Category Archives: Uncategorized

You gotta put the accent on the proper Syl-‘La-Ble to trip lightly over Rubixcubewich with teeth and tongue. Clunky construction. Does one deconstruct and reconstruct, to the soft sound of sand falling in an hourglass?

InSANEwiches

“I’ve never liked pastrami,” Ms. Rutland said as she sat in sight of a granite-framed fireplace at the flagship of the Crown Burgers chain. A homemaker from nearby West Jordan, Utah, she was in town to watch her son dance the Lindy hop at a Mormon Church pageant. “And I still don’t like pastrami, but I like pastrami burgers. They’re something else.”

PASTRAMI MEETS THE PATTY IN UTAH

Frankly, I would call this a burger pastrami, not vicey versey. Frankly, I did not get much further in the story than the Lindy Hop speed bump. Actually, more like a Lindy Hop Jersey barrier.

Wham, hit that sentence, brain stopped dead, bumper crumpled. I do hope that poor boy has a partner in his hopping. Left and left, and right and right looks so much prettier when done in duo.

Lindy Hop/Mormon Church/Pageant?? It would be easier to wrap my bumper around a pole than to wrap my imagination around this combo. Burgers with pastrami – conceptually easy peasy. I served my share of smoked brats topped by burgers with (with CHEESE, in Badger-speak), to ride, while dishing up grub and beer at Shorty and Lamby’s brathouse circa 1975.

Writing in The Los Angeles Weekly, Jonathan Gold described the presence of pastrami on Los Angeles burger house menus as an “atavistic souvenir of the decades when Chicanos and Jews both lived along Brooklyn Avenue in Boyle Heights.”

Mr. Gold preaches food gospel in the church of me.

In a recent issue of Salt Lake Magazine, Mary Brown Malouf tallied the “Utah Locavore 100.” Though her roster ranged from puaka tuna, a Tongan dish, to Navajo fry bread, she pegged Jell-O at the top.

Pegging Jello at the top. Can one peg Jello? You’d think that would create quite a wrestling match. Nailing jello might be more apt.

Alacritous Chicago correspondent Bottle Rocket(s) fan Linda turned The Lunch Encounter onto this dognificent relic:

A steamed “red hot“ is often known as a Chicago-style hot dog adorned with some unique ingredients such as the bright green relish sometimes known as “nuclear relish“. The cart was often found on busy street corners, with a large umbrella mounted above (note the mounting pole on the top). The cart used steam and boiled water, with the heat source compartment on the bottom right. The top section is pulled down to reveal the slots where the trays would rest. We were told that this cart was used during the early 1930’s at the Maxwell Street market and was discovered in the basement of a building in the Pilsen area. Urban Remains

Whaddya say we open the Hot Dog Hall of Fame with this cart as our centerpiece?? Relish the dream.

Then why shouldn’t you simply enjoy it?

I have figured out, once and for all, the purpose of life. The purpose of life is to enjoy it. My deductive process included time spent with someone who appeared not to be able to truly enjoy anything. Huh? All I could think was, point missed. Therefore, an ample and paramount point to living must be…pure, glorious enjoyment.

Same relative, an, ahem, influential person in my life, once told me, perjoratively, that I “have a maddening way of seeming to always enjoy myself.” Taking that, more and more in fact, as a complimentary apex.

End of repetitive rant. Won’t mention it again. Just gonna live it.So, we went to Wisconsin and Along-for-the-Ride Heidi came along for the ride. Whoa, what a ride it was, from picking, to seed spitting, to pitting with the old-fashioned gadget, not this one – the Cherry Chomper(although we sure were tempted by it in the cherry paraphenalia shop), to plain old eating, and culminating with a grilled cheese and tart cherry sandwich.Well, dang-a-lang-clang, he picked out the cherries. Why oh why is children’s medicine cherry flavored? Couldn’t they make it licorice, or lettuce, or some other rarely eaten (by small boys) item? Did they have to put him off cherries???

Just in from Eric “Roscoe” Ambel, producer of the new Bottle Rockets cd Lean Forward:

I can go into all kinds of detail about what I’d want
on any particular sandwich but years ago my good friend Lou Whitney (of The Morells and the Skeletons – terrific bands both) gave me this pearl of wisdom that I’ve found to be ultimately true.

A sandwich given is always a lovely thing to receive.

A sandwich enjoyed while listening to the new Bottle Rockets cd is always a lovely thing to eat.

Just spent time trying to avoid emotional contagion from some folks who do not seem to have picked up the knack for enjoyment along the way. I think they have missed the point of living. Roscoe and the Bottle Rockets (not to mention many other wild bands – cds, live shows and in my head) provide me with extreme amounts of enjoyment.

My cd arrived a few days early of the release date, pre-ordered, and I am in rocknrollheaven. The LP? Wild and sophisticated, sez I. Like a sandwich, sez Eric. Stocked up on bread, ham and pickles, no need to leave the house.

How big do you spose this thing is? It could be 2 inches or 2 feet. Well, not two feet cause there is no muscle on the cow that big, but you get my drift. Is it the wild west for elves, or humans, or Barbie dolls? Aww, who cares? I can put myself there, rappelling down the slippery drop of beefgrease. Look at me, I’m an elf in carabiners. A lean, powerful elf.

My adventurous dreams waft to these miniature landscapes. I am in charge now, and I want to see these things in beef. I want to see them in beef, and plan a summit attempt. Canyon de Chelly, the Smithsonian’s castle building, Mount Rushmore, a Mies Van de Rohe house, and more Canyon de Chelly cause you can’t have too much. Somebody get me a food stylist here! And a sherpa or two, elf-size sherpas.
To be mapped for future outbeefbound adventures.Going to scale these heights with beef au jus in my canteen.Picture this. In beef. Lean and powerful by design. Yes.

We planned ahead. Even on vacation I like to plan ahead. Nice to know that shrimp and Anson Mills grits are coming up on Friday, Sandy’s fish sandwiches on Sunday. I rest much easier in my beach chair knowing that dinner has been considered.

“Plan ahead”, Dean Kerr said, way back when, when we were in cooking school and, irony of ironies, out of cash for supper. There I stood with hand outstretched, in his office supplicating for a short term $10 loan. That nasty man sent me away empty pocketed, his tight bit of advice sour in my ears. Barbara and I ate saltines in our cinderblock dorm room, and have had Dean Kerr to quote for decades. Poor thing. You got to give to get, that’s how I see it.

This summer, on the Vineyard, older and wiser, we planned ahead.
Wednesday, Menemsha. Years past were angst ridden – car to pavement ratio much too high – and so we came prepared for combat parking, a stance in direct conflict to vacation mindbend. No lobster roll traffic jam this year. 2009, we maintained appropriate dumb oblivion – cruised in cool as cucumbers, parked without incident, strolled with ease to browse the menu.
There tis, top right. Lobsta rollllllll. The Galley serves ’em the archetypic northeastern way – lobster, only lobster, nothing but lobster, on a roll. Buttered roll. Toasted buttered roll for a bit of flourish.

Popcorn chicken? Sounds like something grown next door to the boneless chicken ranch.
Didnja hear me say they put the gal in galley?? A thousand dollar smile will make that tip cup bulge quicker-n you can can say “One small chocolate twist, please.” Very pretty porch with fresh fish aromatics and rope-creaking surround sound. We soaked up enough to hold us, then crossed the street to perch on the rocks in the late afternoon slanted sunlight.
Need I say more? Need I say anything? How can I say more when I have not said anything at all? How can I say anything at all when I am eating a lobster roll? And what a roll it was. A roll around the universe of seaside deliciousness. With a view. A 360 roll of beauteousness.

Frappes. One size only. Very, very large. Goes down fast and leaves a dent. A cold, deep, ice cream dent in your belly. Woo, a belly ache. You’d do it again, too. Anytime.
I could not turn them down on the frappe front. SS Frappe is right. Side Swiped my wallet and did some damage. Indulgent wreckage. We’ll be back.

From Sorry-Birds Ellen:

Oh so sorry birds. Yeah, no kidding. Did not know that cell phone towers were bad, like really bad, for birds until I was enlightened by Ellen. She held out a long time, and I spose there are more birds in flight as a result, but she finally hadda cave. Can’t blame her a bit. I’ve been a guilty party for years, ignorantly guilt-free.

Ellen’s cell phone makes bird calls and it is quite the head-scratching sight to see her “calling all chickadees” with an iPhone. Chickadee dee dee.

Hey there,
We were in Richmond last weekend and went to Coppola’s Deli in the Carytown neighborhood.
They had some mighty fine sandwiches and I took these pictures with you in mind (the olives were an extra addition by Chris).
We also had breakfast at Millie’s but I don’t have any photos to prove it 😉
I will be sure to get myself to Coppola’s next time I drive south – further south than IKEA.

Up in Philly this week, working at Hone Studio and enjoying the heck out of it. Traveling to and fro on the rails, four nights at the Penn’s View Hotel, cabbing it back and forth to the studio, dinners out…feelin’ la-la-lucky and a bit spoiled. Thank you, Debbie Wahl, from the bottom of my worn-to-a-nub-sometimes heart, for the fab hook up. Pecked to death by ducks, I am NOT, for a whole four days. Having quite the fancy time, truth be told.

Bacon-centric chat with one of the assistants this aft:

Him:   So I was dating this girl and she was a vegetarian. That’s okay. I don’t mind a vegetarian.
Me:      Uh huh.
Him:   And we had brunch one Sunday. I had bacon with, you know, my eggs. Side of bacon.
Me:    Mm hmm.
Him:   Then we spent all day together. Really nice day. Later, back at my place, we started making out.
Me:    Uh huh.
Him:  And she goes, “Did you brush your teeth cause you taste like, uh, you taste like bacon.” I said, “I have to ask you to leave.”

For the love of bacon, what a guy.

1 Create Sandwich.

Hmm. That makes me think. Just the one? 1 Create (bacon) Sandwich.

Well if I only get the one, then I better make it count.

By way of a casual, how-to-be-an-adult conversation with the boys, Barbara and I did some interrogation and some indoctrination. What do you need to know to live on your own, for example. How to do laundry (“The woman will do it, Mom”. I have failed.), earn money, be a good citizen, raise children. We reminded them, old crones that we are, that raising children is fantastically rewarding and fascinating, but you gotta give up stuff. Stuff like playing in a band, stuff like stopping for happy hour, stuff like eating what you want when you want.  “That’s what you call opportunity cost, Mom,” he said matter-of-factly, snapping up the last double chocolate doughnut. 

Opportunity costs. Must have that tattooed on my palm.
A noun – the cost of opportunity – and a command – it does, it costs, opportunity is valuable.

You gotta make a choice. Menus, all of ’em, lunch, life, love….you got to make a choice or you will starve. Okay, not starve, but you will deprive yourself.
Opportunity COSTS. And you know full well, I know I know…. you get what you pay for. Occasionally you get lucky, I admit it, I am one to ooze over a little unexpected good fortune, undeserved is especially luscious, but ultimately I would prefer to pay. And I want to get what I paid for. An opportunity. You know what they say – least my mother says this and she most definitely qualifies as “they” – luck is the intersection of opportunity and preparedness. Get ready! Opportunity is sneaking up on you…about to pounce. Keep your eyes peeled!