I ask you, who doesn't like a pizza pie? It is an American staple of fine food. You can forget the notion that the pizza came from Italy. When it comes to the tasty dish they are clueless and we win. That's what we've been told.
In 1968 while touring Venice on the eastern shore of the Italian peninsula I decided to have an anchovy style pie. What a disappointment. It was six inches in diameter ladled with a dried red paste and garnished with one minnow(would that be an anchovy) situated in the center, eyeball included.
Martha Stewart would have given it an F-.
Since my wife has been going about the business of opening up the Minnesota lake place I've become my own personal cook. Thank God for the microwave, paper plates and a variety of condiments. Salads are good, too. They're easy and if you don't have chicken or some other meaty dish to include it's not a huge problem. All you have to do is double the amount of salad dressing.
Last night I'd had enough of this Spartan existence and decided to go for the gusto, something out of the mainstream; a food I rarely consume.
Pizza caught my attention as a food not on my 'go to' list, not because I don't like it but because one has to place the order, then jump in the car to pick it up. I could've ordered delivery but who wants to pay a sawbuck tip? Not me.
So, I got on the computer to check out pizza parlors in our village of Dublin, Ohio. Calling Dublin a village might be a misnomer because the community has 60,000 people. The downtown, however, is two blocks in length so that's how we get to be called a village. It's a way to be quaint in a not so quaint United States.
In Dublin there are 41 different pizza parlors. Does that seem overloaded? Don't people eat at home?
"Hey mom, get back in the kitchen". (Don't comment on this. It's what we've become)
I passed on the chain parlors; Pizza Hut, Papa Johns, Dominos. There are many establishments uniquely locally owned. I looked at their ratings. One, Romeos, had a four star out of five ranking. It sounded good to me so I gave them a jingle and asked for the Cowboy style one. It was loaded with every meat imaginable and then some. The bill came to $17 but I threw caution to the wind and told the owner to, "go for it"
My first mistake was that I ate the entire 12" pie. The second problem was I forgot that a pizza pie is composed of ten pounds of salt and things that make your stomach say, "Hey Dude, you're in big trouble now".
The third and most egregious problem: the four star wasn't all that wonderful and I do regret spending that kind of money for allowing me to become Dublin's all-leader in expelling unwanted intestinal gas in this morning.
If I had to do it all over again I'd visit Kroger and buy a Red Baron. They taste like cardboard but the going price is only $7.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Monday, May 25, 2015
Food For Thought On This Memorial Day
President Obama said it was necessary to pull all American troops out of Iraq so the Iraqis could fight their own war. Then why do we still have 30,000 American soldiers with boots on the ground in South Korea sixty-two years after the conflict has concluded?
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Childhood Was A Learning Experience For Survival In A World Now Gone Goofy
Every day one of the first items of business on my computer agenda is to check out the UK Daily mail. They have become so popular they now have their own reporters covering the United States. This news source covers the gamut of stories; sports, politics, crime, human interest, etc.
On a daily basis I'll read of a tragedy involving a child. They might fall out of a fifty story window or have a car run over them by a grandpa while playing in the yard. It's a sad a part of our lives but with the twenty-four hour news cycle and the millions of people populating the world crap happens.
And, naturally, this brought back memories of the shenanigans I did in my life which made me wonder: How in God's name did I survive to the ripe old age of sixty-nine? I should have died ten times over, mostly due to my inexperience and stupidity. In other words, I was your normal kid.
I don't remember an event from 1949 but my parents related it to me later on. We lived on fourth street in Boone, Iowa. Okay, I'll blame this one on my mom and dad because of their irresponsibility. Fourth street also happened to be called Highway 30 which was also know as the Lincoln Highway. Today it would be called Interstate 80. Highway 30 ran from New York City to Los Angeles. Can you imagine the traffic? I was in our car, by myself, which was parked in our driveway. Somehow, I released the brake and our 1948 green Studebaker rolled out onto the Lincoln Highway missing by inches the semi rolling down the street. Whew!
Don't ask me how, but when I was four, I found a can of gasoline along with a box of matches and proceeded to light a fire on the side of our garage. As Houdini might say, "He did it with mirrors".
When I was six we moved in with my grandfather on the north side of town. He lived on the corner of 11th and Green street in a gray shingle home he built in 1911. I always thought it was haunted. It was impossible to commit a sin in that home. Every wall was covered with holy pictures and not one but two crucifixes.
If I needed night crawlers to go fishing I didn't have to leave at night. The basement floor was composed of Iowa loam.
Anyway, on a July day in 1951 the City tarred Green Street on the west side of the house. Never seeing tar before I didn't realize its chemical composition. Since I needed to go to the neighborhood grocery story to buy baseball cards I took off across the tarred road. Halfway there I realized I was in my socks and my shoes were left behind. I wonder who got them.
One of my grandsons received five stitches on his chin last week. I called him to cheer him up but he was so embarrassed he didn't want to talk about how the 'accident' happened. I know how it occurred. He was goofing off. How else does a kid get hurt?
Since I just heard from my Milwaukee cousin I should relate our story together. I think the year was 1967 but it makes no difference. I pulled out of a gas station onto Howell Ave. In those days there was no such thing as a seat belt. My cousin was nine years old and seated on the passenger side but his door was not shut. As I peeled onto the street he went flying out onto Howell sliding across the busiest street in Milwaukee. He slid about twenty feet on the pavement then jumped up and got back in the car. I've never see a kid so calm. I drove to his house and in the course of twenty minutes drank a case of beer without taking a breath.
If someone shaved my head they would see so many scars it would look like a road map to nowhere. I wore these marks on my skull as a badge of honor. One day my neighbor, Jeff Johnson and I, decided to build a tree house in our mulberry tree. Forget we had no idea how it was going to get done. All we knew it was going to happen. Jeffy climbed up first carrying a brick and a large crowbar. I told him to drop the crowbar but he let go of both and they hit home at the same time. The Boone County Hospital knew me so well I had my own private room. They always kept a doctor on call knowing I'd be back.
One very wonderful aspect of being a kid was when a new home was built in the neighborhood. In would come a bulldozer and the basement would be dug out. Kids from all around immediately flocked to the site like buzzards to a carcass. Then the fun began. We'd choose up sides and play war.
Our weapons were dirt clods and rocks. It was a recipe to visit Boone County but we relished the challenge of defeating those rotten Nazis and Japs. Ah! Those were the days. The war ended in 1945 but we were still taking names and kicking ass in 1954.
It was another July, this time in 1956. My buddy, Dick Musser and I decided to play 'Cave'. We crawled into the truck of my dad's 1956 Pontiac on this 100 degree day and shut the truck door. How cool was that? Not very actually especially when we couldn't breathe. Panic set in and we started screaming and kicking not knowing that the back seat, if given a monstrous shove, could be pushed out. Lucky for us one of our feet, or both, found it's way to safety. Who knows what would have happened. That's why refrigerator companies finally put release latches on the inside. Once again, MJ survived a disastrous demise.
I wrote this piece in response to a recent proclamation from the Boy Scouts of America. They have now said scouts will no longer be able to use water guns and water balloons while in their care. What an embarrassment to anyone who participated, from Tenderfoot to Eagle.
I recall my Boy Scout days. We'd have overnights at the Ledges State Park five miles south of town. Our group would build a campfire, eat horrid hot dogs and open a can of Campbell's Pork and Beans. We'd try and catch a couple hours of sleep in our bags then wake up and with BB guns in hand pick sides and have a real war, winner take all. How sad I feel for kids today. They're restricted by bike riding boundaries. Heck, out parents let us out of the house in the morning with one admonition, "Be home by dinner or you'll hear about it from you Dad". Those sure were good times.
As I wrote to some of my closest friends, love him or hate him, the legendary basketball coach, Bob Knight stated, " The demise of America will come about because of political correctness". No one has ever been more correct.
On a daily basis I'll read of a tragedy involving a child. They might fall out of a fifty story window or have a car run over them by a grandpa while playing in the yard. It's a sad a part of our lives but with the twenty-four hour news cycle and the millions of people populating the world crap happens.
And, naturally, this brought back memories of the shenanigans I did in my life which made me wonder: How in God's name did I survive to the ripe old age of sixty-nine? I should have died ten times over, mostly due to my inexperience and stupidity. In other words, I was your normal kid.
I don't remember an event from 1949 but my parents related it to me later on. We lived on fourth street in Boone, Iowa. Okay, I'll blame this one on my mom and dad because of their irresponsibility. Fourth street also happened to be called Highway 30 which was also know as the Lincoln Highway. Today it would be called Interstate 80. Highway 30 ran from New York City to Los Angeles. Can you imagine the traffic? I was in our car, by myself, which was parked in our driveway. Somehow, I released the brake and our 1948 green Studebaker rolled out onto the Lincoln Highway missing by inches the semi rolling down the street. Whew!
Don't ask me how, but when I was four, I found a can of gasoline along with a box of matches and proceeded to light a fire on the side of our garage. As Houdini might say, "He did it with mirrors".
When I was six we moved in with my grandfather on the north side of town. He lived on the corner of 11th and Green street in a gray shingle home he built in 1911. I always thought it was haunted. It was impossible to commit a sin in that home. Every wall was covered with holy pictures and not one but two crucifixes.
If I needed night crawlers to go fishing I didn't have to leave at night. The basement floor was composed of Iowa loam.
Anyway, on a July day in 1951 the City tarred Green Street on the west side of the house. Never seeing tar before I didn't realize its chemical composition. Since I needed to go to the neighborhood grocery story to buy baseball cards I took off across the tarred road. Halfway there I realized I was in my socks and my shoes were left behind. I wonder who got them.
One of my grandsons received five stitches on his chin last week. I called him to cheer him up but he was so embarrassed he didn't want to talk about how the 'accident' happened. I know how it occurred. He was goofing off. How else does a kid get hurt?
Since I just heard from my Milwaukee cousin I should relate our story together. I think the year was 1967 but it makes no difference. I pulled out of a gas station onto Howell Ave. In those days there was no such thing as a seat belt. My cousin was nine years old and seated on the passenger side but his door was not shut. As I peeled onto the street he went flying out onto Howell sliding across the busiest street in Milwaukee. He slid about twenty feet on the pavement then jumped up and got back in the car. I've never see a kid so calm. I drove to his house and in the course of twenty minutes drank a case of beer without taking a breath.
If someone shaved my head they would see so many scars it would look like a road map to nowhere. I wore these marks on my skull as a badge of honor. One day my neighbor, Jeff Johnson and I, decided to build a tree house in our mulberry tree. Forget we had no idea how it was going to get done. All we knew it was going to happen. Jeffy climbed up first carrying a brick and a large crowbar. I told him to drop the crowbar but he let go of both and they hit home at the same time. The Boone County Hospital knew me so well I had my own private room. They always kept a doctor on call knowing I'd be back.
One very wonderful aspect of being a kid was when a new home was built in the neighborhood. In would come a bulldozer and the basement would be dug out. Kids from all around immediately flocked to the site like buzzards to a carcass. Then the fun began. We'd choose up sides and play war.
Our weapons were dirt clods and rocks. It was a recipe to visit Boone County but we relished the challenge of defeating those rotten Nazis and Japs. Ah! Those were the days. The war ended in 1945 but we were still taking names and kicking ass in 1954.
It was another July, this time in 1956. My buddy, Dick Musser and I decided to play 'Cave'. We crawled into the truck of my dad's 1956 Pontiac on this 100 degree day and shut the truck door. How cool was that? Not very actually especially when we couldn't breathe. Panic set in and we started screaming and kicking not knowing that the back seat, if given a monstrous shove, could be pushed out. Lucky for us one of our feet, or both, found it's way to safety. Who knows what would have happened. That's why refrigerator companies finally put release latches on the inside. Once again, MJ survived a disastrous demise.
I wrote this piece in response to a recent proclamation from the Boy Scouts of America. They have now said scouts will no longer be able to use water guns and water balloons while in their care. What an embarrassment to anyone who participated, from Tenderfoot to Eagle.
I recall my Boy Scout days. We'd have overnights at the Ledges State Park five miles south of town. Our group would build a campfire, eat horrid hot dogs and open a can of Campbell's Pork and Beans. We'd try and catch a couple hours of sleep in our bags then wake up and with BB guns in hand pick sides and have a real war, winner take all. How sad I feel for kids today. They're restricted by bike riding boundaries. Heck, out parents let us out of the house in the morning with one admonition, "Be home by dinner or you'll hear about it from you Dad". Those sure were good times.
As I wrote to some of my closest friends, love him or hate him, the legendary basketball coach, Bob Knight stated, " The demise of America will come about because of political correctness". No one has ever been more correct.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
LA Approves $15 minimum wage
In the big scheme of life an increase from $7.25 to $15 per hour doesn't seem like such a big deal. After all, the Clinton's earned $30 million in the last year for talking. Bill received $165 large for speaking to a group via a satellite hook up. Whatever the market will bear, I say. Go for it unless there's a quid pro quo but that wouldn't be the case with the Clinton's. Would it?
It's sort of like Obama getting elected then blaming him for being inept instead of the people who put him in office.
The minimum wager earners, all 800,000 in Los Angeles, got an extra candy cane in their socks a few days ago with an increase in pay that was more than doubled.
There are some unseen ramifications, though. These workers will unionize meaning they can kiss a good deal of their extra gift good-bye. The positive is they'll receive a shirt with SEIU printed on the backside(which they'll be required to pay out of their union dues).
It is now estimated the price of a hamburger will jump .50 cents per. Some will continue to purchase and others won't. This kind of torques me off because, and this is a rare occasion, I'll stop off at McDonald's or Wendy's and buy two junior sandwiches at a buck apiece. By the way, the next time you stop in one of these fast food places you'll notice that the pricey items are printed in big bold letters. The inexpensive ones(aka less costly) will require a magnifying glass to find. I think they're trying to tell you something.
I haven't seen this in person but I've read that the cash registers have pictures on them instead of numbers. For instance, if you order a chicken sandwich the trained and highly educated employee will press a picture of a chicken. For a burger it's a cow and so on.
Always, after getting your change, count it. I once took the time to teach a young man how to count change. It's a lost art. Most often I'll receive my change, bills included, glommed together in one lump sum like you'd hand someone a clump of dirt. Then I expect to hear, "Now kid, be on your way".
When I place an order I always ask for these condiments: catsup, mustard, pickles, onions. This is standard fare so I expect it that way. How many thousand of times I have taken my bag to my car, opened the sandwich only to spy a dry burger with lettuce and tomatoes? I think they do this just to irritate the hell out of me. Mission accomplished.
The third worst place to buy fast food is in a small town in the South. It's like going back in time to a mountain town in Croatia. Most likely it's my fault because I speak Midwestern and they speak a combination of Hatfield and McCoy with a bit of Cajun thrown in for effect.
The second worst place is in the inner city. It's become a habit for me to slide in the door and work my way to counter with my back to the wall.
The first worst place to purchase fast food is where the help is absolutely 100% ignorant and ill-mannered. And the bulk of these are the ones who are getting that $15 minimum wage increase.
It's sort of like Obama getting elected then blaming him for being inept instead of the people who put him in office.
The minimum wager earners, all 800,000 in Los Angeles, got an extra candy cane in their socks a few days ago with an increase in pay that was more than doubled.
There are some unseen ramifications, though. These workers will unionize meaning they can kiss a good deal of their extra gift good-bye. The positive is they'll receive a shirt with SEIU printed on the backside(which they'll be required to pay out of their union dues).
It is now estimated the price of a hamburger will jump .50 cents per. Some will continue to purchase and others won't. This kind of torques me off because, and this is a rare occasion, I'll stop off at McDonald's or Wendy's and buy two junior sandwiches at a buck apiece. By the way, the next time you stop in one of these fast food places you'll notice that the pricey items are printed in big bold letters. The inexpensive ones(aka less costly) will require a magnifying glass to find. I think they're trying to tell you something.
I haven't seen this in person but I've read that the cash registers have pictures on them instead of numbers. For instance, if you order a chicken sandwich the trained and highly educated employee will press a picture of a chicken. For a burger it's a cow and so on.
Always, after getting your change, count it. I once took the time to teach a young man how to count change. It's a lost art. Most often I'll receive my change, bills included, glommed together in one lump sum like you'd hand someone a clump of dirt. Then I expect to hear, "Now kid, be on your way".
When I place an order I always ask for these condiments: catsup, mustard, pickles, onions. This is standard fare so I expect it that way. How many thousand of times I have taken my bag to my car, opened the sandwich only to spy a dry burger with lettuce and tomatoes? I think they do this just to irritate the hell out of me. Mission accomplished.
The third worst place to buy fast food is in a small town in the South. It's like going back in time to a mountain town in Croatia. Most likely it's my fault because I speak Midwestern and they speak a combination of Hatfield and McCoy with a bit of Cajun thrown in for effect.
The second worst place is in the inner city. It's become a habit for me to slide in the door and work my way to counter with my back to the wall.
The first worst place to purchase fast food is where the help is absolutely 100% ignorant and ill-mannered. And the bulk of these are the ones who are getting that $15 minimum wage increase.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
On Being A Connoisseur Of Fine Food
Now that I'm a quasi bachelor life has offered me opportunities few men can realize. The wife is off gallivanting around the Midwest doing whatever 68 year olds do. I've the run of the house, Dublin and Columbus, Ohio.
If I happened to be a millionaire life would be good. As it is, I'm a cheap skate about certain products, one being food. I'd eat dirt if it went well with ketchup. I grew up poor. As a kid we might have toast covered with Karo syrup for dinner and like it. I always went for the white kind; sometimes asked for seconds. For dessert we'd eat popcorn.
My spouse is the all-time greatest cook of the 20th and 21st centuries. Many are the times I've read and reread her recipes so that in circumstances like the one I'm in now I'll still be feasting on fine delicacies.
In the past week I've eaten not once, but twice, roast turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy and a side plate of spring peas. It's what we Iowans call comfort food and those are my favorites.
In addition, I've cooked Salisbury steak with the trimmings, chicken fried steak and roast beef. All magnificent.
In order for a quasi bachelor to become a gourmet it is necessary to start with the proper cooking utensils. In my case it's called a microwave. This tiny box just might rank only behind the automobile as the greatest invention ever created, especially for men.
Let us all refer back to my previous mention of foods I've prepared. Do you know one can go to Kroger's and buy a Banquet meal in a box with all these foodstuffs for only one lousy dollar? Yessiree Bob,(My apologies to Gabby Hayes) a complete turkey meal costs that little.
This begs the question: what goes into this stuff? People will go to fine, and not so fine, restaurants and spend ten or twelve dollars on such a meal.
I've chowed down on an 8 oz. Salisbury steak. I have to assume this piece of meat came from a cow don't I? Or, did it come from a bovine that had been lying around the rendering plant for a week?
As for the turkey, was it a turkey breast or was it made from it's feet, toenails included?
Peas are peas and corn is corn, huh? It's difficult to screw the consumer on these, maybe. The potatoes could have been left over from the Irish Famine of 1848 but they still taste like real spuds to me so not a problem.
Besides, the less I spend on food the more I can spend on more important items, like the new golf putter I purchased yesterday.
I am---the man!
If I happened to be a millionaire life would be good. As it is, I'm a cheap skate about certain products, one being food. I'd eat dirt if it went well with ketchup. I grew up poor. As a kid we might have toast covered with Karo syrup for dinner and like it. I always went for the white kind; sometimes asked for seconds. For dessert we'd eat popcorn.
My spouse is the all-time greatest cook of the 20th and 21st centuries. Many are the times I've read and reread her recipes so that in circumstances like the one I'm in now I'll still be feasting on fine delicacies.
In the past week I've eaten not once, but twice, roast turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy and a side plate of spring peas. It's what we Iowans call comfort food and those are my favorites.
In addition, I've cooked Salisbury steak with the trimmings, chicken fried steak and roast beef. All magnificent.
In order for a quasi bachelor to become a gourmet it is necessary to start with the proper cooking utensils. In my case it's called a microwave. This tiny box just might rank only behind the automobile as the greatest invention ever created, especially for men.
Let us all refer back to my previous mention of foods I've prepared. Do you know one can go to Kroger's and buy a Banquet meal in a box with all these foodstuffs for only one lousy dollar? Yessiree Bob,(My apologies to Gabby Hayes) a complete turkey meal costs that little.
This begs the question: what goes into this stuff? People will go to fine, and not so fine, restaurants and spend ten or twelve dollars on such a meal.
I've chowed down on an 8 oz. Salisbury steak. I have to assume this piece of meat came from a cow don't I? Or, did it come from a bovine that had been lying around the rendering plant for a week?
As for the turkey, was it a turkey breast or was it made from it's feet, toenails included?
Peas are peas and corn is corn, huh? It's difficult to screw the consumer on these, maybe. The potatoes could have been left over from the Irish Famine of 1848 but they still taste like real spuds to me so not a problem.
Besides, the less I spend on food the more I can spend on more important items, like the new golf putter I purchased yesterday.
I am---the man!
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