For not the first time, Chick-fil-A has been a topic of some rather fierce internet debate lately. Predictably, the discussion centers around the positions of the company's leaders regarding marriage equality (they ain't for it) and their publicly stated pro-Christian stances. I care deeply about equal rights for all, and I am a strong proponent of marriage equality. Also relevantly, I love chicken more than most people I know. That last sentence is true either way it could be interpreted. So I'm going to talk a little bit about my own personal decisions regarding Chick-fil-A below. Stay tuned if you're curious.
I have made the decision to no longer visit Chick-fil-A restaurants. I made this decision prior to the most recent round of controversy. In some ways, this is very easy for me. The restaurant chain is not particularly saturated in New England, with only a few locations. I have to go out of my way to find one, so avoiding it is a simple task. In other ways, it's less easy. As stated above, I love chicken WAY more than is average. I also have only recently developed even the most rudimentary care for my diet as it pertains to my health; more simply put, I eat a lot of unhealthy food, although a bit less than I used to. Chick-fil-A is delicious. I LOVE to eat Chick-fil-A. I used to quite willingly drive 30-45 minutes out of my way to eat there. Not only is the food unreasonably tasty, I've also consistently found the level of customer service at Chick-fil-A to be quite good by any standard, and superb by fast food standards. I do not hate Chick-fil-A. I really like Chick-fil-A.
So why did I decide to stop going there? Surely there's many, many businesses that have high ranking leaders with whom I disagree politically that I still frequent. I won't pretend that I'm a good enough person to have done my due diligence on literally every transaction with every business I have taken part in. Maybe some people are up to that task, and good on them. I'm not. But the views espoused by Chick-fil-A not only have become highly visible public information, they also amount to something more than just individual views.
As I understand it, Chick-fil-A makes corporate donations (that is, as the business entity itself, not only on the individual level) to a number of causes. Some of these causes are entirely laudable. For example, ending childhood hunger. Great, keep it up! But they also donate to pro-traditional-family (aka anti-gay) causes. It's well documented, and the President of the chain, Dan Cathy has stated "guilty as charged" when asked about his and his company's support for the biblical notion of marriage meaning one man, one woman.
Now you might be saying, "but it's THEIR business how they spend their money, not yours!" Fair enough. I have a moral disagreement with them. They can believe as they believe as long as they don't act in a discriminatory way. And once my money passes from my hands to theirs, it is their money. No matter how much I disagree with how they want to use my money, if I give it to them, it's theirs. And there's the crux. I don't have to give them my money. And because I know where that money's going, I don't want to give it to them. No matter how delicious their chicken is. No matter how friendly and responsive their staff is. No matter how good some of their other causes are.
I don't even particularly care to encourage others to follow in my footsteps on this. This was my decision, based on my values, on how to spend my money. I will not presume to dictate to you what your values should be, how your money should be spent, or what decision you should make. I would encourage you, however, to try to learn about where your money goes and try to make sure that however you spend it IS in line with your own values. If this means you double down on Chick-fil-A, that's your choice. I've made mine.
I don't hate Chick-fil-A. I miss going there. It is my sincere hope that in the future they (and Christianity in general) will change their minds on the sexuality stuff. I don't believe they are motivated by hate, I just don't think they realize the harm being done to people. I hope they find a path to work to undo some of the harm they've funded. Because let me tell you, if they change their ways and stop spending money towards building a society that excludes, on average, 10% of its members, I will be the first to get in line for some sandwiches and nuggets (yes both, gotta stock up and bring enough home for a 2nd meal, duh!).
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Food Products, Essentially
So apparently, on a recent episode of Bill O'Reilly's television show on Fox News ("The O'Reilly Factor", series working title: "An Embittered, Privileged, Middle-Aged White Man Complains About Everyone Who Is Not Him") Fox News anchor Megyn Kelly visited to discuss the forced dispersal of Occupy UC Davis protestors from a campus quad by police. Including egregious use of large quantities of pepper spray on unarmed, peaceful protestors (uh oh, if sitting is a sprayable offense, I'm going to get pepper DRENCHED some day!). Megyn, whose name Bill O'Reilly would probably complain was intolerable if she had any other job besides Fox News Anchor, informed us that pepper spray is, in fact, "a food product essentially". You know, because it's made from pepper. OK Megyn, let's play by your rules. Here's a few other substances that are food products, essentially, and by your logic must be at least somewhat OK to use on peaceful citizens, in moderation.
1) Nutraloaf - A food amalgam that provides nutrition while effectively functioning as a punishment in prison. It is so bad that the legality of feeding it to inmates is regularly questioned as cruel and unusual punishment. Feeding it to people is tantamount to depriving them of food, even though it sustains life. It is probably the worst thing someone can be forced to eat that is still technically food. But it is, of course, "a food product, essentially."
2) Rock Salt - The stuff you use so you don't slip and break your neck on your outdoor stairs contains the stuff (sodium chloride) that you use with malt vinegar to make french fries extra awesome. This is the same stuff Budd uses as shotgun ammo in Kill Bill to incapacitate The Bride. But apparently this is just fine. I mean, "it's a food product, essentially."
3) Blowfish Toxin - In several Asian cuisines, knowledgeable chefs are able to prepare highly toxic fish for human consumption. For example, the puffer fish or fugu is considered a delicacy in Japan. Well, the parts that aren't fatal anyway. The parts that are fatal are really damn fatal. Puffer fish are some of the most poisonous animals on the planet. But, since they can be eaten, I guess we must consider their toxin "a food product, essentially."
4) Cyanide - Cyanide, a poison so well known for being poisonous it doesn't need to be explained when it kills people in shitty cop shows, can be found in trace amounts in almonds, apple pips, cherry, peach, and apricot pits, and the cassava root. In most of those, the amount is negligible, and easily dealt with by the digestive system, although the cassava, if prepared improperly, can be toxic. However, I'd say it easily meets Megyn Kelly's criteria for "a food product, essentially."
5) Human Entrails - Cannibalism is a thing, a thing that is done sometimes. Probably as long as there have been people, some of those people have opted to eat others of those people. Maybe due to starvation, maybe due to religious belief, maybe due to bizarre curiosity. It would be nice if we could believe that every instance of cannibalism was basically a Uruguayan rugby team in the Andes sort of incident, but we all know that's not true. Some people choose to eat other people even though other non-people foods are present. So I guess that makes chunks of human flesh food. Or at least, "a food product, essentially." If the cops start lobbing human heads at the protestors via catapult like it was Minas Tirith or some shit, it's nice to know we'll be able to count on Fox News to spin that damage.
1) Nutraloaf - A food amalgam that provides nutrition while effectively functioning as a punishment in prison. It is so bad that the legality of feeding it to inmates is regularly questioned as cruel and unusual punishment. Feeding it to people is tantamount to depriving them of food, even though it sustains life. It is probably the worst thing someone can be forced to eat that is still technically food. But it is, of course, "a food product, essentially."
2) Rock Salt - The stuff you use so you don't slip and break your neck on your outdoor stairs contains the stuff (sodium chloride) that you use with malt vinegar to make french fries extra awesome. This is the same stuff Budd uses as shotgun ammo in Kill Bill to incapacitate The Bride. But apparently this is just fine. I mean, "it's a food product, essentially."
3) Blowfish Toxin - In several Asian cuisines, knowledgeable chefs are able to prepare highly toxic fish for human consumption. For example, the puffer fish or fugu is considered a delicacy in Japan. Well, the parts that aren't fatal anyway. The parts that are fatal are really damn fatal. Puffer fish are some of the most poisonous animals on the planet. But, since they can be eaten, I guess we must consider their toxin "a food product, essentially."
4) Cyanide - Cyanide, a poison so well known for being poisonous it doesn't need to be explained when it kills people in shitty cop shows, can be found in trace amounts in almonds, apple pips, cherry, peach, and apricot pits, and the cassava root. In most of those, the amount is negligible, and easily dealt with by the digestive system, although the cassava, if prepared improperly, can be toxic. However, I'd say it easily meets Megyn Kelly's criteria for "a food product, essentially."
5) Human Entrails - Cannibalism is a thing, a thing that is done sometimes. Probably as long as there have been people, some of those people have opted to eat others of those people. Maybe due to starvation, maybe due to religious belief, maybe due to bizarre curiosity. It would be nice if we could believe that every instance of cannibalism was basically a Uruguayan rugby team in the Andes sort of incident, but we all know that's not true. Some people choose to eat other people even though other non-people foods are present. So I guess that makes chunks of human flesh food. Or at least, "a food product, essentially." If the cops start lobbing human heads at the protestors via catapult like it was Minas Tirith or some shit, it's nice to know we'll be able to count on Fox News to spin that damage.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
How Do You Like Them Apples?
One of the best things about fall in New England is apples. Apples, generally speaking, rule. In Jr. High my nickname was Apples because on the first day I mumbled my name and Chris Garlichorse thought I said "Apples." Mary "Nonnie" Lebowski's favorite muttered insult while driving was Appleass. Nobody knows where she got Appleass from, and I grew up thinking it was a normal swear word that normal adults used.
Now that we've got all that out of the way, we can focus on apples, not 7th-grade-me Apples, nor Appleasses, but actual apples. One of the tricky things about this delicious treat is that there are many varieties to choose from. Some are awesome, others wish they were. Let's explore some of the options for the apple connoisseur.
1) Honeycrisp - Honeycrisps are the best apples on Earth. And I wouldn't be surprised if they were the best in the Universe (so far space has delivered zero apples for further consideration). They are deliciously juicy, sweet with just a hint of tartness, they tend to be of good size, and their coloration is pleasing to the eye. There is nothing bad about honeycrisp apples and if I ever ask you for an apple, this is what I want. I bet the apple the serpent tempted Eve with was a Honeycrisp, because that shit is irresistible. You know, if that story actually happened and wasn't just a creation myth that way more people believe than you'd ever think.
Apple Points: 11/10
2) Gala - Gala apples are the apples I eat when Honeycrisps aren't in season and aren't at the store. They are inferior to honeycrisps in every way, but not terribly so. The only complaint some may have with them would be their mild flavor, as some prefer a lot of tartness to their apples.
Apple Points: 8/10
3) Fuji - Fuji apples look neat, and I think I like them almost as much as Gala apples. I have no problem with these guys, but I don't get particularly excited about them either. Fully acceptable.
Apple Points: 7/10
4) McIntosh - McIntosh is like, the classic New England apple. It was named this by people who never ate a honeycrisp. For those who prefer tartness to sweetness, it is a good choice. It's not overwhelmingly tart, but the balance is swinging more towards tart than sweet at this point. Usually not my choice, but I've been known to appreciate a good McIntosh now and again, when in the mood. I used to like them even more when I was younger (before Honeycrisps).
Apple Points: 7/10
5) Granny Smith - Granny Smiths are the tart masters. For a while I really liked tart apples best, and these were my favorite. Not as much anymore. Still, I like that they're green, because green is a good color. This is a fact.
Apple Points: 5/10
6) Asian Pears - Asian Pears are like, half-apple, half-pear, all delicious. The best of both worlds. Seriously, quite good. They're so good that they made it onto the apple comparison list despite being not quite apples! I highly advise you check out this tasty treat!
Apple Points: 4/5, Pear Points: 5/5 - Total Fruit Points: 9/10
7) Red Delicious - What a pile of horseshit. Who named these pathetic apples-in-name-only? Yeah, OK, you got the red part right, congratulations. Delicious? Had you just licked a raccoon's butthole to compare against? Bland, worthless, ass-apples, possibly inspiring the term Appleass.
Apple Points: 1/10 (1 point given for spelling its name right)
8) Any apple that is mealy - Any and every apple is ruined by a mealy texture. Even Honeycrisps. A mealy Red Delicious? I'll just lick this handful of coins from a sweaty businessman's pocket instead, thanks.
Apple Points: -273.15/10 Celsius, aka Absolute Zero/10. Can't get worse.
Aptly, apple-y yours,
Remus Thirty
Now that we've got all that out of the way, we can focus on apples, not 7th-grade-me Apples, nor Appleasses, but actual apples. One of the tricky things about this delicious treat is that there are many varieties to choose from. Some are awesome, others wish they were. Let's explore some of the options for the apple connoisseur.
1) Honeycrisp - Honeycrisps are the best apples on Earth. And I wouldn't be surprised if they were the best in the Universe (so far space has delivered zero apples for further consideration). They are deliciously juicy, sweet with just a hint of tartness, they tend to be of good size, and their coloration is pleasing to the eye. There is nothing bad about honeycrisp apples and if I ever ask you for an apple, this is what I want. I bet the apple the serpent tempted Eve with was a Honeycrisp, because that shit is irresistible. You know, if that story actually happened and wasn't just a creation myth that way more people believe than you'd ever think.
Apple Points: 11/10
2) Gala - Gala apples are the apples I eat when Honeycrisps aren't in season and aren't at the store. They are inferior to honeycrisps in every way, but not terribly so. The only complaint some may have with them would be their mild flavor, as some prefer a lot of tartness to their apples.
Apple Points: 8/10
3) Fuji - Fuji apples look neat, and I think I like them almost as much as Gala apples. I have no problem with these guys, but I don't get particularly excited about them either. Fully acceptable.
Apple Points: 7/10
4) McIntosh - McIntosh is like, the classic New England apple. It was named this by people who never ate a honeycrisp. For those who prefer tartness to sweetness, it is a good choice. It's not overwhelmingly tart, but the balance is swinging more towards tart than sweet at this point. Usually not my choice, but I've been known to appreciate a good McIntosh now and again, when in the mood. I used to like them even more when I was younger (before Honeycrisps).
Apple Points: 7/10
5) Granny Smith - Granny Smiths are the tart masters. For a while I really liked tart apples best, and these were my favorite. Not as much anymore. Still, I like that they're green, because green is a good color. This is a fact.
Apple Points: 5/10
6) Asian Pears - Asian Pears are like, half-apple, half-pear, all delicious. The best of both worlds. Seriously, quite good. They're so good that they made it onto the apple comparison list despite being not quite apples! I highly advise you check out this tasty treat!
Apple Points: 4/5, Pear Points: 5/5 - Total Fruit Points: 9/10
7) Red Delicious - What a pile of horseshit. Who named these pathetic apples-in-name-only? Yeah, OK, you got the red part right, congratulations. Delicious? Had you just licked a raccoon's butthole to compare against? Bland, worthless, ass-apples, possibly inspiring the term Appleass.
Apple Points: 1/10 (1 point given for spelling its name right)
8) Any apple that is mealy - Any and every apple is ruined by a mealy texture. Even Honeycrisps. A mealy Red Delicious? I'll just lick this handful of coins from a sweaty businessman's pocket instead, thanks.
Apple Points: -273.15/10 Celsius, aka Absolute Zero/10. Can't get worse.
Aptly, apple-y yours,
Remus Thirty
Thursday, August 04, 2011
Tales From The Lebowskis - A Toast to Jaja
Here's a brief one, just to keep the updates rolling. About 3 or 4 years ago, my aunt, Patty "Pappy" Rudedawg née Lebowski took my grandfather, Dave "Jaja" Lebowski out for lunch at a local pizza restaurant. I can vouch that this place makes a pretty decent slice, in particular having a good buffalo chicken pizza. However, neither was in the mood for pizza that day. Jaja in particular wanted a salad. Their waitress that day at the restaurant is a good waitress. I've eaten there and been served by her before. However, English is not her first language, and sometimes she struggles a bit with it. No problem, like I said, still a very good waitress.
They ordered their lunches from her, Jaja ordering his salad. He had a special instruction though. He wanted to make sure they "don't give me any goddamn toast with it." This was an odd request for our waitress. Maybe this old man didn't realize that the salad didn't come with a basket of bread. It would certainly be no trouble not to bring bread, and even less trouble not to toast said bread. Because that's what the word "toast" means, right? Bread, heated to the point of crispness. She knew the word toast. She would definitely not bring any toast.
"OK, sir, no toast."
"Good." And then to his daughter, "They always bring that god damn toast for the salad!" She too wrote it off as some bizarre idea he'd gotten in his head.
The meal came and Jaja almost blew a gasket. "God damn it, I said no toast! No toast! Look at all this god damn toast! I can't stand it when they put the god damn toast!"
"Dad, what are you talking about? Miss, I'm sorry for my father. Dad, there's no toast!"
"Look at all this god damn, shit toast!" he said, gesturing to the salad. Or rather, the croutons. Toast, apparently, means croutons. I guess I could see how he'd think that. I mean, croutons are made of bread, heated until crispy. But nobody calls them toast. Nobody but him, and while cursing at the poor waitress to boot. Sometimes I wonder if he's the one who doesn't quite speak English.
They ordered their lunches from her, Jaja ordering his salad. He had a special instruction though. He wanted to make sure they "don't give me any goddamn toast with it." This was an odd request for our waitress. Maybe this old man didn't realize that the salad didn't come with a basket of bread. It would certainly be no trouble not to bring bread, and even less trouble not to toast said bread. Because that's what the word "toast" means, right? Bread, heated to the point of crispness. She knew the word toast. She would definitely not bring any toast.
"OK, sir, no toast."
"Good." And then to his daughter, "They always bring that god damn toast for the salad!" She too wrote it off as some bizarre idea he'd gotten in his head.
The meal came and Jaja almost blew a gasket. "God damn it, I said no toast! No toast! Look at all this god damn toast! I can't stand it when they put the god damn toast!"
"Dad, what are you talking about? Miss, I'm sorry for my father. Dad, there's no toast!"
"Look at all this god damn, shit toast!" he said, gesturing to the salad. Or rather, the croutons. Toast, apparently, means croutons. I guess I could see how he'd think that. I mean, croutons are made of bread, heated until crispy. But nobody calls them toast. Nobody but him, and while cursing at the poor waitress to boot. Sometimes I wonder if he's the one who doesn't quite speak English.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Back in the Bulk - Orlando (Calrissian), Part 1
In the weeks leading up to winter break of our first year at college, Ben Stantz approached four of us to discuss a proposition. The opportunity was this: his parents had a time share that they were not going to use, so would we like to make a road trip for a week in Orlando, FL during the later part of our winter break, January 2002, and split the cost 5 ways. He invited Rich Cornhole and I (his fraternity pledgebrothers), as well as his roommate Greg Hammel and fellow Bulkie Hall floormate John Reaver. We even had the fortuitous timing to have our trip to Orlando overlap with that of three other fraternity brothers, Mitch Cold, Josh Striker, and Mike Malaria and would get to meet up with them during part of our trip. This sounded awesome. We were all in.
The first issue we had to tackle was transportation. Of those of us with cars, it seemed mine would be the most accommodating for 5 travelers: a maroon 4-door 1993 Mercury Sable sedan, originally owned by Mary "Nonnie" Lebowski. We would all take turns behind the wheel, with one exception. Rich couldn't drive. I mean, it's not that he was physically incapable, but legally, he was unable. He had no driver's license. This wasn't a big deal, four drivers was enough, but it did provide leverage when it came to seating. The four drivers rotated, and each was paired with another to sit shotgun, navigate, and not fall asleep during the night portions of the drive. Ben and John paired off, as did Greg and I. Rich, as his contribution to the driving, was relegated to the middle in the back (aka "sitting bitch") for the entirety of the trip. There and back. And frequently while traveling around Orlando once there. Rich was a good sport.
The trip down had its highlights. Just into New York, John pointed out the exit Ben was supposed to take onto a new highway out his window as we passed it. Ben pulled off at the next exit and, trying to find a way back to the proper ramp, took a few side streets. On one, he waited nearly a full minute behind a car at a stop sign only to realize we were sitting and waiting behind a parked car. Oops. While getting gas, I watched from the convenience store window as Greg pumped gas, kept company by Ben, when they began to look panicked and started squeegeeing the side of the car like mad. Greg, it seems, didn't believe that my gas tank could possibly be full yet when the automatic shut-off occurred and insisted on trying to pump more gas in. Predictable spillage occurred. We visited South of the Border, for which there are SO MANY SIGNS on the way, and found it both closed and unimpressive. During the middle of the night, I enjoyed the freedom of several lanes and miles of empty highway by opting to luxuriously drift between lanes (like when Kramer adopted the highway and made extra-wide lanes), an experience that woke the back seat passengers and filled them with concern for my driving ability. We did, however, arrive safely and earlier than planned.
Once we were able to check in to the hotel (following a time-killing trip to Wal-Mart for forgotten toiletries and an authentic Krispy Kreme experience), we were treated to pretty posh living arrangements. Our room was a full suite with a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, washer/dryer, and balcony. Ben and Rich took the master bedroom, being the only two mature enough to share a bed. John and I took the other bedroom with two twin beds. Greg claimed the pull out couch. This was so much better than dorms.
Our first night (or was it second?), we just had to eat at a place called Jungle Jim's after an afternoon of Pirate mini golf (great fun, even though I sucked at it!). Jungle Jim's was a safari themed burgers & sandwiches sort of restaurant. Their specialty was an enormous sandwich called the Headhunter. The Headhunter was like 2 pounds of meat, loads of every topping, a bun (complete with olive "eyes" on toothpicks), and a bunch of fries. Anyone who could finish the Headhunter was entitled to a certificate for a free one. John, being a man of large size and appetite, decided he would take on the Headhunter.
Visually, it was an imposing sandwich. John's first task was to press down on it and squash it into a size that would actually fit into his mouth. He then began eating this compressed burger brick, pacing himself as we ate our more modestly sized (but still generous) meals. Around halfway, John felt full. By 3/4, the sandwich stopped being tasty and started being despair-inducing. But John kept going. Even as he complained that it wasn't fun anymore, he kept making slow and steady progress. And finally, with great pride, John finished the Headhunter. He received his complimentary gift certificate from our waitress, who also played Belle at Disney World. We journeyed back to the hotel with victory in our hearts and a plastic pirate flag from the mini golf course on the car antenna. And then we gave both our John and the john a wide berth.
That night, Rich, traumatized by a close loss at the earlier mini golf game, had a nightmare. In his nightmare, we returned to the pirate mini golf place to play again, and once again, Rich lost to Ben. Greg came in third, and John in last. When Rich described this dream to us, I asked where I placed. I didn't finish. A decorative cannon in a pond shot an actual cannonball, which struck me. I did not die. Unharmed, I instead became enraged and waded into the water to attack the cannon with my putter. I was escorted off the premises by the police. And my friends kept playing through. Thanks a lot, Dream Rich! But perhaps Rich's dream was premonitory of upcoming mini golf misfortune. Soon tragedy would strike one of our traveling party, and the trip would take an unexpected turn.
To be continued...
The first issue we had to tackle was transportation. Of those of us with cars, it seemed mine would be the most accommodating for 5 travelers: a maroon 4-door 1993 Mercury Sable sedan, originally owned by Mary "Nonnie" Lebowski. We would all take turns behind the wheel, with one exception. Rich couldn't drive. I mean, it's not that he was physically incapable, but legally, he was unable. He had no driver's license. This wasn't a big deal, four drivers was enough, but it did provide leverage when it came to seating. The four drivers rotated, and each was paired with another to sit shotgun, navigate, and not fall asleep during the night portions of the drive. Ben and John paired off, as did Greg and I. Rich, as his contribution to the driving, was relegated to the middle in the back (aka "sitting bitch") for the entirety of the trip. There and back. And frequently while traveling around Orlando once there. Rich was a good sport.
The trip down had its highlights. Just into New York, John pointed out the exit Ben was supposed to take onto a new highway out his window as we passed it. Ben pulled off at the next exit and, trying to find a way back to the proper ramp, took a few side streets. On one, he waited nearly a full minute behind a car at a stop sign only to realize we were sitting and waiting behind a parked car. Oops. While getting gas, I watched from the convenience store window as Greg pumped gas, kept company by Ben, when they began to look panicked and started squeegeeing the side of the car like mad. Greg, it seems, didn't believe that my gas tank could possibly be full yet when the automatic shut-off occurred and insisted on trying to pump more gas in. Predictable spillage occurred. We visited South of the Border, for which there are SO MANY SIGNS on the way, and found it both closed and unimpressive. During the middle of the night, I enjoyed the freedom of several lanes and miles of empty highway by opting to luxuriously drift between lanes (like when Kramer adopted the highway and made extra-wide lanes), an experience that woke the back seat passengers and filled them with concern for my driving ability. We did, however, arrive safely and earlier than planned.
Once we were able to check in to the hotel (following a time-killing trip to Wal-Mart for forgotten toiletries and an authentic Krispy Kreme experience), we were treated to pretty posh living arrangements. Our room was a full suite with a living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, washer/dryer, and balcony. Ben and Rich took the master bedroom, being the only two mature enough to share a bed. John and I took the other bedroom with two twin beds. Greg claimed the pull out couch. This was so much better than dorms.
Our first night (or was it second?), we just had to eat at a place called Jungle Jim's after an afternoon of Pirate mini golf (great fun, even though I sucked at it!). Jungle Jim's was a safari themed burgers & sandwiches sort of restaurant. Their specialty was an enormous sandwich called the Headhunter. The Headhunter was like 2 pounds of meat, loads of every topping, a bun (complete with olive "eyes" on toothpicks), and a bunch of fries. Anyone who could finish the Headhunter was entitled to a certificate for a free one. John, being a man of large size and appetite, decided he would take on the Headhunter.
Visually, it was an imposing sandwich. John's first task was to press down on it and squash it into a size that would actually fit into his mouth. He then began eating this compressed burger brick, pacing himself as we ate our more modestly sized (but still generous) meals. Around halfway, John felt full. By 3/4, the sandwich stopped being tasty and started being despair-inducing. But John kept going. Even as he complained that it wasn't fun anymore, he kept making slow and steady progress. And finally, with great pride, John finished the Headhunter. He received his complimentary gift certificate from our waitress, who also played Belle at Disney World. We journeyed back to the hotel with victory in our hearts and a plastic pirate flag from the mini golf course on the car antenna. And then we gave both our John and the john a wide berth.
That night, Rich, traumatized by a close loss at the earlier mini golf game, had a nightmare. In his nightmare, we returned to the pirate mini golf place to play again, and once again, Rich lost to Ben. Greg came in third, and John in last. When Rich described this dream to us, I asked where I placed. I didn't finish. A decorative cannon in a pond shot an actual cannonball, which struck me. I did not die. Unharmed, I instead became enraged and waded into the water to attack the cannon with my putter. I was escorted off the premises by the police. And my friends kept playing through. Thanks a lot, Dream Rich! But perhaps Rich's dream was premonitory of upcoming mini golf misfortune. Soon tragedy would strike one of our traveling party, and the trip would take an unexpected turn.
To be continued...
Monday, May 09, 2011
My Friend Joe
It's entirely possible that you've made the acquaintance of my friend Joe. Joe has made the acquaintance of many, many individuals. I speak not of Joe Danube, who may be mentioned in future tales of my college days, nor any other of the myriad of Joes who've crossed my path before or since. No, I speak of a Joe best known for his tendency toward trade, so much so that he carries the descriptor before his name. Surely you know this Joe, Joe the Trader.
My relations with Trader Joe have been quite warm since our introduction, but recently Joe has done me a service worth its weight in gold. Now you may recall that, oh, probably a year or more back, I decided to try to restrict my intake of products which have their origin in the flesh of pigs. While this carries certain health benefits, the root reason was because of an ethical dilemma regarding their intelligence. However, I struggled and continue to struggle with the fact that many food items of a porcine nature are, to speak with even grander eloquence than you've been subject to thus far, fucking delicious. Particularly bacon. Especially bacon. Specifically bacon.
Bacon presents by far the most difficult aspect of trying to dine relatively pork-free. Pigs are something like the 4th smartest animal, possessed of intellect and personality. However, bacon is something like the 1st most delicious food, possessed of flavor, texture, addictiveness, and the capacity to be used either as food or condiment. Being a man as I am with a certain weakness towards appetites, it has been quite trying to forgo bacon, and indeed, if I neither ask for nor pay for it, I grant myself a certain loophole and indulge.
I have tried to find reasonable substitutes. Bacon Salt was a major find, allowing bacon flavor to be added to a number of other foods. However, a major part of bacon's appeal is its texture. I resigned myself to turkey bacon as a facsimile, but really, turkey bacon is not bacon. It doesn't taste quite like bacon. It doesn't feel quite like bacon. It's good, and I enjoy it, but it's not at all in the same league.
Or so I thought.
Trader Joe's sells an uncured, applewood smoked, peppered turkey bacon. I would provide a link to the product, but ol' Joe is apparently bashful about giving his products a proper web presence. Suit yourself, Joe. I bought it in hopes it would be a bit better than most turkey bacon. I discovered it is, in fact, better than most bacon.
Let me repeat that. It is better than most bacon.
How is that even possible? It doesn't seem like it should be. But, to ensure the first package wasn't merely a fluke, I bought a second. The flavor is excellent, with the peppered finish providing a mild spiciness. The texture is, in my opinion, superior to that of all but the finest thick-cut bacon, having thickness, firmness, and no fatty rubberiness. I've been cooking it using a cast iron skillet, to which it takes quite well. I have eaten it straight up and I've also crumbled it for use in a custom salad I threw together. The texture lends itself to this quite well actually, tearing into small bits easily without being dry and brittle. Compared to normal bacon, it tastes and feels more savory and less fatty. I think the nutritional info bears this out, but, again, to raise the eloquence, fuck if I know for sure.
And so, seven paragraphs on the subject (nine if you count the single line paragraphs). If you, like me, are a lover of bacon and if you, also like me, are interested in potential replacements, and if you, still further like me, are neither vegetarian nor vegan, then I believe you owe it to yourself to try Trader Joe's Uncured Applewood Smoked Peppered Turkey Bacon. Hell, even lovers of bacon with no particular compunctions about it should give it a spin. You may find it to exceed your wildest expectations, as it did mine, and earn a place in your bacon greatest hits. Without reservation, I award my friend Joe (who I hope will be your friend as well) with the recognition of the best turkey bacon I've ever encountered by an enormous margin, and with further honor for producing a top-quality bacon product by any measure.
Yo, my friend Joe should pay me for this effusive fucking advert. Oh, and I guess it's ten paragraphs now. Also, sorry 'bout the cussing, sensitive types.
My relations with Trader Joe have been quite warm since our introduction, but recently Joe has done me a service worth its weight in gold. Now you may recall that, oh, probably a year or more back, I decided to try to restrict my intake of products which have their origin in the flesh of pigs. While this carries certain health benefits, the root reason was because of an ethical dilemma regarding their intelligence. However, I struggled and continue to struggle with the fact that many food items of a porcine nature are, to speak with even grander eloquence than you've been subject to thus far, fucking delicious. Particularly bacon. Especially bacon. Specifically bacon.
Bacon presents by far the most difficult aspect of trying to dine relatively pork-free. Pigs are something like the 4th smartest animal, possessed of intellect and personality. However, bacon is something like the 1st most delicious food, possessed of flavor, texture, addictiveness, and the capacity to be used either as food or condiment. Being a man as I am with a certain weakness towards appetites, it has been quite trying to forgo bacon, and indeed, if I neither ask for nor pay for it, I grant myself a certain loophole and indulge.
I have tried to find reasonable substitutes. Bacon Salt was a major find, allowing bacon flavor to be added to a number of other foods. However, a major part of bacon's appeal is its texture. I resigned myself to turkey bacon as a facsimile, but really, turkey bacon is not bacon. It doesn't taste quite like bacon. It doesn't feel quite like bacon. It's good, and I enjoy it, but it's not at all in the same league.
Or so I thought.
Trader Joe's sells an uncured, applewood smoked, peppered turkey bacon. I would provide a link to the product, but ol' Joe is apparently bashful about giving his products a proper web presence. Suit yourself, Joe. I bought it in hopes it would be a bit better than most turkey bacon. I discovered it is, in fact, better than most bacon.
Let me repeat that. It is better than most bacon.
How is that even possible? It doesn't seem like it should be. But, to ensure the first package wasn't merely a fluke, I bought a second. The flavor is excellent, with the peppered finish providing a mild spiciness. The texture is, in my opinion, superior to that of all but the finest thick-cut bacon, having thickness, firmness, and no fatty rubberiness. I've been cooking it using a cast iron skillet, to which it takes quite well. I have eaten it straight up and I've also crumbled it for use in a custom salad I threw together. The texture lends itself to this quite well actually, tearing into small bits easily without being dry and brittle. Compared to normal bacon, it tastes and feels more savory and less fatty. I think the nutritional info bears this out, but, again, to raise the eloquence, fuck if I know for sure.
And so, seven paragraphs on the subject (nine if you count the single line paragraphs). If you, like me, are a lover of bacon and if you, also like me, are interested in potential replacements, and if you, still further like me, are neither vegetarian nor vegan, then I believe you owe it to yourself to try Trader Joe's Uncured Applewood Smoked Peppered Turkey Bacon. Hell, even lovers of bacon with no particular compunctions about it should give it a spin. You may find it to exceed your wildest expectations, as it did mine, and earn a place in your bacon greatest hits. Without reservation, I award my friend Joe (who I hope will be your friend as well) with the recognition of the best turkey bacon I've ever encountered by an enormous margin, and with further honor for producing a top-quality bacon product by any measure.
Yo, my friend Joe should pay me for this effusive fucking advert. Oh, and I guess it's ten paragraphs now. Also, sorry 'bout the cussing, sensitive types.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Tales From The Lebowskis - Great Jaja Adventures, Vol. 6
It's been a while since we've heard about Great Jaja. Usually I waste entirely too much time prefacing. On with the tale, "Jell-O Jamboree", which is entertaining if brief.
For a time, my aunt Patty "Pappy" Rudedawg (née Lebowski) rented living space in the upstairs of her grandfather (Great Jaja)'s house. It was a good deal financially and it meant being with family without living with her mom and dad. We all know by now that Great Jaja had some weird eating habits. There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to what he would and wouldn't eat. I still recall being repeatedly and firmly warned off the "candy drawer" which was a drawer in his hutch full of unwrapped hard candies that had long since hardened and congealed into one sticky mass of drawer-sugar. Yum. Pappy was no stranger to Great Jaja's eating habits and tended to steer clear of offered treats.
One day though, she came downstairs to see Jaja happily gobbling down a bowl of something orange. He looked up from his feast and addressed his granddaughter. "Pat!" he cried, "Do you like Jell-O?" Oh, is that what he was eating? OK. "Sure, I like Jell-O," she replied. "I made a bowl for you," he said, indicating another bowl, "you want some Jell-O?" She really didn't want any, and politely declined. "Aw, Jesus Christ, come on, have a bowl."
Not wanting to hurt her grandfather's feelings, and knowing it was just harmless orange Jell-O, Pappy relented. Taking the bowl of quivering translucent orange dessert, she dug in a spoon and took a bite.
And spat.
It.
Out.
And ran to the sink to wash out her mouth.
Furious, she shouted at Great Jaja, "THAT'S NOT JELL-O!" He replied, annoyed, "Oh horseshit it's not Jell-O. It's the Jell-O from the ham can!" Yes, that's right. The "Jell-O from the ham can". Great Jaja, having removed his ham lunch from the can, would make a second course of the salty orange gel left behind upon the ham's exit. This is disgusting. Patty Lebowski knew it was disgusting. You know it's disgusting. And I do too. But to Great Jaja, it was just a tasty treat that couldn't be beat. He ate her unfinished bowl of ham gel too.
For a time, my aunt Patty "Pappy" Rudedawg (née Lebowski) rented living space in the upstairs of her grandfather (Great Jaja)'s house. It was a good deal financially and it meant being with family without living with her mom and dad. We all know by now that Great Jaja had some weird eating habits. There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to what he would and wouldn't eat. I still recall being repeatedly and firmly warned off the "candy drawer" which was a drawer in his hutch full of unwrapped hard candies that had long since hardened and congealed into one sticky mass of drawer-sugar. Yum. Pappy was no stranger to Great Jaja's eating habits and tended to steer clear of offered treats.
One day though, she came downstairs to see Jaja happily gobbling down a bowl of something orange. He looked up from his feast and addressed his granddaughter. "Pat!" he cried, "Do you like Jell-O?" Oh, is that what he was eating? OK. "Sure, I like Jell-O," she replied. "I made a bowl for you," he said, indicating another bowl, "you want some Jell-O?" She really didn't want any, and politely declined. "Aw, Jesus Christ, come on, have a bowl."
Not wanting to hurt her grandfather's feelings, and knowing it was just harmless orange Jell-O, Pappy relented. Taking the bowl of quivering translucent orange dessert, she dug in a spoon and took a bite.
And spat.
It.
Out.
And ran to the sink to wash out her mouth.
Furious, she shouted at Great Jaja, "THAT'S NOT JELL-O!" He replied, annoyed, "Oh horseshit it's not Jell-O. It's the Jell-O from the ham can!" Yes, that's right. The "Jell-O from the ham can". Great Jaja, having removed his ham lunch from the can, would make a second course of the salty orange gel left behind upon the ham's exit. This is disgusting. Patty Lebowski knew it was disgusting. You know it's disgusting. And I do too. But to Great Jaja, it was just a tasty treat that couldn't be beat. He ate her unfinished bowl of ham gel too.
Monday, November 09, 2009
What's New? Also - Bacon
Just so you guys don't think I'm going into hibernation mode like I did for all of 2008 up in this blog, here is what's new with me:
I forgot about salami and pepperoni (actually just a type of salami).
I forgot about sausage, specifically grilled kielbasa.
And, damn everything, there's bacon to consider. Bacon is the most delicious food on the planet. It is both a food and a condiment. Everything is better with bacon. I have one package of bacon in the freezer that I will use up, and after that, I will no longer buy pork bacon (turkey bacon is A-OK, because turkeys are dumb as hell).
Now, I am cheating a little. I will still eat bacon if it is bought by someone else and served to me. By that point, refusing it would do nothing to help a pig. But I will be weaning myself off of using my own money to pay for bacon. If I ask you to buy me bacon, refuse. Straight up refuse. Do not let me talk you into it. If you let me talk you into buying me bacon, you are helping nobody; not me, not yourself, and not a pig.
Goodbye bacon. I am going to miss you. You were the best. The very best. Remember that one time I invented the breakfast taco by folding you in a pancake? That was a good time, bacon. One time I chased a cat for you, bacon. Don't drag this out. Don't cheapen what we had. Goodbye, bacon. I hope someday a pig heroically commits suicide for a noble cause and I can eat you again in that bizarrely specific instance.
- I got a job. A real one. A real one I want to be at and care about. I start part time from home now-ish, and for real full-time in January. Cray. Z.
- Group presentations have been going on in my classes. I presented on Female Serial Killers last week and will present on Sexual Identity Development Interventions for Adolescents tomorrow.
- Re-watched Freaks and Geeks recently. That show was amazing. I think my favorite scene is Bill's solo grilled-cheese-and-TV routine because it is simultaneously lonely and heartbreaking and happy at the same time.
I forgot about salami and pepperoni (actually just a type of salami).
I forgot about sausage, specifically grilled kielbasa.
And, damn everything, there's bacon to consider. Bacon is the most delicious food on the planet. It is both a food and a condiment. Everything is better with bacon. I have one package of bacon in the freezer that I will use up, and after that, I will no longer buy pork bacon (turkey bacon is A-OK, because turkeys are dumb as hell).
Now, I am cheating a little. I will still eat bacon if it is bought by someone else and served to me. By that point, refusing it would do nothing to help a pig. But I will be weaning myself off of using my own money to pay for bacon. If I ask you to buy me bacon, refuse. Straight up refuse. Do not let me talk you into it. If you let me talk you into buying me bacon, you are helping nobody; not me, not yourself, and not a pig.
Goodbye bacon. I am going to miss you. You were the best. The very best. Remember that one time I invented the breakfast taco by folding you in a pancake? That was a good time, bacon. One time I chased a cat for you, bacon. Don't drag this out. Don't cheapen what we had. Goodbye, bacon. I hope someday a pig heroically commits suicide for a noble cause and I can eat you again in that bizarrely specific instance.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Right Angles Pizza, Part 2
Last time we learned the back story of Aristotle "Telly" Souvlaki (and by the by, only the last name is fake, his real name is indeed Aristotle), the proprietor of Right Angles Pizza in central Connecticut with his wife Georgia and their children. Today, I would like to share with you some of the finest and most bizarre anecdotes from my friend's sister's employment as a waitress in Right Angles Pizza between 2000 and 2006. My friend, Clive McEnroe, tells me that while Telly was periodically capable of working like a superhuman, accomplishing unbelievable amounts of work in shockingly short amounts of time, he more frequently liked to do little to nothing while his family and employees worked busily around him. To this end, he had a few special spots where he could relax to his fullest potential in the restaurant, often during business hours.
The first and most secluded of these spots was in the semi-finished attic space of the restaurant. Telly had some furniture up there, including a couch to which he would regularly retreat to take naps. He would also use this space to meet with some of his unusual and inexplicable contacts, such as a Russian chess player who would occasionally stop in to play a chess match or two with Telly, or a deep sea fisherman who sometimes would take Telly on his deep sea fishing expeditions. Sometimes he would even meet up with a few shady characters to play Baccarat, making him one of six people in the world that aren't in James Bond films that actually play Baccarat. He also had a number of questionable business contacts, that we'll discuss later.
His second relaxation spot was located in a back hallway of the restaurant, adjacent to the kitchen. This space was otherwise unusable, so Telly decided it would be a good place to put a chair. But it wouldn't do to have customers watch him just sitting in a chair in an empty hallway, so he built a wall of pizza boxes to provide some privacy. But sitting in a private pizza box room must get boring, so he invested in a television. Now, most people would probably put the TV on a stand of some sort. Telly decided he would instead suspend his TV from the ceiling. They sell mounts for this, but Telly decided to dangle his TV from a rope instead, and there it dangled for several years (it has since been replaced with a proper mount, but it is unknown if this was just the inexorable march of progress or due to some gravity-related tragedy).
His third and least impressive relaxation spot was to lie down on top of the chest freezer located in the restaurant's kitchen. From there it was a simple matter to keep an eye on things while resting or actually falling asleep. I wish this paragraph were longer.
Telly is a man with interesting political views. He has twice been vocal on a hot topic of these past few decades: gay rights. One time, I am told, he was sitting in his 2nd relaxation area, watching his dangle-TV when apparently some news story came on about gay rights or a gay pride parade or something similar. This, for some reason, infuriated Telly. He stormed out into the dining area where employees were serving and guests were dining to make a formal declaration to any and all listeners: "There are gay rights in California! There are gay rights in Washington D.C.! I will tell you where there are no gay rights! Right Angles Pizza!!" He then stormed back to his pizza box TV fort without another word. Now, this sounds kind of heinous, I know. But Telly is literally an old world kind of dude. And he also later contradicted this outburst.
One day a perfectly normal middle-aged lesbian couple came in to the restaurant for a meal. They sat and ordered just as anyone would do. This time, it was Georgia who got all old world over it. She beckoned her husband to her and stage whispered to him, "Telly! Do you know who these women are?" "No," he answered, "who are they?" "They are LESBIANS!" she hissed. Now, maybe Telly is not so intolerant as previously indicated. Or maybe he just misunderstood her to mean the women were from the island of Lesbos (old neighbors?). But this time, his response was decent and humane: "So what if they are lesbians? They are paying customers like any others. Leave them be, Georgia." So Telly's positions on social issues remain unconfirmed.
Something very important about Telly is the fact that he is what is colloquially referred to as "a sucker for a deal." This results in the Right Angles Pizza menu occasionally being changed or replaced by whatever bargain Telly has recently come across. This sometimes coincides with some of his unusual business contacts, mentioned earlier. For example, for some strange reason, Telly has made a connection with some sort of watermelon dealer, and twice a year he gets an obscene amount of watermelons at a fabulous price. When this happens, it is obvious to any who visit the restaurant, because guests are served watermelon slices with just about any damn thing they order. Particularly favored guests or employees are given entire watermelons to bring home. This actually sounds pretty awesome. He has a similar deal with an Icelandic cod dealer, and from time to time really pushes dishes featuring cod on the menu.
My favorite story about Telly's unusual bargain hunts, and my favorite story about Right Angles Pizza overall is this next one. As a pizza restaurant, something vital to Right Angles' daily operations is cheese. They simply need cheese to make the lion's share of their menu items. One day, the kitchen was running low on an important cheese; perhaps it was mozzarella, perhaps ricotta. The actual cheese has been lost to the annals of history. What is known is what happened next. Telly went out to buy more cheese. Now, it is important to note that another of his curious traits was a tendency to disappear for inexplicable lengths of time, regardless of how needed he was wherever he was supposed to be. This trip would turn out similarly. What should've been a 10-15 minute trip to a nearby store turned into 30 minutes. It turned into 60 minutes. It turned into a full 90 minutes, with the restaurant growing ever nearer to a cheese-less kitchen with each dish prepared.
Finally he returned, arms full. Had he procured the needed cheese? Well... sort of. Telly had somehow come across yet another deal he could not pass up while out. Instead of cheese, he was carrying a stack of four full-sheet sized cheesecakes. Where did he get them? Why did he get them? Mysteries abounded. But someone was displeased with this shocking turn of events. Georgia, in front of customers and staff, literally shrieked at her husband. "Telly, you STUPID MAN!!! We need cheese to feed the customers! What in the hell can we do with all of your cheesecake!?"
"Tonight," declared Aristotle "Telly" Souvlaki proudly to his restaurant, "EVERYONE will eat cheesecake!"
And so they did. Cheesecake was served with absolutely everything. Unordered cheesecake slices were brought to guests, free of charge. As usual, all was well, and all was bizarre in the world of Right Angles Pizza.
The first and most secluded of these spots was in the semi-finished attic space of the restaurant. Telly had some furniture up there, including a couch to which he would regularly retreat to take naps. He would also use this space to meet with some of his unusual and inexplicable contacts, such as a Russian chess player who would occasionally stop in to play a chess match or two with Telly, or a deep sea fisherman who sometimes would take Telly on his deep sea fishing expeditions. Sometimes he would even meet up with a few shady characters to play Baccarat, making him one of six people in the world that aren't in James Bond films that actually play Baccarat. He also had a number of questionable business contacts, that we'll discuss later.
His second relaxation spot was located in a back hallway of the restaurant, adjacent to the kitchen. This space was otherwise unusable, so Telly decided it would be a good place to put a chair. But it wouldn't do to have customers watch him just sitting in a chair in an empty hallway, so he built a wall of pizza boxes to provide some privacy. But sitting in a private pizza box room must get boring, so he invested in a television. Now, most people would probably put the TV on a stand of some sort. Telly decided he would instead suspend his TV from the ceiling. They sell mounts for this, but Telly decided to dangle his TV from a rope instead, and there it dangled for several years (it has since been replaced with a proper mount, but it is unknown if this was just the inexorable march of progress or due to some gravity-related tragedy).
His third and least impressive relaxation spot was to lie down on top of the chest freezer located in the restaurant's kitchen. From there it was a simple matter to keep an eye on things while resting or actually falling asleep. I wish this paragraph were longer.
Telly is a man with interesting political views. He has twice been vocal on a hot topic of these past few decades: gay rights. One time, I am told, he was sitting in his 2nd relaxation area, watching his dangle-TV when apparently some news story came on about gay rights or a gay pride parade or something similar. This, for some reason, infuriated Telly. He stormed out into the dining area where employees were serving and guests were dining to make a formal declaration to any and all listeners: "There are gay rights in California! There are gay rights in Washington D.C.! I will tell you where there are no gay rights! Right Angles Pizza!!" He then stormed back to his pizza box TV fort without another word. Now, this sounds kind of heinous, I know. But Telly is literally an old world kind of dude. And he also later contradicted this outburst.
One day a perfectly normal middle-aged lesbian couple came in to the restaurant for a meal. They sat and ordered just as anyone would do. This time, it was Georgia who got all old world over it. She beckoned her husband to her and stage whispered to him, "Telly! Do you know who these women are?" "No," he answered, "who are they?" "They are LESBIANS!" she hissed. Now, maybe Telly is not so intolerant as previously indicated. Or maybe he just misunderstood her to mean the women were from the island of Lesbos (old neighbors?). But this time, his response was decent and humane: "So what if they are lesbians? They are paying customers like any others. Leave them be, Georgia." So Telly's positions on social issues remain unconfirmed.
Something very important about Telly is the fact that he is what is colloquially referred to as "a sucker for a deal." This results in the Right Angles Pizza menu occasionally being changed or replaced by whatever bargain Telly has recently come across. This sometimes coincides with some of his unusual business contacts, mentioned earlier. For example, for some strange reason, Telly has made a connection with some sort of watermelon dealer, and twice a year he gets an obscene amount of watermelons at a fabulous price. When this happens, it is obvious to any who visit the restaurant, because guests are served watermelon slices with just about any damn thing they order. Particularly favored guests or employees are given entire watermelons to bring home. This actually sounds pretty awesome. He has a similar deal with an Icelandic cod dealer, and from time to time really pushes dishes featuring cod on the menu.
My favorite story about Telly's unusual bargain hunts, and my favorite story about Right Angles Pizza overall is this next one. As a pizza restaurant, something vital to Right Angles' daily operations is cheese. They simply need cheese to make the lion's share of their menu items. One day, the kitchen was running low on an important cheese; perhaps it was mozzarella, perhaps ricotta. The actual cheese has been lost to the annals of history. What is known is what happened next. Telly went out to buy more cheese. Now, it is important to note that another of his curious traits was a tendency to disappear for inexplicable lengths of time, regardless of how needed he was wherever he was supposed to be. This trip would turn out similarly. What should've been a 10-15 minute trip to a nearby store turned into 30 minutes. It turned into 60 minutes. It turned into a full 90 minutes, with the restaurant growing ever nearer to a cheese-less kitchen with each dish prepared.
Finally he returned, arms full. Had he procured the needed cheese? Well... sort of. Telly had somehow come across yet another deal he could not pass up while out. Instead of cheese, he was carrying a stack of four full-sheet sized cheesecakes. Where did he get them? Why did he get them? Mysteries abounded. But someone was displeased with this shocking turn of events. Georgia, in front of customers and staff, literally shrieked at her husband. "Telly, you STUPID MAN!!! We need cheese to feed the customers! What in the hell can we do with all of your cheesecake!?"
"Tonight," declared Aristotle "Telly" Souvlaki proudly to his restaurant, "EVERYONE will eat cheesecake!"
And so they did. Cheesecake was served with absolutely everything. Unordered cheesecake slices were brought to guests, free of charge. As usual, all was well, and all was bizarre in the world of Right Angles Pizza.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Right Angles Pizza, Part 1
Readers of this blog should know by now that I like unusual or funny stories. I like hearing them, and I like telling them. Many of my favorite stories come from my family, and these have been chronicled in the Tales From The Lebowskis series of entries that have taken up most of this blog for the past few months. However, not all of the stories that I love have come from my family, and so today I'll begin bringing you tales from other sources as well. Now, this is not the end of Tales From The Lebowskis by any means. But I think it's time to break from those classic stories for a little while and bring you a few other amazing tales.
Today I'd like to begin relating to you the story of a very special pizza restaurant in central Connecticut. This story is not my story, my connection to this restaurant is tangential at best. A good friend of mine who will go by the pseudonym Clive McEnroe told me all about this restaurant and the man behind it. His sister, Ashley McEnroe, was employed as a waitress there from about 2000-2006. Clive has graciously given me permission to print his stories here, and we have gone over the details together to ensure that you, the reader, get a finished product that is both amusing and accurate.
The story of Right Angles Pizza (not the real name of the restaurant, of course, but appropriately close and a reflection of a detail to be revealed later) is really the story of a man. A Greek man. A shockingly Greek man. This man is Aristotle "Telly" Souvlaki. His appearance, manner, and mode of speaking are all strikingly stereotypical of a 1st-generation immigrant to the US from Greece of his age. But Telly meets not only the modern Greek stereotypes, he even meets some of the ancient ones. Notably, he is a man who loves recreational geometry. He would periodically interrupt his employees while they were in the middle of helping customers to pose them little geometry quizzes such as "how can I tell the height of this room without getting up from my chair?" and then proceed to explain basic to mid-level trigonometric and applied geomtric formulae while his customers sat hungry. Hence the pseudonym "Right Angles Pizza."
But Telly's story begins in the nation of Greece, where he was born, raised, and educated up until he was about 16 years of age, in the early 1950's. Something happened then that would set his life on a course less travelled than most. One day he was outside his school on a recess when a younger student began to annoy him by throwing pebbles at him. Irritated, young Telly demanded the boy cease. He did not. Telly warned him that, "if you do not stop, I will slap you!" He didn't stop. Telly stood up, walked over to the boy and delivered a mighty slap across his face, as promised. Unfortunately for Telly, his hand-face thunderclap was witnessed by a teacher, who told Telly that he would contact his father and let him know about his son's misdeed.
Now, most people would've just gone home and faced the music, or maybe tried to avoid their father for the night. Telly decided more drastic measures were needed to avoid the shame of facing his irate father. He left the school and immediately went to the docks and got hired onto a cargo ship bound for South Africa. He spent the next decade in South Africa working, making interesting and sometimes shady contacts, and developing a lifelong love of South African wine. He did not contact his family at all during this time, nor did he contact Georgia, his teenage sweetheart whom he had promised to marry and take away to America. But he did not forget.
10 years after his sudden departure, Telly returned to his native land unannounced. He strode up to the door of the girl he had left behind 10 years prior and announced to her "Georgia! It is me, back! We can now be married and go to America!" She was neither joyous nor angry, merely confused. "Telly?... Where have you been?" But in the end, love won out and married they were and off to America they went. Their next few decades are unknown to me, and when our story continues next time, we will pick up the dawning years of the 21st century at the family owned-and-operated business Telly, Georgia, and their 3 children would run: Right Angles Pizza.
Today I'd like to begin relating to you the story of a very special pizza restaurant in central Connecticut. This story is not my story, my connection to this restaurant is tangential at best. A good friend of mine who will go by the pseudonym Clive McEnroe told me all about this restaurant and the man behind it. His sister, Ashley McEnroe, was employed as a waitress there from about 2000-2006. Clive has graciously given me permission to print his stories here, and we have gone over the details together to ensure that you, the reader, get a finished product that is both amusing and accurate.
The story of Right Angles Pizza (not the real name of the restaurant, of course, but appropriately close and a reflection of a detail to be revealed later) is really the story of a man. A Greek man. A shockingly Greek man. This man is Aristotle "Telly" Souvlaki. His appearance, manner, and mode of speaking are all strikingly stereotypical of a 1st-generation immigrant to the US from Greece of his age. But Telly meets not only the modern Greek stereotypes, he even meets some of the ancient ones. Notably, he is a man who loves recreational geometry. He would periodically interrupt his employees while they were in the middle of helping customers to pose them little geometry quizzes such as "how can I tell the height of this room without getting up from my chair?" and then proceed to explain basic to mid-level trigonometric and applied geomtric formulae while his customers sat hungry. Hence the pseudonym "Right Angles Pizza."
But Telly's story begins in the nation of Greece, where he was born, raised, and educated up until he was about 16 years of age, in the early 1950's. Something happened then that would set his life on a course less travelled than most. One day he was outside his school on a recess when a younger student began to annoy him by throwing pebbles at him. Irritated, young Telly demanded the boy cease. He did not. Telly warned him that, "if you do not stop, I will slap you!" He didn't stop. Telly stood up, walked over to the boy and delivered a mighty slap across his face, as promised. Unfortunately for Telly, his hand-face thunderclap was witnessed by a teacher, who told Telly that he would contact his father and let him know about his son's misdeed.
Now, most people would've just gone home and faced the music, or maybe tried to avoid their father for the night. Telly decided more drastic measures were needed to avoid the shame of facing his irate father. He left the school and immediately went to the docks and got hired onto a cargo ship bound for South Africa. He spent the next decade in South Africa working, making interesting and sometimes shady contacts, and developing a lifelong love of South African wine. He did not contact his family at all during this time, nor did he contact Georgia, his teenage sweetheart whom he had promised to marry and take away to America. But he did not forget.
10 years after his sudden departure, Telly returned to his native land unannounced. He strode up to the door of the girl he had left behind 10 years prior and announced to her "Georgia! It is me, back! We can now be married and go to America!" She was neither joyous nor angry, merely confused. "Telly?... Where have you been?" But in the end, love won out and married they were and off to America they went. Their next few decades are unknown to me, and when our story continues next time, we will pick up the dawning years of the 21st century at the family owned-and-operated business Telly, Georgia, and their 3 children would run: Right Angles Pizza.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Tales From The Lebowskis - Great Jaja Adventures, Vol. 4
Towards the end of his life, John "Great Jaja" Lebowski was a man who enjoyed routine. "Enjoyed" actually may not be the right word. It wasn't so much that he enjoyed the routine, it's more that he became agitated when things deviated from his routine at all. The older he got (and he lived into his mid-90's), the more crotchety and obstinate he became. The thing is, he was already crotchety and obstinate as a younger man. So yeah, he liked things a certain way. This story, "The Best Damn Soup" tells of a time when Great Jaja learned to change his ways ever so slightly.
Great Jaja lived on his own up until almost the very end. He was constantly attended by his daughter, Pat Lebowski and his daughter-in-law Mary Lebowski nee Jerboa (my grandmother Nonnie) as well as other relatives and descendants, but he did live in his own house and prepare many of his own meals. He tended towards the same fare, over and over. He was particularly fond of Port wine, Chicken in a Biskit crackers, eggs, and oatmeal (these items were not usually eaten in combination). Something he had enjoyed at various points throughout his life was raw littleneck clams. I'm not a seafood fan in general, so maybe sucking raw clam out of the shell doesn't seem as gross to others as it does to me, but it seemed pretty gross to me. The smell in particular I always found borderline nauseating.
For a period of time in his later years, Great Jaja rediscovered littleneck clams and took to eating them a lot. A lot a lot. Like 2 dozen a day a lot. He would have my grandmother drive him down to Super Stop & Shop located 3 small towns away from his home every day to get another 2 dozen clams. He usually couldn't wait for her to finish her other errands and would begin eating them in the car. I know, because I was frequently along for these trips during the summer, because my sister Meghan and I would spend the days at Nonnie and Jaja's house when school was out. On one notable trip, Great Jaja decided he had to pee while Meghan and I were waiting with him in the car while Nonnie bought his clams. He opened the car door, I assumed it was to get out of the car and walk into the supermarket and find a bathroom. I was wrong. He sort of leaned towards the open door and peed onto the parking lot. My sister and I remained silent and thankful that the front row of seats shielded his escapade from our view.
Anyway, Great Jaja's diet became more and more clam-based. My grandmother, mother, and aunts being nurses, they were concerned that 2 dozen clams a day, supplemented by wine, crackers, eggs, and oatmeal was not really a nutritionally balanced diet. So they decided to add some nutrients by buying Ensure drinks for Great Jaja. Lest the images in that link confuse an upcoming detail, at that time, Ensure came in cans, not little plastic bottles. Anyway, they bought him a pack of Ensure and left it in his fridge for him to discover. When they returned a few days later and checked the fridge, the cans were gone. It was a success! He had expanded his diet to include the nutritious shakes!
So my aunt, Patty "Pappy" Lebowski (the one who was in the Springfield Bus Terminal with Great Jaja) asked him about it. "Jaj," she asked, "you liked those Ensure shakes we bought you?" This confused Great Jaja. "Shakes? What the hell you talkin' about goddammit?"
"Ensure shakes, the shakes we put in the fridge!"
"God damn it, I don't know what shakes, what god damn shakes?"
"Jaj, the cans in your fridge. They weren't there before Sunday, now they're gone, so I know you're drinking them!"
"Cans? The hell, you mean the soup?"
Yes, readers, soup. You see, somehow my great-grandfather had confused Ensure shakes, which come in flavors such as chocolate and strawberry and are stored in refrigerators to be consumed cold with cans of soup. You know, soup. The liquid meal served hot in flavors such as chicken noodle, tomato, or clam chowder. Not only had he made this error in perception, he went whole f-ing hog with it. He had been taking a can at a time, and putting it in a pot to boil. Although, perhaps that's not a specific enough description. You're probably picturing this old man pouring chocolate nutrition shake into a pot and cooking it. This is not accurate. He was placing the entire sealed can into the pot and adding water around the can, then boiling it. Somehow this never exploded in his face. I wished him no harm, but by the laws of physics you'd think it should have exploded.
Once the can had reached a sufficient temperature, he would open the can (how he did this without burning his hands off escapes me), pour it into a bowl, and bring it to his table. Once comfortably seated, he would then season his ice-cream flavored hot meal with salt and pepper. Then, he would eat it. And not just eat it. He LOVED it. I'm ready to gag picturing it, but he couldn't get enough. He demanded more be provided, and continued doing this until he had to spend his last few weeks in assisted living.
"Soup!?" Pappy replied, "Jaj, that's not soup!"
"The hell it's not! Best damn soup I ever tasted. Gonna put Campbell's right out of business!"
Great Jaja lived on his own up until almost the very end. He was constantly attended by his daughter, Pat Lebowski and his daughter-in-law Mary Lebowski nee Jerboa (my grandmother Nonnie) as well as other relatives and descendants, but he did live in his own house and prepare many of his own meals. He tended towards the same fare, over and over. He was particularly fond of Port wine, Chicken in a Biskit crackers, eggs, and oatmeal (these items were not usually eaten in combination). Something he had enjoyed at various points throughout his life was raw littleneck clams. I'm not a seafood fan in general, so maybe sucking raw clam out of the shell doesn't seem as gross to others as it does to me, but it seemed pretty gross to me. The smell in particular I always found borderline nauseating.
For a period of time in his later years, Great Jaja rediscovered littleneck clams and took to eating them a lot. A lot a lot. Like 2 dozen a day a lot. He would have my grandmother drive him down to Super Stop & Shop located 3 small towns away from his home every day to get another 2 dozen clams. He usually couldn't wait for her to finish her other errands and would begin eating them in the car. I know, because I was frequently along for these trips during the summer, because my sister Meghan and I would spend the days at Nonnie and Jaja's house when school was out. On one notable trip, Great Jaja decided he had to pee while Meghan and I were waiting with him in the car while Nonnie bought his clams. He opened the car door, I assumed it was to get out of the car and walk into the supermarket and find a bathroom. I was wrong. He sort of leaned towards the open door and peed onto the parking lot. My sister and I remained silent and thankful that the front row of seats shielded his escapade from our view.
Anyway, Great Jaja's diet became more and more clam-based. My grandmother, mother, and aunts being nurses, they were concerned that 2 dozen clams a day, supplemented by wine, crackers, eggs, and oatmeal was not really a nutritionally balanced diet. So they decided to add some nutrients by buying Ensure drinks for Great Jaja. Lest the images in that link confuse an upcoming detail, at that time, Ensure came in cans, not little plastic bottles. Anyway, they bought him a pack of Ensure and left it in his fridge for him to discover. When they returned a few days later and checked the fridge, the cans were gone. It was a success! He had expanded his diet to include the nutritious shakes!
So my aunt, Patty "Pappy" Lebowski (the one who was in the Springfield Bus Terminal with Great Jaja) asked him about it. "Jaj," she asked, "you liked those Ensure shakes we bought you?" This confused Great Jaja. "Shakes? What the hell you talkin' about goddammit?"
"Ensure shakes, the shakes we put in the fridge!"
"God damn it, I don't know what shakes, what god damn shakes?"
"Jaj, the cans in your fridge. They weren't there before Sunday, now they're gone, so I know you're drinking them!"
"Cans? The hell, you mean the soup?"
Yes, readers, soup. You see, somehow my great-grandfather had confused Ensure shakes, which come in flavors such as chocolate and strawberry and are stored in refrigerators to be consumed cold with cans of soup. You know, soup. The liquid meal served hot in flavors such as chicken noodle, tomato, or clam chowder. Not only had he made this error in perception, he went whole f-ing hog with it. He had been taking a can at a time, and putting it in a pot to boil. Although, perhaps that's not a specific enough description. You're probably picturing this old man pouring chocolate nutrition shake into a pot and cooking it. This is not accurate. He was placing the entire sealed can into the pot and adding water around the can, then boiling it. Somehow this never exploded in his face. I wished him no harm, but by the laws of physics you'd think it should have exploded.
Once the can had reached a sufficient temperature, he would open the can (how he did this without burning his hands off escapes me), pour it into a bowl, and bring it to his table. Once comfortably seated, he would then season his ice-cream flavored hot meal with salt and pepper. Then, he would eat it. And not just eat it. He LOVED it. I'm ready to gag picturing it, but he couldn't get enough. He demanded more be provided, and continued doing this until he had to spend his last few weeks in assisted living.
"Soup!?" Pappy replied, "Jaj, that's not soup!"
"The hell it's not! Best damn soup I ever tasted. Gonna put Campbell's right out of business!"
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