Good Eats

A week or two ago Anthony Bourdain mentioned something in his Bravo Top Chef blog about the foodie methodology of Vietnamese cooking that piqued my interest. I immediately started researching recipes and discovered one for Pork Riblets Simmered in Caramel Sauce that turned out to be absolutely delicious. The dish is a bit time intensive, but it's so worth it, especially if you're new, like me, to preparing Vietnamese cuisine.

Not Insane

Miss Kitty and I were driving past one of Pennsylvania's fine mental institutions and we stopped to properly document the moment. You'd think that being that close to court ordered confinement would have me nervous, but I laugh in the face of psychological observation! Hahahahaha!!!1!

Ahem. We drove off quickly and didn't look back.

Be Prepared

My son, Riechter Von Sanchez, is considering studying photography. My only advice to him was to start carrying a camera with him at all times because you never know what you're going to stumble upon. Lord knows there's stuff everywhere, the world is cluttered with any manner of wonder. So, I said, oozing wisdom like an infected wound, get accustomed to having a camera attached to your person. Walk with it, eat with it, sleep with it, zip-loc seal it if you take it in the shower.

After all that, he shot a roll of pictures of the cat, sleeping. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I mean, I've seen worse, and more boring, at the Warhol.

Pinch Me

I spent the day with my mostly crazy sister. She's more fun than a monkey butler on meth. Thank God she doesn't read blogs, or I'd have to censor my observations, out of shame or caring or love or whatever. But, she's gleefully off the grid, pretty much, which frees me up to use this space as my confessor.
Anyway, my sister, let's call her Junior, and her boyfriend, let's call him D-Man, have this wild plan to script a reality series that's part Seinfeld and part Real World. They want my kid, Riechter Von Sanchez (talk about a sucky fake name, but he picked it himself), to film the whole thing and me and Miss Kitty to be the token lesbians. Plus they've cast themselves. Then, to round out the roll call they've got an alcoholic half retired dentist and his seventy year old urine (and more) stained drinking buddy, Doc and Doody, respectively.
I was all like, yeah, this is gonna work. It has youtube fame written all over it! Everybody thinks that they're so fucking special and the world just hasn't noticed. Uh huh. I'm on that page, seething, chuckling, clipping my nails.
If any of this ever sees the light of day, I'll give all three of my regular readers a heads up on the youtube link ;)

Zombie-ism

I realize that this is neither here nor there, but I've been working on this zombie novel for three and half years. Well, truth be told, for the last two years I've been actively avoiding finishing it. It's a sick dance. I look at it, it looks at me, and then I move away slowly, but not without a certain elegance.

But then, all of the sudden last night I realized what my problem was: I lacked a proper metaphor in which to frame my tale of blind brain eating. So I wisely chose to not look for the metaphor, nor wait for the universe to give me one. Instead, I thought I'd do what has become a time honored tradition in my family. Give up.

Then, just as I was getting used to the idea of finally not shooting suspicious glances at the pile of notebooks (I old fashioned), the ideal metaphor crept on spider legs into the forefront of my consciousness. Damn! Now I have to finish the cursed thing! My hand is already cramping up in anticipation.

After it's done, I guess I get to explore the exciting world of self publishing. Miss Kitty? Do we have room for crates of books in the basement?

Evidence of the Apocalypse

It's official. The world has come to an end and only fans of "Top Chef" are aware of that fact. Casey, darlin', muffin...what the hell happened? Did you panic and try too hard? Did you lose your laser pointer, I mean, focus?

I have to admit, I'm in a bit of a shock. A big ass state of shock, big as your beloved Texas, Casey dear. While Miss Kitty and I were out on a power walk last night along the Monongahela River we were scrutinizing every shred of minutiae imaginable concerning the last five challenges and surmised that the finale was yours...to win or lose. And woe! You lost.

Still, you did yourself proud throughout the competition and you helped make Top Chef 3 the best one to date. I just really, really wish you'd won!

Update: Now that my sour grapes have had a chance to ferment, what ghoul from planet X threw Howie into the mix as a sous chef? That is just cruel, unjust, and sweaty. Yes, other than Brian coming back, Howie was next in line...but Howie!?! All I know is that I'd rather have a drunken sock puppet helping me in the kitchen than him.
Yes, Hung deserved to win, and I'm grasping at straws, but damn. Of all times to get teamed up with that Howie Blockhead...

I'm Such a Boar

I was diligently planning out this evening's menu, waffling between chicken marsala and veal scallopini, deciding to go with the veal because who doesn't want to masticate the tender flesh of traumatized baby cows? When it hit me: I have an overdue library book!

Yes, it's nonstop action around here. I can barely contain myself, despite the hermetically sealed bubble I seem to dwell in, or on.