1.4.2017
So we're on vacation in Florida and we're visiting the East Coast Mouse House. They say that the entire Mouse place in California will fit in the footprint of the Florida place five times and still have room for 500 cars to park. It's colossal.
They have everything but homicidal cowboy robots here: African safari, the Hollywood back lot, every planet in the Star Wars universe, swamps, alligators, rednecks, princesses, mice and picture spots.
Tonight - The Homestead
(one month down... eleven to go)
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Yi-eee! (REDUX)
1.3.2017 (first published this week 2003)
Well goddamn if I didn't burn the holy shit outta my mouth on some hot soup the other day. Took two whole days to recover and the mouth ain't totally normal yet. I remember the last time I did as much and I remember the vow: "Nope! No more burnin' the shit outta my mouth." So much for that.
And to top off the physical discomfort, I'm forced to reassess my soup heating strategy. In the perfect world, you've got a pot on a stove and steamy soup ready to be ladled into bowl. In imperfect world, you got a can, an opener, a bowl and a microwave. This solution seems straightforward, but I manage to screw it up. I either get soup that is hot around the edges and ice-cold in the middle, or liquid-hot magma-soup ready to render my mouth fried crispy. With both you naturally got a bowl that ya need fireplace tongs to haul out of the micro. Too bad for all the fog, 'cause I'm ready to ditch the micro-zapper and try solar.
Tonight - 15 Romolo
Special TNSC guest "curating" by the incomparable Tim Pries. C'mon out and bring your friends.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Well goddamn if I didn't burn the holy shit outta my mouth on some hot soup the other day. Took two whole days to recover and the mouth ain't totally normal yet. I remember the last time I did as much and I remember the vow: "Nope! No more burnin' the shit outta my mouth." So much for that.
And to top off the physical discomfort, I'm forced to reassess my soup heating strategy. In the perfect world, you've got a pot on a stove and steamy soup ready to be ladled into bowl. In imperfect world, you got a can, an opener, a bowl and a microwave. This solution seems straightforward, but I manage to screw it up. I either get soup that is hot around the edges and ice-cold in the middle, or liquid-hot magma-soup ready to render my mouth fried crispy. With both you naturally got a bowl that ya need fireplace tongs to haul out of the micro. Too bad for all the fog, 'cause I'm ready to ditch the micro-zapper and try solar.
Tonight - 15 Romolo
Special TNSC guest "curating" by the incomparable Tim Pries. C'mon out and bring your friends.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Whore's Head
1.2.2017
I know of only a couple decent delicatessens in striking distance of my place in LA. One is superior to the other, but both have giant pastrami sandwiches that are quite good.
"Delis," on the other hand, abound. Every grocery store in town now has one. ("Now" because The Whole Foods Effect has shamed dumpy stores into spiffing themselves up - changing the lighting, removing the age-old linoleum, setting up artisan cheese counters, triple-milled French soap displays and, you guessed it, delis) - in order to lure back customers.
First of all, I don't buy pastrami from these supermarket delis. I don't eat a lot of pastrami, but when I do, I don't settle for supermarket deli pastrami. There. But I do prefer to get freshly-sliced smoked ham, chicken breast and sometimes cheese from these delis. They'll cut the slices to order (thin for chicken and extra-thin for ham (think about piling extra-thin ham slices on a sandwich. Not flat = yum). I do extra-thin for cheddar, too, when I'm planning on making grilled cheese sandwiches. It melts better.
So just before Christmas 2016, I was planning to make "two-bite egg things," a.k.a., miniature quiches, for both my family and for the Holiday potluck lunch at work. I make ham and cheddar mini quiches, and to make them, I require a small dice on the ham. I need a bit smaller than 1/4 inch on the slices so two more cuts at home will get me the dice I want. So I went to the supermarket deli and got in line to get my ham.
I was first in line, but waited for the customer in front of me to be helped. The customer was a fucking rude-ass jerk. "Give me two stuffed peppers," she demanded. She was wrinkled, skinny, white-haired, and she had a sweater-vest with a woven depiction of a snowy woodland scene over a satin shirt with frilled cuffs, neat pleated slacks and jewelry. Lots of jewelry.
"And when was that potato salad made?" she asked but didn't wait for an answer: "Give me a small of that."
"And I want some chicken, no, not that chicken, that chicken," she said as she pointed a crooked finger at two identical roasted chicken breasts.
The deli attendant smiled and did as she was ordered. Finally, without a single please or thank you, the old crone got what she wanted and left. I stepped up as the attendant asked, "may I help you?"
I said, "First off, that old bag owes you at least four "pleases" and a handful of "thank-yous." I noticed she didn't offer a single one." The old bag was only steps away at that time and I hope she heard me. The attendant said, "Oh, that's okay. Most everyone is pretty rude. You get used to it."
I told her it was unacceptable and she agreed, but said she's got better things to do than worry about rude people, because they would never change, so why bother? I thought on that and figure she interacted with the public much more than I did, so I gave her the point.
Then I said please and thank you and walked away with a properly sliced-to-order pound of smoked ham.
I still think the old bag needs to go to finishing school for a tune-up.
Tonight - Iron & Gold (by request)
**Where' you'll fine extremely nice TNSC people**
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
I know of only a couple decent delicatessens in striking distance of my place in LA. One is superior to the other, but both have giant pastrami sandwiches that are quite good.
"Delis," on the other hand, abound. Every grocery store in town now has one. ("Now" because The Whole Foods Effect has shamed dumpy stores into spiffing themselves up - changing the lighting, removing the age-old linoleum, setting up artisan cheese counters, triple-milled French soap displays and, you guessed it, delis) - in order to lure back customers.
First of all, I don't buy pastrami from these supermarket delis. I don't eat a lot of pastrami, but when I do, I don't settle for supermarket deli pastrami. There. But I do prefer to get freshly-sliced smoked ham, chicken breast and sometimes cheese from these delis. They'll cut the slices to order (thin for chicken and extra-thin for ham (think about piling extra-thin ham slices on a sandwich. Not flat = yum). I do extra-thin for cheddar, too, when I'm planning on making grilled cheese sandwiches. It melts better.
So just before Christmas 2016, I was planning to make "two-bite egg things," a.k.a., miniature quiches, for both my family and for the Holiday potluck lunch at work. I make ham and cheddar mini quiches, and to make them, I require a small dice on the ham. I need a bit smaller than 1/4 inch on the slices so two more cuts at home will get me the dice I want. So I went to the supermarket deli and got in line to get my ham.
I was first in line, but waited for the customer in front of me to be helped. The customer was a fucking rude-ass jerk. "Give me two stuffed peppers," she demanded. She was wrinkled, skinny, white-haired, and she had a sweater-vest with a woven depiction of a snowy woodland scene over a satin shirt with frilled cuffs, neat pleated slacks and jewelry. Lots of jewelry.
"And when was that potato salad made?" she asked but didn't wait for an answer: "Give me a small of that."
"And I want some chicken, no, not that chicken, that chicken," she said as she pointed a crooked finger at two identical roasted chicken breasts.
The deli attendant smiled and did as she was ordered. Finally, without a single please or thank you, the old crone got what she wanted and left. I stepped up as the attendant asked, "may I help you?"
I said, "First off, that old bag owes you at least four "pleases" and a handful of "thank-yous." I noticed she didn't offer a single one." The old bag was only steps away at that time and I hope she heard me. The attendant said, "Oh, that's okay. Most everyone is pretty rude. You get used to it."
I told her it was unacceptable and she agreed, but said she's got better things to do than worry about rude people, because they would never change, so why bother? I thought on that and figure she interacted with the public much more than I did, so I gave her the point.
Then I said please and thank you and walked away with a properly sliced-to-order pound of smoked ham.
I still think the old bag needs to go to finishing school for a tune-up.
Tonight - Iron & Gold (by request)
**Where' you'll fine extremely nice TNSC people**
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 05, 2017
The Air Was Alive (REDUX)
1.1.2017 (first published this week 2010)
Heard it all before, a thousand times: "The overhead bin space is for larger carry-on luggage, smaller items should be placed in the space beneath the seat in front of you." And, "In the event of a water landing, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device." And, "The captain has not turned off the fasten seatbelts sign, so please return to your seats." But not, "Our in-flight beverage service will consist of complimentary coffee, juice or soft drinks, beer, wine and margaritas are available for five dollars." Margaritas? I love margs, sure, I just wasn't expecting a major airline to take a stand and offer margaritas over the dozens of other cocktail choices available. Why not bloodys? Why not gimlets? Why not sake-bombs? Why not Jaeger shots? No, the lovely Miss Margarita won the contract.
And I didn't expect the flight attendants to offer cocktails at the god-awful early dust-off time of 5:50 am, but they did. I was half zombiefied and didn't trust that I heard them correctly, but my connecting flight in Houston some time later said the same thing. bla bla bla for free and beer, wine and MARGARITAS for five bucks. I had to investigate.
I shoulda guessed that it was a pre-mixed job and I winced a little, knowing that most mixes are sweet as Texas tea, but I found this to be a nice sweet-salty mix. And I was happy that I could get two nice drinks out of the wee bottle if I had an airline cup full of ice. My sister joined me in this experiment and she enjoyed the marg too, so when our flight attendant came by asking if we wanted another, we said hell yeah. Then the gal seated in front of us asked how they were and we said, "surprisingly, they aren't bad." She asked for a marg too.
So now the FA had three margs to retrieve. She got the gals one each and said, "I'll have to go to the forward galley to get yours," to me. She came back and hardly slowed down when she handed me mine. My little wife, seated next to me, said, "I think that one's been opened." Sure enough, the seal was broken and the little bottle wasn't full. "Good eye," I said, then flagged down the FA. "I hate to be a pest," I said, "but this marg's been opened." She took the bottle and said, "I think she opened it." I didn't know who "she" was and why she would have opened it. "I'll get you another, " she then said. "Take yr time," I said, " I'm finishing this one." She said she'd be right back and she was. "This one's unopened, but sticky," she said, "something spilled on it. Another margarita, I think. I'll get you a wet-nap." I said don't bother. "I have a napkin." She left and came back with a wet-nap AND a tiny bottle of Grand Mariner! "Float some of this on top, hon," she said. "Why you have just Cadillaced our margaritas!" I said. "Thanks!"
I then shared with both my sister and the gal in front of me. Twas the Season of Giving, after all.
Tonight - Lone Palm
Come kick-off 2017 with a bang!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Heard it all before, a thousand times: "The overhead bin space is for larger carry-on luggage, smaller items should be placed in the space beneath the seat in front of you." And, "In the event of a water landing, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device." And, "The captain has not turned off the fasten seatbelts sign, so please return to your seats." But not, "Our in-flight beverage service will consist of complimentary coffee, juice or soft drinks, beer, wine and margaritas are available for five dollars." Margaritas? I love margs, sure, I just wasn't expecting a major airline to take a stand and offer margaritas over the dozens of other cocktail choices available. Why not bloodys? Why not gimlets? Why not sake-bombs? Why not Jaeger shots? No, the lovely Miss Margarita won the contract.
And I didn't expect the flight attendants to offer cocktails at the god-awful early dust-off time of 5:50 am, but they did. I was half zombiefied and didn't trust that I heard them correctly, but my connecting flight in Houston some time later said the same thing. bla bla bla for free and beer, wine and MARGARITAS for five bucks. I had to investigate.
I shoulda guessed that it was a pre-mixed job and I winced a little, knowing that most mixes are sweet as Texas tea, but I found this to be a nice sweet-salty mix. And I was happy that I could get two nice drinks out of the wee bottle if I had an airline cup full of ice. My sister joined me in this experiment and she enjoyed the marg too, so when our flight attendant came by asking if we wanted another, we said hell yeah. Then the gal seated in front of us asked how they were and we said, "surprisingly, they aren't bad." She asked for a marg too.
So now the FA had three margs to retrieve. She got the gals one each and said, "I'll have to go to the forward galley to get yours," to me. She came back and hardly slowed down when she handed me mine. My little wife, seated next to me, said, "I think that one's been opened." Sure enough, the seal was broken and the little bottle wasn't full. "Good eye," I said, then flagged down the FA. "I hate to be a pest," I said, "but this marg's been opened." She took the bottle and said, "I think she opened it." I didn't know who "she" was and why she would have opened it. "I'll get you another, " she then said. "Take yr time," I said, " I'm finishing this one." She said she'd be right back and she was. "This one's unopened, but sticky," she said, "something spilled on it. Another margarita, I think. I'll get you a wet-nap." I said don't bother. "I have a napkin." She left and came back with a wet-nap AND a tiny bottle of Grand Mariner! "Float some of this on top, hon," she said. "Why you have just Cadillaced our margaritas!" I said. "Thanks!"
I then shared with both my sister and the gal in front of me. Twas the Season of Giving, after all.
Tonight - Lone Palm
Come kick-off 2017 with a bang!!
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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