Balls and Walnuts
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Fact or fiction?
I give full credit to Darla for inspiring tonight’s blog. Her Thursday Thirteen reminded me of Snopes.Com, a website dedicated to the task of separating urban legends from true-life events. But Darla has this odd fascination with cars and poinsettias, while my interests run more towards the carnal.
Here’s the game. Five of the stories below are fact, five are fiction. Pick out the five fictional stories, then check the comments to see how you did. I’ll post links to the original Snopes articles, too, but don’t click ’em until later. Unless you want to think of yourself as a filthy cheater.
Thirteen Things I’d Like to Do in the Kitchen with Rachael Ray
Even now, she shines on me from the back of my box of Original Family Size! Wheat Thins, beckoning me with her girl-next-door smile — tomato-red lips, perfect, white teeth — daring me to join her in some Spinach, Garlic, and Vegetable Dip. Dunk your cracker, Walnut. I’ll lick it clean, and then we’ll nibble it together, just like those two mutts in 101 Dalmatians.
Oh, Rachael, how can I resist?
Games to Play
1. Let’s begin with an old favorite — hide the salami — which has certain flavor advantages over Conceal the Carrot or Carry the Cucumber. Rachael, in case you are fastidious about such things, let me reassure you: mine’s kosher.
2. Stuff the Manicotti. I prefer a creamy mixture of ricotta, parmesan, and assorted spices (salt, pepper, and nutmeg at the very least). I hope Rachael won’t mind bringing along an egg or two.
3. Knead the baguette. With proper technique, it can rise to four or five times its initial volume!
Hold that thought.
Cleanup Projects
4. Scrub out the oven. I prefer to do this work by hand; there’s no substitute for elbow grease. And you know, a properly cleaned oven? You should be able to eat off of it.
5. Revamp the freezer. Wonder what we can do with all those old ice cubes?
6. Varnish the back door. Other chefs would ignore your back door, Rachael, but not me. I’ll lavish so much attention on it, you’ll be able to see your face in it afterwards.
Main Courses
7. Snapper. Some guys might like those Cajun “blackened” recipes, but I prefer my fish raw.
8. Taco salad. I prefer the meat warm and tender, the lettuce finely shaved. Drizzle it with a bit of oil and vinegar and you’re ready to go.
9. Rachael needs beef. But what kind of beef? We’ve already hidden the salami; bologna is too darned similar, and besides, it’s a rather flaccid lunchmeat, don’t you think? Hmm. Tube steak? Too crude. Sausage? NO. We’re not making breakfast. Hot dogs? Maybe. But not just any hot dogs. Rachael deserves the best.
Rachel deserves Top Dog.
Palate cleanser
10. Ginger. After stuffing yourself silly (with food, you filthy swine), how do you wake up the palate? How do you make your mouth crackle with excitement and beg for more? Here’s what you do:
Peel a finger of ginger, as long and fat a finger as you can find. That stuff you read about soaking it in cold water? As O’Brien would say, eff that. Cold water is for wussies. Now insert that bad boy into the jaded, much abused orifice, and let it set there a spell, working its magic. About half an hour should suffice. Now let your partner run his tongue inside to get a good belt of spice.
Ginger is so refreshing.
Desserts
11. Whipped cream makes everything taste better. Everything.
12. Banana splits. But I’m out of bananas! What to do, what to do . . .
13. Creme brulee. Sorry, no double entendres; I just love creme brulee. Especially when consumed by the tablespoonful, as body shots off key anatomic areas. Got the picture?
Shaina (o blogless one!) probably regrets knowing me
SxKitten gives us 13 reasons to have sex. Like I needed more than one?
Pat’s 13 Basslines are still up for all to see
Suisan wants someone to hit her over the head. Really!
In a fit of pique (are there any other kinds of piques?) Kate saws off her wedding ring
D.
Morning pimpage
Last night, I read Dean Cochrane’s The Weaveling, which he wrote for PBW’s eBook challenge. The story begins in the familiar territory of rural horror but soon breaks fresh ground. The ending is far from predictable.
While I’m on the subject of eBooks, I keep meaning to read Tamara Siler Jones’s Fire, a Lars Hargrove mystery. But I haven’t read it yet. (Bad fanboy. Bad, bad fanboy.)
You can find the full list of PBW’s eBook challenge entries here. There’s enough free online fiction there to keep you busy for a long, long time.
What about my Thursday Thirteen? I had thought to write one entitled Thirteen Sex Tapes I REALLY Don’t Want to See, but after Britney Spears + Kevin Federline, where else do I go? Paris Hilton, I suppose, but I’ve already beaten that particular dog.
I have the most recent issue of Cosmo, but that would have been a rush job.
So . . . if I do a Thirteen, it will be a good deal later in the day, and will probably be something uninspired, like Thirteen Things I Would Like To Do With Rachael Ray In The Kitchen.
Wait. That has potential.
Stay tuned.
D.
Woot!
My friend came in at Stage I.
Considering that a month ago, the early indications suggested Stage III breast cancer, and even a week ago everyone was thinking Stage II, this is awesome news.
Think I’ll call her tomorrow. Based on her email, I don’t think she realizes how great this is.
D.
Opening shot to the War on Christmas
On Wednesdays, between surgical cases, I hop around the political blogosphere. Seems us secular humanists have launched the opening salvo to this year’s War on Christmas. Folks, it’s gonna be ugly.
First, at Raw Story, Polish exchange student Michael Gromek talks about his Half-Year of Hell with Christian Fundamentalists (hat tip to One Good Move):
My host parents hadn’t had sex for the last 17 years because — so they told me — they were devoting their lives to God. They also wanted to know whether I drank alcohol. I admitted that I liked beer and wine. They told me I had the devil in my heart.
With all due respect to Catholic priests, no sex for 17 DAYS is pathological, let alone 17 years. Meanwhile, over at Digby’s blog, Digby and Tristero point out that the Quiverfull crowd aren’t just quaint patriarchs spreading their seed willy-nilly to fugly dress-wearing Prairie Muffins. They want good white Christian folk to breed like rabbits precisely to keep good white Christian folk in the majority. Here’s Digby:
Plenty of young people want to come to America and would be more than happy to pay into social security to support all of us old codgers. They just aren’t the “right kind” of people, if you know what I mean. So get to breeding, white bitches. You’ve got work to do.
I am all for having a big tent. But there is no political party on earth that is big enough for me and people who believe that liberalism’s great hope is to create policies that encourage women to have 14 children so we can “outbreed” the competition and make sure the wrong people don’t come in and ruin the place. That’s where I head for the exit.
But what do I know. I’m just a horn-headed Jew, precisely the kind of person who needs to be kept in the minority.
D.
Under the hat
Under the Hat, 2006
oil on canvas, 18 by 24 inches
My friend Kenney Mencher has a new show at the Klaudia Marr Gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico (November 10 – December 4).
Soon as I post this, I’m emailing him to get a price on Under the Hat. I love it. And I’m dying to pose for the man.
Here’s a previous bit I wrote about Kenney.
D.
Snake oil
Every so often, I get eNastygrams kvetching about my stance on ear candles. The less obnoxious complainers employ the “Oh, you should just try it!” argument, while the nastier ones suspect I’m trying to keep all that ear wax business to myself. Neither group can be dissuaded from their religious faith in ear candles; my counter-argument, that candles are unsafe and ineffective, falls on wax-filled deaf ears.
Medical conspiracy theorists abound. To them, we who practice “Western Medicine” are blinkered buffoons at best, greedy bastards at worst, due to our allegiance to drugs and treatments which seem downright destructive. In truth, our allegiance is to evidence-based medicine, but that has no sex appeal — not like all-natural herbs, touch therapy (which involves no touching at all; the practitioner’s aura heals the patient’s aura, thereby oh whatever), or omigod (literally) angel therapy.
Most folks seem to regard alternative medicine with tolerant skepticism. The argument, it can’t hurt and it might help, often wins people over. And, true, most of these treatments can’t hurt — not in any obvious way.
Exhausted
and I’m not sure why. But when my nosebleed patient sprayed me with bloody saliva, I was just about done. Felt like canceling the rest of my day and heading home.
I feel like I could sleep for ten hours. Shame is, I have something important to write about (modern day snake oil salesmen preying upon cancer patients). But if I write it now, I’ll make a muck of it.
So I’ll close with a question. The supermarket tabloids apparently think I should care about this twig of a woman:
My question: Why?
D.
To build a fire
Can’t live blog without power. Sorry.
Can’t stay warm without power, either, except — we have a fireplace! Which we never use! But can I build a fire?
It’s a manly skill, no? (Guess what I’ve been reading by candlelight for the last three hours.) Some wee twigs and flint, a split log or two, and off I go.
Oh, the butane lighter, presto logs, and cardboard helped, too. Thank heavens for presto logs. Anyway, it’s storming like hell out there, and I don’t trust our local utility folks to keep the power going, so I’m posting this puppy before everything crashes.
Sorry about standing you up at the virtual altar. Soon, I promise.
D.
Crispy rice
Remember: Live Blogging tonight at 7 PM PST!
My sister wants the crispy rice recipe. This one isn’t easy, Sis, but it is tasty.
This is from In a Persian Kitchen — not a bad Persian cookbook, especially for the price, but I’m looking for a better one. Any suggestions?
Chelo (AKA steamed rice . . . AKA crispy rice)
2.5 cups basmati rice
1.5 tbsp salt
2 quarts water
2 tbsp salt
0.5 cup butter (melted)
1. Wash the rice three times in lukewarm water, then soak in salted water (that’s the first 1.5 tbsp of salt) for at least 2 hours, or overnight.
2. Combine 2 quarts of water and 2 tbsp salt. Boil.
3. Drain rice and add it to the boiling water. Boil for 10-15 min, stirring occasionally.
4. Strain the rice and rinse with lukewarm water.
5. Put 1/3 of the melted butter into the bottom of a nonstick pan. I used a deep saute pan, for which I had a lid. (That’s important, as you’ll soon see.) Add 2 tbsp water to the butter.
6. Pile the rice on top of the butter. Distribute the rest of the butter over the rice.
7. If you have saffron, sprinkle a bit over the top of the rice.
8. Cover the saute pan or pot. Cook 10-15 min on medium heat, then 35-40 min on low heat.
9. When you have about 10 min of cooking time left, remove the lid and check the bottom. You should have a golden crust on the bottom. If you don’t, increase the heat and finish cooking it.
Getting that golden crust is key. It’s the reason you’re going to all this bother. Also, if you’re going to make this recipe, you had better make a main course with lots of tasty gravy — otherwise, once again, what’s the point of having crispy rice?
I suspect the leftover rice would make great stir-fried rice, although the butter taste might be a bit unusual for a Chinese dish.
D.