care forces you to buy insurance just like Obama care does. Then you go to pay your taxes and you find out that all that COBRA money you paid to comply with the law (I would have paid it anyway, wouldn't want to ruin Mom's retirement with unforscene problems from ingesting butter, Mmmm butter, every day) can not be used as pre-tax medical like if your employer was providing healthcare. Mitt gets a 12% effective rate on his taxes but a blue collar guy who switches jobs gets punished with 3 or 4 hundred dollars in extra taxes.(2 monthes unemployed 6 months job swapping for a total of 8 months COBRA at $550 per month for a post tax dollar amount of $4400. All of it income that wasa taxed at a  rate  around 20%). Of coarse if you don't buy a plan there is a tax penalty so get your citizen on... is it better to be punished for doing the right thing or for breaking the law? Maybe I should have been flipping insurance and pharmacitical stock. After all if the Supremes do there thing Obamacare is done, if the Supremes don't do their thing the health care industry gets 40 million compulsory new customers. They're bitching about 40 million people being forced to buy their product, really?...

Free markets, what could go wrong?

... tut, tut, with your nonsensical socialist talk, because that is exactly what socialism is, individuals forced to buy the products of private companies...

They're laughing at us.

Whenever my head gets to spinning I need a really, really good sandwich. Something comforting. Something southern comforting. Like Kentucky's hot brown.

I'm not a dumbass:(  I just worship the food network.

To make a hot brown you will need left over turkey, bacon, Mmmm bacon, good bread( if all you have is shitty bread why make a sandwich at all) a tomato, and mornay sauce.

1. Cook several strips of bacon, Mmm bacon, in a cast iron skillet.
2. When the bacon, Mmmm bacon, is crisp drain it on paper towels.
3. Return the skillet to the stove and either add or subtract enough fat to make 2 tablespoons. If adding butter, Mmm butter, would be nice.  
4. Whisk in 3 tablespoons of flour. Let it cook for a minute so the flour taste is gone.
5. Add 2 cups of milk. Keep whisking.
6. As it thickens add salt, pepper, and a little cayenne.
7. Add grated cheese, smoked gouda and some parmesan would be nice, or maybe some mortzarella and cheddar. Perhaps a nice gorgonzola either solo or with Romano. Go nuts, it's your sandwich.
8. Pour out the mornay sauce, in a bowl stupid, and wipe out the skillet.
9. Add your bread,then your turkey, then your bacon, Mmmm bacon, then thick tomato slices, then the mornay sauce, then more shredded cheese.
10. Run the whole thing under the broiler until it is all bubbly, melty goodness.
11. Top with more bacon, Mmm bacon.
12. Fresh ground pepper would also be a plus.

I feel better already.

I Had to Change the Title

This was going to be my Easter post. No pop culture, no politics, no crabbing, no grumpy old man stuff. I had cute pictures all ready to go, a great recipe for Sunday dinner, and one of my patented "It ain't so bad/enjoy your blessings" themes. Then work happened. It happened in the day, afternoon, and evening. It happened Friday night. It happened on the weekend. It almost happened on Easter Sunday. It happened so long and so hard that I had to do the smell test on my clothes Saturday for the first time since I've been out of collage. (If you have to do the smell test on your clothes a grown up knows it's already too late for your reputation and your dignity.)

Oh my God Man! At least have mercy on the rest of us!

 Then as this week unfolded I figured I'd have time to blog up, do a wash, exercise (speedo worthy by June, What? It could happen) and cook that Easter meal I promised my Mom. Then work happened. It happened in the day, afternoon, and evening. It's going to happen Friday night. It will happen this coming weekend. It's happening so long and so hard that by Sunday after Easter Sunday my Condo won't pass the smell test. I can't serve dinner here. Disappointing kids is not cool, letting down your better half is a shame, screwing the pooch when your friends are counting on you is for losers, but disappointing an 80 year old Mom is...? Don't say it.

I am sooo sorry Mom.

Then I realized that My Mom loves me no matter what. That the reason she is disappointed is because she really, really wants to see me. Wow, I have a fan. I love having a fan. I realized it wasn't about going to see her on Easter, it was about going to see her period. Cooking a fancy Easter supper ( and I can promise you it was going to be awesome!) is fine, but for Mom my time was the most important gift. Gift? She cleaned me every day until I was old enough to stop crapping myself. She put me to bed and made me ginger-ale and cinnamon toast after I blew lunch on her favorite chair( I was a very young 23). When I was 8 and had watched too much creature feature on Saturday night all 5'2" of her protected me from Frankenstein. A gift of my time? I don't have enough time to make things even. Still I guess I'm driving to VT this Sunday whether  I'm tired or not.

Big holidays, expensive gifts, fancy vacations... wouldn't our better halves, wouldn't our kids, wouldn't our brothers and sisters, wouldn't our Moms just prefer our time? Or I guess you could go with a fresh ham!

Hey, even if I missed Easter I still need to cook it.

You can find fresh ham in the regular super market. Maybe. You skip the section where the real hams are displayed and find the bin where all the odd sketchy bits of pork are stored. It'll look like a roast beef gone bad with a bone sticking out of it. The package will probably say picinic ham. It is not a pork butt which, while delicious, is not Eastery and requires very different cooking methods. A good butcher will let you order a fresh ham because that is what good butchers do. Find both, a fresh ham and a good butcher.

1. Remove the ham from the package, yes that is skin covering the ham. Cracklings my friend, cracklings.
2. Take a razor knife and score the skin in a cross hatch pattern. Do not cut through the under lying fat into the meat.
3. Now remove the leaves from 4 or 5 sprigs of rosemary and chop it fine.
4. 2 sage leaves chopped fine would be an excellent addition.
5. 4 or 5 cloves of garlic. Chop them fine. Add salt, then chop again. Crush with the broad side of the knife then chop again. Keep going until you have a paste.
6. Add the chopped herds and chop/crush again.
7. Mix the whole mess with half a stick of unsalted butter, Mmmm butter!
8. Smear it all over the ham working it into the cross hatching.
9. Refrigerate over night.
10. Pull the ham out of the fridge and let it rest at room temperature for 30 minutes.
11. Heat the oven to 500 degrees.
12. Place the ham on a rack in a roasting pan. You want something deep to catch the rendered fat.
13. Give it 20 minutes at 500 degrees then immediately turn the oven down to 300 degrees.
14. 2 Hours should be enough, but this is a fatty cut of meat and you really can't hurt it by going longer.
15. Take it out of the oven and let it rest before carving.
16. Fight over the cracklings.

I would serve this with roasted asparagus, grilled polenta with wild mushroom ragu, and a biscuit shortcake with real whipped cream. The whole thing will taste like spring.

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.

All You Need Is Love! ( and Butter, Mmm butter!)

So here are 4 reasons you don't need Valentine's Day.

Nothing says love quite like machine formed sugar.

First of all Valentine's Day has become an obligation. If you don't make a romantic gesture you're an ass. The problem is romance is only romantic when it comes from the heart. So when the chocolate, roses, and diamonds show up you have to ask yourself, " Does he love me? Or does he not want to get in trouble?",  You'll never know until you find that thong in his coat pocket after a weekend "working late". Worse is if nothing shows up. Now your whole existence is in flux, "Did he really forget?", "is he that stupid?", "WTF happened to us?". Finally did you really want the nighty made out of silk, wire, and cutouts? No, I didn't think so. Cancel out Valentine's Day and it will just be Tuesday. You never get chocolate, diamonds, and roses on Tuesday so it is just another day. No test of love, no anguish of forget, no torture garment disguised as a gift.

Second of all a huge amount of the worlds chocolate comes from Africa where child slaves do most of the harvesting and prepping of the cocoa beans. Beans is misleading though because they are the size of a small coconut and need to be opened with a machete. I can't think of a better job for a nine year old slave than whacking things with a machete for ten hours a day.

I guess its better than prostitution or death, besides I get a machete.

You can buy fair trade chocolate but you have to look for it. Check for nation of origin. Now free market people will tell you that, "Hey, that's the system over there. Who are we to interfere with free markets?". To which I reply what part of "slave" do you not understand? Enjoy your molten lava cake. Mmmm cake!

Third of all diamonds are a complete fraud. Until the 1870s diamonds were almost impossible to find, but that was only because everyone was looking in the wrong places. Suddenly colonialism opened up Africa and shazam diamond production went from pounds per year to tons per day. Uh, oh! The then investors in diamonds, realizing that there was a reason seawater was so cheap, did what rich people always do. They formed a mining cartel ( not a company, company at least implies competition) with the approval of various colonial powers like Britain and The Netherlands. They called it the Debeers mining company. Then they completely and artificially controlled the entire world-wide supply. Still Uh oh! But better. What if they increased demand too? Engagement rings, weddings, Valentine's Day, diamonds used to be too scarce for anyone but royalty, people didn't think about buying them, but when you have tons of crappy ones and all the PR money in the world you can start some traditions of your own.

Plus there were plenty of black people the weren't farming cocoa.

I miss my childhood machete.

Finally Valentine's Day comes in February. It's cold in February. Roses do not bloom in February which is why they cost so much. They cost so much back in the twentieth century because they all came from a hothouse. Now they all come from Columbia. That's right, your roses were hanging south of the equator mere days ago. Now since there are no black people to speak of in Colombia slavery and peasant labor was in. Nothing makes a sharecropper happier than being forced to grow flowers instead of food. You can gather around the rose cellar, put up some rose jam, ignore grandma's cough just because roses require massive pesticide dumps to grow in a jungle is nothing to be worried about, and hope that Starbucks offers fair trade roses with their fair trade coffee and Joni Mitchell compilation disc.

Though I was making it up didn't you?

Cancel Valentine's Day. Instead just love em the way you wish you were loved. Cinnamon toast, flat ginger ale, and clean the bathroom when she has the flue. Just rub his shoulders when you know he had a bad day even though you had a bad day too. Kiss once and awhile, do it in public. Maybe a little sex hold the begging. Take her side. Listen. Listen so you could repeat it if you had to. Go on dates. Dress up once and awhile. You know the drill.

So it's winter, it's cold, you're snuggling up in front of a fire, time for something so satisfying it will make your toes curl. No, not sweaty uncomfortable couch sex, " Where did that oreo come from?", duh, I meant hot chocolate.

Thank you pathetic slave children.

You will need a 12 ounces of 85% fair trade dark chocolate, 2 cups of milk, 2 cups of cream, teaspoon vanilla, marshmallows, and Baileys to taste.

1. Chop the chocolate fine and place in a bowl.
2. Heat the cream until it boils.
3. Immediately pour the cream over the chocolate. Stir until the chocolate melts.
4. Meanwhile heat the milk. Do not let it boil or a skin will form. ( why milk does this and cream does not is a mystery).
5. Add the chocolate back to the saucepan.
6. Remove from the heat then stir in the vanilla and as much Baileys as you want.
7. Fill to cups, top with marshmallows.
8. Snuggle.
9. Aw crap, you might as well have sweaty uncomfortable couch sex too, I did.
10. Next year, a partner!

A small aside. Artificial diamonds have been indistinguisable from natural diamonds for over ten years. How much longer must we prove are love with something that costs the same to make as a Happy Meal toy?

Echos

Senior died last week. I worked with him and his crew on Monday. We were all laughing, working hard, getting things done. It was always about getting things done with him, and enjoying yourself while you were doing it. He had a son who he was working for, a daughter he loved, and a team that hung on every story, followed every suggestion and emulated every example he set. On Wednesday he went home from work feeling ill. He was 49. Junior and the crew were, are, will always be devastated.

Kevin White died last week. He was the mayor of Boston when I was a kid. Or you could say he was the mayor of Boston when Boston was a second rate city simmering with racial tension. That was when the South End was rubble and slums, when Quincy market was just a shell, when the elevated train rumbled down Washington Street, and the demolition for the I-95 that was never going to be built left a gash through Roxbury and Dorchester. Boston still has it's problems but 35 years and a few other hardworking Mayors have turned that rat-trap of a city I knew into what is a pretty livable place. People of all political stripes are devastated.

Etta James died last week. She was a R+B singer with a smokey voice, a heroin habit, and the luck and talent to have created one of the greatest songs of all time. "At Last" is the movie soundtrack to every romance anyone ever dreamed about. I don't know if creating a piece of expression way bigger than you can ever be is a blessing or a curse, but I know that if you are a music lover, regardless of your preferred genre, you are devastated.

My friends cousin killed himself last week. He called his mother and told her he was tired. He called his father and told him he was done. Then he hung himself. I did not know him, I do not know his state of mind, but I know that he threw away the one, true gift that the universe tosses our way. The people that loved him are devastated.

I don't know about God. Neither do you. You have your faith, I have my doubts. I know echos though. Ripples in space and time that follow us after we are gone. The things we embrace, the things we crave, are only with us for a blink of an eye. Todays paper had a blurb about a store that was selling a magnificent $20 a pound cheese. Breathless reporting that is really advertising aimed at people that will never get that no matter how good a piece of cheese can be it will never be $20 good. I would take one more story from Senior any day. I will walk the Boston City streets this weekend with the memory of the way it used to look. I'll start my romance soundtrack in my head every time a girl takes my breath away. I'll savior creations gift to me all the more because it should not, cannot, be wasted.

May my echos be as profound.