Shorter Summit Summary

So, it was made abundantly clear that no one apologized at the so called beer summit the other day. Good. Can't have anybody apologize, because apologies are for pussies. Everyone knows that. Men don't apologize for shit. Black men, white men, fucking little green men from Mars don't apologize, motherfuckers.


God damn it, we are so fucked.

I Need Your Opinion

Does this look infected to you?

Limbo

I know I haven't been writing enough lately. I wish I could blame it on the summer doldrums, but there are too many things happening right now that have me preoccupied. Big, scary things. I've been so concerned about my mom and her health, that I was totally blindsided when my dad told me his doctor had ordered a rash of tests for some mysterious ailment, including a bone marrow test. To make a long story short, he went in for the usual pre-op tests to make sure he was good to go for the bone marrow thing, and the EKG revealed that he had a heart attack since his last EKG one year ago. He never even had a clue. How in the hell does that happen? So the doctor freaked out, now my dad's got to go to a cardiologist, and the bone marrow scan has to be postponed until he gets his heart checked out. Talk about waiting for the other shoe to drop.

What I'm Watching

Did you know about this? I don't know if it was in wide release, but it's another Chris Guest movie along the lines of "Waiting for Guffman" and "Best in Show." It's the story of a bunch of actors making a movie called "Home for Purim." Good stuff.

What I'm Reading

I picked up this flawed little gem at the library the other day. It's an odd story about three generations of an unbelievably dysfunctional family. It's bawdy, dark, funny, and horrifying all at once. The narrator is a young man named Asger, whose dying grandmother has decided that he should be the one to set the family record straight, to tell the truth about the family's past, so she starts feeding him information bit by bit. The characters in the story behave badly, shamefully, and suffer terrible consequences, but never seem to learn from their mistakes. The conversion of the family patriarch near book's end, from world class asshole to well intentioned grandfather struck a hollow note, but like I said, the book is a flawed gem worth reading.

Let's Talk Salsa

When I was a kid, this was our house chile. They're called guero chiles, mid range heat wise, but not a lot of what you could call flavor. My dad still eats these with every meal. Your dad might bug the hell out of you with that little whistling noise he makes when he breathes, or the way he uses his left food to step on the brakes, but the sound of my dad crunch, crunch, crunching one of these chiles is my personal bugaboo. Where was I? Salsa. O.K. To make her salsa, my mom roasts these, grinds them up in an ancient molcajete along with some garlic and salt, then adds tomato sauce and water. That's it. That's the way her mother-in-law taught her to make it some fifty years ago, and damn it, that's the way she's always going to make it. It's the Cal Ripken of salsa, always there at the plate, but not very exciting.



These days, there are always at least three kinds of salsa in my refrigerator. Roasted tomatillo with chipotle and garlic is a favorite, good for mushroom quesadillas. Here's a shot of some veggies I grilled up the other day. Ignore those long green chiles, they came from the garden but in the end I wasn't crazy about them so into the trash they went. I put the roasted onions, tomatillos, garlic, serrano chiles, and tomatoes into the food processor along with some cilantro, salt, and a bit of lime. Seriously, twenty minutes on a grill or in an oven, half hour tops, and you have some salsa that beats store bought any day. It's good for chips and tacos, anything really. The third salsa I usually have on hand is a mix of corn, black beans, cilantro, lime juice, and chopped jalapenos. More of a salad than a salsa, but it's good for throwing into a tortilla when you're hungry but don't really feel like cooking. So, those are the basic house salsas around here. I'm into flavor more than heat, so I don't go crazy with habaneros or Thai bird chiles for everyday use.














What are some of your favorites? Let me know in the comments section.

Just Call Her D'oh-prah

Say what you want about Tyler Perry's movies, but he did a stand up thing today. Remember all the day-care kids who weren't white enough to swim at a country club? They're all going to Disney World courtesy of Perry. Cost of making cookie cutter movies? A few million each. Paying for a bus load of little kids to go to Florida? A few hundred thousand. Making Oprah furious that she didn't think of it first? Priceless.

Paddy Got Pwned

Will Rachael Maddow have Pat Buchanan on her show again, I wonder? I was apoplectic, watching him spew his garbage the other night. Watching her debunk his argument piece by piece last night, I cheered as she deftly rolled him into a tiny little lump of sad She made it clear why it's now impossible for anyone with a damn brain to see him as anything but the raving, pathetic love child of Cotton Hill and Grandpa Simpson. That's how you deal with assholes like Pat Buchanan, because they're never going to stop spouting shit. Maybe next time he'll think twice, but I doubt it. And she'll still be there, waiting.

Watch This

I know a few of you like good documentaries, so I thought I'd recommend this one by Werner Herzog. It's not really a nature documentary, although there is some gorgeous nature footage, and it's not a science documentary, although there are some mind blowing scientific concepts discussed. It's really a study of the people that have made their way to the end of the world, and Herzog means end of the world both literally and figuratively.

Oh, Holy Hell! That Was Even Better!

We took the Mailman out to lunch today for his birthday. His original request (sushi) fell through when we arrived too late at the restaurant of his choice. I guess that's the downside of good mom and pop places, they can't wait on your ass twenty-four seven. Babies. Anyway, a few doors down was a Mexican place he'd been to before with my mom. He said it was good, but holy hell, was it fantastic. Forget the #3 Special with rice and beans gringo, go down the street to On The Border if you want that swill. The place we went to today is run by an honest to goodness chef with some serious chops. We ordered a bunch of appetizers to share, fried squid with a chipotle orange dipping sauce, shrimp aguachiles (which is shrimp ceviche style with cucumbers, red onion, green chiles, achiote, and citrus juices), and camarones cucarachas (sauteed shrimp topped with anejo cheese, avocado, tomato, and a spicy sauce/vinagrette that I can't even begin to describe, except to say that I'm going to make it my life's mission to figure out). Top that all off with a few micheladas, and life is pretty damn sweet. What's a michelada? The most disgusting sounding drink in the world that is the most delicious thing on a sweltering day. One Negro Modelo, a liberal spritz of lime juice, a dash of Worcesteshire, and either a splash of Tapatio hot sauce or a splash of tomato juice and a sprinkle of pico de gallo. Serve it up in a frosty glass rimmed with salt. I can't wait to go back. I wonder what they serve with dinner? The Mailman has to have a birthday dinner, doesn't he?

Mystery Of Alaskan Blob Of Goo Solved

Sarah Palin Pessary* Fail!

*Oh right, like you didn't have that thought first?

What The Fuck?

Did I hear Pat Buchanan correctly? Did he just fucking tell Rachael Maddow that only white men have earned the right to govern because only white men fought during the American Revolution and only white men died at Gettysburg and that's why affirmative action is a bunch of shit? Dude, shut the fuck up.

Holy Hell That Was Good

Last night I made the most awesome vegetarian dinner thanks to this guy. Yes, I know he's the blow dried doofus who can usually be seen grilling Fred Flintstone sized pieces of animal flesh on his PBS show, but check this out. He made a mushroom burger that looked killer, so I decided to make my own version of it. Instead of stuffing the portabello with slivers of garlic and basil (too precious) or marinating the mushrooms in pesto (way too messy on the grill) I brushed them with butter and olive oil, grilled them, then filled them with pesto and a slice of provolone during the last five minutes of grilling. All it needed was a grilled whole wheat bun and a big slice of red tomato (first one from the garden, hooray!). Fun on a bun, indeed. I can tell I'm going to be making quite a few of these this summer. Slim said they were good, but I could tell he was mislead by the "burger" part of mushroom burger. He felt they could be improved a bit by adding an actual beef patty to the whole thing, and of course, from a twelve year-old boy's perspective that's true. It seems he's entered that particular phase of boyhood where his stomach is a bottomless pit, his appetite is shrew like. He's like a real life Stretch Armstrong doll. He eats and eats and pudges up one week, then the next week he slims down and sprouts up another inch. Did I tell you I have to look up at him now? The man-child that still wants to snuggle in my lap is taller than me. I don't know whether to be touched or freaked out.

Don't Look Now

Don't look now, but we're being judged.

I'll Take Regrettable Food For $300, Alex

Ugh. What the hell happened yesterday? Every cook can have a bad day once in a while, but an entire family of good cooks each having a bad day all at once? What are the odds? Worst BBQ ever. Salmon was planked and tasteless. Ribs were boiled, baked, then slathered with store bought sauce and grilled until they were a hot mess. Good thing I brought a delicious appetizer, I noticed more than one person making a main course of it. I don't know. Maybe it's just me. I think I need a break from all family obligations for a while. A gal can only listen to the same story about a dog that died in 1957 so many times. Oh, and get this, yesterday I spent the afternoon listening to people bitching about green technology. Who argues against saving energy and not polluting? The thing is, another event is scheduled for a few weeks from now and it coincides with my husband's birthday. Should we go? Should I go? Someone wanted to know what "theme" the Mailman's party was going to have. Theme? What the fuck is he, three years old? Are we all supposed to sit around with pointy hats on our damned heads and play pin the tail on the damned donkey? I told her that the theme was going to be Sarah Palin, and that half way through the party we could all just pick up and go home. That shut 'em up.

Tenacious P

Ah, the audacity of (a) dope. Look, I have no doubt some bad shit is coming Palin's way for her to get all cut and runny on her constituency. Lots of people have their pet theories. Caribou Barbie Dream House sitting on a shaky foundation? Probably. Taaahhhhd caught cooking and distributing meth? Possibly, but let's face it, now that she's suckled at Fame's teat, she'd throw Taaahhhhd's low rent ass under the bus without so much as the blink of an eye if he got in her way. Anyone else in the family for that matter, just ask Bristol. No, quitting is what this heifer does when she gets a whiff of greener pastures. When greed, vanity, and ignorance meet, the worst kind of mischief results. Sarah Plain and Stupid is walking away from a job that's become tedious to whore herself out to the evangelical right and make a big chunk of change doing it. I wouldn't be surprised, though, if this dangerously ignorant woman really does think she's smart enough to be president.

Holiday Housekeeping

Happy Fourth of July, everyone. In case you haven't noticed, I've been cleaning up the link section. Some old timers quit, some promising new links never panned out, and some others just went underground. If you haven't done so already, go check out our buddy and frequent commenter Chris over at his awesome new blog Nibble Me This. This guy knows how to grill, and when he finally gets his own cookbook and show on Food TV, you can act all cool and tell everyone else how you were into him way before anybody.

It's Getting All Peter Brady Up In Here

How is a mom supposed to act when her son starts going through puberty? Because I'm pretty sure laughter is an inappropriate response. Squeaky voice? Check. Nascent man hairs? Check. Undercurrent of stinkiness? Check and check. All this isn't bothering Slim too much, because now the ladies, and by ladies I mean twelve year-old girls with chunky thighs, are starting to check him out. After a trip to Trader Joe's this morning, he asked me if I noticed this new phenomenon. "Oh sure," I said, "it's been happening now for a while." He pondered this new info, then started banging his chest like a gorilla and howling like wolf, two motions that, when combined, don't really make a lot of sense, but there you have it. He asked, "Do you think my first girlfriend will be nice?" "She will if she knows what's good for her," I thought to myself, but what I said was, "Of course she will, honey." So yet again, I found myself having "that" discussion, this time with charts and diagrams. We've been having this discussion in one form or another since he was about three or four. I want my baby to be prepared, because god knows most of his little friends won't be. So, if any of you have any advice you'd like to pass along to young Slim, please feel free to leave a comment.