Microlossal

Colossal/Art and Design

“We can’t do great things in this life… We can only do small things with great love.”
Mother Theresa

Why do we love tiny things? I found an ungooglable quandary. Why o why do we love miniatures? Got a theory? I’d love to see it, here on my tiny monitor. Clue me in. I’ve got a grilled cheese the size of a postage stamp waiting for you in my panini press, if I can find it (the sandwich).

Theories, off the top of my tiny brain:
1. Tiny things turn our sense of wonder upside-down and open up our “awe” factor.
2. We are all, at our most primal, seeking power over our world.
3. Dink is so frackin cute. Gives one that swooshy feeling and we LIKE it.

Thanks to Dr. Joe for the linkykinkydink.

Slipping Into the Slope

Crossing over into Brooklyn a person expects to be showered with fairy dust. Hipster fairy dust. It’s not like that. We were showered with love, deep and abiding, and walked on a tack-sharp sunny morning to Naidre’s, the sandwich joint of choice for our deeply abiding friends Janie and Adrienne.

Naidre’s is on bustling 7th Ave, in the slope, yo. Breakfast, lunch and din din, indeedie. We bridged breakfast and lunch. Eggs and wiches, baby.

And here is Janice Pullicino, people, proprietress. She let me take her damn  picture! Get your fine frame in there, order up a deluxcup of Counter Culture Cap and have her punch yer card. Lucky 13 cup on the house! Let ’em fix you a damn fine cuppa, yo!

They Don’t Need No Stinkin’ CheeseWhiz in Whizconsin

This just in from Dry-Witted Correspondent John in Green Bay:

The New Glarus Hotel in the New York Times

This is an interesting article and I am forwarding it because of the mention of the sandwich available at Puempel’s Tavern at the end. Limburger, onion and braunschweiger on rye for $5.00. You could wash it down with a cold Spotted Cow. I just devoured aged brick and onion on rye and I fear I smell like a dog that has been sniffing and nibbling on aged roadkill.

I want to go to P*****l’s Tavern, but I cannot bring myself to say it out loud. One of those words that make me cringe, along with c**p, b**t, and z*t, all common and all favored by 11-going-on-12-year-old boys. Don’t these boys have imaginations? Oh, of course they do, and imagining anything the teensiest bit disgusting is pure pleasure. What part of the brain is in charge of this function, and how does it assist us in staving off extinction?

Limburger, braunschweiger and onion. Why is this a triumvirate of deliciousness for me, and disgusting – not in a good way – for my son?

BBC Science examines disgust on their Science/Human Body and Mind page. I found this article fascinating, and revolting. I tried to read it without seeing the pictures, which was impossible. Now those images are implanted in the disgust center of my brain. Take my advice, if you are going to click on the BBC link,  have your 12-year-old read the piece aloud to you.

A few quick excerpts:

Disgust might be genetic; hard-wired in our brains and imprinted on our biological code by millions of years of natural selection….The things people consistently find disgusting also make us ill….Upbringing plays an important role in determining what we find disgusting. 

Another vital trigger is our sense of smell. Smell causes such a powerful response in the brain that the US Army has been trying to develop a stink bomb with an odour foul enough to be used for riot-control. 

Anything that reminds us we are animals elicits disgust. Disgust functions like a defence mechanism, to keep human animalness out of awareness….The word ‘yuck’ is similar in languages all over the world. It seems to be a proto-word.

O. K. Got it. And the word Yum, is it not a proto-word? I say yes, based on my vast research.

A Triumph Over Death

is the egg.

By Miriam Rubin

At sundown on Friday, April 6, Passover will begin as Jews all over the world gather around dining tables. They’ll light festival candles. They’ll read ancient prayers and passages from the Haggadah. They’ll sit at tables set with gleaming silver, pressed linens, Grandmother’s china, or maybe just a hodgepodge of plates. Each place will have a wine glass, because drinking wine or grape juice is an essential element of the ceremony. Read on here.

And for all of us, celebrating Passover or not, the surging renewal of spring is upon us and the egg is triumphant.


 
 

Greasy Fingers

Vegan food makes me nervous. And gluten free, too. I’ll take my food with all the parts, the whole dog and pony show, all the bells and whistles. Meat, butter, bread, cheese. I’ll take it in broad strokes. Don’t wanna break it down to a sludge test, dissecting and rejecting.

That’s just me. You, a person, or persons, anyone could and should do whatever you/they want. Not that they/you asked for my permission. You didn’t? Oh yeah, you didn’t.

It’s just food after all. Just the thing that binds and bonds us, ties and minds us, makes us who we are, individually, autonomously and en masse. It’s just food. So yeah, each speck and spectral counts, doesn’t it? Each part and particle.

I had lunch at Sticky Fingers and it was deluxhiouss. A grilled cheese with soy cheese. Who’s to say that that is not cheese? It was de-freaking-luxhiousss.

So, am I taking a stand here? On the balance beam? Cheese is cheese is cheese, yes? I don’t know. It’s a greasy, non-buttery, slippery slope. Have we evolved beyond animal foods? My visceral self says no. En Oh. Time will tell.

And then there is the baconless, hamfree club. How do they do that? And do we want them to? I dunno. Weigh in, people!

A Recipe of Sorts

Nutella is my nu client, so I’m thinking about what can be done with it, other than spreading it up and down my arms.

Twoslices brioche  

Havarti, sliced or grated
Thin slices ham
Thin apple slices, with or without skin, your choice
Nutella

Softened butter 

Fill the bread with the havarti, ham, apple and Nutella. Butter the outsides. Fry on a griddle until the bread is toasty brown on both sides and the cheese is oozing. Take the sandwich out of the pan with a spatula, put it on a cutting board and let it cool for about a minute. Cut your sandwich in half and eat.

Toast Poast Number 100 Billion

The old is new again. I think it was always new. I think the old is news.

Atomic Warehouse
atomicwarehouse
Art deco porcelain SAMMICH TOASTER
sammichtoastersammichtoaster2

The hardest kind of thinking is thinking about thinking.

Metamemory=something to do with memory self-monitoring

Meta cognition=knowing about knowing

Psycho cognition = knowing how much you don’t know

Huh? cognition = wondering how you can  know how much you don’t know

Toasto cognition = knowing how much of your former knowledge is toasted

Super cute Cute cute


Hello Sandwich

    

ShawarMIMIssion Possible

 Went to Shawarma Spot with Mimi. We did it. We made a plan to have a lunch and we did it. A lunch. A mission. Made possible. With Mimi. Shawarmaed. Spotted. Made shawarmareal.

This spot is much more than a spot, it’s a landscape. An array of toppings that hold their own. Were the meat forgotten, I might not take note.

Late night eaters, take note. Friday and Saturday nights Shawarma spot is open till 4 am. Adams Morgan, Kalorama, Dupont Circle and Columbia Heights homebodies, take note. Shawarma Spot delivers!

A Langer-ous Love Letter

Langer’s

 How to Write a Love Letter

First, identify the Object Of your Affections. Choose wisely. Your OOA (Object of Affection.) need not be world famous, nor hot necessarily. Worthiness in the eye, and desire, of the beholder is essential.

Now, are you ready to lay down your heart? I thought so. No holds, or rolls, barred. Rolling, rolling, rolling. Momentum is all.

 Presentation

Again, choose thoughtfully. Think of first impressions. The company you keep is a piece of your testimony. Represent well. Classy collateral should not be underestimated. Black ink or dark blue only please, and never a frivolous shade such as red or green. You want to present well. Los angels forbid your OOD should find you silly.


Ambience

Mood. The elusive element. Put yourself in it. Turn yourself over. Feel it. Tufted vinyl cries for pastrami. What says OOA to YOU? Flokati underfoot? A turban of Whipped Cream and Other Delights swaddling your head? Your face aglow in the  light of the rotating dessert case?

Greeting

Dear Langer’s ~CRUMPLE~CRUMPLE~ My Dearest Langer’s ~ CRUMPLE CRUMPLE~ My Darling Langer’s ~ Ugh~CRUMPLE CUMPLE~ Hello, Dear Langer’s, From Your Biggest Pastrami Fan
 

Beginning

Mise en place applies to all of life. Stack your plates, replace your typewriter ribbon, fill the creamers, roll up your sleeves.

Body

Not the body of your beloved, for heaven’s sakes. The body of your love’s letter. You don’t want to be thinking about any human body with a plate of eggs and pastrami at chest level and fork’s reach.

Be Expressive

A little embellishment never hurt anyone, even a bit of the tried-and-true parsley+orange wedge duo. Bitter, sour, sweet. Reach down deep and touch the power points of sensuality.

Be Specific 

Ordering a little love to ride? “Pastrami on rye with mustard ONLY,” requested Linda. “Get it right or pay the price,” said Nancy. She knows. She’s been married a long time.  “Yeah,” said Lynda, no dummy herself,  “I don’t want to scrape anything.” 

Neatness Counts

 Add a personal touch

Valediction

A ferocious appetite supported my case.  Before taking the leap, I  strongly advise assessing the width and depth of your desire. I can put away a mountain of pastrami, half on site, half in the middle of the night.

With love ~ CRUMPLE CRUMPLE~ With all my love ~ CRUMPLE CRUMPLE ARRGH~ Oh! I’ve got it ~ Dreaming of your pastrami at midnight, I am…

Your Sated Admirer

Use an envelope

Doused with the scent of pastrami. It’s the little things. You might want to use a napkin liberally before licking the stamp.