Treats, Culinary and Otherwise

I read this headline and took it literally…at first, with a HUGE amount of glee, as well: “Hillary Slaps Iowa Voter.” Obviously, I was thinking this was the moment we’ve all been waiting for: Hill finally loses it and thus begins her decline. Alas…too good to be true.

"Why should I support your candidacy if you haven't learned from the past?" Rolph asked, referring to her 2002 vote to authorize the use of military force in Iraq.

Clinton first thanked him and then countered that, "the premise of the question is wrong." So far, so good. But after offering a description of what was in the resolution, Clinton smugly and dismissively accused him of having been fed the information, saying "obviously somebody sent [it] to you."

Rolph didn't let it pass. "I take exception, this is my own research..."

"Well, then let me finish telling you..." Clinton screamed.

"Nobody sent that, and I am offended that you would suggest it," Rolph snapped at her.

[…]

"It was an insult," he fumed following the event. "It was basically calling me stupid. That I can't think on my own. That I don't have the ability to research or come up with a coherent or concrete thought on my own. How dare she!"

He continued, "She never did answer the question. She just, what I say is, bitch-slapped me." (emphasis mine)

What an appropriate turn-of-a-phrase, eh? (Another take on the story here.)

Dang! I’d love to be in attendance at this: “Chopsticks at dawn for a sushi showdown; Seven chefs will compete in London for the highest honour of Japanese cuisine.”

Of all the mysteries of Japanese culture, the art of how to make perfect sushi is the most cherished. Master chefs jealously conceal the secrets of their craft from all but the most faithful of acolytes, and then only spill the beans after years of patient apprenticeship.

But with every other master chef publicly receiving adulation for their culinary skills, from Gordon Ramsay and Marco Pierre White to Nigella Lawson, it was only a matter of time before the hitherto retiring connoisseurs of sushi began to desire their 15 minutes of fame.

Next week they will have just that at the grand finale of a four-month, nationwide celebration of Japanese food, drink and culture, when top Japanese chefs will put their reputations and honour at stake at the world's only sushi Oscars.

In what is being billed as the ultimate battle between the Seven Sushi Samurai, chefs from across the globe will converge at the Eat-Japan Sushi Awards in London to offer their trademark dish to diners and judges.

The event has generated huge excitement: all 300 tickets, costing £60 each, sold out within two weeks of going on sale, leaving a long waiting list.

One assumes ticket holders will get to sample the wares, but that may or may not be true. Two things here: First, the quality of British food has improved dramatically since I lived in London during the early 80s, when “English Cuisine” was the ultimate oxymoron. At that point in time the only decent meals one could get when eating out were in the numerous, and excellent, Indian and Chinese restaurants…and the fish ‘n’ chips stands, of course. I think there were only two Japanese restaurants in all of London at the time, if memory serves. I know The Second Mrs. Pennington and I had a helluva time finding even one sushi bar to satisfy our cravings. Which leads me to point two: I loves me some sushi!

TSMP and I had our favorite sushi bars when we lived in Tokyo in the mid-70s…two of which were within walking distance of our house. And we patronized them SO often (at least twice a week) that we were on a first-name basis with the chefs. At some point in time I absolutely must retrieve the family photo archive and scan the pics…this being the perfect illustrative point, as there are many more than a few “candid” shots of TSMP and I stuffing our mouths with raw tuna (mmmm!) and washing it down with (lots of…) excellent Sapporo beer. Former Happy Days, those were.

But…Oh! To be in London and at the World Series of Sushi…

In other British Culinary News…this lil article is guaranteed to invoke your “Eww!” response: “I’m not eating that!...Actually, you will. Not only are you all very well travelled, you’re extremely well fed, too.” Case in point:

Some years ago, I regularly travelled to West Africa. The French manager I used to meet in Côte d’Ivoire was always amused by my Anglo-Saxon disgust at some of the things eaten locally. On one occasion he took me to a restaurant that, he claimed, did a very good stew. He was right, it was delicious. Halfway through, however, I got a fright: my fork dredged from the bottom of the bowl what appeared to be a small, pink and perfectly formed baby’s hand. I pushed the plate away and turned white, which amused my companion no end. It transpired that the stew was made with a local delicacy – porcupine. And I can attest that, yes, their feet really do resemble small human... eurgh.

Nick Woodgates, Buckinghamshire

And you know there’s more…

The strangest (or weirdest) thing I’ve ever eaten is “dog on a log” from a street vendor in the Philippines. Which is exactly what it sounds like: bar-b-qued Fido, cooked shish-ke-bob style on a charcoal brazier. It wan’t all that bad, either, if memory serves. But I was two, or perhaps three, sheets in the wind at the time. The strangest thing I’ve refused to eat is rice bugs. You can only imagine, Gentle Reader. Or read about it.

Today’s Pic: Something rarely seen: YrHmblScrb on a Hardly-Ableson, this particular version being SN1’s Night Train on the day he took delivery. I never could get used to the Barca-Liner riding position. You know…feet out front (note the position of the pegs and shifter), lounging rearward, and all that. That’s simply UN-natural…on a mo’sickle. OK for watching football in your den, but not while riding a bike. Your Mileage Most CERTAINLY May Vary.

Valentines Day, 2003.

Meat, Red (Two Types)

MY kinda gal!

MARTHA FLACH mentioned meat twice in her Match.com profile: “I love architecture, The New Yorker, dogs ... steak for two and the Sunday puzzle.”

She was seeking, she added, “a smart, funny, kind man who owns a suit (but isn’t one) ... and loves red wine and a big steak.”

[…]

Red meat sent a message that she was “unpretentious and down to earth and unneurotic,” she said, “that I’m not obsessed with my weight even though I’m thin, and I don’t have any food issues.” She added, “In terms of the burgers, it said I’m a cheap date, low maintenance.”

Salad, it seems, is out. Gusto, medium rare, is in.

[…]

In fact, red meat on a date has become such an effective statement of self-acceptance that even a vegetarian like Sloane Crosley, a publicist at Random House, sometimes longs to order a burger.

“Being a vegetarian puts you at a disadvantage,” Ms. Crosley said. “You’re in the most basic category of finicky. Even women who order chicken, it isn’t enough.” She said she has thought of ordering shots of Jägermeister, famous for its frat boy associations, to prove that she is “a guy’s girl.”

“Everyone wants to be the girl who drinks the beer and eats the steak and looks like Kate Hudson,” Ms. Crosley, 28, said.

Word, Ms. Crosley!

Stephen Green, the Vodkapundit, had a similar message on August 1^st, to wit:

Something needs to be said: Meat is sexy.

It needs to be repeated: Meat is sexy. It needs to be drilled into the minds of our children: Meat is sexy. It needs to be printed on placards and on billboards of half-naked women draped in furs: Meat is sexy.

I dunno who followed whom, but both individuals are on-target, in my book. I suppose I could have a satisfactory relationship with a vegan woman, but I kinda doubt it…unless it was someone like Sloane Crosley, who obviously gets it. Most vegans, in my limited experience, seem to be a lot like most ex-smokers…they want to convert you. I understand the risks of painting a class of people with broad brush strokes, but…it is what it is. After all, a lot of those “Meat is Murder” tee shirts are being bought and sold. And I’m not talking about these.

Today’s Pics: Plane pr0n of a completely different sort. I grabbed an opportunity during my travels hither and yon to stop alongside of the road and watch a crop duster at work…and to take pictures, obviously.

These guys have always fascinated me in that they do some spectacular flying, and it’s generally out of the general public’s sight. A lot of crop dusters work with a spotter, an individual who is on the ground and usually carries a large flag. The spotter assists the pilot in determining how to line up for his next pass over a field, given that fields are large and applying the chemicals effectively and appropriately takes multiple passes. I had an interesting conversation with this particular duster’s spotter while I took these pictures…the distaff side of a husband and wife team who have been “in the business” for over 20 years. Most illuminating, it was.

Somewhere in the Heartland. May 15, 2000.

From the La Quinta Inn in Beautiful Downtown Moab, Utah

An alternate title would be: "On the Road Again." All y'all can just hum along with Willie as you read this.

So. Yesterday worked out pretty much as expected: graduation came off without a hitch, speeches were delivered by faculty, valedictorians, and other dignitaries (ho-hum-- they're all the same, right? or am I jaded?), the proud graduates moved elegantly across the stage (some more so than others), parents cheered, friends blew off those obnoxious air horns, and -- finally -- mortarboard tassels were moved from left to right. Out into the world...

That was the graduation ceremony. The rest of the day was about as atypical a graduation day as one could imagine. SN1 and extended family worked late into the night on the move, still disassembling, still packing, still loading. The process isn't complete as I write. I spoke with SN1 a few minutes ago and the load-out continues. Hopefully all will be complete by the target departure date: tomorrow. Knowing Buck as I do, it will.

As for me... I left SN1's place at oh-dark-thirty (0605 hrs, to be precise) this morning and made much better time to Moab-- five hours flat--than I anticipated. The 'Zuki simply hummed along at speeds varying between 75 and 85 mph. It was something of a chore to hold the speed down to a reasonable-- and semi-legal --rate, given I was motoring in the Great Wide Open. It seemed like every other time I looked down I was doing 90 mph...or better. The authorities tend to frown on that sort of behavior, even out in the Great Wide Open. I held the 'Zuki in check and got 52 mpg...even at the speeds indicated, by the way.

Once I arrived in Moab I spent the better part of the day motoring through and around Arches National Park, which is just about as spectacular a park as there is in our National Park system. The vistas, the rock formations, the geologic wonder of it all, are simply amazing. Add in the fact that the roads winding through the park are simply made for motorcycles and you have a close approximation of YrHmblScrb's vision of Heaven on Earth. I have some great pictures to share with you once I return home.

One minor downside: it was about 95 degrees in Moab today. I didn't mind the temps when I was rolling; I made "adjustments" by turning the sleeves on my leathers up and leaving the zipper on the top part of my leathers half-open...evaporative cooling really works. But when I stopped and stepped out on one of the numerous trails I followed to various vistas: Sweat-City! Suffice it to say I really, really needed that long shower when I checked in to the motel. Now I have to figure out how to deodorize my leathers. I think Febreze will be my friend.

Ah, but the end of the day just might be the best part of the day. As luck would have it, I stumbled on to The Moab Brewery, which was just a five minute walk from the La Quinta Inn. Like Rooster's (which I blogged about previously), the Moab Brewery had great food, great service, and GREAT beer. I dined on smoked Texas tri-tip BBQ, accompanied by wonderful home-made rolls (big enough to choke the proverbial horse) and a salad dressed with a lime vinaigrette that was superlative. AND I enjoyed two pints of their fine hefeweizen, followed up with a pint of Derailleur Ale ("six types of malt and four hearty hop additions") for dessert. All this enjoyed on their patio, graced with balmy breezes, and capped off with a view of the Moab skyline...which was created by God, not man. It doesn't...can't...get any better than this, Gentle Reader.

And so to bed. I feel so good this evening I may motor on back to P-Town in one sitting, rather than two as I originally planned. I really am hot to get home, but who knows what the road holds? I certainly don't...and that's part of the beauty of not having to be anywhere at any particular time.

Life is good.

Agendas

The Big Story (sorry, Mr. Gibson. It won’t happen again.) on memeorandum today, in various and sundry permutations, is how the Bad Men in the Rethuglican party are perpetuating the war-machine, preventing the kindly, paternalistic (maternalistic, too!) Democrats from taking the first steps to Bring Our Kids Home! On the other hand, could it be the Media mischaracterizes Senate Resolution vote?

Contrary to the implication of these "news" reports, the Democrats are attempting to end debate on a single resolution (and need 60 votes to do it) and force a vote on that single resolution without allowing others to be considered. By opposing cloture (which would stop debate), the Republicans are actually keeping debate open.

Or, said another way, Democrats want to prevent other resolutions from being considered. Republicans are attempting to keep debate open to force Democrats to consider and debate other resolutions and amendments.

Agenda? Does the MSM have an agenda? Quelle horreur! Who’d a thunk it… But, back to the issue… As I read somewhere: “Welcome to the majority, Senator Reid.” We can slow-roll you, too.

Further on Richardson’s speech at the DNC this past weekend… David Broder writes in the WaPo:

The stars of the weekend, judging from reactions in the ballroom and the lobby, were not Obama and Clinton but former Sen. John Edwards of North Carolina and Gov. Bill Richardson of New Mexico.

Both of them played to the antiwar sentiments of this liberal-leaning audience by demanding that those now in Congress do more than pass resolutions decrying President Bush's decision to send more troops to Iraq. Edwards wants to pull out 40,000 soldiers now; Richardson said that Iraq "is not worthy of one more lost American life."

[…]

Unlike Edwards, Richardson dwells on his varied experience as a member of Congress, ambassador to the United Nations, energy secretary, diplomatic troubleshooter and now a reelected governor. Others may talk about extending health care, improving schools, creating jobs; he says he's already done it. Vilsack made a similar claim about his eight years as governor of Iowa, but Richardson could give him lessons in speech-making.

The full text of Billy’s speech is at the “Richardson said” link above. Here’s the meat:

You would think that when the Congress realized they were lied to, they would have done something about it. Well, they still can.

Once our troops are gone, we still have a role to play. We have a moral responsibility to bring the Sunni and Shia together in a national reconciliation conference. And we have a strategic interest in organizing a regional conference with all of Iraq’s neighbors, including Syria and Iran, to help stabilize Iraq.

But more than anything else, we have a moral obligation to those Americans who have laid down their lives.

Some say we cannot let their sacrifice be in vain. But you will never convince me that those slain patriots would have wanted a single additional life to be lost just to validate their own sacrifice.

Instead, the moral obligation is to honor their service by bringing their mission to a close. By ending the bloodshed … and finally letting the Iraqi people set their own course.

Those would be the principles of my presidency. And those would be the ideals I would seek.

Oh, Bill. You are SO wrong.

So, a mere three days after posting a link to the “War and Peace” of food healthy eating articles, I’m gonna let you in on a secret: I love this stuff. And this stuff, too. If you chase the links, you’ll note the nutrition info says a serving is a “half-cup.” What they really mean is half of a four-ounce container, a mere two ounces, at 150 calories per serving. Eat the whole four ounce “cup” and you get 300 calories. I think this is why I like this stuff so much…it’s rich—rich like Mom used to make. Real eggs, real sugar, real milk, no sweeteners, no artificial or substitute anything. Damn, it’s good!

Today’s Pic: Lotsa motorhead talk going on over at Lex’s new collaborative blog adjunct, including posts from Kris and SJS. And, in that vein, I’ll offer up a pic of one of my favorite cars. I’m tempted to say this one is the best car I’ve ever owned…but I’d be excluding that ’96 Impala SS (mine was black), the ’82 Beemer 320i, the ’67 Chevelle SS396, and, of course, The Green Hornet. Decisions…

Rochester, NY. January, 1999.

Update: For the googlers who come around looking for Impala pics, there's a 1996 Impala SS brocure here.