Writer, Foodie, Thinker

Breakfast at the Palomino Room

2011-07-04T20:55:00.000-07:00

The old Palomino Room in Sacramento was a steak house. They served lunch to local businessmen, and, at night, they produced fine grilled steaks. True, they had other stuff on the menu, but what the regular crowd showed up for were the steaks. Dad liked the lion sized rib steak, grilled rare, with a baked potato on the side – Dad like his slavered with butter and nothing else.

Then, on Sunday mornings, there was something really special. See, the Palomino Room was closed every Sunday, as used to be traditional in the restaurant industry. But some Sunday mornings, Harry and Ray and their chef, Nick would be in the restaurant, cleaning things up, making necessary repairs, and preparing for the week to come.

Whether this custom started merely to feed the staff that was in house on Sunday morning or as a thank you to their regular customers, I do not know, but word got around to the regulars that, if they came by on Sunday morning, breakfast would be served. The bar was open, and Mon and Dad usually ordered Ramos Fizzes or Bloody Marys.

The star of the show, however, was the salty and succulent breakfast served up by Nicolas. He got tremendous quality city style hams that he cut into thick, ½” thick steaks, 10” around. He broiled them on the grill until they had crosshatched carbon grill marks, making the ham utterly delicious. As a garnish for the ham, he grilled a slice of fresh pineapple. It was magnificent in its simplicity. He served it with simple, coarsely cut spuds that were buttery and had a hint of onion, and a pair of eggs, cooked to order. In those days, mine were scrambled wet, Mom’s were poached, and Dad’s, over easy.

Early on a Sacramento summer Sunday, it was heaven. I cannot find ham that compares to that in quality and texture, nor can I find the ambition to fire up the Weber at that time of day, but I may try soon. It will never be the same at home – it will never be the dear old Palomino Room.

The Volcano Combo

2011-06-17T15:17:00.000-07:00

When I was a wee lad, as the temperatures headed for the triple digits, my sainted mother would break out the backyard barbecue grill, a decidedly pre-Weber Kettle affair, and she would often serve dinner at a picnic table in our gargantuan back yard. To ease the dense Northern California heat, she would break out a variety of cool beverages, and one of the adult favorites was the Volcano Combo.

She credited its invention variously to a restaurant or a resort located in Volcano, California. Her version of it was, however, her own interpretation of it, and it was a classic. I remember Sally & Doc, Sully & Eddy, and numerous others sitting in the back yard, deep in grown-up conversation and drinking pitchers of these things. Here is the secret of ice-creamy, boozy deliciousness:

Volcano Combo

Ingredients

·         1 quart, good vanilla ice cream
·         1 pint, Cognac
·         1 pint, Dark Crème de Cacao
·         2 quarts coffee, room temperature

Method

Put all in a big pitcher, allowing the ice cream to get soft and the liquids to get icy cold before serving. Serve in chimney glasses with long straws. Be sure to provide lounge chairs for all.

The Hot Toddy

2011-01-08T18:31:00.000-08:00

Grandma had elixirs that were surefire recipes to get you back on your feet in no time flat. These mysterious remedies included chicken soup and hot compresses and, of course, the hot toddy.

Personally, I do not know if the hot toddy is a cure for anything, but it sure makes living with a cold a lot easier! This is my grandmama’s recipe and it works every time.

Brew a pot of black tea adding a cinnamon stick, some cloves and a few whole cardamom seeds
Pour a mug of it. Add a liberal dose of honey or brown sugar
Add a slug (approximately 2 oz.) of rye whiskey
Stir until the honey is not gloppy anymore, and finish with a squeeze of lemon juice (for the vitamin C)

Drink at regular intervals until you feel better.

My Friend Emily Trites Dancing With John Kirkconnell in Reno, 2008

2010-12-12T17:41:00.000-08:00

Veggie Tacos

2010-11-27T19:13:00.000-08:00

Ingredients

· Olive oil

· 1 cup of roughly chopped zucchini or summer squash (1-2 zucchini or squash, depending on the size)

· 1/2 medium onion, chopped

· 1 garlic clove, chopped

· 1 large fresh mild green chile (Anaheim or Hatch), seeds and stem discarded, chopped

· 1/2 fresh jalapeño chile pepper, seeds and stem discarded, minced (or more, if you desire more heat)

· Salt

· Pinch of ground cumin

· Pinch of ground oregano

· 1 small to medium tomato, chopped

· 4 corn tortillas

· 4 slices cheddar cheese

· 1/4 cup crumbled Mexican cotija cheese (a salty, crumbly cheese, you can substitute feta)

· A few sprigs of fresh cilantro, chopped (okay to include the stems, if small)

Method

1 Heat a tablespoon or two of oil in a large sauté pan on medium high heat. Add the zucchini, onions, garlic, green chiles, and jalapeño to the pan. Sprinkle with salt and cumin. Stir to coat the vegetables with the oil in the pan. Spread the veggies out in the pan and then stir only occasionally, until they are all lightly browned. Stir in the chopped tomatoes and oregano, lower the heat to low. Let gently cook for several minutes while you are preparing the tortillas.

2 You are going to want to heat up the tortillas first, first to soften them, and then to melt the cheese. Heat a dollop of olive oil (or other vegetable oil) in a large cast iron frying pan, on medium high. Add a tortilla to the pan, moving it around a bit, and turning it over, so that it spreads around the oil. Let the tortilla heat until it develops little bubbles of air pockets. Then place a piece of cheese on one side of the tortilla, and use a metal spatula to fold the other side of the tortilla over the cheese. Heat until cheese is melted, then remove from pan. Note that if you have a big enough pan, you can have one tortilla folded over while you have another tortilla doing its initial heating.

3 Open the tacos and spoon some of the cooked veggie filling into them. Sprinkle on chopped cilantro and crumbled cotija cheese. Serve immediately.

Makes 4 tacos. Serves 2.

Eggs on Horseback Revisited

2010-09-23T13:44:00.000-07:00

Twenty-five years ago I read a terrific book by Robert Heinlein titled Friday. It was a fun and sexy science fiction adventure, up to Heinlein’s typical standards, the details of which are for another post. One of the things that I remember about it was when some of the principle characters are on the lam, and they stop by the coffee shop in the San Francisco Airport Hilton. The requisite old guy in the group orders breakfast for them all, and it is called something like “Eggs on Horseback.”

Sadly, I no longer have a copy of Friday to refer to, and I am not even certain of the name of the dish, but it sounded good, so I thought that I would try to wing it. To say that my memory of this brief passage in a book from a quarter century ago is vague would be significantly stretching the meaning of the word “vague.” Let us say rather that I found inspiration in this delightfully described breakfast in this fiction and leave it at that. Years after reading that passage I stopped by the Airport Hilton at San Francisco Airport to see if they had anything like on the menu. I read that stupid plastic covered menu over about six times to no avail. It wasn’t there.

The elements of this dish, as I remember them, are simple: Filet mignon, cut thick and butterflied, two poached eggs and, in the original, probably, Hollandaise sauce. Since I am working from memory, and since this is, admittedly, my reinvention, I am substituting Bearnaise for the Hollandaise because it marries with the rich beef better.

Eggs on Horseback Revisited
With thanks to the late Robert A. Heinlein

Ingredients

2 filets mignon, cut 2” thick and butterflied
4 eggs, poached, yolks runny
Bearnaise (recipe follows)

Method

1) Grill, broil or pan-roast the steaks to taste, but don’t go more than medium rare. Filets are wasted if cooked more well-done than that. If you are cooking for someone who wants their meat gray, get them a nice sirloin or flatiron steak instead and send the filet to me.

2) Gently balance two of the eggs on each of the steaks.

3) Enrobe the egg topped steaks with a generous blanked of sauce Bearnaise. Garnish with a sprinkling of chopped parsley.

Sauce Bearnaise

Ingredients

1/2 pound, unsalted butter
4 shallots, finely chopped
2 tablespoons fresh tarragon leaves
4 white peppercorns, crushed
1/4 cup white wine vinegar
1/3 cup dry white wine
4 large egg yolks
1/4 teaspoon salt
Scant pinch cayenne, if desired
Additional tablespoon of finely chopped tarragon

Method

Warm butter just to melting point.

Do a reduction of shallots, tarragon and peppercorns, vinegar and wine to about 1/4 cup. Strain through a fine mesh strainer into the top a double boiler. Whisk the yolks into the wine/vinegar reduction. Place over barely simmering water. (The water in the lower portion of the double boiler should not make contact with the upper portion of the pot.) Whisking constantly, watch until it starts to thicken – this is a pretty subtle change. Do not stop whisking and watch very carefully.

Turn off the heat and remove the top portion from the double boiler.

Begin drizzling the butter in while whisking. (It really helps to have a third arm or an assistant here.) Keep the hot water handy, and work on and off the heat. If the sauce looks as if it is about to break, take it off the heat and whisk aggressively to cool. A teaspoon of cold water may be added to facilitate cooling. When all the butter is in, season with salt, a tablespoon of chopped fresh tarragon and a bit of cayenne pepper.

This makes for an insanely rich breakfast. You should probably wash it down with Mimosas made with brilliantly fresh orange juice.

____________________

UPDATE

____________________

My memory is worse than even I suspected. I gave Friday a re-read the other night, and when I came to the breakfast in question, it was much divergent from my memory. Suffice to say, the Hilton was not in San Francisco and the Eggs on Horseback were nothing more than a pair of sunny-side up eggs on a steak. I still like my version better.

The Flat Iron Steak

2010-08-01T10:49:00.001-07:00

The Flat Iron Steak, aka the Top Blade Steak, is the end of the chuck. It was developed in university labs, which is incredibly cool to those of us food geeks who find the science of food as appealing as its nutritive and flavor qualities. The reason for laboratory development was because they took the genes of the best tasting. . . . OK, no, that's wrong.

The reason that it took teams in two major United States universities to develop the flat iron steak is because, sitting at the end of the Chuck where it does, it has a chunk of connective tissue in the middle of three pieces of succulently tender and flavorful beef that had to be navigated around. They took this garbage cut of meat and cut it in such a way that it got rid of the leathery connective tissue, leaving only the beautifully marbled, tender and delicious beef.

Locally, this is still a pretty cheap cut of beef, comparable to the Top Sirloin, but the flavor is incomparable. I have waited for years to try this cut, and now I want to try it in every way possible. When in Gardnerville, Nevada last time, at a little Basque restaurant, I had a garlic steak. They used a shell steak, but I think that I am going to try this with a nice thick Flat Iron.

The Whispering Pines

2010-07-14T10:52:00.000-07:00

A long, long time ago there was a steakhouse on Auburn-Folsom Road between Folsom and Roseville called The Whispering Pines. I only remember it from my fairly early youth, but I loved it. It was dark and in the triple-digit temperatures of the deep summer months it was deliciously cool. They served great steaks, thick and dry-aged and slightly charred off the grill. They were delivered on metal plates that were nestled on Bakelite trays – the metal plates were heated in the kitchen so the steaks were still sizzling when they got to the table. They had decent sides of house-made scalloped potatoes and little gravy boats of some sort of sauce that was completely superfluous. They also served salads that were composed of iceberg lettuce, a cherry tomato and some shredded canned beets. None of that mattered: At the Whispering Pines, the steaks were the stars of the show.

The Whispering Pines was far from my parents' home, and it was a fairly rare treat when we went. It is long gone now, but we drive by its old location on a fairly regular basis. It is an empty office building now. It is easy to spot, as it is right next to the Whispering Pines trailer park, and, sadly, whenever we drive by my mouth starts watering.

Bicycle Building

2010-07-13T16:04:00.001-07:00

I have been contemplating the purchase of a new bicycle for about a year now, but choosing which one has become an ever-growing conundrum. The price must be low, but I would like a touring type bicycle. My ideal bike would be a Pashley Gov'nor (3-speed), or, better yet, a Gov'nor Plus Four, but my budget is strictly limited. So, surfing the Internet I sought options.

Eventually I stumbled upon a website called Ratrod Bikes. These are, for the most part, old bikes that are brought back to life with little concern about the original nature of the specific bicycle. On this site, one of the special interest sections is devoted to what they call "Board Track" bikes, or bicycles that are hotrodded in the spirit of the old racing cycles from the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth. They have lots of really innovative and old style bikes on that site which are based on frames that are more modern than the bikes that they are emulating.

In any case, the short version of this story is that I really want to build my bike in the spirit of the Pashley, but based on a more modern style and less expensive frame. I am planning to get a late 70s or early 80s Motobecane touring bike frame. I am going to paint the frame black and equip it as a three-speed. I am going to get some period style downswept handlebars and, hopefully, a pair of painted rims on which to mount either white or brown period style tires. Overall, I want to evoke the look of a 1930s style gentleman's touring cycle on a more modern and much lighter frame.

If this project sees the next phase I will post updates and photos.

Grown Up Lemonade

2010-07-09T14:19:00.001-07:00

Whilst watching a terrific old episode of The Galloping Gourmet the other day, Graham Kerr reminded me of what a fantastic combination lemon and cardamom make. And this time of year we are always looking for a cool cocktail to moderate the 105° temperatures. I think that this classic fits the bill.

Cardamom Lemonade

Ingredients:

40 whole cardamom pods, coarsely cracked with the side of a heavy knife

1 cup sugar or honey

3 cups good water

2 cups freshly squeezed lemon juice

750 ml bottle inexpensive asti – you want something sweet and light, not syrupy. Our current favorite is Cinzano Asti available at BevMo and probably a grocery store near you.

Good ice

Lemon slices and mint leaves for garnish

Method:

Combine cracked cardamom pods, sugar or honey and water in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer and cover. Simmer for 30 minutes, attending carefully so it does not begin to caramelize. Cool completely and refrigerate for at least 2 hours – this may be done up to three days in advance.

Strain into a 3 quart pitcher. Add lemon juice and Asti. Depending on the honey/sugar/Asti used, you may want to add additional sweetening now. Serve in tall, generously iced glasses with a slice of lemon in the glass and a sprig of mint atop, if desired.

Makes 6 servings. Serves 1.

Independence Day

2010-06-28T12:25:00.001-07:00

July 4^th, Independence Day, ranks as one of my very favorite holidays. It is a time when family and loved ones gather for food and for ignoring all the fire-safety rules that we have spent our lives learning. We set barbecues ablaze, we crimp the Piccolo Petes until they explode like little sticks of whistling dynamite and, in short, we have fun.

We sometimes get up the gumption to hit the Carmichael 4^th of July parade, sponsored for many years by the Elks Lodge. The parade has better years and not-so-good years, but it is always fun. I remember back in 1976 the local air base sent out a pair of fighter jets to do a fly-over of the parade route, which was truly spectacular.

In the evening I head over to my dear old friends', the Brownells, and they handle the ice cream churning and the barbecue duties, and I mostly sit around and think, "What a terrific life I have!" Later on we light the various fireworks-booth variety of fireworks and after that we eat some more and socialize. We make stern promises to not let it be a year until the next time we see one another, and then we part ways for the year.

It is a wonderful time. Yes, it is in honor of the founding of our great nation, but it is also much more than that. It is another time when we can reacquaint ourselves with those whom we love the most.

Happy Independence Day.

Re-reinventing the Vampire

2010-06-15T21:28:00.001-07:00

Though it seems like Twilight came out three months ago, it has, in fact, been two years. And, to compound the confusion, the third movie in Stephanie Meyers' series of Emo inspired, angst-ridden vampire stories is coming out in theaters next week.

What I find particularly sad about this is that while vampires in the Bram Stoker mold are frightening and darkly beautiful creatures of the night, writers like Stephanie Meyers have reduced them to poorly written, poorly bred, self absorbed teenagers. When Anne Rice reinvented the vampire in a more humanistic manner, it was a fairly creative move. Her vampires did not turn into bats and religious icons did not repel them. Some of them had their own angst. When she did this she had two things working for her:

When she did it, it was still fairly, though not completely, original

In her early novels, when she had stronger editors, she was a pretty good writer.

Stephanie Meyers has neither of these working in her favor.

Now I am not saying that vampires all need to adhere to the foundations laid out by our dear, perverted Victorian friend, Stoker. After all, Dracula, whilst based on Romanian lore, was his own reinterpretation of it. The original Vlad Dracula Tepes was rumored to be able to turn into a wolf or a rat, rather than a bat, but Bram felt that bats were more romantic images than rats, so his abilities changed.

What makes Dracula so formidable, however, is the fact that he can do all kinds of great stuff despite the fact that he has a relative slough of weaknesses. Old Vlad, by the Victorian era, was able to navigate during daylight hours quite well due to his age, strength and experience. Iconography of the Catholic Church, however, bodes ill for him. Things like crucifixi, holy water and, most notably, the Blessed Sacrament are all poison to him. The reason for this is that Dracula is related, in some sense, to Satan. The word Dracula means "Son of the Dragon", the dragon being a common mediaeval reference for the devil. I suspect that the trend away from this is due to the general cultural, or, at least, popular drift away from religious faith.

Without going into too much history, the original Impaler was a very successful and cruel military man. He handled his enemies roughly, often impaling them on stakes and allowing their bodies to molder whilst hung by the side of the road. In that era, in popular belief, bodies that were not buried in sacred ground doomed the souls that had once occupied those bodies to wander the earth. So old Vlad was a guy whom the peasants did not want to cross – not only would he kill you, but he would condemn your immortal soul as well.

I love vampire stories. I would love to see some new, well crafted and good ones. I want a vampire, however, who is a badass despite his shortcomings. I want a Dracula. My beloved wife is not a fan of the 1992 Dracula movie, but I, for one, think that it is about the best one ever made. Another fine entry is the 1972 Great Performances made for television entry starring the suave Louis Jourdan as the old count. These guys were charming and seductive and they were tough. They did not get all moody about teen-aged girls. I look forward to the day when real vampires come back to pop literature and the movies.

The Flambé Pan

2010-06-09T23:48:00.001-07:00

As we all know that the Internet is a never-ending source of misinformation, but one site that does more than its share of spreading witless half-truths is Wisegeek.com.

I have found this site to be a nearly bottomless pit of wrong material, and it came up again this evening when I was searching for an old, gently used copper flambé pan. The wise geek, whoever he or she may be, offered a collection of characteristics that were, in essence, the properties of a skillet.

In truth, and in contradiction of the geek, a flambé pan may have straight, angled and sloped or curved sides and the handle is generally fairly short in relationship to the size of the pan so that the cook may have more direct control of the pan. The only characteristic that separates a flambé pan from a sauté is its breadth. Flambé pans have a very wide surface area and low sides, so that the sauce being flambéed is spread thinly, thereby allowing it to flame quickly and be finished. You do not want your flambé to go on any longer than necessary as it is a moderately dangerous exercise. You want to do it, get the "oohs" and "ahs" from the audience, and move on.

One final note regarding the wrongness of the geek in this case, he or she stated that the flambé function "adds the liqueur flavor to the dish without adding the harshness of alcohol." This is, of course, entirely incorrect. Whilst the flambé will burn off a percentage of the alcohol, you can never burn off all of the alcohol of the dish. The alcohol will be minimized, and for most purposes you may consider the dish to be alcohol free, but if you have a guest who has an alcohol allergy, the dish will not be suitable for him or her. Further, if you have guests who have a moral or religious aversion to alcohol, you should avoid the beauty of the flambéed dish and offer them something less dramatic.

High Fructose Corn Syrup vs. Refined Sugar

2010-06-05T10:40:00.001-07:00

So, the truth of the matter is that high fructose corn syrup is a product of the infernal corn fields of hell whereas white sucrose is the dandruff of angels. But why?

Before you go any further, take five minutes to read this article: Is Corn Syrup Worse Than Sugar? by Joy Bauer, M.S., R.D., C.D.N.

So, whilst scientific and medical professionals get oogie feelings about high fructose corn syrup, there is actually no proof that it is in any way worse, or, in fact, significantly different for your body than good old white sugar. So why are people getting fatter since the 1970s, when corn syrup started to become more prevalent in packaged prepared foods? Obviously it must be the presence of the corn syrup, right?

Fortunately we were able to leverage our staff of nutritionists, nutritional anthropologists and analytical chemists at Walker Nutritional Laboratories to perform our own studies. There are two significant factors at work here, damning the corn syrup:

We have become more sedentary as a culture – Since the early 70s, it seems, there has been a growing prevalence of televisions in households. Since the late 1980s, computers have appeared in nearly every home and often every room of the house. Entertainment that used to involve a game of tag or Capture the Flag is now handled by a few hours of World of Warcraft. Evening strolls around the neighborhood have been replaced by catching Lost every Tuesday.
Corn syrup is the sweetener of choice in inexpensive snack foods – Twinkies, Coke, Little Debbies – they all employ High Fructose corn syrup. Why? Because it is cheap and it lends to long shelf life. This doesn't mean that corn syrup is bad, it just means that the people eating it tend to eat more of it than they might of sucrose sweetened pastries from the local bakery. Because they eat more of them, whilst sedentarily playing World of Warcraft, they are gaining weight.

I am very sorry if I sound as though I have a chip on my shoulder about this, but corn syrup is a wholesome ingredient that does not need to be vilified in the name of the national trend towards weight gain. If you want to vilify a product, why not make it big-screen televisions? Or computers? They are much closer to the root of the cause of our national obesity than corn syrup.

Angels. With Wine.

2010-03-23T10:34:00.000-07:00

Las Vegas. It is glitzy, cheesy, and 100% ugly American. So why do I find my self drawn to this place? Part of it, I suspect, is here at Aureole, Las Vegas. Next time I am in town, I am definitely going to swing by to get myself a nice Margeaux.

Extreme Vegas - Aureole Wine Angels from Charlie Palmer Group on Vimeo.

Voice Work

2010-02-27T14:42:00.001-08:00

Another thing that I have long wanted to pursue is voiceover work. I love the concept, and, frankly, one of my favorite actors is the brilliant Maurice LaMarche who has made voice acting his life's work. I am not so deluded to think that I will ever be able to create characters with the depth and subtlety of Mo's, but he has served as an inspiration to me to pursue voice work on some small level. This desire was further fueled by my Church parish where I have read recently, and have been well accepted.

So, here it is. My good friend, Dennis, is going to loan me some equipment, and soon I will be getting my voice out there. I am looking forward to this eagerly. I plan to put up another weblog of a somewhat more professional nature to use as a reference, and I will post some readings there. Wish me luck!

Sweet Beignets

2010-02-16T09:06:00.001-08:00

On this Fat Tuesday, with special thanks to my personal friend, the brilliant, kind and wildly successful Emeril Lagasse. No one deserves it more than he.

Ingredients

Corn oil, for frying, or another oil with high smoke point, such as safflower or peanut

3 1/2 cups sifted flour, plus extra for rolling

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup sugar

4 eggs, lightly beaten

1/3 cup canola oil

1/3 cup milk

1/2 cup powdered sugar, for serving

Method

Fill a large, heavy-bottomed, wide-mouthed pot halfway with corn oil and heat over a medium-high flame until oil reaches a temperature of 360° F.

While the oil is heating, sift together the flour, baking powder and salt. In another large bowl, whisk together sugar and eggs. Stir canola oil and milk into sugar-egg mixture. Stir dry ingredients into egg mixture until a biscuit-like dough forms.

Lightly flour a work surface and turn out the dough. Sprinkle dough lightly with flour and, using a rolling pin, gently roll the dough out to a thickness of 1/8-inch. Using a sharp knife or dough scraper, cut into 2-inch squares. You will have scraps leftover but do not try to remix these as that will cause tough dough; just fry as are.

Use the dough scraper to lift dough squares off the work surface. Fry the beignets in small batches about four minutes or until golden, turning several times to color evenly. Using a slotted spoon gently remove the beignets and drain thoroughly on paper towels. Place powdered sugar in a sieve and shake over the beignets to cover with powdered sugar and serve immediately.

Wal*Mart and the Evil Empire of the East

2010-01-04T22:18:00.001-08:00

Wal-Mart, that icon of Midwestern thrift, is taking the first steps that any major American chain has taken in saving the environment by no longer providing disposable bags to its customers. Customers may buy reusable bags at check stands, and they are encouraged to bring them back to the store to re-use them over and over. Isn't this swell? Wal-Mart may be the best, most Earth-loving store on our little blue-green planet!

This is the same Wal-Mart that employs thousands of Red Chinese political prisoners as slave labor in order to undercut the prices of local mom-and-pop operations, putting them out of business left and right. It is also the same Wal-Mart who employs my favorite fabric sales-girl, Dot, who is in her late eighties, and who tries to stand up through her evening shifts, hoping to get a little more contributed to her SSI. In the meantime she is working for California's minimum wage, because that is what Wal-Mart pays. If she doesn't like it, she can haul her droopy old ass elsewhere – there are plenty of dope-addled teenagers who would be thrilled to have her job.

I would love to never darken Wal-Mart's door ever again, but, sadly, I cannot. I am in a state of such economic decrepitude that I rely on the Chinese slave labor to produce the quality of clothing that I normally wear nowadays. I don't buy groceries there, but I do buy prescriptions because the fact is that in the absence of medical insurance, $4 is quite approachable, whereas the $178 that my wife's antibiotics would have otherwise cost is not. As Christ said in Matthew 7:1, "Judge not, lest ye be judged." So I do my best to judge not. I do, however judge Wal-Mart.

I would like very much for people to realize the evil that Wal-Mart is, and simply stop frequenting it, but they will not or, like me, they cannot. Whilst I am rarely in favor of government intervention, the fact is that the Chinese government employs slaves and they undercut American-made products unfairly. Furthermore, the Communist government of China is specifically and outspokenly bent on the ultimate failure of the United States. James Earl Carter made many mistakes in the course of his difficult administration, but the most notable of which was that he opened the possibility of trade with China, truly a Pandora's Box if ever there was one. I do not blame Mr. Carter and his administration for this particular gaffe: It was in the works long before he was president and it was ultimately facilitated by probably the second least popular Republican president ever. Now, however, we need to do our very best to slam the lid shut on that monster. It is true, we will miss $5 shirts and wrenches for awhile, but in the long run we will be far better off than we currently are, and, in the long run, if the domestic free market is allowed to run its course, the USA will again produce high quality, low priced goods for domestic consumption.

To paraphrase the late Ronald Wilson Reagan, "Mr. Obama, build that wall!"

Irish Steamed Chocolate Pudding

2009-12-29T11:46:00.001-08:00

I did not do the chocolate mint pudding for Christmas, as I intended, but I did to my old reliable steamed chocolate pudding. This requires semi-sweet chocolate, but do not skimp on it and go with the Nestlés – this is a great place to use the good stuff. The end product is really dependent on the quality of the chocolate used. Warm from the kettle this is deeply decadent.

Irish Steamed Chocolate Pudding

Ingredients:

9 ounces semisweet chocolate
3/4 cup butter
6 eggs, separated
1 cup granulated sugar, divided
1/4 cup all-purpose flour

Method:

Fill the kettle and set it on to boil.
Melt the chocolate and butter together; set aside.
Beat the egg whites until foamy, gradually add 1/2 cup sugar (still beating), then beat to soft peaks; set aside.
Beat the egg yolks, gradually adding the remaining sugar. Continue beating until the mixture has about tripled in volume, and the sugar is dissolved. The yolks should look light yellow.
Add the chocolate mix to the yolks, beating until blended. Then add the flour, beating on low speed until thoroughly mixed. Fold the mixture into the egg whites. When completely mixed, pour into a very well greased 7 cup pudding basin, or a bowl suitable for use on the stove. If using the bowl, construct a lid as follows: Cut a piece of wax paper large enough to cover the bowl, with some excess for folding. Fold a 1-inch pleat in the middle of the wax paper. Do the same with a piece of aluminum foil. Cover the bowl with the wax paper, then with the foil, lining up the pleats. Secure with kitchen twine; cut off any excess. You may wish to construct a lifter out of twine, or you can use two spatulas to lift the pudding.
Pour about two inches of water into a pot large enough to fit your pudding basin. Place the basin inside and cover the pot. Keep the water in the pot boiling for about 1 1/2 to 2 hours. (You will need to add more boiling water from the kettle from time to time.) The pudding will be firm and cake-like on top when it is finished. If you are not sure, boil it longer, as it can't be overdone. Once it is ready, let it cool for a few minutes in the basin, then turn it out on a plate.
Serve warm or let it "age" in an airtight container, which will enhance the flavor.

Bûches de Noël

2009-12-13T18:23:00.000-08:00

It is the season of Advent, and Christmas will soon be upon us. I will refrain from political rants until after the first of the year and reserve my opinions to food.

And why not? Historically, the breaking of bread with others was a means of making peace. The table was a place for conversations – conversations among families, among diplomats and among kings and princes. Food is a primal need, and at the dinner table, we are all equals. We speak reasonably at the dinner table for fear of being banished. We offer sustenance to others there, and we accept it from them too whether they are strangers, friends or family. We are vulnerable at the dinner table too and we must put our guard down in order to partake in this ritual. And it is a ritual – a joyous ritual of feasting, sharing the same Latin root word as "festival".

We are in our season of feasts and festivals, a rare time when we return to the dinner table and bask in the warmth of our loved ones. Some brilliant Teutonic baker in times gone by decided to celebrate the Yule by reproducing a mighty fire-log in the form of a wonderful chocolate confection. Often these Yule Logs are simple, cartoonish affairs, and they are quite lovely and delicious. At the hands of a master, however, the Yule Log is transformed. It is a rare time when a baker with a sense of humor can go a bit wild. I have seen Yule Logs that look like vast fallen branches, moldering in the forest damp, complete with entirely realistic white chocolate and marzipan fungus and worms about. The dusting of cocoa reinforces the realism of the dull, dirty log. These are amazing things.

The French, contrariwise, elevate the Yule Log to something. . . well. . . French. In the United States we often malign the French. Personally, I loathe the current political climate of the nation of France, but I have always loved the Gallic people. And, particularly, I love their ability with food as art. And clothing as art. And women as art.

Recently, whilst looking for ideas for decorating Yule Logs, I found the one pictured above. Designed by men's clothing designer Alexis Mabille and executed by a brilliant Parisian bakery, this Bûche de Noël will put you back about €80 - $118 at today's exchange rate. No, I do not know what it tastes like, but who really cares? It is worth the investment to have something perfect in your life. It is much the same as my argument in favor of owning a Jaeger-Le Coultre watch or a 1929 Bentley – perfection is rare, embrace it.

No, neither this nor a witty reinvention of it will grace my holiday table this year. I see this, and I want to go back to a nice stew. I will leave creations like this to the Bo Fribergs of the world and I, I will eat Oreos.

Joyeux Noël!

Christmas Puddings

2009-12-08T10:35:00.000-08:00

The Christmas season is upon us, and my vision of the holiday celebration includes all things Dickens. Central to the Christmas dinner is, of course, the Christmas Pudding! Traditionally, a Christmas Pudding is a Plumb Pudding, sort of a steamed fruitcake filled with all sorts of candied fruits and sometimes coins. A variant of that is actually called Christmas Pudding, and it is generally the same idea.

If your family is like mine, however, the concept of a cake filled with candied fruits is revolting to them. They would be hard pressed to touch it as a punishment, much less as a celebration of this joyful Holy Day. So what to do? Are we stuck with store-bought pumpkin pies? I say, "No!"

My wife's particular pleasure is chocolate mint. It is one of her favorite flavor combinations. Whilst perusing Anglo-Irish dessert recipes that might be in the spirit of a Dickensian celebration I came across the following, which seems as though it will fill the bill. Furthermore, unlike plumb puddings and Christmas puddings which have to ripen for a month, this one looks as though it might be best served warm out of the mold, so you can have it simmering away on the evening on which you will serve it! This recipe is, as yet, untried by me - I will report back after I attempt it.

Steamed Chocolate Mint Pudding

Ingredients:
• 100g Softened butter
• 100g Golden caster sugar
• 200g Mint fondant chocolate
• 2T Hot water
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 175g Self-rising flour
• 4T Milk
• 200g White chocolate, broken into rough pieces, about 0.5 cm

Method:
1. Cream the butter until pale and fluffy.
2. Place the mint fondant chocolate and hot water in a bowl over a pan of simmering water. Stir until melted and leave to cool for a couple of minutes until cool but not set. Stir the chocolate mixture into the butter and sugar mixture.
3. Beat the eggs, a little at a time. Fold in the flour, adding enough milk to give a soft-dropping consistency. Finally, stir in the white chocolate pieces.
4. Spoon the pudding mixture into a greased 900ml pudding basin. Cover the top of the sponge with a circle of greaseproof paper, seal with aluminum foil and secure with string.
5. Steam the pudding in a saucepan half filled with simmering water for 90 minutes, replenishing the water as it evaporates. You may also use a steamer to cook the pudding.
6. Cool slightly before turning out and serve with clotted cream and a glass of dessert wine.

Rediscovering Beefsteak Pudding

2009-11-10T15:19:00.001-08:00

I have long been fascinated by the steamed and boiled puddings of the British Isles. My first exposure to them was via a richly spiced persimmon pudding that Mom made for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Later I experienced rich chocolate and toffee puddings, but I have long been curious about the savory puddings that served as such a staple of the pre-war British diet, so I decided to try it out.

Savory puddings are the antithesis of fast or convenience foods. For unpracticed hands, such as my own, it takes a good 45 minutes to get the pudding prepared. Then it boils for 2 ½ to 4 hours. On a cool autumn day, however, it makes for a delightful, quietly gurgling pot on the back of the stove.

The result of this cooking method, which is a sort of well controlled moist cooking method, is an intensely beef flavored filling in a flaky biscuit crust. As opposed to stews, where meats are immersed in liquid, the pudding filling is relatively dry, though there is a small amount of good beef stock included. The liquid assists in the breakdown of the connective tissues in the beef, rendering it tender and making the sauce rich and toothsome. By limiting the liquid, the flavor of the beef is not diminished, but, rather, is intensified. In a typical American style beef stew, meat is, in essence, boiled with vegetables until everything is a bit mushy. By immersing the meat in a volume of water, the beef flavor is diluted. Beef stew at its very best, such as the classic Southern French Daube Provençal, has a cooking broth that is rich in flavor so even if the beef flavor is diluted a bit, the trade-off is well worth it. The beef may lose some of its "beefiness", but it gains flavors brought by wine, stock, anchovies, olives as well as mirepoix. In the simpler beefsteak pudding we start with the same cut of beef, my personal preference is boneless chuck-eye steak which is rich in flavor and in connective tissue which contributes so well to the broth. Instead of immersing the beef in a cooking liquid, we are creating a closed cooking environment with a very limited volume of liquid. The liquid used is a good quality, rich beef stock. Other elements in the pudding are limited – they may include kidneys, mushrooms or oysters, but vegetables and starches are cooked outside the crust.

The crust itself is a biscuit-like affair. To my surprise, it cooks to a delightful pale brown despite being cooked in the water-bath. The recipe that I used was a pure butter crust, mainly because in my area butter is more readily available than suet. For the next foray I hope to get some suet and do either a true suet crust or, perhaps, part butter and part suet. That said, the butter crust came out quite nicely and lent a rich butter flavor to the finished product.

Here is the recipe that I used. It is Frankensteined from other recipes, but it worked well.

Steamed Steak & Mushroom Pudding

Ingredients:

Crust

2 cups (284 gm) all purpose flour
3/4 tsp (4 ml) salt
2/3 cup (160 gm) butter
cold water to mix

Filling

2 chopped onions
500 grams chuck-eye steak (or good chuck trim, if you are close to your butcher!)
6 large white button mushrooms or assorted wild mushrooms, quartered
3/4 cup (180 ml) good beef stock
1/2 tsp (3 ml) Worcestershire Sauce
3 tbsp (45 ml) all purpose flour
fresh ground black pepper and salt to taste

Method:

Prepare the pastry by cutting the butter into the flour and salt mixture in a bowl until it resembles fine breadcrumbs. Using a fork add cold water gradually and combine to make a dough. Do not over-knead! Sprinkle dough with flour, wrap in waxed paper and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Sauté the onions in a little oil until tender, then combine with the beef and the mushrooms in a bowl along with the flour and dry seasonings.

Roll the rested dough out to about ¼" thickness and cut out a wedge amounting to ¼ of the total. Line a buttered pudding basin or bowl with the larger part of the pastry and fill with the beef and onion mixture.

Add the Worcestershire sauce and beef stock and top with the remaining pastry and crimp. Cover the top of the pudding with a round of parchment and then seal the top of the bowl with a layer of foil, tied in place with butcher's twine.

The bowl is placed in enough water to come half way up the exterior in a large sauce pot.

Boil for three hours, covered, being careful to keep the water about half way up the basin. When adding water, do so with boiling water so as not to lower the cooking temperature.

Remove the basin from the water and allow it to set for about ten minutes. Invert the basin on service dish, and allow it to stand for another three to five minutes. Carefully tap the basin with a metal spoon and remove from the pudding. If your pudding crust is firmly made, the pudding will stand! If your crust is too tender, it may collapse, but that should not be viewed as a defeat – the pudding will still be excellent.

Kidneys and oysters make lovely additions to a beefsteak pudding. In the case of kidneys, clean them well and leach them in milk for a few hours prior to making the pudding, and put them in with the beef. In the case of oysters, refer to Mrs. Beeton's work on British cookery – shuck half a dozen fresh oysters pour any liquid that they secrete off. Reduce the stock by the amount of the oyster liquor and proceed with the pudding. Cook the oysters enough to plump them just before you serve the pudding, and spoon a few oysters about the plate with the pudding. This is a foodie marriage made in Heaven, and it is suitably delicious for any festivity!

Steampunk

2009-09-23T20:21:00.001-07:00

I have long been fascinated by the Edwardian cult of technology. It was the launch pad from which the twentieth century's rocket of tech was launched. It did not give rise to the automobile, but it allowed the automobile to evolve to its highest forms, both in the high and the low end. The steam locomotive advanced by leaps and bounds and science, in general, took gigantic steps forward. It was in this era that men sprouted wings of wood and silk and took to the air, and monstrous craft, lighter than the air that they glided through, were the promise of the future. Much of what Verne envisioned in Paris in the 20^th Century was, in fact, part of Paris at the dawn of the 20^th century. This was truly the golden age.

My love of this early twentieth century technology is oft perceived as a fondness of the "Steampunk" genre. It is true, as I have discussed elsewhere, Steampunk had a great deal of potential as a science fiction and design genre at one point, but it has taken a turn for the juvenile and the trashy, which, in my view, has utterly undermined any virtue that it might once have had.

I think that the genre of "Futurism", or the prototypical science fiction of writers such as Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, should not be lumped in with Steampunk, as it often is, because those were works of carefully thought out genius. Within the Steampunk genre, The Difference Engine should be considered a stand-alone work, transcending and inventing the genre as a whole. Everything else in the Steampunk genre is unmitigated crap. Garbage. Sewage. The very worst of the literary dump.

In any case, whilst on a hike in Folsom, California the other day I happened upon a magnificent old iron bridge. It was made by the San Francisco Bridge Works in 1895 and it served as the sole bridge across the American River into Folsom until 1917 when the larger, stone "Rainbow Bridge" was built. At that time the city of Folsom sold the old iron truss bridge to a buyer in Japan, but it was never shipped and it stayed in place until 1930. In that year the State of California bought it to span the Klamath River on Walker Road in Siskiyou County, and there it stayed until 1998. The City of Folsom bought the bridge back in that year, and it was reinstalled here as a foot and bicycle bridge, running next to its replacement.

What really caught my eye about this old bridge is that, from a distance, it is a purely functional span. As one draws closer to it, however, you begin to notice the Edwardian detail – the decorative iron work and the beautiful punched sign declaring the manufacture of the bridge. Once you are really close to foot of the bridge you notice the original signage: "$5 fine for driving over this bridge faster than a walk. $25 fine for driving more than 20 head of horses, 50 head of cattle or 200 sheep, hogs or goats over this bridge at one time." This is a magnificent coalition of technology, art, the modern age and the age gone by. This is what Steampunk should be about.

Corned Beef

2009-09-16T10:10:00.001-07:00

So, there I was, surfing the net, searching for some sound advice on how to cook a corned beef in a manner such that it could be sliced into sandwich meat. See, I love corned beef sandwiches more, even, than that American Saint Patrick's Day staple, the Boston Boiled Dinner. In fact, my favorite parts of the corned beef experience are 1) corned beef and Reuben sandwiches and 2) the corned beef hash which, if you are really lucky, comes the next day. The problem with all this is that if you are going to start with a boiled dinner, and if your family consists of more than just you, you need at least two corned beefs to get all this out of it, or you need to plan for your corned beef and only get certain treats out of your one corned beef.

So, anyway, there I was, surfing the net, searching for some sound advice on corned beef cookery, and I found one of the best articles on the subject that I have ever seen in the Cleveland Plain Dealer. It is a very intelligent discussion of the topic and links to some great recipes too. I hope that they keep this article up!

UPDATE: The braised corned beef turned out to be everything I had hoped for! It was moist and delicious, but it sliced satisfactorily and held together nicely for sandwich making. We had two days of first-class Reubens and corned beef hash for breakfast on day three.

No. 39

2009-08-11T08:47:00.001-07:00

I got a lovely email this morning from the owner of an American LaFrance roadster that is pictured in an earlier post in this blog. The car in question is labeled on its yellow petrol tank with a number 39, and it is, in my humble opinion, the best looking LaFrance roadster that I have ever seen. This car is no museum piece, however: It gets 10,000 miles of road work per year traveling across Europe. It has the home-craft quality that makes the LaFrance vehicles stand apart from other Edwardian vehicles, but the craftsmanship appears to be first rate. It is a truly beautiful expression of the Edwardian cult of technology, and it reaffirms my desire to own such a car myself one day.

As a point of interest, the Spitfire in the photos was flown by the LaFrance's owner's father during World War II.

Viva LaFrance!

My New Toy

2009-08-01T13:39:00.001-07:00

I picked up a terra cotta garlic baker today. Now this is the kind of kitchen toy that I generally ridicule people for buying because it takes up space and it is a task that can be just as easily accomplished in any other small baking dish that you already own, but it was half price day at the thrift store, and for 75¢ I simply could not pass it up. The great thing about this particular garlic baker is that it was in brand new condition – no stains, no chips. It looks as though Aunt Faye got it for Christmas; she unpacked it and put it away around 1985. Then, when it was time to move to Florida, she sent it off to the thrift store, and from there to my kitchen.

Tonight dinner is pizza with baked garlic, wild mushrooms, whole milk mozzarella and Italian sausage! The garlic already smells wonderful.

Coffee

2009-07-30T11:41:00.001-07:00

I like coffee. I like it brewed in the American style, not espresso. I like it hot or iced and with some cream. I do like Café au Lait in the manner in which my sainted aunt Louise made it now and again, but my normal beverage of choice is coffee.

So on a warmish summer morning a few weeks back I pulled up to my local McDonald's drive-through and, in a loud, clear and well enunciated voice I say, "Coffee, iced, with half and half. No sweetener, no flavoring ingredients except for coffee. In the cup I would like ice, coffee and half and half – that is all."

There is a pause on the other end of the speaker. "Uh." Another pause follows. "What kind of syrup would you like in that?"

I do not mind clarifying questions – it is evidence that my order will be correct when it finally arrives, so I encourage them. "I would like no syrup nor sweetener of any type, thank you; just a cup of coffee on ice with some cream."

"So, you want plain?"

"Exactly! Plain is what I want. I want coffee-flavored coffee in a large plastic cup and with a bit of half and half in it, all poured over a volume of icy-cold ice. That is all. Plain as can be!"

"Err." Another pause followed. "OK. One large plain iced coffee. That will be $3.20 at the first window. Thank you."

They got it! I was pleased and eagerly anticipating my perfectly concocted cup of coffee. I pulled around to the payment station and parted with my hard-earned coin, then pulled forward to my waiting coffee. The cup was shoved at my face with a straw grasped in the same hand, I got a bonus "thank you" and the window snapped shut.

There was a line behind me, but I took a second to insert the straw into my sacred morning beverage to get that first sip. . .

And it was sweet.

I knocked on the service window and the service provider behind it shoved a bag that smelled of trans-fats and despair at me. I spoke around it, "That is not mine. . . I wanted coffee with no sweetener in it."

"It says on the screen that you want your ice coffee plain. That is plain."

"I specified that I wanted it with nothing in the coffee but cream."

"No ice?"

"Yes, ice! I want cold coffee, half and half over ice in a large plastic cup."

"No sweetener?"

"No. No sweetener."

"Do you want some sugar or artificial sweetener packets with that?"

"No, thank you. The coffee will do."

I did, eventually, get my coffee.

Our friend Michy sent this video to my darling wife and me. It reminded me so much of me that I spit iced coffee with half and half and no sweetener all over my screen. Do not play this around the young or the easily offended.

Canned Salmon

2009-06-20T21:57:00.001-07:00

I have come to realize in recent years that I deeply despise canned salmon.

In my sainted mother's pantry, canned salmon was something to be revered. I was allowed, even encouraged, to make lunch out of the tuna, but never, ever, the salmon. It was kept for things like salmon loaf, or, if we were very lucky, mom would make salmon croquettes, which was a summertime treat on the hot afternoon with a pitcher of lemonade and homemade tartar sauce. I still have fond memories of those things!

So, recently, I decided that it would be a good idea to recapture that particular part of my childhood. I found a recipe that was essentially similar to Mom's, and I headed off to the Bel Air for a supply of salmon. I wanted the good stuff, but I was certain that Mom's cans were labeled "Pink Sockeye Salmon", so I shied away from the more expensive cans of "Red Salmon". I went with a respectable national brand, not something I found t the dollar store.

When I got it home, and had my mise en place, en place, I cracked open the can to start the process. 25% of the product in the can was bone and skin. Now, I have read that it is acceptable to devour the smaller bones found in canned salmon, but, frankly, I don't want to. And the skin is just icky.

I was looking forward to a product akin to Bumble Bee Solid Pack White Tuna in Spring Water: clean, salty, faintly flavorless. It is for a recipe that is a product of Midwestern ingenuity, and I did not expect "good" quality salmon, per se, but neither did I expect this chum.

For the next go-round, I plan to buy a bit heavy when getting salmon filets for the grill, and I am going to cook an extra pretty well-done, in order to simulate the doneness of the canned product, and I am going to attempt the croquettes again using that as the base. Report to follow.

Chuck’s Been Saved!

2009-05-20T16:28:00.001-07:00

Word came a couple of days back that Chuck has officially been saved! At least, for a bit. The network has contracted for thirteen episodes with an option for a back nine, likely dependent upon how well the initial episodes do.

So I get a little bit more of the witty repartee and a little more of the lovely Yvonne Strahovski before their ultimate fate strikes. I am hoping that this turns into a M.A.S.H.-like comeback miracle. I know of no other shows that have come back from failing to become incredible hits, but if it happened once, it could happen again. Right?

Save Chuck!!!!!!!!!!

2009-04-28T17:23:00.001-07:00

Last year, a witty and endearing television program titled Chuck debuted on NBC. The show is well written and the characters are appealing – it juxtaposes some exceptional action sequences with great comedy and some touching and real relationships. I really enjoy this show more than just about anything since QED went off the air in 1981.

Chuck is related to QED only in that they are both shows that I really enjoy and they are both shows that seem doomed to premature ends! There are sundry Save Chuck campaigns out there right now including petitions and a Subway $5 Foot-long campaign wherein everyone was supposed to run out to Subway and buy a Foot-long sandwich after the season finale ran on Monday. I am not particularly hopeful about seeing a third season of Chuck, but I am very wishful! I love the cast, and they are much like a group of old pals whom I get to visit every week, and I really want to continue visiting them!

The System of “Justice”

2009-04-27T13:34:00.001-07:00

My darling wife was pulled over a couple of months back for driving in the evening with a single working headlight. The ticket was just and well executed by a very professional young California Highway Patrolman. She brought the car home and I fixed the headlight immediately. We took the car to the Folsom Police Department to have the correction verified, and they did so, signing off the ticket.

Here is where the story takes a turn for the worse.

One week subsequent to the issuance of the ticket, I called the Carol Miller Justice Center in Sacramento, California to get information about paying the administrative fees, and they had no record of the infraction because "it [was] too soon after the issuance of the ticket for it to be in [their] system." They recommended that we mail the ticket in with a check for the amount owed. This option did not appeal to me or my wife, as the bureaucracy of the state court system makes the administration of Dante's Pandemonium seem smooth and simple to navigate. Another week went by, and we made the trek to the courthouse a second time to pay the fine that now goes with a "fix-it" ticket, and we were told for the second time that the ticket was not yet in their system.

So we waited. Eventually, about six weeks after the initial ticket, my wife received in the mail a notice that gave her the payment options. And we forgot about it. The day after the cutoff date, the courts were well enough organized to get an arrest warrant issued for my dear wife and get it delivered. Now we were responsible for the $25 administrative fee for the fix-it ticket plus a $500 + fine for failing to appear in court. We immediately scheduled a back-up court date, nullifying the warrant, and, today, we went to court.

The judge, whose name I do not recall at this time, was a wind-up, cymbal-banging monkey of a figure. Jennifer, my wife and the criminal in this case, went forth when summoned and explained what had happened. Out of the graciousness of his moronic heart, hizzonner reduced the failure-to-appear to $150, reprimanding my wife, explaining that we not only had to get it fixed but we had to report it before the requirement was fulfilled. Jennifer, being the wise and gracious gal that she is, said, "Thank you," and moved on.

I, however, am nonplussed. I grant that we should have attended to the ticked in a timelier manner, but why should we have to pay 2¢ for a failure-to-appear when we appeared at the courthouse twice to address this ticket? If any office in the private sector were run like the Carol Miller Justice Center, it would be driven out of business. I am a long-time supporter of the privatization of the bulk of state functions, including just about everything except the military and the courts, but after today, I am seriously reconsidering the court system. A judge is due a great degree of respect because of his position, but he should show a glimmer of intellect to ascend that position, and he should have a sense of what justice actually is in order to execute that role. Even in the case of traffic court, where there is no ethical or moral decree involved, merely the rules of the road, there is still a sense of justice and its execution, and the particular monkey that we drew had no idea about that. His function is, quite obviously, to raise revenues to keep his foolish little court running and to attempt to pay off the pit of debt that the People's Republic of California has racked up over the past few decades.

The Opportunity of a Lifetime

2009-03-30T19:08:00.001-07:00

I have always wanted to have a special little place. The Rick's Café Americain of my hometown. Sadly, it is cost restrictive.

The other day a gentleman who owns one of the loveliest little nurseries I have ever seen offered me a space. It is already set up for the facility, but it needs a good espresso machine and stock, and, sadly I am in no position to fund that at this time. The space is exceptional, opening into a beautiful garden patio and with a couple of peaceful fountains running. There is a marble fireplace for the cooler months. I envision a place for poetry readings and jazz. A truly cool, beat café of the type that I have not known for many years.

I am hoping that Big Coffee (or, perhaps, Little Coffee) will come along and affect my dream.

What I need is:

Professional grade espresso machine, preferably of the old, manual variety
Professional grade grinder
Professional grade coffee brewing apparatus
Storage for coffee and tea
Ceramic service ware for various sizes of café beverages
Paper goods including plates, cups and utensils
Stock of coffees and teas

I propose that the supplier of the aforementioned shopping list provide it up front and that we pro-rate the payment for the first three months, until the café is a going operation.

You may leave me a note here or on my Facebook or LinkedIn account!

It - truly - is - International Talk Like William Shatner Day!

2009-03-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

More Bentley Speed 6

2009-03-04T17:05:00.000-08:00

Brother Guy Fieri?

2009-02-14T10:29:00.000-08:00

Question of the Day: Is Guy Fieri a Mason?

I have noticed recently in a couple of episodes of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives that the iconically retro-cool host, Guy Fieri, is wearing a black onyx signet ring with what I believe is a square and compass emblem on its face. Now Guy is the kind of guy who may just be wearing his dad's or grandfather's ring because it is cool, or he may even have picked it up at an antique store because it is a hugely cool ring, but I am wondering. On the one hand, he is a bit garish compared to the Masonic set I have been familiar with, but, on the other hand, the Masons do love their bling and their bowling shirts.

I have found a couple of references on the Internet posing this same question, but no solid answers yet. This is a bit of trivia that I really want to know!

Valentine's Day for the Thoughtless

2009-02-11T14:58:00.001-08:00

A Guy's Guide to Last-Minute Valentine's Day Ideas
Last minute ideas for thoughtless guys to salvage Valentine's Day for the girls they love the most.
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/1460163/a_guys_guide_to_lastminute_valentines.html

My Other Favorite Car

2009-02-10T16:02:00.001-08:00

Though I do love the American LaFrance Roadsters, my true automotive loves are the Bentleys of the 1920s. I love both the Speed Sixes and the less common Blower Bentleys. I gave up on owning one many years ago, as their availability is limited (there were only 55 Blower Bentleys made!) and when they do show up, they sell for prices in the millions of dollars.

Nonetheless, these are the cars of James Bond and John Steed. They are the stuff of legend. They are elegant and nimble and fast as lightning. They have the finish of the best British craftsmanship, and they look so darned good!

Another Crappy TV “Chef”

2009-02-09T22:22:00.001-08:00

The English. At their best they build world dominant empires, subjugate native peoples and are universally despised oppressors. They are explorers, superspys, swordsmen and sailors. They are gentlemen who will best you at fisticuffs and be so gentile about it that you will thank them for the privilege.

At their worst they are cooks. They are the worst cooks in the world. They tell lies about Irish cooks just to take the attention off of how bad the English cooks really are. The very worst of the cooks end up calling themselves "chef". Gordon Ramsey is a creation of the BBC – he represents the worst that the UK has to offer with none of the breeding nor the refinement of the truly great chefs, and the very worst of what the cooking industry has to offer as well. This is obviously a winning combination, so now they are cramming another lousy English cook down our throats, Marco Pierre White. White bills itself as a "great" or even "the world's greatest" chef.

Startlingly, the truly great chefs would have blushed to have that moniker expressed to their faces. Escoffier was self-effacing to a fault, as was René Verdon. Jacques Pepin is the same. They all struggled to get to their lofty positions. Yes, they had a great deal of talent, far more than either White or Ramsey have, but they maintained a sense of great humility throughout their careers.

I have worked as a chef and a sous-chef in my time, and I will grant you that there are times when tempers flare in the kitchen. It is a high pressure environment demanding high levels of production and quality at the same time, and it is natural that voices will be raised periodically. To cultivate a reputation as a person with a short temper, however, is not indicative of being a good chef, much less a great chef. It is indicative of being a juvenile fake, as these two embarrassing exponents of the once great Empire both are. I am sure that either of them can flip a burger with the best of them, but that is all. It is another embarrassing condemnation of the American television audience that anybody knows these creatures' names – they should be as anonymous as those other abominations of the kitchen, Rachel Ray and Sandra Lee.

Jenn

2009-02-08T20:57:00.000-08:00

Sweet Pea
by Amos Lee

Sweet pea, apple of my eye
Don't know when and I don't know why
You're the only reason I keep on coming home

I'm like the Rock of Gibralter
I always seem to falter
And the words just get in the way
Oh I know I'm gonna crumble
And I'm trying to stay humble
But I never think before I say

Sweet pea, keeper of my soul
I know sometimes I'm out of control
You're the only reason I keep on coming
You're the only reason I keep on coming yeah
You're the only reason I keep on coming home

Jodhpurs

2009-01-18T00:26:00.001-08:00

In doing my wardrobe research I came across a poorly written website with some decent information on it, and some blatant misinformation. The thing that offended me the most was that it accused Steed of wearing Chelsea boots, the fashion of the Beatles and other mods. In truth Steed wore fine looking Jodhpurs, unchanged in style since the 1870s, complete with elastic sides. The Chelsea boots that he is claiming that Steed wore were normally higher heeled and had pointed toes, the Jodhpurs do not.

Steed was a gentleman and a horseman and wore the footwear of a and equestrian gent. He often integrated hacking jackets into his wardrobe and periodically rode in the series. It is a natural extension that he should wear Jodhpurs. It is not, however, any sort of connection that he would wear mod fashion. This person claimed that Steed integrated a good deal of mod fashion into his wardrobe, but it is simply not the case - Steed was a classic.

Why this rankles with me so much, I cannot say, but it truly does.

The end.

“Clothes Make the Man.”

2009-01-17T09:10:00.001-08:00

"Naked people have little or no impact upon society." Or so sayth Mark Twain.

As time goes by, however, I am getting closer and closer to being a naked man, with the commensurate social impact. I am a guy who, admittedly, at a time in his life was a full-fledged clothes horse. I had a closet of great suits and jackets including three really convincing dinner suits, a wardrobe of custom-made dress shirts and neckties, cravats and bows sufficient to circumnavigate at least a good portion of the Equator. What happened? Priorities, obesity and poverty.

I am now down to four pair of khakis, a few tee-shirts and sport-shirts. I have two decent dress shirts, both with my preferred spread collar, but no ties of sufficient length to produce an appropriately grand full Windsor knot to fill the spaces between those distant points. In addition, it is hard for a really fat guy to get a decently fitting suit off the rack. We are just not cut the way that the mass production suit-makers think we should be.

I, however, am facing two situations that compel me to dress decently again. The first is that I am in the position of applying for conservative, 8:00 to 5:00 work again, and that requires that I turn out splendidly. The second is that I have been watching The Avengers on DVD of late, a program (or programme) that I have loved since childhood, and fundamental to that show is the dashing manner in which John Steed presents himself.

Sadly, I am no Patrick Macnee and I don't have a Halston designing suits for me. And I am on a restrictive budget. So the next step is to do the most with a minimum of resources. To that end, I have found an Eddie Bauer produced black blazer that looks like a fairly forgiving fit. I plan to pair this with a pair of decent quality gray cotton slacks. I have a fine quality Merino wool mock turtleneck that will give me a satisfyingly "James Bond's Fat American Cousin" look, and I can certainly pair it with either the white or the blue dress shirt to good effect. As for the tie, I plan to get a good quality navy polka-dot and a navy and gold rep-stripe in memory of my alma mater.

I have a pair of dark brown jodhpur boots that I can get away with, but black would be better. I recently discovered that my favorite old black dress shoes had completely worn through soles, and they are not of a quality where half-soles are an option, so I may have to look into having them completely re-soled and heeled. Or I may pick up a new pair of jodhpurs in black, which would be quite dashing and John Steed-ish.

That is my plan as of right now. I need, of course, to get a really fine bowler or, better yet, a Coke hat with a fine and tight curl and a whanghee crooked brolly.

Another of My Favorite Restaurants Where I Have Never Been

2009-01-15T22:52:00.000-08:00

Shade is a restaurant owned and operated by the beautiful and ingenious Chef Claire Smith. Next time I am in Houston, I will be spending as much time there as possible.

Chef BQ Project #2

2009-01-07T13:49:00.000-08:00

Eleanor

2008-12-30T17:56:00.000-08:00

I am a longtime fan of the 1967 Mustang seen in the 2000 remake of Gone in 60 Seconds. Last year Classic Recreations of Yukon, Oklahoma started manufacturing a beautiful replica of that Mustang, and this is my article on it: Eleanor. I hope that you enjoy it!

Chef BQ Project #1

2008-12-30T12:28:00.000-08:00

The Feast of the Holy Family

2008-12-29T19:10:00.001-08:00

Miracles.

God truly does work in mysterious ways, and I, personally, do not believe that every miracle is evident as such. Many miracles are subtle in nature, often affected through human means, and may be difficult to detect.

My darling, beloved and beautiful wife chose to go to church with me at the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament as a favor to me. It was not something that she particularly wanted to do, but she was interested to see the recently restored cathedral, and so we packed up and went. At the cathedral they celebrate an odd sort of Mass – kind of a transitionary version bridging the Tridentine and the modern vernacular Masses. They sing the Mass and they have lots of incense, but it is all in English. Her feeling was that there was too much rite and ritual for her taste and not enough homily. I explained that this was the Christmas celebration at the cathedral, and it was quite different from the weekly Sunday a celebration at Saint John's in Folsom.

I did not ask her to go again, but, the following Sunday, last Sunday, the Feast of the Holy Family, she asked if we could go again. We packed my darling daughter up and off to church we went. And, lo and behold, the modern style mass spoke to them – they loved it! Now, I am the first to admit, I like old things. The High Tridentine Mass speaks to me in a way that modern celebrations cannot. For those not raised in the Church, and for those who do not have a profound affinity for the past, the Tridentine Mass may be a bit intimidating. Beautiful, but intimidating, much like a thousand year old French cathedral might be. Much of the point of the second Vatican Council was to make the church more accessible, and, whilst those like my sainted mother and I may not agree, it seems to have done its job for others.

Our priest, Fr. Ignatius Haran, gave a wonderful sermon on the sacred nature of the family, and lent our little family a sense of significance. It was wonderful. Moreso was the fact that both Jennifer and Megen are going to attend adult catechism classes starting in January, and I may go along for moral support.

Hawai’i Cruise 2010

2008-12-25T21:18:00.001-08:00

For Christmas my beloved mother-in-law, who is invariably excessive when it comes to Yuletide, gave my wife and me a cruise to Hawai'i in February of 2010. This cruise will be over our eighth wedding anniversary, so whatever I do on for that one will seem eight times as romantic. Honestly, I cannot wait. I am more than a little nervous, as I would like to have spending money for the cruise, and right now I am wondering where the next mortgage check will come from, but I am hoping nonetheless. Hoping and cultivating my freelance clientele.

A Visit from Saint Nicholas

2008-12-13T16:32:00.000-08:00

by Clement Clarke Moore

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap;

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and Saint Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

The Mass

2008-12-10T18:43:00.001-08:00

The story of my immediate family is a complex and convoluted one of which I will spare you the details in this sitting. I will mention, however, that my dear and sainted mother was a Catholic. She was born in 1914, entered the convent around 1930 and got a dispensation from Rome in 1954 when she entered private life for the first time. By November of that year she had met and married my dear father who was baptized as an Episcopalian at birth but, upon the early death of his father, his mother dragged him through a circus of assorted faiths. The Masonic Lodge brought him back to his Episcopalian roots, though not passionately – he treated the lodge as his church. When they married, however, he signed an agreement that all progeny would be raised in the Roman Catholic Church, so I was raised such.

By the time I was born in 1963, however, the Second Vatican Council was in full stride, and by the time I was aware of my faith, the Mass was celebrated in the vernacular, round churches were being built, the alter was turned around so that the Mass was delivered to the onlookers, rather than the priest and onlookers all respectfully facing the Eucharist. These were some of the changes made to the church, and they were cosmetic, made to make the Mass more accessible to parishioners. Despite the fact that the changes were not fundamental to the church, they were sufficient to cause my dear mother, a devout Catholic, to drift away rather quickly. Despite this fact, religion was present in my household. My parents, my father in particular, took his contract with the Church quite seriously, and I was made acutely aware of my Catholicism. I was taught the catechism, he said prayers with me nightly, and he taught me how to say a really good Act of Contrition. I have received the Host a few times in my life, though not often enough for my comfort. Sadly, I was raised to be uncomfortable in the post Vatican II Church.

Before my dad passed on, on Saint Nicholas Day 2000, he asked that I go to church. Not a lot of explanation, but he asked. You see, despite the fact that the mentally retarded "M.D." that was secured by the evil, stupid and morbidly obese court appointed conservator, Carolyn Young of Carolyn Young Fiduciary Services in Sacramento, California, declared my father to be suffering from advanced stage Alzheimer's Disease, I was able to carry on a fully lucid two hour conversation with him two days before he died. Despite the fact that I do try hard to be a forgiving Christian gentleman, I harbor a good deal of wrath towards that particular sub-human and her vile minions.

Pardon my digression. The short version is that Dad asked me to go to church, and I have not done so very well. At his gravesite, however, Father Francis Lawlor of St. Rose's in Sacramento spoke. Father Lawlor is an ancient Irish priest who, as it happens, sings the high Mass in Latin every Sunday. He celebrated midnight Mass on Christmas Eve of 2000 in memory of my dad. Since then I have remained a stalwart non-church-goer, I am sorry to say. A good friend of mine, however, not only is a good Catholic and Christian gentleman, but he is willing to track down traditional Masses for the two of us to attend, which is something I appreciate deeply. We are going on this coming Sunday. On Christmas Eve I hope to take my dear wife to midnight Mass at the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament, which should be a stunning experience. She is passionately a non-church person, but I think that she will enjoy that.

Saint Nicholas Day

2008-12-06T11:59:00.001-08:00

When I was a boy, in our family, Saint Nicholas Day was the cause for celebration. It was the earliest day that my parents would allow the "Christmas Season" to be recognized in our house. The tree went up in the living room and decorations were lavished about the house and we would exchange gifts. The gifts were small and of inconsequential value, usually Christmas ornaments with some sort of a Saint Nicholas theme, but they were ornately wrapped and given with great ceremony and festivity.

Eight years ago my father passed away on Saint Nicholas day. That was the saddest day of my life, so far, but there was some compensation in the fact that he died on that day. You see, my dad was as much the embodiment of Saint Nicholas as I can imagine in our day and age. He was a combination of the historical saint in his goodness and generosity and of Father Christmas in his delightful spirit and the fact that small children seemed oddly attracted to him. I remember being in a department store in my late teens, and my dad was waiting for me patiently. Once I got back to him, he had a couple of small children with him – they had gotten separated from their parents, and they naturally gravitated to my dad.

Since he passed on, I have taken Saint Nicholas as his patron, and I attend mass on his feast day. So today, Saturday, December 06, 2008, I attended early morning mass at Saint John the Baptist Catholic Church in Folsom, California only to find that there was no mention of Saint Nicholas. I suspect and fear that this may be because his image has become such a cheesy icon of commerce and it has lost its true meaning of love and selfless generosity. We are surrounded by the garish images of Santa Claus, and have lost track of Saint Nicholas along the way.

Perhaps Dickens was correct, and we have to keep the spirit of the season with us in our hearts. I had hoped that there would be vestiges of it in the church as well, but it is not, so in our hearts it must be. I have a dear friend who reminds me of what I like the best about my fellow humans. She reminds me peripherally of my dad, though she would not understand that reference. In honor of St. Nick, my dad and of the Christmas season, I will give her an ornament today. She will find this odd and faintly out of place, but that is alright. It will be my symbolic passage of a tradition on to another generation.

O most good father Nicholas, pastor and teacher of all who in faith call upon thy protection an warm prayer, make haste to deliver Christ's flock from the wolves that attack it; and guard every Christian land, and keep it by thy holy prayers from worldly unrest, upheaval, the assault of enemies and civil strife; from famine, flood, fire, the axe and sudden mortality. And as thou didst take pity on the three men who were imprisoned, and didst deliver them from royal anger and death by the sword, so have mercy also on us, who are in the darkness of sins of mind, word and deed, and deliver us from the wrath of God and eternal punishment, so that, by thine intercession and help, and by His mercy and grace, Christ our God may grant us to lead a quiet life without sin in this age and deliver us in the next from standing at the left side, but rather grant us to be at His right hand with all the Saints.

Amen.

My Review of Pommery Pop Champagne

2008-11-11T15:05:00.001-08:00

Originally submitted at Cost Plus World Market

Pommery Champagne dates back to 1836. POP Blue, an extra dry French bubbly, is the latest fun creation from the House of Pommery. True, the cool blue bottle is unconventional but it has the traditional cork and the Brut Champagne inside is nicely dry, yet soft and slightly sweet. The stuff dreams a...

Wonderful Little Treat

By Greg from Folsom, CA on 11/11/2008

Pairs Well With: Seafood, Chocolate, Spicy Food

Pros: Clean, Balanced

Best Uses: Special Occasions, Entertaining

Describe Yourself: Connoisseur

Contrary to the description, this is not a Brut Champagne. It is, however, an exquisite extra-dry with a playful sweetness making it perfect for those whose palates are not accustomed to Bruts and to those who prefer a bit of sweetness to their bubbly. Additionally, the great packaging makes them perfect for parties!

(legalese)

November is. . . .

2008-11-01T18:35:00.001-07:00

International Drum Month, Peanut Butter Lovers Month, Slaughter Month, Aviation Month, Good Nutrition Month, National Epilepsy Month, Latin American Month, Hunger Awareness month, National Diabetes Awareness Month, National Red Ribbon Month, National Stamp Collecting Month

1. All Saints' Day, Dia de Los Muertos, Plan Your Epitaph Day, St. Marcel's Day
2. All Souls' Day, Dia de Los Muertos, National Deviled Egg Day
3. Sandwich Day, Housewife's Day, St. Martin de Porres's Day
4. Election Day, Waiting for the Barbarians Day, St. Charles Borromeo's Day
5. Gunpowder Day, Guy Fawkes Day, St. Elizabeth of Hungary's Day
6. Saxophone Day, Marooned Without a Compass Day, Basketball Day, St. Leonard of Noblac's Day
7. National Bittersweet Chocolate With Almonds Day, St. Willibrord's Day
8. Dunce Day, The Four Crowned Martyr's Day
9. Sadie Hawkins Day, Chaos Never Dies Day, St. Theodore's Day
10. Forget-Me-Not Day, St. Andrew Avellino's Day
11. Veterans Day, Remembrance Day (Canada), Air Day, St. Martin of Tours's Day
12. National Pizza With the Works Except Anchovies Day, St. Emillion's Day
13. National Indian Pudding Day, St. Francis Xavier Cabrini's Day
14. Operation Room Nurse Day, St. Josaphat of Polotsk's Day
15. National Clean Out Your Refrigerator Day, St. Albert the Great's Day
16. Button Day, St. Margaret of Scotland's Day
17. Take a Hike Day
18. Occult Day, St. Odo's Day
19. Have a Bad Day Day, St. Nerses I
20. Absurdity Day, St. Edmund's Day
21. World Hello Day, False Confessions Day, St. Gelasius I's Day
22. Start of Sagittarius, Start Your Country Day, St. Cecillia's Day
23. National Cashew Day, St. Clement of Rome
24. Use Even If the Seal Is Broken Day, St. Colman of Cloyne's Day
25. National Parfait Day, St. Catherine of Alexandria's Day
26. Shopping Reminder Day, St. John Berchmaus's Day
27. Pins and Needles Day, St. Maximus of Riez's Day
28. Make Your Own Head Day, St. Catherine Laboure's Day
29. Square Dance Day, St. Sermins's Day
30. Stay at Home Because You're Well Day, St. Andrew the Apostle's Day

The Illegal Immigration Problem

2008-10-15T10:18:00.001-07:00

The following was received as an email forward by my dear wife, so the providence is questionable at best, but, nonetheless, it is quite witty, so I am re-printing it here.

From the MANITOBA HERALD, Canada (a very underground paper):

A flood of American liberals sneaking across the border into Canada has intensified in the past week, sparking calls for increased patrols to stop the illegal immigration.

The possibility of a McCain/Palin election is prompting the exodus among left-leaning citizens who fear they'll soon be required to hunt, pray, and agree with Bill

O'Reilly. Canadian border farmers say it's not uncommon to see dozens of sociology professors, animal rights activists and Unitarians crossing their fields at night.

"I went out to milk the cows the other day, and there was a Hollywood producer huddled in the barn," said Manitoba farmer Red Greenfield, whose acreage borders North Dakota. The producer was cold, exhausted and hungry. "He asked me if I could spare a latte and some free-range chicken. When I said I didn't have any, he left. Didn't even get a chance to show him my screenplay, eh?" In an effort to stop the illegal aliens, Greenfield erected higher fences, but the liberals scaled them. So he tried installing speakers that blare Rush Limbaugh across the fields. "Not real effective," he said. "The liberals still got through, and Rush annoyed the cows so much they wouldn't give milk."

Officials are particularly concerned about smugglers who meet liberals near the Canadian border, pack them into Volvo station wagons, drive them across the border and leave them to fend for themselves. "A lot of these people are not prepared for rugged conditions, "an Ontario border patrolman said. "I found one carload without a drop of drinking water. They did have a nice little Napa Valley cabernet, though."

When liberals are caught, they're sent back across the border, often wailing loudly that they fear retribution from conservatives. Rumors have been circulating about the

McCain administration establishing re-education camps in which liberals will be forced to shoot wolves from airplanes, deny evolution, and act out drills preparing them for the Rapture. In recent days, liberals have turned to sometimes-ingenious ways of crossing the border. Some have taken to posing as senior citizens on bus trips to buy cheap Canadian prescription drugs. After catching a half-dozen young vegans disguised in powdered wigs, Canadian immigration authorities began stopping buses and quizzing the supposed senior-citizen passengers on Perry Como and Rosemary Clooney hits to prove they were alive in the '50s. "If they can't identify the accordion player on The Lawrence Welk Show, we get suspicious about their age," an official said. Canadian citizens have complained that the illegal immigrants are creating an organic-broccoli shortage and renting all the good Susan Sarandon movies. "I feel sorry for American liberals, but the Canadian economy just can't support them," an Ottawa resident said. "How many art-history and English majors does One country need?"

Mrs. Walker's Birthday!

2008-10-08T16:25:00.001-07:00

Today is my beloved wife's natal day. I will not say which one, as that would be telling, but I will say that it is significantly fewer than my own. Happy Birthday, Sweetie!!

Zombies

2008-10-01T12:43:00.001-07:00

As a wee lad, I found particular horror in stories of the reanimated dead. Monsters made up from the parts of dead bodies and, by far the worst, the zombies. Zombies carried the visage of the deceased, but they were forced to the will of the voodoo witch doctor who summoned them from the grave. This horror seemed the most complete to me, as my sympathies lay with the poor zombie who was under the impression that he had earned his eternal rest, but was now summoned forth to do some asshole's wicked work. I hated that.

Then, I grew out of it, and the concept no longer bothered me. The movies went from horrifying to stupid and inane, and they passed from my regard.

Then, one day, I came to realize that these movies and stories were parables. They are parables that tell of a horrid truth.

You see, also as a wee lad, I had a profound affection for certain icons of American commerce, most notably the ancient and steadfast Abercrombie and Fitch. It stood at 55/57 West 35^th Street in Manhattan, and they carried all the best stuff. They had hand-made fishing baskets and THE safari shirts – the ones preferred by Teddy Roosevelt and Hemingway and everyone who was anyone in the early twentieth century. It's where Dad got his Greener shotgun. It's where I learned to tie a fly and cast a bamboo fly-pole. It's where Mom got the fishing pole she gave me for my high-school graduation. Hem died in '61, and Abercrombie and Fitch declined. The store began its death rattle in the late '60s, and it died in the mid seventies. It was sad, but they were gone.

And then the voodoo witch doctor came. He carried the ominous moniker of The Gap, and he summoned the corpse of A&F back to life. The store now does more business than it ever did, but it is an abomination, carrying inferior Chinese made crap aimed at teenagers who don't give a crap about quality or the history of Abercrombie and Fitch. Teenagers who have more money than brains, who want to look like or to attract the current sex-bomb from the TV, and Abercrombie and Fitch feeds that frenzy. Hem would turn in his grave.

The saddest part is that it is not a phenomenon unique to A&F. Eddie Bauer went the same way, and before A&F, but, at least, they pretended to be similar to the older store for awhile. The one that really gets me most recently, however, is L.L. Bean. I knew something was horribly wrong when I called them to find out if they could send me a Norwegian Sweater, and found that they no longer carried it. L.L. Bean with no Norwegian Sweaters? How could it be? I will tell you how – the witch doctor has come and has streamlined and modernized their business, and it is becoming another reanimated corpse of what it once was. Soon it will be in a mall near you, and you will be able to buy inferior Vietnamese made khakis that will, startlingly, look exactly like the khakis that you can get at Abercrombie and Fitch and The Gap and Eddie Bauer and The Banana Republic and every other store on the mall.

For a Halloween fright, I don't need to rent a movie nor dig out the Lovecraft. I only need to stroll down to the mall.

Mama's Birthday

2008-08-30T22:38:00.000-07:00

My beloved mother, rest her eternal soul, would have been 94 years old today, had she lived to see it. By the time she passed on, she was quite decrepit and her mind had left her. I deeply wish, however, that she had retained her faculties and that she had lived another decade. I miss her very much.

The Perils of eBay

2008-08-24T19:10:00.001-07:00

I have been quite fortunate on my many forays onto eBay, only having been duped once, and that by an idiot who may have actually believed that "Self Published" equated a sheaf of poorly done photocopies. Otherwise I have been very lucky, and, as time has gone by, I have become more careful.

Nonetheless some of the criminal behavior I find on eBay when hunting for antiques truly startles me. When searching antiquities the biggest thing is, of course, misrepresentation. Things like the numerous modern Chinese made chess sets that are being sold as antiques are obvious and malicious attempts to bilk the uninitiated or the uninformed, and, I am sorry to say, I do wish that eBay would make some attempt to regulate these, but I do not know how.

On the other hand, things like the pair of mismatched cufflinks I found this evening that are being sold as "Two Vintage Antique Lapel Pins Studs Gold Tone" offends me on so very many levels. Either the seller is painfully stupid, or he is practicing upon the deep stupidity of his clientele. I suspect the latter, but, in either case, he needs to be run off of eBay on some sort of digital analog for a rail, if not as a criminal then as an idiot.

Projekt Brutus

2008-08-23T09:31:00.000-07:00

Vive La France

2008-07-27T16:28:00.001-07:00

To my mind, the American La France Speedsters of the early twentieth century represent the true epitome of American motoring. They were the Cobras of their day, made from the remains of American La France fire trucks with gargantuan six cylinder, 14.5 liter motors, stripped down to little more than a chassis, engine and wheels. The intrepid motorists would then, goggles and gauntlets in place, accost the road at speeds exceeding 100 miles per hour! These are truly my favorite motor vehicles, and, if the day comes that I can manage to afford a brass age supercar, this will be my supercar of choice. Leave the Bearcats and the Raceabouts to the more timid of spirit – I will take the American La France every time!

Le Trianon

2008-07-12T08:58:00.001-07:00

Another of the inspirations from my youth was René Verdon's Le Trianon. This restaurant was the epitome of a classical restaurant. It was dark and plush and beautiful. The environment was contrived to allow the diner to focus on his food, amidst the dusty pink brocades and ivory walls.

And the food! My God, if there is food in heaven, let it be prepared by René Verdon! Common misperceptions about classical cuisine: It is heavy, unhealthy and wasteful. Truths about classical cuisine: It uses butter appropriately, but not excessively (René Verdon was no Paula Deen!); it employs more fish and poultry than "pop" cuisine and it uses up every part of the animal! I am not going to suggest that Le Trianon was an ideal place for a dieter, no good restaurant is, but the food was exquisite and wholesome.

Verdon's first claim to fame in this country was as the chef to the white house during the Kennedy years. In his later years he wrote a marvelous book that does not get nearly enough attention titled The Enlightened Cuisine. In addition to his brilliance, he was a gentleman, through and through. When I was a sprout, dining at my parents' table atop a stack of cookbooks, Verdon made one of his typical tours of the dining room. In order to afford my parents some privacy, I now suspect, he took me to the kitchen where the help fawned over me. He gave me his toque and signed and dated it. That remained my most prized possession until a few years ago when it was lost with many other treasures.

Back in the era of places like Ernie's, Le Trianon was the true queen of the San Francisco restaurants. It was the last exponent of a great era of San Francisco dining.

The Zeiss Ikon Contessa

2008-07-11T23:34:00.001-07:00

The Zeiss Ikon Contessa is a pocket rangefinder camera dating from the early 1950s. It came equipped with a Zeiss 45 mm lens and, even in its era, it had a retro 30s appeal about it. I have always loved high-end rangefinder cameras, and this one stands out in my mind as being another work of functional art. I need to get a camera for work purposes in the near future, and I desperately want to get one of these, but, sadly, my good friend Steve has talked me into a digital (blech) camera for all sorts of practical reasons. One day, however, it will be mine. Ah, yes, it will be mine. . . .

Cookbooks I Wish I Still Owned

2008-07-02T21:55:00.000-07:00

The 1928 leather-bound edition of Ali-Bab’s Gastronomie Pratique. I learned most of my very limited French whilst decoding recipes from that encyclopaediac volume at my sainted mother's kitchen table, and I miss it like an old friend. Anything else that appears on this list is a distant relation to this work of art.
Samuel Chamberlain’s British Bouquet, An Epicurean Tour of Britain, or, for that matter, any of Samuel Chamberlain’s books. Though not a cookbook, per se, I highly recommend the recently reprinted Clementine in the Kitchen, a narrative with a number of recipes included. The great thing about Chamberlain’s cookbooks was not so much the recipes and more the wonderful travelogues that he included. They were cookbooks for the foodie. In addition, the 50s Gourmet Publishing editions were these big beautiful white leather volumes that made you want to read them all the more. Everything of Chamberlain's should be in reprint.
“Trader” Vic Bergeron’s Trader Vic’s Kitchen Kibitzer from 1952. It was a fantastic reference for things like “How to cook a steak” or “How to make a moderately interesting tossed salad with iceberg lettuce” and the like. More than a reference book, though, it was just a great, fun read.
The big, brown Gourmet cookbook, two volumes that were my mom’s general reference. A wonderful basic.
An old edition of The Joy of Cooking. I had one that was published just after WW II, and it was great! I liked the quirkiness of the older recipes.

This is one of those lists that I am bound to add to as time passes, but these are the ones that come to mind immediately. Are there any great old cookbooks that you wish you still had?

oDesk

2008-06-29T08:39:00.001-07:00

Despite the fact that the name sounds a bit like a piece of Irish furniture, this is a fantastic resource for a beginning writer! Twenty years ago, when I was first contemplating being a writer, you had to head off to the library to find the latest edition of the Writer's Market to see who accepted what. Despite the completeness of that work, it was by no means all-inclusive, and you never knew who actually needed what at any given time. The days of the Internet are boom-times for writers!

ODesk is a terrific site where writers and those who need them are put together. My wife and I landed a wonderful stint with an elegant new Denver publication, 1 Magazine, through oDesk, and I have another nibble that I am very hopeful about.

In short, if you are interested in pursuing a writing career, do not overlook oDesk!

http://www.odesk.com/

The Palomino Room

2008-06-27T22:33:00.001-07:00

Since I am reminiscing about great old Sacramento landmarks that have passed into the mists of time, I must take a few minutes to recognize the old Palomino Room. I grew up in that place. It was a classic, old school steakhouse, back before the term "steakhouse" indicated that you were about to fork over $45 for a Porterhouse with no salad, no spud, no dessert, no nuthin'. The Palomino Room was first class. When I knew it best it was run by the Borowski brothers, Ray and Harry, both great guys who you just wanted to sit down with and have a few beers. The brains of the outfit was Ray's wife, Stella, and she made sure that the ship was run tight.

The Palomino Room, in the days that I knew it, was dark with wormwood walls and a wagon-wheel chandelier over the piano bar. Steaks and taters were the fare.

The one who inspired me the most though was their chef, Nick Jukich. Nick's brother fought on Tito's side in Yugoslavia. Nick didn't. His brother became a general, or something like, Nick became a cook in a steakhouse. Oh, but what a cook! The steaks at the Palomino had a distinctive flavor – it was Nick's secret. And it was great. First, it may go without saying, he was downright finicky about the quality of meat he served. Secondly, he seasoned with salt, and a lot of it. Finally, there was the oil. Next to the grill he kept a cup of oil that he prepared before service every night. It was regular grade olive oil infused with a healthy portion of garlic. He kept a pastry brush in it, and swabbed every steak with it before he put it down. Simple though it was, it was amazing. I think that Nick may have been the one who really made me want to grow up to be a chef. I am sure that he is long gone now, but I would pay money to have a nice long visit with him today.

In later years the place was taken over by David and Freddy, the sons of the original owners, and they did their best to update the ambience and bring the restaurant into the twentieth century. It was very nice, but it wasn't my beloved old Palomino Room any more. The menu went the direction of light, modern Italian, but it wasn't Nick's kitchen any more.

It's been said that what goes around comes around. I really hope that someplace like the Palomino Room comes around again soon. I am getting hungry.

Foodista

2008-06-27T21:53:00.001-07:00

I discovered a fabulous new foodie site! Ok, to be fair, I don't know how new it is, per se, but it is a great foodie site. It's called Foodista, and it is a treasure. Absolutely what I look for in a food site – writers who are passionate about food, people who travel for the sake of finding new and exquisite food experiences, and a great sense of humor. The only thing I could ask is that it be published in paper form. Like fountain pens and typewriters, I love good ol' paper magazines. I know. I'm a dinosaur.

Nonetheless, take a look at Foodista. It will make you want to go to Argentina for some wine and cheese.

Baltimore Pit Beef

2008-06-17T22:58:00.000-07:00

BALTIMORE PIT BEEF SANDWICH
Adapted from Big Fat Daddy's
Time: 1 hour, plus 3 hours to 3 days marinating

For the rub:

2 tablespoons seasoned salt
1 tablespoon sweet paprika
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon black pepper

For the sandwich:

1 3-pound piece top round
8 kaiser rolls or
16 slices of rye bread
Horseradish sauce (see recipe)
1 sweet white onion, sliced thin
2 ripe tomatoes, sliced thin (optional)
Iceburg lettuce (optional)

1. Combine ingredients for the rub in a bowl, and mix. Sprinkle 3 to 4 tablespoons all over the beef, patting it in. Place in a baking dish, and cover with plastic wrap. You can cover the beef with the rub for a few hours, but for maximum flavor, leave it for 3 days in the refrigerator, turning once a day.

2. Prepare a hot grill. Grill beef 30 to 40 minutes, or until outside is crusty and dark brown and internal temperature is about 120 degrees (for rare). Turn beef often. Transfer to a cutting board; let it rest 5 minutes.

3. Slice beef thinly across grain. Pile beef high on a roll or bread slathered with horseradish sauce. Garnish with onions, tomatoes and sliced lettuce. Serve.

Yield: 8 sandwiches.

HORSERADISH SAUCE
Adapted from Big Fat Daddy's
Time: 3 minutes

1 cup mayonnaise
1/2 cup prepared white horseradish, or to taste
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Salt and black pepper to taste.

Combine ingredients in a bowl, and whisk to mix. Adjust seasonings to taste.

Yield: 1 1/2 cups.

Aldo's

2008-06-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

The Flaming A. Aldo’s was a continental restaurant in Sacramento up until about a decade ago. It was a great place. Reviewers often bemoaned the fact that the quality was variable, and in the many years since Poul Culatte, Aldo’s original chef, retired, they may have had a point, but I invariably loved the place.

It was owned and presided over by the inimitable Aldo Bovaro, one of the most elegant gentlemen I have ever known. He was a good friend of my father’s, and, though ten years might have passed between my visits, he would always greet me with a hug and kisses on the cheeks and treat me as though I was his most prized guest. I think that everyone at Aldo’s always felt like his most prized guest, and that is what made the place so very special.

Aldo was Italian born but most recently expatriated from Uruguay. Aldo was a citizen of the world. He spoke numerous languages perfectly and fluently and he had traveled everywhere. Aldo and Poul were my first inspirations to pursue a cooking career.

The focus of Aldo’s restaurant was tableside service with lots of flambé. The restaurant was appropriately dark, waiters wore black dinner suits. In the spring and summer, Aldo would wear a white dinner jacket, and in the cooler months he, too, would wear a black suit. There was a pianist, Mario Ferarri, who was excellent, and, for a period of time, on Thursday nights, Aldo would sing Italian songs in the bar, accompanied by Mario. Mario would woo the young ladies, but their hearts belonged to Aldo.

I remember being impressed when my parents went in one evening, and were seated at a corner table – the matre d’hotel gave them menus and exchanged pleasantries with them. A couple of minutes later, Aldo appeared and seated himself at our table, and began to visit with them in earnest. When the waiter came by, he would not allow my parents to order, instead, Aldo took their menus away and gave them to the waiter. He said, “I will take care of you. I promise, you will have a fine dinner!”

I do not remember all the details of the dinner, but I do remember that it was excellent. I had escargots, because it was one of the few places in Sacramento where I could get them. I also remember the pheasants that were decorated with their own feathers and, around the time that the dessert zabiones were being served, Aldo brought a service cart out and prepared Caffé Diable. It was a flaming and alcoholic coffee beverage, served in demitasse, and it was tremendous. It remains to this day, my favorite after dinner beverage.

I could go on for days, reminiscing about Aldo and his restaurant. It was a heartfelt loss when I drove by one day and it was gone. It was one of the major inspirations in my life, and I pay tribute to it every time I prepare a meal.

My Other True Love

2008-06-08T20:02:00.000-07:00

This is my puppy Maggie. She is really nearly a doggie, as she will be a full year old in July. She is my favorite dog, hands down, no question about it. The end.

Star Trek Gnurd

2008-06-06T19:01:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, before my wife, Jennifer, and I were married, we were sitting up late one night watching Star Trek: Voyager. It was one of many episodes dominated by the insanely hot Jeri Ryan and the Borg. Jenn asked me, “Where do the Borg come from? What was their origin?” She often deferrs to me on these issues, as I am a long standing Star Trek nerd, while she is fairly new to such things. Given that I am not privy to any origin story for the Borg, I started spinning my yarn:

The Borg is an ancient species within the Star Trek universe. Their genesis was millions of years ago as an orbital grain elevator, circling an agricultural planet. The grain elevator and the planet that it supported belonged to a space-faring race whose name is lost to the mists of time – all that is known about them is that their grain elevator outlasted them by a thousand millennia. The elevator was built to be self-sustaining, so, when repairs were needed, it would send a servo unit to make them. If it needed a new servo unit, it would build it. If it needed steel for the new servo unit, it would send robotic units groundside to mine the iron and make the steel, or it would use a piece of now useless machinery, etc. As a result, it stayed in orbit of the planet, filled to capacity with grain, and working perfectly. Eventually, running low on maintenance resources, it built a small spacecraft and populated it with robotic units to scavenge parts and materials from passersby, and, as it assimilated more and more of these strange, alien technologies, a consciousness began to awake. It realized that it was a mere agricultural tool, but that it could become more by assimilating these strangers, and so it continued.

The problem is that she swallowed the whole story, hook, line, sinker. I thought that I was being freaking hysterical, but she did not. Genius is rarely appreciated. . . .

New Orleans Mystery

2008-06-03T07:48:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I have got this collection of great characters. First of all, my main "amateur detective" character, a mysterious gray-haired French doctor, an anthropologist, who is referred to by his compatriots alternatively as "Doctor" and "Professor". He has a faint residual French accent, but speaks fluent and educated English. Secondly, an attractive socialite in her late forties or early fifties who has a string of ex-husbands, scads of money, killer legs and a Bugatti limousine. Third, a longtime companion of the professor, southern French in appearance, can repair an automobile and cook reasonably well. He acts as valet, gentleman's gentleman, cook, chauffeur and bodyguard. He is very quiet, obviously has a history, can shoot anything that shoots, and can kill a man with a rubber band and a piece of chewing gum. He has a heavy accent, and intersperses French into his language heavily, though he speaks quite fluent English. Also, an elderly bloodhound who cannot smell (result of a bullet wound to the head), and who will not eat anything but dog food, much to the chagrin of his caretakers.

Now I need to outline. I have an early 19th century deposition that acts as the backbone of the mystery, and chapters are cut with excerpts from the deposition. The deposition alleges to be the true story of the Mystick Krewe of Comus, its membership and practices, and what they are “really” up to.

Book Update

2008-06-02T08:37:00.000-07:00

I made some good progress on the book this weekend, getting into the meat of the plotting. I think I need to outline more. Sad to say, I am no Hem, and I need structure imposed from somewhere outside my mind.

Nonetheless, character development is going well. I may need to cut some, but I like the direction that it is taking. It is finally taking on a life, which makes writing it much easier.

I found a fantastic recipe this weekend for a cranberry chutney. I would post here, but I fear that this is becoming too much of a recipe blog, and noone wants or needs that.

Speaking of Hem, I have found the typewriter that I desire! It is a Corona No. 3 folding typewriter. It is a well designed object, and it served as Hemingway's therapist for many years.

The Glorious First of June!

2008-06-01T06:28:00.000-07:00

It is upon us once again: The Glorious First of June, anniversary of the Third Battle of Ushant. Of course, the actual battle, being a naval engagement, took place four hundred miles off the coast of the French island of Ushant, but that was the landmark at hand. The conflict was between the French and the British fleets, and both sides suffered vast losses, and both sides declared the day a victory.

It is days like this that I really wish I had a British naval jack.

Marmalade

2008-05-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, May 29, was my dad’s birthday. He would have been 95 years old. If anyone who ever lived went on to a better place, he was the one.

Summer is the time for biscuits or muffins or toast and marmalade. Dad loved really good marmalade, and not just the orange kind, but that is an exquisite place to start. He favored Dundee brand in the clay pots.

This is a good traditional recipe, using a blend of Seville oranges and sweet oranges. If you want your marmalade less bitter, use more sweet oranges and fewer Sevilles. Also, most importantly, if you are using store-bought fruits, be sure to blanch them quickly in boiling water to remove the wax on the surface of the peel.

Ingredients:

6 Seville oranges
3 Sweet oranges
4 Lemons
1 c. Sugar for each cup of fruit
1 wine glass Spirits (I like to use Irish Whiskey)

Method:

Cut the fruit very thin. To each cup of fruit, add 3 cups water and let stand 12 hours. For each cup of fruit, add 1 cup of sugar. Simmer until syrup jellies when tried on a cold plate. Add one wine glass of spirits.
Pour into sterilized glasses; when cool, seal with paraffin.

"Murder," he wrote. . .

2008-05-28T08:31:00.000-07:00

I am currently doing research for a murder mystery set in post-Katrina New Orleans. This is problematic, as I want to lend the book a sense of being from an "insider's" perspective, avoiding as much of the turisto cliché as possible. Sadly, my most recent visit to that intriguing city was two decades back, making current knowledge unreliable, at best.

I have a query out through the fabulous Marja Claire Martin, currently of Santa Fe, New Mexico, formerly of New Orleans. She is doing some research for me, and I look forward to hearing back about what she has to say.

I have been out of touch with Marja since about 1988 – it is so hard to believe how quickly twenty years may pass! It was a delight to catch up with her again.

Sour Milk Waffles

2008-05-25T16:48:00.000-07:00

Mom was a great cook. In addition, she despised waste, and, given that we had two quarts of milk delivered daily, sour milk was not unknown in our house.

What follows is not her recipe, but it is very similar, and it is one of the numerous uses that she had for turned milk. Believe it or not, these are the best waffles you have ever consumed.

For 6 waffles:

Ingredients:

1 1/3 c. All-purpose flour
1/2 t. Salt
1/2 t. Baking soda
1/4 c. Shortening, melted
1 c. Sour milk
1 t. Sugar
2 Eggs

Method:

Sift flour, measure, and sift with salt and baking soda.
Beat egg yolks until light and foamy.
Add sugar and shortening.
Mix well.
Add milk alternately with sifted dry ingredients to egg mixture.
Fold in stiffly beaten egg whites.
Bake in hot waffle iron.

6 servings. The Household Searchlight - 1941

An Exciting New Journey!

2008-05-24T12:36:00.000-07:00

Alright, to be perfectly fair, all new writers have to write something in their little locked journals about how they are starting an "exciting new journey" in their self-important little lives when they decide to fire up their writing careers. The typical writing career lasts about three months, then peters out in favor of their next "exciting new journey".

Nonetheless, this is something that I have been planning to do for the better part of three decades, and it really does feel like the start of a new voyage in my life. The voyage I have been on up until now has been more like floating about in a life-raft.

So, at the ripe old age of two score and five years, I am going to become a writer. Finally.

So far, I have produced some limited content for Associated Content, and little else. I am shopping for more markets - I will keep you informed of developments.