It's All About The Potatoes

I have been fortunate enough to travel extensively and even liv (e in two countries. Among the lessons I have learned....fried potatoes in any language are tasty. Having said that, let me share some of the experience with you.
Pommes Frites
The French have a way with any cooking, they aren't just bragging when they say so. I spent a remarkable week or so in Paris awhile back and tried my best to eat the classic French dishes. Thus the escargots (delicious) in garlic butter, the baguette (I swear, the bread IS better), etc. I cannot say that one meal was superior to any other, they were all marvelous. I had the pommes frites with a steak and both were awesome. Thin, crispy, perfectly salted, the potatoes did not need any condiments. It would have been a waste of both catsup and potatoes. At another meal, lunch as it happens, I partook of a sandwich in a Greek sandwich shop. The topping for the lovely, fresh ingredients was a healthy serving of pomme frites. An idea that should be borrowed and lavishly used.
Chips
I visited France while living in northern England, an industrial city near the border with Scotland. There I learned to appreciate, and cook, chips. They are not French fries, maybe because of some lingering disagreement with France, but they are fried potatoes. During my time in the chippy (Fish 'n Chip Shop named Cherry's) I lifted huge dishpans of peeled potatoes, loading them into the chipper...somewhat like a wood chipper but smaller, though just as noisy. The potatoes then proceeded through the chipper into the now empty dishpan underneath, sliced into a size reminiscent of steak fries in the U.S.A. After dumping the potatoes into a vat of vegetable shortening roiling at 360 degrees F, I waited until they were crispy brown and floating. Dipping them out with a basket kind of ladle they went in to a metal, heated bin to wait for customers. And customers there were. This little shop was in the middle of the working class district, near a lot of pubs. We sold chips, and other chippy food, from opening until closing. The chips were taken from the bin, still blazing hot, placed on blank paper, salted and dressed with vinegar according to the tastes of the customer.

The Political Scene

Todays political climate is all about special interest groups lobbying to keep health care expensive, oil prices up, and the USA shopping. 

It also appears to be very important for the USA to continually be at war. Look at the last century if you doubt this. Or, actually, the last two centuries. Wait a MO! Aren't we just a little over two centuries old? So, once the Independence was Declared it became important to keep the military occupied. Well, it does keep the generals from staging coups in D.C., mostly. If you don't understand the concept of shopping being related to wars, well I'm not sure I can elucidate. 

Do they come in Mauve?

But, I'll try for a bit. Congress (and Senate) has a lot of politicians, mostly male, who want to remain in Washington. That is where the parties flow freely, beautiful women want to sleep with powerful men, and lobbyists want to use all of that action to keep THEIR jobs and salaries. So that the lobbyists can shop. And the hostesses can spend. And the mistresses can buy pretty lingerie. And the political spouses can order from caterers and liquor stores...you get the drift. Washington (insiders and lobbyists and caterers) and Congress keep each other happy and busy, better than living in smalltown U.S.A., right? The generals/admirals come to town when they want more money. If they don't get the money they could make trouble. So, Congress gets the military powerful busy...shopping. 

Unfortunately, they only want to buy bullets and guns and tanks and billion dollar equipment. A LOT of money is what it takes to keep the Generals shopping. But then once they buy all the things on their lists, and run out of DOD money the Generals have to put the equipment to work. Otherwise the American taxpayer would object (apparently most of us don't; maybe because we're busy shopping or wanting to shop but can't because we're broke). And the only place to use those delightful items on the Generals and Admirals lists is...you got it....WAR!

I have a simple proposition...send everyone home from Washington D.C., take the lists away from the DOD, and find some lists out here in the heartland that might benefit from a multi-billion dollar influx of funds. I have my own list if anyone is interested.

Perfect Breakfast

One pecan waffle with butter and pure maple syrup
Two eggs, over easy, cooked by a loving hand
Three sausages, with sage
Four pieces of crispy bacon
Five ounces of orange juice, lots of pulp
Six ounces of crispy hash browned potatoes, with hot sauce
A family to share the table

Envy isn't necessarily green, it may be grey

I grew up during the '50's and '60's, married first in 1965.

So, I've been around long enough to earn the grey hair on my head. There have been other marks of the miles as well: to wit, a long scar on my abdomen from surgery, wrinkles around my eyes, sagging jowls,other sagging bits. There have been a LOT of miles. And I'm pretty well content with my life so far. I didn't run the marathon I wanted to run...but I ran the River Run (15k in Jacksonville, FL) three times. There was never that black belt in karate...but a yellow. I'm still not scuba certified, but there may be time.

I do have three brilliant, gorgeous, adult children and four brilliant, gorgeous grandchildren. Learning along the way that I am not cut out for marriage (after 4) is the price of admission for me. And it is okay. However, just in the past 24 hours I have discovered a part of me heretofore uncharted and, in fact, denied. I am envious.

Not green with envy, that is far too light a term for the blaze of chagrin, pain, discomfort, which surged through my brain and heart.

I have recently been in contact with a person from my senior class. He had asked a favor, a small one. We have not been in contact for 45 years. In fact, I don't think he ever talked to me directly in school. I do know I didn't like him in high school. He was arrogant, way too self assured, and dismissive. Probably traits I hold as well. But when I looked him up online I found he has had an incredibly successful life/career. Everything seems just as he projected it in school. No apparent bumps in the road. Of course I am sure that is not entirely accurate, everyone has bumps. But he has made it this far with material possessions, family, success in every facet of his life. He is even more handsome as he has aged!

How could that be! We came from the same small community, had much the same education...including an Ivy League graduate school. What happened? Have I learned other lessons? Does his thousand dollar suit hold up better than my $30 uniform? I'm still looking for answers. At this point perhaps the search is where I need to be. I will do the favor for him, and I will continue to pray that he gets everything he wants. He deserves it and I need the practice praying.

Blood On the Tracks

"I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
Come in, she said,
I'll give you shelter from the storm."

-Bob Dylan, Shelter from the storm,
from the album Blood on the Tracks

 I could have just as easily begun this column with Lennon's quote from A Day in the Life, "I read the news today, oh boy." I have been searching for something topical to write about, and all I found was local tragedies, meaningless repetition and mortgage rates.


I found an article on why marijuana should not be legalized; that is a subject for another time. I found a report of a young mother who decided that murdering her toddlers was a solution simpler than changing diapers. The hot-button issue du jour is the proposed cultural center to be built near Ground Zero, in Manhattan--and, that is an unfit subject for my table, as one of the other editors and I cannot agree on the direction. Perhaps she should hurl a coffee mug at me (a reference to the Kevin Bacon vehicle "He Said / She said"; c'mon get with the minutiae) and then we could film it for a YouTube clip instead of a column.


As always, I digress.


I prefer that life is boiled down to simplicity; sometimes, to do so requires ignoring part of the point of view, which is, of course, a fallacial way to argue. It is easy to pick one side of an argument, ignore the other, and call it good. It also happens to be incorrect by its very definition. So, I am not going to do that.


Nor am I going to submit a column that states that "I have nothing to say"; I always have an opinion on something. It remains to be seen where my mind is today, as I am feeling lazy upon healing from a bad summer cold.


This is also not news-worthy.

Perhaps I should indulge my inner spite-monger and launch a diatribe against illegal Mexican (and Central American) immigrants, because I got an over-spiced burrito in New Mexico. They put boiled pig skin in the damned thing; all of them should be raped and murdered as they attempt to gain access to a decent standard of living. No, wait, that already happens on the border crossing.


Besides, I would then be forced to point out that all of the 9/11 hijackers crossed into the U.S. via Canada. Perhaps it is time for those Maple tree-huggers to feel the wrath of being sodomized by the barrel of an M1A1 Abrams tank. While they're at it, those Canadians can keep their weather, too; how often during winter are we shelled by a sub-zero front "down from Canada" ? Too often. Take Michael J. Fox back, and God Fuck the Queen.

The Burj Khalifa

My solution for the cultural center is simple; send a bomber to knock down the Burj Khalifa (formerly known as the Burj Dubai), and then we (the United States of Amurrica and the followers of the tenets of Islam) would be even-Steven. No muss, no fuss. If we smash their 2,717 foot-tall building into rubble, as was done to our World Trade Center buildings, then the Moslems can have their cultural center near the Ground Zero site. Fair is fair.


The above paragraph was metaphorical, by the way. I am not completely serious. The proposition does have merit, however.

The Beer, The Whole Beer, And Nothing But The Beer: Standing Room Only

Ever since I fell off the back of a flatbed trailer in 1984 (which my uncle had asked to park on the side of our front yard, lacking his own sufficient space) into a clear plastic glass filled with vodka, I was hooked on alcohol and its “benefits”. Vodka was best then, as it looked like a glass of water. It did not make one walk and talk like they had just a few glasses of water, however. Concealing its identity was necessary at the time, being as I was fifteen. Now, while fifteen may reasonably be considered too young to drink, twenty-one is simply too old. A person, upon waking up for the beginning of their eighteenth year, can vote in political elections, or join the armed forces and go off to war to die for their freedoms, as long as those freedoms don’t include such blatant misuses of adulthood like consuming alcohol. I digress chronically, get used to it.

Satan's Nectar

This behavior continued, more or less, until I went cold turkey from the Wild Turkey in 2002. Moving on to present day, I no longer feel the urge to slur through life liquefied, but I do still like to sit down and have a beer or three. The difference today being, I actually care what the beer tastes like, as opposed to how little I might have to spend to achieve moments of clarity. Let’s say that for the better part of twenty years, I spent enough money on Budweiser to keep little Augustus Busch XV comfortably hooked on whatever pill is trendy when he reaches his addictive age. I’m sure our world really needs a male Paris Hilton to round itself into shape. He can fuck Clydesdales on national television, it’ll be a hoot.


What does a reasonably intelligent (former?) alcoholic do with their days off? That is correct, start a search for their personal “ultimate beer”. There have been quite a number that are immeasurably satisfying, to date. Landshark Lager, Pilsner Urquell, Grolsch, Yuengling to name a few. Unfortunately, there are also still beers like Coors. Excuse me, Coors: The Banquet Beer, as they’re trying to sell it as this week.

Do not trust this man.

I’ve had a long-running hatred of Coors, going back to the days when Mark Harmon would STAND IN THE GODDAMN BEER. He has not been forgiven. In fact, I think he should be found, and ended at the ankles. He can then have his stumps sewn into whatever version of Air Jordan’s we’re pretending Michael actually wore as he hops off merrily into another heartfelt episode of NCIS. The “banquet beer” pitchman is Sam Elliot. Fine. Picture yourself for a minute. Yes, you’re the type of person who organizes a banquet. You go to great lengths to make sure everything runs smoothly. You want your guests leaving happy, with a memorable evening. What do you do to help ensure this? Naturally, you stock up on Coors. Fucking Coors? Really? Get the hell away from me. The last thing I need is some gravel-gargling walrus telling me what I should drink.


To wrap it all up in one messy little package, I’m a recovered (my opinion) alcoholic who likes to drink recreationally. Rather than my previous interpretation, which was seemingly a race to find out how quickly I could introduce my face to the floor on any given evening. It managed to do a number on my memory as well, but that’s another story.

The Reigning Champion

The current heavyweight champion, in my world, is the Carlsberg Elephant.

I Know Liberal Is Profanity but....

I'm well aware that I am an unusual woman. Born in Texas, a baby boomer, raised in a Catholic ghetto, graduate of a Catholic grammar school, high school, university; graduate of undoubtedly the most liberal, socially conscious, graduate school of Christian theology in the world (Go Union Heretics!).

My politics and spiritual practices would get me beheaded in some cultures, burned in others; I am guilty on all counts. I was also the wife of a military man for 20 years during the Viet Nam War and its aftermath. Marching the picket lines for farm workers, sitting in at Columbia University to protest apartheid ... I even got arrested celebrating a Holy Thursday Communion service outside of the Shell building in NYC (also apartheid). My liberal credentials are impeccable.

I support the death penalty (for rapists, serial killers, and sexual predators of all kinds) and believe licensed concealed hand guns are the right of all non-felons. (So, okay, my liberal ticket sometimes gets unpunched.) The problem is: I live/work in an environment of bigotry, mysogony, and ignorance that leaves my brain bleeding sometimes. And I cannot say a word out loud. So, I scream in silence here, again preaching to the choir.

Philanthropist and Used Car salesman

Today I "learned" (while preparing my lunch) that Bill O'Reilly is a philanthropist of the first order, contributing millions to charity; brilliant beyond imagining;and justifiable in his hate filled diatribes. I also learned that people who get government benefits are just lazy and should be dropped from the "payroll" immediately.

I was preparing my lunch because I have no money until payday. Me in my barely minimum wage job, working 12 hour shifts, but no longer under the poverty line because "the government" has lowered the minimum.

The people who were espousing all of the above "knowledge" are coworkers, each of whom make at least twice what I do, have insurance elsewhere ...therefore no need for the company to provide it.
It looks like I am just ranting here, and I am. Screaming in the wind.

Because I like to eat

I was born hungry. 

And I've pretty much stayed that way except for a couple of illnesses. So, as much as anyone else I am entitled to write restaurant reviews. I've also cooked in restaurants (and for a family of five for 20 years). Twenty years ago I was eating regularly in New York City and its environs, that alone makes one a foodie. Lately my dining out has been of a humbler variety. However, that did not lower my standards. 

Square One, Bryan, Texas

So, to begin: on Friday last I dined, with a friend, at Square One in Bryan. Apparently this urban bistro has undergone an ownership or management shift. The restaurant was formerly redolent with the flavors and aromas of Italian dining. This was, in fact, our expectation when we entered.

We were greeted by friendly waitstaff and ushered to a small table. The atmosphere is smart, sophisticated, but unfortunately noisy. Perusing the menu was a disappointment (we were after all expecting Italian). There were actually few options. But a small menu can mean a chef is trying to judge local tastes. The prices, cleverly hidden by using just a number at the end of the description, were a little higher than one might expect in a mid-size Texas town.

Our drinks arrived, as ordered, followed by the dinner salad we had requested. 

Again, disappointment. A small plate contained a handful of less than crunchy greens, a few diced tomatoes, and a tiny accompaniment of dressing. There were, perhaps, some shreds of Parmesan as well. However, for $3 one could expect a larger portion/wider variety of ingredients...possibly even fresher ones. We were dining fairly early by any standards so the salad should not have had the over-refrigerated texture it did.

Next to arrive, in a timely fashion, was the dinner entree. No bread was served in any form. The portions for the entree were generous, a full chicken breast completely covered in walnuts on a mound of garlicky mashed potatoes with sauteed vegetables on the side. Everything was quite tasty. I must say that first because there are criticisms. The walnuts had not been toasted first, nor, apparently, seared onto the chicken because they had absolutely no flavor at all. The chicken was nicely done, moist and flavorful. The vegetables were still crunchy good although heavy on the onions, light on the mushrooms (I found only two tiny slices of canned mushrooms). The potatoes could have made a meal themselves. Thick with garlic, creamy, the potatoes had never seen the inside of a dehydration chamber. This was the real thing. There was a creamy gravy atop the chicken which bewildered me. Why put gravy on a piece of meat lavished with walnuts? My dining partner said perhaps it was a "southern thing". Maybe...but not a thing which should be continued. Gravy on the side would have given us the option, which I would have foregone to savor the potatoes in their own loveliness.

It was much better than THIS abomination.

A further problem arose while we were eating. The waitstaff began to rearrange the furniture, possibly to allow better viewing for live music later. This was distracting to the point of rudeness. I had the feeling that other diners coming later were much more important than the ones trying to converse over their meal at the early hour of 6:30 p.m. All in all, Square One may have a good beginning for a restaurant in Bryan. It remains to be seen if the issues stated are resolved.

Things I Am Pretty Sure Are True

1. There is no such thing as too much chocolate.
2. Adding hot spices to chocolate is a good thing.
3. The ERA should have passed (it hasn't) but things are better for women than they were forty years ago (with some horrendous exceptions).
4. For examples of the above...a woman can become a police officer, firefighter, or combat pilot. Which means she can die on the job just like any man. However, she will have to submit to humiliations that no man would stand for. Women can also become priest, pastor, minister in most religious organizations. The exception (of course) relates to the fundamentalist/tradition bound organizations. Just think how many fewer cases of sexual abuse of altar boys there would be if half of the RC priesthood were female!? Just a thought.
5. Texting on a cell phone while doing anything else requiring attention is beyond ignorant (all the way to ludicrous).
6. If someone cannot cook an egg perfectly they are not a chef.
7. A smear of sauce, two tiny lamb chops, two baby carrots, and a pearl onion is NOT an entree. Anyone serving same (and charging $20+) should be arrested for fraud.
8. There is no such thing as a size 0 woman. Zero is nothing. Get over having to have an actual number as your dress size.
9. The new advertisement for Nivea 3 in 1 shows a man in a shower allegedly performing routine grooming with their product. It includes him shaving his chest as if this is to be expected. Listen guys...most women (and gay men as well I think) like a hairy chest. Maybe not bearlike, maybe no back hair, but hair on a chest, yes. Vive le difference!
10. Guantanamo Bay was never designed to hold "detainees". Close it already. You promised Sir. It was one of the reasons I voted for you.
11. Small towns/counties can be extremely poor but still provide their sheriffs with extremely expensive SUV's. Can we say negligent? fraudulent? unnecessary? Criminal? If the streets haven't been repaved in 60 years and the water is non-potable, shouldn't those issues come before the said Sheriff's fancy wheels? Just a thought.
12. Biscuits should always be served fresh from the oven with butter, not margarine.
13. We are all responsible for the dearth of education in the schools and manners on the road.
14. If there are too many infomercials on the cable/dish we are paying for...stop paying.

Some Things I Think Are True

by Susan Moore

1. Peanut butter is more important than manna. It sustains 13 year old boys and can be used for gourmet cooking as well. (try two or three heaping tablespoonsful in a hot and spicy vegetable stew or add a few teaspoonsful to soy sauce with Chinese hot sauce for a satay dip)
2. BP cleaning up the Gulf is comparable to holding back the tide with a sand castle on the beach. Admirable effort but they're lying if they say they'll get it all.
3. The war in Iraq should never have been started. And if started should have ended five years ago. Dead soldiers don't add up to a "good war"...they just remain dead soldiers who died following orders.
4. The war in Afghanistan cannot be won. Ask the Russians, and anyone else who ever fought those hardy people. The only real help for Afghanistan is for every woman to deliver still born sons and living daughters. The Islamic extremist government would soon die out.
5. "W" was the worst president the U.S.A. ever had (or probably ever will have). He was rude, crude, stubborn, and hopeless with every form of communication. He took a large surplus and created an enormous debt.
6. I don't care who/what his predecessor slept with, that is his wife's business. At least we weren't a)in a war...much less two and b)we had a budget SURPLUS! imagine that!!
7. Having said what I did about "W"...he's an easy target. The real president was his veep anyway. And he channels very bad people.
8. Since I am at work this is enough for now. Thank goodness for slow periods and computers to amuse me.
9. Always put some cinnamon in your flour dredge for fried chicken.
10. If you choose to pray/do ritual/chant/acknowledge a higher power...think of world peace.

I am glad that I am allowed to speak freely; Let's talk for a moment.

I have a splendid idea for my first post on Two-Bit Pundits—let us tackle the Bill of Rights, shall we? To paraphrase Peter Shaffer’s script of Amadeus, I am a vulgar man; I assure you my Art is not. I will attempt to entertain you, to educate you, to titillate and amuse; I may also incorporate satire and whimsy into my essays. What I will try not to do is to bore you. If you are reading this screed, you have likely journeyed far enough into the educated world that basic World and / or United States history are subjects to which you’ve already been exposed. This is good—I am not a teacher. I am another person walking the cobblestones next to you, and I hope we may chat as we stroll.


Unfortunately, this format engenders more of a monologue than a dialogue, but you may feel free to respond in comments below. I will read them, insofar as I am able, and I will respond in kind. Intelligent, thoughtful counterpoints are appreciated and encouraged, as I do not live in a vacuum. If you respond with buffoonery, silence shall be your reward—lucky you.
Let us now return to the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States;
Baby steps, of course, we’ll begin with the first (ratified) amendment:


“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”


In practice and in principle, this is a crucial bit of lawmaking for me, and those of my ilk: Those who speak aloud what they think. It is the foundation for all of America’s freedoms, real or imagined; for what is freedom if you don’t have the ability (the Right) to call your state’s Senator a gibbering Neanderthal with an alley-cat’s morals? Upon such freedoms are we built.

He and Albert Einstein--separated at birth?

To build the man I am today, exposures to various pundits and writers became part of my soul, and of my character. I used doses of Hunter S. Thompson, Kurt Vonnegut, and Tom Wolfe; I was seasoned with Harlan Ellison, Mark Twain, Herman Melville and Philip K. Dick; real fire was added to the broth with Ken Kesey, Stephen King, Harry Stack Sullivan and Thomas Aquinas.


These writers taught me that educating yourself is paramount; that what is Right is immutable, within yourself; that it is better by far to show kindness unbidden; to never give up; and to always say what you mean, and mean what you say. Without the first amendment, most of those writers would have never had their voices reach the masses, and thusly, me. I would not be the same person were my forefathers not extant in the form of written scrolls. Or screenplays.

The modern world has given us the gift of cinema, an art form inconceivable (except as magic) only a century ago…giant images projected onto a flat screen; fantastic imaginings, full of sound and fury signifying Sequels. Movies have also taught me much about treating my thoughts as screenplays—the arts of Stanley Kubrick, Akira Kurosawa, Peter Greenaway, Robert Altman, James Cameron, Steven Spielberg and yes, even George Lucas, all have had an impact on my perceptions of my universe. From these artists, in a quite different way, I learned to champion truth, to gaze in awe and wonder at glorious spectacles, to appreciate the sound of a violin wailing a soft dirge for a deceased Hero.


To sum up, being allowed to speak your mind is good. Censorship is bad. Without the privilege that my teachers had, courtesy of the First Continental Congress, I would have never found my own voice.


With such a cocktail, we can hope that I can describe what I see, in a manner that is digestible, and impart some nuggets of the unknown. Otherwise, we have both wasted our time.