Tuesday Cooking Tips, ep. 0

A lot of people I interact with online are culinary experts, or at least people with culinary ideas. Chefs and cooks, both amateur and professional, are common in the Common Class, and they have fun ideas.

All those chefs and cooks will enjoy this series and maybe they’ll try a couple of my ideas. But I’m aiming for a slightly different audience here. Sympathetic people, who face an uncertain future and who lack confidence in their ability to prepare their own food.

One thing’s for sure…life without food is, uh, death. Preparing food at home is one way to avoid death. Most people know one or two ways of preparing food at home. They might be Preppers, laying in a stockpile of rice and beans because they know it’s a full profile of essential amino-acids. Similarly a Prepper knows to have fat on hand, anything from Manteca to Corn Oil. In theory, if you have all the Amino Acids and all the Fatty Acids, you can survive indefinitely.

In practice, you can’t survive if you don’t learn to cook different things. This series will show ways to cook different things confidently, without being some kind of cocksure celebrity chef.

I figure, if you have about eight recipes, about eight techniques, you’re in survival territory. It’s also good to diversify the portfolio, to have skills in various techniques, e.g. baking, saute/pan-frying, grilling, smoking, canning, fermentation, etc.

Learning this stuff does take some investment, of course, and these seem like parlous times to make investments. But it’s your life on the line. Sooner or later, you cook for yourself, using whatever comes to hand, or you die.

Having said that, don’t freak out when I tell you what’s in my kitchen:

  • Crockpot, AKA Slow Cooker
  • 7″ French Knife
  • Cutting Board
  • Seasoned Cast-Iron Skillet
  • Microwave Oven
  • Regular Oven
  • Dishes
  • Heavy Mortar and Pestle
  • Sugar
  • Salt
  • Olive Oil
  • Butter
  • Cheese
  • Cornstarch

And so on. If you don’t have this stuff, don’t panic and try to get it all at once. Instead, just learn what it takes to make yourself one tasty meal you didn’t have before. Do that eight times, and you’re in survival land.

Good Luck and Godspeed!

Schedule of Events

What this blog clearly needs is some stern, ass-reddening discipline. I need to start working to a schedule. Let’s try:

Monday Meme
Tuesday Cooking Tips
Wednesday Night Book Review
Thursday Travels
Friday Final Word
Saturday Saturnalia
Sunday you can fuck off to Wirecutter’s place. He posts videos on Sunday.

De-Mining is the Next Frontier

I have gotten drunk from time to time and I’ve said and done some things I would take back. But I’ve never quite been as wasted as the union pipefitters who voted to cancel the XL Pipeline and lost their jobs as a result.

Apparently they woke up on the couch soaked in piss. That could make anyone upset, and they said so. Yeah, we can see you’re upset, and we can see why. Soaked in piss.

But wait! There’s more! Here’s how we’ll dry out those piss-soaked pants and get you back on the job! Since you’re in the general business of mineral extraction, that means you’re a qualified Miner! And as a Miner you can pursue exciting new opportunities removing expired ordnance from ancient battlefields. That’s right, those things are called mines, and you’re a Miner. It’s the same word, so go dig up mines, complainer.

Seriously.

UPDATE: on further reading, they apparently mean to reclaim land mines in Virginia, whatever that means. Maybe land mine and strip mine are the same thing now.

I used to be a big cheerleader for strip mining, because the engineering was so impressive. But then I heard from people whose local terrain had been affected, and I wasn’t so sure.

It was mostly in the East, in places like West Virginia, that industrial-scale removal of overburden proved disastrous to local terrain and ecosystems. Some high-value coal was in there and they leveled some of the hills to get it.

As far as I know, there are no areas in Virginia, or West Virginia, or anywhere else where land mines can be dug up with much profit. So I guess President Special K means, uh, mines that were dug on land.

Wait, did I say that mines on land are the same thing as land mines? My bad, I meant to say everything is mine.

Paradise for Assholes

It’s been a while and I better at least put up something cheap. How about a washed-up video from a washed-up band?

Hey, at least I’m serious when I say this video earns my critical thumbs-up. Sure, the political and social messages are problematic, especially in the first part of the presentation.

Classy people might reasonably object to the jarring, dismal nature of the music. But this video strangely redeems itself. So angry at first, so ambiguous at the end. The editing, the timing, the visuals are top-notch.

Here.

A Tradition of Scorn

Let us carry it on! This scornful number I learned from my grandfather, who was singing it in the 1920’s:

**

“Son-of-a-bitch Columbus”

In Fourteen-Hundred and Ninety-Two
A Dago from I-Tally
Roamed about the streets of Spain
And slept in every alley

‘Cause he knew the world was round-o,
And that it could be found-o!
That geographical, mathematical
Son-of-a-bitch Columbus

He went before the Royal Queen
To beg for ships and cargo
He swore upon his bended knee
He’d bring ’em back Chicago

‘Cause he knew the world was round-o,
And that it could be found-O!
That geographical, mathematical
Son-of-a-bitch Columbus

She sold her watches and pawned her rings
Just to get him started
Columbus didn’t give a damn
He turned around and farted

‘Cause he knew the world was round-o,
And that it could be found-O!
That geographical, mathematical
Son-of-a-bitch Columbus

For forty days and forty nights
They sailed the blue Atlantic
The Captain had to screw so bad
That he was damn near frantic

But he knew the world was round-O,
And that it could be found-OH!
That geographical, mathematical
Son-of-a-bitch Columbus

The Captain had a one-eyed Mate
And loved him like a brother
They went up on the forward deck
And corn-holed one another

‘Cause they knew the world was round-O,
And that it could be found-O!
That geographical, mathematical
Son-of-a-bitch Columbus

Upon the shore they spied a Whore
And off came shirts and collars
They landed and within the hour
She made a thousand dollars

‘Cause they knew the world was round-O,
And that it could be found-O!
That geographical, mathematical
Son-of-a-bitch Columbus

The Captain spied an Indian maid
And straightaway pursued her
The white of an egg ran down her leg
The son-of-a-bitch had screwed her

‘Cause he knew the world was round-O,
And that it could be found-O!
That geographical, mathematical
Son-of-a-bitch Columbus!

A Traditional Honorific for Such Occasions

(Olde English Song of Praise for ye Sovereign)

Oh….the bards they sing of an English King
Who lived long years ago
He ruled his land with an iron hand
But his mind was weak and low
He would used to hunt the royal stag within the royal wood
But anon they knew that his favorite sport
Was pulling his royal Pud.

And he used to have a leather garb
Which used to hide his hide
But this undershirt could not hide the dirt
Which no one could abide
He was wild and woolly and full of fleas
Which humans ne’er could stand
And he skulked around with his balls hanging down…

The Bastard King of England!

Now the Queen of Spain was an amorous dame
Most frankly dame was she
And she longed to fool with His Majesty’s tool
So far across the Sea
So she sent a message to London Town
by Royal Messenger
Requesting the King of England come
To Spend the month with her

Now when Philip of France heard this news one day
He turned to all his Court
And he said “Isabella prefers this clown
Because my Tool is short.”
So they sent them back a most syphilous pack
To sack the Fairyland
And supply the Queen with a dose of clap…

To Hell with Dear Old England!

Now news of this at last did reach
To Windsor’s merry halls
And the King swore that he would have anon
The Frenchman’s greasy balls
So he promised half of all his lands
And the Whole of Queen Hortense
To that doughty knight who would have the might
To nut the King of France

So the Royal Duke of Echester
Betook himself to France
And swearing himself a Fruit for the King
Took down his Royal pants
Then he tied a thong around his prong
And Gaily galloped along
‘Til at last at Windsor’s merry halls
Was a Frenchman and his schlong

And the King threw up and he shit his pants
For in the lengthy ride
The Thong had stretched by a yard or more
The fucking Frenchman’s Pride
And all the ladies of London Town
Who saw the mighty Stand
Cried aloud, “To Hell with the English Crown!”

And made Philip King of England!

Epitaph for the Washington Monument

One came to me from a forgotten place
Who said a sunken pillar shattered lies
Square-built and shining juts the tilted base
But there it breaks and shows its metal bones
A twisted wreck, a blasted heap of stones
Bedecked with rainfall, dazzling to the eye
In mire the massive marbles lie; the throne
O’erthrown at last, and now the next to die