Rounding up the chicks

Well, not ours, who are safely in a crib in the bathroom. “A bathroom full of meat; life is good!” my wife said this morning.
And life is apparently good for Dan Cathy. Quoth Allahpundit, “Somewhere, a Burger King ad man’s toying with the idea of having “The King”declare himself “100% pro-life.””  Apparently, a Wendy’s franchise owner in North Carolina decided to stand with Chick-fil-A (for principle or for money, I don’t know and it doesn’t much matter) , and got his butt kicked by corporate,

On Catholic Answers last night, the host (a sub I think, not Patrick Coffin) was joking with Fr. Serpa about “picking chicken out of our teeth” and commenting on how well-mannered and pleasant the folks in line were.

Well, not everyone. This douchebag seems to have earned himself his 15 minutes of Internet fame. And this lady (his victim) deserves a promotion. Heck, if I were single and 30 years younger, I’d interview her for a position as “wife”.

For those wondering: no, I didn’t participate. I hate lines, and the local stores aren’t particularly convenient to me. But we’ll be going out of our way soon.

UPDATE: the douche has a name (Adam Smith!), and is the CFO of a catheter company (no I’m not making either fact up!)

UPDATE 2: Make that WAS the CFO of a catheter company.

Man bites dog

OK, I’ll admit that the whole “OMG! Obama ate dog!” thing is pretty stupid, but then so is the “Seamus rode on the top of the car, as cold as a Bain Capital man’s heart” thing. But you know, we didn’t start the whole “Candidate hates animals” war. I deal with a person who is still convinced that Sarah Palin personally shot wolves from a helicopter, just because she could.  I could well see her believing “Obama ate dog!” without any of the qualifiers. Maybe this will lose him some of the orthodox Muslim vote, or confuse the “Obama is a Muslim” crowd. Not a bad thing. And interestingly, the passage from “Dreams” talks about the belief that one takes on the qualities of the animals one eats…which means that our President is, a ritual sense, a dog.

Is this manufactured outrage somehow wrong? I dunno; I’m just playing by the rules…you know, these rules?

RULE 5: Ridicule is man’s most potent weapon.
RULE 6: A good tactic is one your people enjoy.

UPDATE: more tasty Photoshops here.

Ag report: suck in 47 languages.

Planting began last Sat., about when I’d usually be finishing for spring. It was the first time all spring that the soil was dry enough to work, so everything was a sod patch. I hadn’t tilled in the fall, and let the fall weeds be a sort of self-sowing cover crop. If I could have tilled in early May, that might have worked. By the end of the weekend I’d gotten the middle patch done (brassicas and nightshades, incl. potatoes) and the front of the front patch (sweet corn, vine crops). We’d gotten 3/4″ of rain Tues. morning, but the ground was fine to work Weds. afternoon. One small problem: the tiller had been acting strangely. Finally I decided to check the oil…whoop, what oil? filled it up, she’d turn, but no power. [F-word deleted]. Loaded it into the truck, and down to repair. diagnosis: toast. Probably catastrophic ring failure: no compression, oil in the filter, gas in the oil It’s a 12-year old Craftsman/ Replacement would be about as much as repair. Repair guy didn’t have any in stock. So I went off to the Niles mall, and in 3 stores (Sears/Despot/Lowes) there was ONE front tine tiller, a funky Bolens with 1 wheel and a non-adjustable depth bar. Do-cut also had none, but could get from another store by Friday, so I’m doing that. Meanwhile, I’m scrod. I can probably make a seedbed of what I tilled yesterday, though I usually like to make 2 passes. But the back plot is untouched. I’d had fantasies of spring wheat (Ha!) or potatoes in there. I can still do beans or buckwheat this month, and winter wheat after. Tiller rental is $45/day. Hand-digging is impractical. Here’s the deal: I have maybe an hour the rest of the week, and the weekend to get the full-season stuff in…Mon. AM I leave for Pittsburgh for a week. Before 2 weeks from tomorrow, I have to get the Hiram Band music ready, which means scanning and transposing Eb horn parts into F, emptying and refilling folders, and oh, finding some easy old stuff to pad the program with.

So that’s the garden. Then there are matters orchardy.  1 walnut and the pawpaw I ordered didn’t grow.  The 4 raspberries I put in next to the strawberries croaked as soon as the rain stopped.  A lot of the strawbs did too, and they generally taste kind of shitty.  No fruit on the honeyberries, hardly any on the asian pear, spotty on the backyard apple (and very nasty-looking leaves. On the plus side: pear is OK (not as good as last year), 2 cherries are as loaded as trees that young can be, and blueberries look excellent. Grapes made it through the winter, but it will be several years yet before fruit. I’m not seeing honeybees, though there are lots of bumblebees making their home in the barn — in the way, but I don’t dare remove them.

Critters: 1 litter of 5 rabbits, another litter lost because Daddy didn’t do short-arm inspection after sex and put the nest box in with the male. None of the incubated eggs hatched; they were set without reading the book, at one point were at 103 and may have been cooked.  We’ll try again, but since the coops have been integrated, we’ll have mongrels instead of New Hampshires. Precious’ kids were lost, but Sissy had 2 boys. Their dehorning didn’t take, but their elastrator treatment seems to have. Thursday was hurt in an accident (neck firmly wedged in a feeder). He’s hanging in there, but not improving…and it’s too hot for a mercy killing. Then there’s William E., our new buck.  Some drunk buddy of Jeff Wells wanted to give him up, and Rusty didn’t say no firmly…so he showed up one day while she was gone. About 8 years old, short legs and stocky (Boer?), solid black, horns. Yes, she’s going to breed with him before we kill him…poke holes in the chocolates to see what you’re getting, I guess. We’re getting about a gallon of milk a day between the two. Rusty has just built a cheese press. Buddy continues to be better eating than we’d thought, thanks to riusty’s skill with moist heat cooking methods.

I’ll try to keep this blog up at the CMAA Colloquium, but we’re pretty scheduled, and there’s no Internet in the dorms (most everywhere else though).

RIP Cleveland Food Co-op

Apparently the Cleveland Food Co-op has been closed for 2 weeks, and the Plain Dealer is finally writing about its demise after 43 years…which should tell you something. I was an owner-member (not a worker). I didn’t buy much there, or often…bulk food mostly, or marked-down cafe food for lunch, or the occasional Rice Dream bar. And over the years I saw the shelves get emptier and the prices get higher. I don’t think I’ve been there this calendar year. While a few of their business decisions didn’t help (the ill-fated 2nd storefront), the main issue was that capitalist natural food stores outcompeted the communist natural food store. When I can get lower prices and better selection elsewhere, minus the ecological and political sanctimony, why shouldn’t I go there? And if I’m shopping on the basis of politics, John Mackey’s are a lot closer to mine than those of Bob Avakian. Plus there’s the matter of location. Students and a few Cleveland Heighters rolling down the hill don’t have the spending power of Shaker or Beachwood…which is why Whole Foods and Trader Joes are there. Nature’s Bin holds down the inner-ring-suburb segment well, though hiring the mentally handicapped (The Co-op had them too, though in their cases the cognitive disability was intentional.) so there was little reason for the store. I do feel sorry for the handful of True Believers…maybe they can dig up an empty lot and produce some food unsullied by commercial interests … and find out just how hard it is to be a Worker of the World.

The war on church suppers

A new study has found that young adults who frequently attend religious activities are 50 percent more likely to become obese by middle age compared with those who don’t take part in any religious events.

I don’t doubt this, but suspect the picture is a lot more complex. Church-goers are more likely to be married, which implies regular meals; more likely to have children, which leads to “mommy clean the plate” syndrome; more likely to bake. But there’s a piece of religious culture that’s been missing in America, even among Catholics: fasting. Yes, I’m as guilty as the next guy, if not more so. Avoiding meat on Friday by going to the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet is not penitential. But it seems to me that encouraging fasting would be a more spiritually profitable way to deal with the problem than to worry about the calorie count in the hotdish.

Fruit defends itself against Kucinich

Apparently, nearly 3 years ago, an olive heroically escaped the pitting machine and ambushed Rep. Dennis Kucinich (D-Mars) from the cover of a sandwich,  to avenge the numerous vegetables that have been destroyed to support that man’s unnecessary eating. The olive’s martyrdom has finally brought the plight of the victims of veganism to public attention through Rep. Kucinich’s $150,000 lawsuit against the Longworth House Office Building cafeteria, which had served him a sandwich which ”contained dangerous substances, namely an olive pit, that a consumer would not reasonably expect to find in the final product served.”

Yes, members of Congress live in a world where olive pits are dangerous, and where people don’t reasonably expect to find them in olives. Well, Denny, normal consumers (the folks you tax) are in good enough touch with reality to know that olives contain pits, and that neither machines nor human hands are infallible. Whichever low-wage drone put together your sandwich did not minutely inspect each olive, because a bunch of hungry and haughty Congressmen — including most probably you — expected to be served now, and the chances of losing the job through slowness were greater than the chances of encountering an olive pit. That’s one of those “unexpected consequences”  that you and your colleagues like to unleash on us.

Clearly, like most Democrats, you don’t want to take responsibility for your actions. But let’s give you the benefit of the doubt and say that yes, we have a right not to have pits in our allegedly-pitted olives. Most people, most of the time, have no problem when they encounter a pit. They chew around it, and spit it out. Even if they bite down on it, they feel pain but suffer no lasting damage. So how is it that your pit caused “permanent dental and oral injuries requiring multiple surgical and dental procedures”? It’s because you’re a vegan, and vegans have bad teeth. Since most people reasonably believe that a carnivorous diet is healthier, it’s clear that your own actions were a major contributory factor to the injury, and you deserve nothing. Besides, I’d assume that you’re used to having hard objects in your mouth.

Step away from the cherry pie, Dennis, and nobody gets hurt.

UPDATE: Nice wrap-up of public opinion here.

Kopper Kettle, Washington PA

We came back from Washington Sunday via I68…the $15 in tolls it cost us to get from home to Breezewood pissed us off. Then we took US 40 up. We weren’t in any particular hurry to get home; we were seeing the country, and the country is much more than DC (aka Mount Doom). We’d had the free breakfast at the motel, a little snack at the No Hablo Ingles McDonalds around Frederick somewhere, and were feeling quite peckish by mid to late afternoon. We were looking for a place that was not corporate, and on the outskirts of Washington PA we saw this sign:

Rusty underneath the sign

We went in, and were immediately underwhelmed. It was a bar, about a half dozen barflies around at 4PM, only one real dining table. I was going to leave, but Rusty had to pee. On the way, we saw the daily specials, and they looked somewhat promising. Then I was waylaid by the bartender/waitress, a kind and lovely young lady, who was carrying menus, and I allowed as how we’d look at them. They were more intriguing, and we were really hungry, so we sat down.

Surprise! The food was excellent!
I had a bowl of the Hungarian bean soup (a mix of green beans,potato, and ham), and Italian perogies (potato pirogies fried with onion, pepper flakes and banana peppers) with a draft Yeungling lager. Rusty had fried zucchini and a steak salad. The zukes, unusually, were sliced lengthwise into perfectly even plants (probably on a meat slicer) and were served with a tomato dipping sauce. The salad had a broad variety of vegetables. All were excellently prepared and interesting. Here’s a satisfied customer:

Rusty midway through steak salad

I tried to take a picture of Helen (as I assume her name was, from the ticket) at the bar, but it was dark and didn’t come out, so you’ll have to take my word that it was a name she deserved.

The blog post exists in gratitude for a good meal. Others will probably make the same mistake we almost did. So if you’re on US 40 and want to eat, stop at Kopper Kettle. You won’t be sorry.

Life is wonderful

I came home to a fabulous chicken/purslane/meatball soup, with lots of cilantro in the meatballs. Rusty’s really developing her cooking skills these days.

I also got clippings of the two write-ups of my award, in the Michigan papers. My father had dissed the Port Huron Times Herald writeup, but it’s actually marginally the better-written of the two. Garcia got extra points for calling the Archdiocese of Detroit for info on the new translation. I suspect that (contrary to what you might expect from the Hispanic surname) she’s not a Catholic, as her questions on the phone showed that she didn’t quite get what I had done, so it’s good that she did her homework. The Jeffersonian piece doesn’t quote any independent sources. (I could have been blowing smoke up their ass, though I did include the Foundation’s website in the press release…but then, maybe I should start my own foundation and give myself awards. What would Richard Nanes do?). It relied heavily on my mom (with the results you’d predict) and on my personal web page. The Weekly Villager pretty much just printed the press release.

After dinner, I picked everything but the beans (that’s tonight) and ran electric wire around the chicken yard, as the new kids have developed the bad habit of roosting on the fence (and then jumping off the wrong side). Then, as we went to bed, it started to rain, and then stopped. “Oh well, same old same old.” Uh-UH! We awoke to about 2.6 inches!  I didn’t believe the rain gauge until I walked to the garden and saw a bit of standing water. Maybe a little too much at once, and I’ll come home Sunday to burst tomatoes and other mischief, but it was very badly needed.

I got an email from Bob Cronin, and the new alto shawm is about done. I briefly considered having him wait for his money for as long as I waited overtime for the instrument, but there was nothing to be gained by that, and I want the instrument…though I’ve been toying with the idea of giving up playing. I seem to gone directly from asking “What do I want to be when I grow up?” to “What do I need to get done before I die?”  Isn’t there supposed to be an intermediate state in there?  The axe should hold value, and I won’t be able to afford it after I retire (and Bob IS retiring; this is his last batch). So I will soon have an A460 alto. I’ll have my cell on, waiting for the calls…don’t worry, I’m a euphonium player, I’m used to it.

Tomorrow: off to glory! Or at least, off to Mordor on the Potomac.

Crappy food made into An Event

Karen DeCoster is the specialist in this sort of bubble-driven infantile consumption, and this week she has two: Sweet Frog, a pour and pollute your own frozen yogurt place, and Pop Tarts World in Times Square, where everything is created out of Pop Tarts™, even Pop Tart Sushi. I’m not so offended by the yogurt place, but Pop Tarts World is right down there with Cereality (now down to 3 locations, two of them shared with Cold Stone Creamery). Karen comes off as a bit of a prig here, but any intelligent being has to ask: why pay somebody else to abuse non-food in ways that you could so easily do at home? You want to mix cereals?  Buy a bunch of boxes and mix them. You want Pop Tart Sammiches? Get your Pop Tarts, or Brand X Toaster Pastries, or stale versions of the above from the salvage store (this being Obamanation), and your PB&J/Nutella/ marshmallow fluff/ Marmite/whatever, and stick ‘em together. Whatsa matta you? Did your mommy make all your sammiches all through high school? Do you feel a moral obligation to put Women’s Studies or music history majors through school? Are we such a weak people that we have to pay others to play with our food for us?

Verdolaga con chorizo y queso

Weeder’s dinner. I invented this tonight.

Grab a whole mess of purslane that you’ve kept back while weeding your garden. There should be about enough to fill a 12″ cast-iron skillet. It is best not to use big main stems; if your garden housekeeping is as bad as mine, you can afford to get rid of them. Wash and chop the rest.

Put about 4 oz (half a stick) of Mexican-style chorizo into the pan. I get mine at Aldi; the mild is plenty spicy enough, but if you like it picante, use that. Optionally, add several cloves of garlic. Moosh the chorizo down and let it cook for a minute or two on medium heat, then add the purslane. Break apart the chorizo while stirring the purslane. It’ll cook down. Cover the pan. Stir occasionally; add water from time to time to clean sticking-on stuff from the bottom of the pan. When the purslane stems are to desired tenderness, add an ounce or two of Monteray Jack cheese, sliced. Melt it in and serve. Feeds 4 as a side dish, or one hungry farmer as a main dish. Purslane is one of the few plant sources of Omega 3 fatty acids, so it makes up somewhat for the pork and cheese. I see no need for a carb component to this, but if you really must, consider adding a can of hominy.