Sometimes, I think that writing here is a hopeless, helpless, unnecessary task… This is mostly due to the folks who attempt to leave comments on this hallowed space to advertise products and services. Needless to say, I am an asshole, and any such crass advertisements, even if they come with a “love your blog!!!” will not be published. My heart is hardened, yes sir! However, (very) occasionally (in fact, only twice), I receive comments that I post without reservation or editing. I do this because they are actually referencing anything I’ve said in a post. As much as I may seem merely a judgmental jackhole, I really do need to know I’m loved. Or hated. Or an enviable mixture of both. Love/hate me, repeatedly, textually… Just don’t be indifferent!!!
Anyway, now that my shameless internet-wide plea for comments is done, you should know that this man, the ever-hot, the freakishly talented, and recently published, is still on the road, getting high on the love of others… And perhaps on meningitis, as well, as is pointed out in his most recent blog post… Y’all (yes, YOU, my non-fictitious readers,) need to get his books (see the links on the website,) immediately, read his blog in its’ entirety, and fall in love, too. The fact that he was Orpheus’ pen-pal before I’d ever heard of him only makes me like O. a little more… In addition to making me freakishly jealous. ;-) Read his stuff. You won’t be sorry.
Today itself sucks. It is very slow, sales are awful, and I can’t force myself to dial out. I was always told when younger that I could do whatever I wanted to do, and that I’d be great at anything, and important/powerful/charismatic to boot… What everyone forgot to tell me was that it takes a long time to get there, and you have to bow, scrape, nod yes incessantly re: stupid ideas, and generally suck a lot of dick before you actually get to make any dumb choices of your own. Also, that this humbling package comes with a lot of pointless shit-work you couldn’t give a fig about if you tried. Kindness to children is the dumbest thing ever. I say let the little bastards see reality for what it is. A horrifying fuck-fest of douche-baggery! Neither adolescence nor the first decade of office work would be so horrible. It’s easier to get through a thing if you know what’s coming, after all. Alternately, cold reality could end up scaring more kids into the useful sciences and engineering school instead of pointless liberal arts programs nationwide! I may not have been any happier as an engineer than I am now, but I’d sure as hell be a lot wealthier.
Hopefully, Orpheus feels good, tonight, as I’m about to vibrate out of my skin. I want to be snuggled, cuddled, and fucked into submission. Is that such an awful thing? He told me this morning, while sluggishly casting about my clothing-carpeted room for my errant glasses, that he felt pretty darned good. Hopefully that translates to a meeting of the genitalia tonight. While I don’t want to sound sex-crazed, it’s fairly certain that I am, and when I have a lot of a good thing just lying there ripe, the natural conclusion is to take a bite. Fortunately, O. seems to be changing ripe odor for ripe’n’ready now that he feels more human. Mmm… Firm and juicy.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Sore-throat Meh...
I lost my debit card on Memorial Day. I’m still sick. I want to have my debit card back instantly, not be sick, and have candy for my trouble. I find this attitude, while infantile, to be immensely self-satisfying, and am therefore sticking to it. I also wish death and destruction on my enemies, including (but not limited to,) phone-girl at the credit union, who tried to argue with me regarding the virtues of meaningless security questions that I was never asked to enter answers for in the first place to access my account via the web branch. This is all part and parcel with today, which rather sucks.
Yesterday, though it started out sucky, ended pretty well. Despite being rather cross with me on the phone during the day, Orpheus was kind and gentle last night. Though still sick himself, he spent a lot of naked cuddly-time (though not naked sexy-time… Grrr,) with me, and we went for a walk during which he purchased gelato, and I saw an ugly ex and got to smirk a lot while showing off my hot “new” boyfriend to many eye-rolls and scowls. ‘New’, of course, is a relative term where ugly x is concerned… Let’s just say it’s been a long while. And he’s gained a lot of weight. Ha! In any case, O. also got a book for me to read out of his work-locker, since I’ve finally finished 'Swish: My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever' by this guy, who is probably the funniest, most insightful (not to mention hottest,) fey personal essayist I’ve ever read. Also better than the straight ones, to be clear.
The new book is 'The Guerrilla Girls’ Bedside Companion to the History of Western Art'. Though it’s kind of meant to be a fun-time romp, and it does make quite a few pertinent points, it’s not exactly spot-on history-wise, and is hopelessly “radical” in viewpoint. The best thing I can say for it is that it presents neat facts through fun and occasionally shocking graphic design, co-opting the visuo-political language of the group’s member artists. The worst thing to be said is that it frequently pisses me off with un-informed BS like “If Roman MEN had done textile work, then would the Louvre be full of silk undies instead of Kraters?” The answer, in case you were wondering, is NO. Purpose-built textiles don’t tend to last that long, dufus… Every blanket, after all, ISN’T the Bayeaux Tapestry, no matter how much Europeans are currently paying for Amish-made quilts. Said artifacts, while quite beautiful, complex, and skillfully made, still have to be cheap enough to use. And if by some miracle Roman fabric did survive, you couldn’t put 2,000-year-old binkies under display lights, anyway (let alone silk underpants). I’ll lay dollars to donuts that there are whole books, in fact, on textile art AS DEPICTED on pottery, etc… It’s just that nobody but archaeologists ever wants to read said tomes of forgotten lore, because they’re too involved and/or posses the power to tranquilize the uninitiated on sight.
Speaking of tranquility, the doctor prescribed more Tussionex, and despite the fact that it is, in fact, evil, I’m at least getting great sleep. Orpheus refuses to use the stuff on principal, which is too bad. He might be getting better sleep if he would take it, thus being less cranky, and possibly putting out more, though sick. In the style of my new favorite essayist (see above,) I’d have to say that boinking with Orpheus makes me feel cared for and loved. Since there really hasn’t been anything but masturbatory play since we’ve been sick, this means I feel most vulnerable and freaky right now. Therefore, we have to GET WELL so that I can get my freak on, or I’m likely to explode soon. Wish me well.
Yesterday, though it started out sucky, ended pretty well. Despite being rather cross with me on the phone during the day, Orpheus was kind and gentle last night. Though still sick himself, he spent a lot of naked cuddly-time (though not naked sexy-time… Grrr,) with me, and we went for a walk during which he purchased gelato, and I saw an ugly ex and got to smirk a lot while showing off my hot “new” boyfriend to many eye-rolls and scowls. ‘New’, of course, is a relative term where ugly x is concerned… Let’s just say it’s been a long while. And he’s gained a lot of weight. Ha! In any case, O. also got a book for me to read out of his work-locker, since I’ve finally finished 'Swish: My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever' by this guy, who is probably the funniest, most insightful (not to mention hottest,) fey personal essayist I’ve ever read. Also better than the straight ones, to be clear.
The new book is 'The Guerrilla Girls’ Bedside Companion to the History of Western Art'. Though it’s kind of meant to be a fun-time romp, and it does make quite a few pertinent points, it’s not exactly spot-on history-wise, and is hopelessly “radical” in viewpoint. The best thing I can say for it is that it presents neat facts through fun and occasionally shocking graphic design, co-opting the visuo-political language of the group’s member artists. The worst thing to be said is that it frequently pisses me off with un-informed BS like “If Roman MEN had done textile work, then would the Louvre be full of silk undies instead of Kraters?” The answer, in case you were wondering, is NO. Purpose-built textiles don’t tend to last that long, dufus… Every blanket, after all, ISN’T the Bayeaux Tapestry, no matter how much Europeans are currently paying for Amish-made quilts. Said artifacts, while quite beautiful, complex, and skillfully made, still have to be cheap enough to use. And if by some miracle Roman fabric did survive, you couldn’t put 2,000-year-old binkies under display lights, anyway (let alone silk underpants). I’ll lay dollars to donuts that there are whole books, in fact, on textile art AS DEPICTED on pottery, etc… It’s just that nobody but archaeologists ever wants to read said tomes of forgotten lore, because they’re too involved and/or posses the power to tranquilize the uninitiated on sight.
Speaking of tranquility, the doctor prescribed more Tussionex, and despite the fact that it is, in fact, evil, I’m at least getting great sleep. Orpheus refuses to use the stuff on principal, which is too bad. He might be getting better sleep if he would take it, thus being less cranky, and possibly putting out more, though sick. In the style of my new favorite essayist (see above,) I’d have to say that boinking with Orpheus makes me feel cared for and loved. Since there really hasn’t been anything but masturbatory play since we’ve been sick, this means I feel most vulnerable and freaky right now. Therefore, we have to GET WELL so that I can get my freak on, or I’m likely to explode soon. Wish me well.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Headline: Never-ending Weekend OVER!!!
Orpheus and I kind of bottomed out this weekend. There was, granted, a great deal of cooking, and we actually were out of the apartment quite a bit, but both of us were (and are still,) fairly miserable with that horrid virus I updated y’all on yesterday. The upsurge of the story, though, is that we’ve actually slept enough this weekend to kind of catch up to ourselves, so perhaps we’ll have a good week coming up.
Yesterday, we actually got quite a bit done. I posted early, as O. was abed and incapable of rising until noon, which suited me fine. Did a little reading, a little cleaning, a little cooking… Then we picked up Chemie (Orpheus’ middle sister,) and went to Brat Fest for a scant half-hour. It was terrible. The world’s biggest brat fest, and it was, as expected, populated mostly by fannie-pack-wearing, fat-assed trailer trash. Plus, this year there was a moving carnival as part of the attraction… The entire fiasco was horrifying. We high-tailed it after a quick walk-about, and hit Target and Copps for Chemie’s sake (she doesn’t have a car). We also had a brief layover at Old Navy, where I got the most unlikely combination of shirt and shorts for the equivalent of a song. Usually, they wouldn’t work… Loud electric blue shorts with a green and orange plaid, with a white vertically striped shirt in blue and green… Of course, the colors match. As Terra Firma put it, she saw me coming and thought “ouch! Plaids and lines… Oooh, he rocks it!” Gay trendy grandpa, indeed…
I also, while O. slept the sleep of the exhausted consumer post-trip, cooked my famed ratatouille from scratch last night, accompanied by a nicely (and simply) marinated mahi-mahi, sautéed in butter with shallots, and dressed with a nice pan-sauce made with quickly reduced voignier. Next time, to make the fish more closely match the side, I’ll put a little fennel in the marinade. I think that will tie things together quite nicely. We also did a lovely improvised trifle for dessert, as there were some lovely strawberries on super-sale at Copps! It was low-fat vanilla yoghurt, whipped, a layer of fruit, more whipped yoghurt, then whipped cream. Yummy!
The one area that I wish were doing better in is the sex area. Big surprise, I know. Orpheus isn’t constantly ill, or asthmatic, or impaired by his allergies to everything natural on the planet, so he just doesn’t get suffering. He’s probably, if anything, doing better than I am in terms of the progression of the virus, and I’m the one stuck doing all the heavy lifting. This means, of course, that he’s even more sluggish than usual in his need for the nasty… Not that he’s a slug on that count… He generally wants it at least three to five times a week, himself. I just want it several times, every day. I drop to wanting it once a day when I’m feeling really low, but he drops to not wanting to do it at all, and can’t even force himself to perform due to guilt. It’s a very sad situation, and it’s driving me up a wall, sideways. I’ll just have to over-medicate and sleep the sleep of the dead. Wouldn’t be the first time! ;-)
Yesterday, we actually got quite a bit done. I posted early, as O. was abed and incapable of rising until noon, which suited me fine. Did a little reading, a little cleaning, a little cooking… Then we picked up Chemie (Orpheus’ middle sister,) and went to Brat Fest for a scant half-hour. It was terrible. The world’s biggest brat fest, and it was, as expected, populated mostly by fannie-pack-wearing, fat-assed trailer trash. Plus, this year there was a moving carnival as part of the attraction… The entire fiasco was horrifying. We high-tailed it after a quick walk-about, and hit Target and Copps for Chemie’s sake (she doesn’t have a car). We also had a brief layover at Old Navy, where I got the most unlikely combination of shirt and shorts for the equivalent of a song. Usually, they wouldn’t work… Loud electric blue shorts with a green and orange plaid, with a white vertically striped shirt in blue and green… Of course, the colors match. As Terra Firma put it, she saw me coming and thought “ouch! Plaids and lines… Oooh, he rocks it!” Gay trendy grandpa, indeed…
I also, while O. slept the sleep of the exhausted consumer post-trip, cooked my famed ratatouille from scratch last night, accompanied by a nicely (and simply) marinated mahi-mahi, sautéed in butter with shallots, and dressed with a nice pan-sauce made with quickly reduced voignier. Next time, to make the fish more closely match the side, I’ll put a little fennel in the marinade. I think that will tie things together quite nicely. We also did a lovely improvised trifle for dessert, as there were some lovely strawberries on super-sale at Copps! It was low-fat vanilla yoghurt, whipped, a layer of fruit, more whipped yoghurt, then whipped cream. Yummy!
The one area that I wish were doing better in is the sex area. Big surprise, I know. Orpheus isn’t constantly ill, or asthmatic, or impaired by his allergies to everything natural on the planet, so he just doesn’t get suffering. He’s probably, if anything, doing better than I am in terms of the progression of the virus, and I’m the one stuck doing all the heavy lifting. This means, of course, that he’s even more sluggish than usual in his need for the nasty… Not that he’s a slug on that count… He generally wants it at least three to five times a week, himself. I just want it several times, every day. I drop to wanting it once a day when I’m feeling really low, but he drops to not wanting to do it at all, and can’t even force himself to perform due to guilt. It’s a very sad situation, and it’s driving me up a wall, sideways. I’ll just have to over-medicate and sleep the sleep of the dead. Wouldn’t be the first time! ;-)
Monday, May 26, 2008
KNIFE!!!
It came on Thursday. Needless to say, even though I missed the UPS delivery, I picked it up after the trucks came back that same night... And cooked with it while Orpheus was at play practice. Yes, I made a roast vegetable salad that was to die for. Basically, this thing is ground about as thin as my santoku, and has approximately the same edge angle... And anything that I ever heard about polished edges being inferior was hooey... At least, while cutting veggies. Oddly, chicken doesn't seem to like the polished edge so much, especially not near the tip. But all cuts are cleaner with this knife, and I find myself easily able to be super-lazy with it, too... I can use it at almost any point on the blade, and the overall thinness makes even mincing possible in the lower half! Yakuza-schooled German, indeed.
On Friday, I went to the doctor, because I've been feeling quite under the weather for the last week, and the fact that O. was starting to feel the same way clued me in to the fact that it isn't just allergies. Long story short, I have some sort of horrid virus that is making people miserable. As an asthmatic allergy sufferer, I tend to catch anything that comes my way during peak pollen season, so here we are! And Orpheus, poor dear, shares a bed with me most of the time, so he got it, too. The doctor gave me an antibiotic course to take "if I started to feel worse." Imagine! Just giving away anti-biotics! Unfortunately, he also felt a lump near my thyroid. He said not to worry... A test has been ordered and scheduled, some sort of ultra-sound. Dr. K. also said that, if it's anything bad, it's so early that there won't be any problems. Additionally, since I'm sick as a junkyard dog, it could just be a swollen lymph node poking its' way past the thyroid. Therefore am I not lying awake at night, hyperventilating at the ceiling.
One more day off this weekend, thank god... O. and I will sneeze and cough and hack our way through, and try to have fun. Wish us well!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
It slices, it dices… Mmmm… A cutting edge…
I’ve said it before. I will likely say it again. I have a major problem with things that slice, things that dice. Things called knives. I can’t stop buying them. And now, I have another on the way. It’s the first I’ve ever bought online, without feeling the heft, first. It’s another Wusthof, and it’s my first “professional-quality” piece of cutlery. It’s a 23 cm. Wusthof Le Cordon Bleu Chef’s knife. Thin like Japanese blades, but with slightly more heft than most such dragon-esque gyutos of hard-sharpened fame. Drop-forged steel near the length of a short-sword. 17 degree polished bevel, whippy like Harry Potter’s wand, and sharper than DM’s math skills. Oh, yeah, baby… It’s fuckin’ ON. Sweat starch, potatoes… Fall into julienne, carrots! Turn to dice like Chessex d6, tofu! That’s right, there’s a new German enforcer on the cutting block, and he’s a Japanese-speaking badass who was totally schooled by Yakuza.
I am SUCH a pathetic loser.
The nice thing is, this knife is on wicked-clearance. Discontinued on the US market in favor of the IKON Classic line, of which I own three particularly fine specimens, this is the less-pretty but performance-for-the-professional-kitchen line developed for use at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. It started at a whopping $205.00, and I got it for $75, no tax, free shipping. I keep expecting to get a phone call telling me I’m under arrest for the steal of the century. THANK GOD FOR CLEARANCE SALES!!! Also, because of the wicked-cheap prices, I’m considering buying a three-knife set for my friend S. whose bridal party I will be part of come July. Along with a sharpener and steel, it’ll be the kind of wedding present one can pass on, still very much functional, to one’s firstborn in 25 years when moving on to the new battery-powered super-sonic de-pinkifier of the future. It’s the gift that keeps on giving, man!
On a totally unrelated note, working in the safety industry carries certain threats for the practicing pouf. For instance, one has to grin and bear it when it occurs that the signs you’re hocking to a customer, “DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE” need only a second repetition of “danger” before all you can think of is a retro pastiche involving sexy construction workers. Plus, the humor is more gallows-savvy than at a poppers-scented bare-backing halfway house. If only I hated it a little less! There are definite comic possibilities afoot, but nobody sees the irony except yours truly. Imagine the sad little monkey, clickety-claking at his computer! Yes, that sad little monkey knows for whom the keys clack… They clack for me.
Pray, mes bonne enfants! Pray for the immortal soul of safety monkey me, with my German kitchen knife fetish, through a dark wood, wanderin’.
I am SUCH a pathetic loser.
The nice thing is, this knife is on wicked-clearance. Discontinued on the US market in favor of the IKON Classic line, of which I own three particularly fine specimens, this is the less-pretty but performance-for-the-professional-kitchen line developed for use at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. It started at a whopping $205.00, and I got it for $75, no tax, free shipping. I keep expecting to get a phone call telling me I’m under arrest for the steal of the century. THANK GOD FOR CLEARANCE SALES!!! Also, because of the wicked-cheap prices, I’m considering buying a three-knife set for my friend S. whose bridal party I will be part of come July. Along with a sharpener and steel, it’ll be the kind of wedding present one can pass on, still very much functional, to one’s firstborn in 25 years when moving on to the new battery-powered super-sonic de-pinkifier of the future. It’s the gift that keeps on giving, man!
On a totally unrelated note, working in the safety industry carries certain threats for the practicing pouf. For instance, one has to grin and bear it when it occurs that the signs you’re hocking to a customer, “DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE” need only a second repetition of “danger” before all you can think of is a retro pastiche involving sexy construction workers. Plus, the humor is more gallows-savvy than at a poppers-scented bare-backing halfway house. If only I hated it a little less! There are definite comic possibilities afoot, but nobody sees the irony except yours truly. Imagine the sad little monkey, clickety-claking at his computer! Yes, that sad little monkey knows for whom the keys clack… They clack for me.
Pray, mes bonne enfants! Pray for the immortal soul of safety monkey me, with my German kitchen knife fetish, through a dark wood, wanderin’.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
A Week of Solitute (Eat it, Gabriel)...
Update... I am a tool. I have ignored my (possibly non-extant,) audience for near a week. Worse, there's been so much to talk about! So, we'll start at the very beginning... Last Friday at Bulgaria's. Following is the post I was writing on Monday... Then on Tuesday... And finally gave up on sometime around Wednesday. Afterwards, I'll continue with the saga that is THIS WEEK IN THE LIFE OF AEFFCHEN!!!
The weekend started off well. Decent sales day on Friday, got off work, then went to a quick “take my crap—please!” party thrown by a coworker. This is the coworker who, upon the occasion of our first departmental after-work booze up a couple months back, had a few, then told me that she loved me. Not in the creepy way, but in the “you're a dear” kind of way. In any case, it was kinda fun. I took Orpheus along, and we had a lot of free beer and hotdogs, as well as taking a good deal of the free crap which was, after everything, the reason for the party in the first place. Then, it was over to Bulgaria's for a belated birthday dinner, where B. dropped a pretty big bomb...
Well, it was actually his boyfriend who dropped that Bulgaria is, essentially, being deported within the next couple months. He went from being a full-time doctoral student at the university to a full-time worker... His new department was supposed to handle the visa change, but there was a bureaucratic fuck-up, causing his status to lapse before changeover. When Legal was approached to fix their own problem, the lawyers told him to find his own representation. Bulgaria doesn't have an estimated $20K lying around to mount an effective stay and reversal of his situation. I have to admit, it was difficult to hear this at a dinner thrown for my birthday, and keep a stiff upper lip. I love B. like a sibling, and he may not be able to come back to the US for 10 years after being deported. The dark-humor side of things is, since he's applying for scientific actuary-type jobs (whatever those are,) in Western Europe, I have a perfect excuse to jet to the continent once a year and stay for free.
Orpheus was very supportive afterwards, but we somehow missed having sex for the rest of the weekend. This meant I was worked up about Bulgaria's plight, and denied the best palliative for such upsetting news. Fortunately, O. stayed at my place Sunday night, so after work on Monday, he pounded me mercifully... I mean, mercilessly.
Tuesday was more-or-less unremarkable, as O. and I spent it apart. On Wednesday night, I attempted Porco (p)Roso once more for my friend Leo (He who annoys Orpheus to no end), who'll be moving away, himself, come the end of the summer. L., though, will be going to grad school as opposed to a government-imposed exile lasting a decade. I made a beautiful cream of roasted asparagus and leek soup, low-fat, believe it or not, and a gorgeous, super-tasty bruschetta. There was also a roasted veggie salad consisting of potatoes, leek, asparagus, tomato and sliced pickled beets, tossed with a little grape seed oil and Spanish sherry vinegar. The pork, once more, was ever so slightly overcooked. I'll have to do more experimentation. It was nice to talk to Leo, as he's been so busy in the last year or so. He was definitely involved in keeping me sane through my divorce, and to let him leave without spending at least a little time with him would be awful.
Thursday I spent waiting for O. to get off work. He was there until about 11 PM, so I just laid around his apartment for most of the night, took a big nap, and was generally bored. We did snuggle, though. Friday, last night, after a very long day at work, I had to wait for him again. However, Basso's second to last show with a non-traditional company of sorts was on, so I went to that for a change. It was quite good, considering! Afterwards, my allergies had me gasping for air. Naturally, every downtown pharmacy was closed, so I just drank, and went to bed with O. Now, I've just been to the farmer's market, and bought a great deal of shit. Yum!
The weekend started off well. Decent sales day on Friday, got off work, then went to a quick “take my crap—please!” party thrown by a coworker. This is the coworker who, upon the occasion of our first departmental after-work booze up a couple months back, had a few, then told me that she loved me. Not in the creepy way, but in the “you're a dear” kind of way. In any case, it was kinda fun. I took Orpheus along, and we had a lot of free beer and hotdogs, as well as taking a good deal of the free crap which was, after everything, the reason for the party in the first place. Then, it was over to Bulgaria's for a belated birthday dinner, where B. dropped a pretty big bomb...
Well, it was actually his boyfriend who dropped that Bulgaria is, essentially, being deported within the next couple months. He went from being a full-time doctoral student at the university to a full-time worker... His new department was supposed to handle the visa change, but there was a bureaucratic fuck-up, causing his status to lapse before changeover. When Legal was approached to fix their own problem, the lawyers told him to find his own representation. Bulgaria doesn't have an estimated $20K lying around to mount an effective stay and reversal of his situation. I have to admit, it was difficult to hear this at a dinner thrown for my birthday, and keep a stiff upper lip. I love B. like a sibling, and he may not be able to come back to the US for 10 years after being deported. The dark-humor side of things is, since he's applying for scientific actuary-type jobs (whatever those are,) in Western Europe, I have a perfect excuse to jet to the continent once a year and stay for free.
Orpheus was very supportive afterwards, but we somehow missed having sex for the rest of the weekend. This meant I was worked up about Bulgaria's plight, and denied the best palliative for such upsetting news. Fortunately, O. stayed at my place Sunday night, so after work on Monday, he pounded me mercifully... I mean, mercilessly.
Tuesday was more-or-less unremarkable, as O. and I spent it apart. On Wednesday night, I attempted Porco (p)Roso once more for my friend Leo (He who annoys Orpheus to no end), who'll be moving away, himself, come the end of the summer. L., though, will be going to grad school as opposed to a government-imposed exile lasting a decade. I made a beautiful cream of roasted asparagus and leek soup, low-fat, believe it or not, and a gorgeous, super-tasty bruschetta. There was also a roasted veggie salad consisting of potatoes, leek, asparagus, tomato and sliced pickled beets, tossed with a little grape seed oil and Spanish sherry vinegar. The pork, once more, was ever so slightly overcooked. I'll have to do more experimentation. It was nice to talk to Leo, as he's been so busy in the last year or so. He was definitely involved in keeping me sane through my divorce, and to let him leave without spending at least a little time with him would be awful.
Thursday I spent waiting for O. to get off work. He was there until about 11 PM, so I just laid around his apartment for most of the night, took a big nap, and was generally bored. We did snuggle, though. Friday, last night, after a very long day at work, I had to wait for him again. However, Basso's second to last show with a non-traditional company of sorts was on, so I went to that for a change. It was quite good, considering! Afterwards, my allergies had me gasping for air. Naturally, every downtown pharmacy was closed, so I just drank, and went to bed with O. Now, I've just been to the farmer's market, and bought a great deal of shit. Yum!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Assumption makes an ass out of me
So, yesterday I was working on a polemic about how all my relationships are the same, and Orpheus has as little regard for my friends as LaGrippe did, etc… I’m almost glad my formerly happy Mac was hijacked, as that’s the only reason said polemic didn’t get published was my scramble to call folks vulnerable to computer-based stupidity (Grandma, Auntie Dearest, Mom, Dad…) and tell them not to open two particular e-mails. After everything, it may have just been my e-mail that was ‘jacked, as I can’t find a record of the offending e-mail being sent from either of my computers. Anyway, the password on my e-mail has been changed without being updated in the e-mail clients I work with. That, and the more suspect computer (left on all night with a video loaded off a Chinese server… Yeah, I’m a total rube,) is spending a great deal of time offline and undergoing virus scans.
The reason for my aborted polemic was as follows… Wednesday night, O. called me downtown early. He was supposed to get off of work and take a nice, restorative nap. However, after work he had to stop quickly by the library, and saw friends of his who he hadn’t talked to in a month. They ended up getting a drink, which segued into dinner. Since I hadn’t seen them in quite awhile either, and O. realized it wouldn’t be polite to blow me off, he asked me to high-tail it downtown for a little dinner alfresco at one of our favorite bar/restaurants. During the conversation, we eventually turned to my innate dorkishness, which most of Orpheus’ friends find fascinating… You know, like a car-crash. Of course, I good-humoredly played along, making fun of myself in the kind of way that both entertains, and makes people a little guilty for being assholes in the first place. During this, though, O. interrupted, and made it clear that he wasn’t terribly fond of my friend Bulgaria.
Now, to remind you, Bulgaria is probably my best friend in town. It was he who kind of took it upon himself to make sure that I survived my divorce. He got me interested in cookery, and has just all-around been there when I needed someone to talk to, no matter what. After LaGrippe, who was perfectly clear (and hostile,) on the point that she loathed pretty much everyone I liked under my own steam, this “revelation” really shook me. I looked at slightly declining rates of copulation over time, clung to the apparent fact that O. hates everyone that I like, came to the hasty conclusion that Orpheus was beginning to correlate over time with LaGrippe, and hence, that my life was over. Fortunately, before this was put online, I talked to him about it, and it turns out that he likes Bulgaria, but only in small doses. The problem is prolonged exposure in a canned situation with limited alternate interactions… Which isn’t abject hatred, or even actual dislike, he was careful to point out. He just finds the man too… intense.
Further, O. was careful to say, he’s changed his mind about folks like BakedAlaska and QuakerNoOats recently, and is looking forward to meeting my friends from home at the wedding I’m to be in, if he can get the time off. So this, I guess, is kind of a lesson to me. DON’T JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS!!! Especially when stressed about other things, take time, and talk first. I keep forgetting that Orpheus and I are past the part of the relationship where he bristles when I ask him about his feelings. This little monkey would do well to remember such blessed things in the future. Oh, yeah… And guess what’s on the menu, tonight? A belated birthday dinner with Bulgaria and his boyfriend. Meh!
The reason for my aborted polemic was as follows… Wednesday night, O. called me downtown early. He was supposed to get off of work and take a nice, restorative nap. However, after work he had to stop quickly by the library, and saw friends of his who he hadn’t talked to in a month. They ended up getting a drink, which segued into dinner. Since I hadn’t seen them in quite awhile either, and O. realized it wouldn’t be polite to blow me off, he asked me to high-tail it downtown for a little dinner alfresco at one of our favorite bar/restaurants. During the conversation, we eventually turned to my innate dorkishness, which most of Orpheus’ friends find fascinating… You know, like a car-crash. Of course, I good-humoredly played along, making fun of myself in the kind of way that both entertains, and makes people a little guilty for being assholes in the first place. During this, though, O. interrupted, and made it clear that he wasn’t terribly fond of my friend Bulgaria.
Now, to remind you, Bulgaria is probably my best friend in town. It was he who kind of took it upon himself to make sure that I survived my divorce. He got me interested in cookery, and has just all-around been there when I needed someone to talk to, no matter what. After LaGrippe, who was perfectly clear (and hostile,) on the point that she loathed pretty much everyone I liked under my own steam, this “revelation” really shook me. I looked at slightly declining rates of copulation over time, clung to the apparent fact that O. hates everyone that I like, came to the hasty conclusion that Orpheus was beginning to correlate over time with LaGrippe, and hence, that my life was over. Fortunately, before this was put online, I talked to him about it, and it turns out that he likes Bulgaria, but only in small doses. The problem is prolonged exposure in a canned situation with limited alternate interactions… Which isn’t abject hatred, or even actual dislike, he was careful to point out. He just finds the man too… intense.
Further, O. was careful to say, he’s changed his mind about folks like BakedAlaska and QuakerNoOats recently, and is looking forward to meeting my friends from home at the wedding I’m to be in, if he can get the time off. So this, I guess, is kind of a lesson to me. DON’T JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS!!! Especially when stressed about other things, take time, and talk first. I keep forgetting that Orpheus and I are past the part of the relationship where he bristles when I ask him about his feelings. This little monkey would do well to remember such blessed things in the future. Oh, yeah… And guess what’s on the menu, tonight? A belated birthday dinner with Bulgaria and his boyfriend. Meh!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Virus, central...
So, I think my Mac has a virus. I fucking hate this shit. Last time I buy that "ooh, UNIX is soooo secure!" shit.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
My Head Hurts… But Not As Much As Basso’s.
Last night was off the wall. Orpheus, Basso and I met just after work for happy hour at a bar that has a very well-appointed buffet so I could say ‘hi!’ before they went to rehearsal. I went on a consumer rampage, buying an old game that I very much wanted so that when my friend Leo moves to SoCal in a couple months, I’ll still have access to it. I also bought a new set of D+D dice, and the expansion pack to the aforementioned game. Afterwards, I went to the store and got veggies for dinner, which was just leftover burgers from Monday, and a kind of zucchini/red pepper/carrot/onion stir-fry with red wine, salt and pepper. It was very good. Basso called while O. and I were eating, and asked to come over for a drink. He wanted sex, but we weren’t feeling it. However, we did all go out for queer-ass karaoke at the Shamrock.
There, I proceeded to get wicked-drunk and grope the f#*k out of Orpheus, while Basso groped both of us. It was interesting. Turns out Basso likes Cake so much, he does karaoke to it… Too bad about that, but it was fun to watch. I got screwed out of the good version of Summertime, and did the slow one. Crappy! However, I did the German version of ‘Amadeus,’ which made me quite happy. O. did some hot stuff, including a Ricky Martin number and a couple rap dillys. When we left, Basso was talking to a guy one sees online a lot, we’ll call him S. Things seemed to be going well. Orpheus and I went back to his place and wrapped up some drunken groping fairly quickly, at which point I fell asleep with earplugs in, and went completely dead to the world. Apparently, around 2 AM, Basso called my phone and asked to come over and crash. O. answered, said “cool,” and thirty minutes later, no B. A cop called using Basso’s phone a few minutes later, and asked if he could drop the poor dear off. He was found unconscious, bashed over the head. Basso had been mugged on the way over! To my great regret, I was so completely passed out, I couldn’t help make sure he was OK when the police officer dropped him off, which meant that Orpheus had to do all the worrying, clucking, and general mom-type crap.
Worse yet, I was so out of it that I didn’t know there was a third body in bed when the alarm was going off, and kept yelling at O. to hit the snooze. In fact, when I finally rousted, O. had to explain the situation slowly and clearly. I didn’t even get the fact that Basso was on the other side of Orpheus until half-way through the bit where a cop had dropped him off! So, yeah, I totally feel like a heel at this point. O. is wicked-cranky because he got so little sleep. I’d love to baby him a bit tonight, but he’s still not sure if he’ll be in any shape to do anything tonight except nap. And Basso! I texted with him a little early on in the day. He’s in one piece, which is the most important thing, but may have a bit of a complex over all this after he’s had time to process. Anyway, that’s about it for now. That and the fact that the hamster on the exercise wheel in my head seems to have run out of steam for the day.
There, I proceeded to get wicked-drunk and grope the f#*k out of Orpheus, while Basso groped both of us. It was interesting. Turns out Basso likes Cake so much, he does karaoke to it… Too bad about that, but it was fun to watch. I got screwed out of the good version of Summertime, and did the slow one. Crappy! However, I did the German version of ‘Amadeus,’ which made me quite happy. O. did some hot stuff, including a Ricky Martin number and a couple rap dillys. When we left, Basso was talking to a guy one sees online a lot, we’ll call him S. Things seemed to be going well. Orpheus and I went back to his place and wrapped up some drunken groping fairly quickly, at which point I fell asleep with earplugs in, and went completely dead to the world. Apparently, around 2 AM, Basso called my phone and asked to come over and crash. O. answered, said “cool,” and thirty minutes later, no B. A cop called using Basso’s phone a few minutes later, and asked if he could drop the poor dear off. He was found unconscious, bashed over the head. Basso had been mugged on the way over! To my great regret, I was so completely passed out, I couldn’t help make sure he was OK when the police officer dropped him off, which meant that Orpheus had to do all the worrying, clucking, and general mom-type crap.
Worse yet, I was so out of it that I didn’t know there was a third body in bed when the alarm was going off, and kept yelling at O. to hit the snooze. In fact, when I finally rousted, O. had to explain the situation slowly and clearly. I didn’t even get the fact that Basso was on the other side of Orpheus until half-way through the bit where a cop had dropped him off! So, yeah, I totally feel like a heel at this point. O. is wicked-cranky because he got so little sleep. I’d love to baby him a bit tonight, but he’s still not sure if he’ll be in any shape to do anything tonight except nap. And Basso! I texted with him a little early on in the day. He’s in one piece, which is the most important thing, but may have a bit of a complex over all this after he’s had time to process. Anyway, that’s about it for now. That and the fact that the hamster on the exercise wheel in my head seems to have run out of steam for the day.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Four things that fry my A$$...
Since nothing of any import happened last night, today is dedicated to a rant, and quite probably, my latest lurid cooking fantasies. So, without any more pretentious ado…
THINGS THAT FRY MY A$$:
1) Non-stick pans don’t really brown potatoes… Especially not sweet potatoes.
2) The sentence “oil has hit another all-time high,” when used on the evening news.
3) Being male, but on the bride’s side in a wedding.
4) Horniness as a waiting game.
And now, I shall address all of the aforementioned issues in the order that they were presented.
Non-stick pans don’t really brown potatoes… Especially not sweet potatoes. Last night, I was lazy, wanted to try out my new “eco-friendly” non-stick pan at slightly higher temperatures, and therefore decided to fry thin-sliced sweet potatoes. So, I sliced the damned thing up thin, with thick slabs of garlic and big chunks of onion. I sprayed the pan with a little grape seed oil, and cranked the heat to medium-high… well, kinda low medium-high, but still. I had to keep adding oil, which blew donkey balls, as the only time the stinkin’ potatoes would brown was when there was oil to soak off the bottom of the pan. Plus, they were still so crisp in the center, I had to boil off a little water and irish whisky from the bottom of the pan to soften them up, which meant re-browning. Grr. No more potatoes in the non-stick pan!
The sentence “oil has hit another all-time high,” when used on the evening news, sends chills up my spine… in a bad way. It’s not so much that said slogan is sensationalistic. I mean, it’s the news, so that’s a forgone conclusion. The days when reporters conveyed information for its’ own sake are long since past, a glimmer in the lazy eyes of the joyless Bahbwa Wa-wa and Walter Cronkite. No, it’s the way it’s phrased, the nuances of pronunciation utilized by the bo-toxed to within an inch of paralysis journalistic hoard that annoy me. “OIL (portentiously, all syllables given equal weight heavier than what follows) has hit (slight pause,) another (rushed, with a tone almost of annoyance,) all-time (near-Sulu-like,) high, today…” And it’s always the same. ALWAYS… Male or female, the dead-eyed, rictus-grinning mummy face, regardless of sex, uses the same manner of conveyance. And they always use it to segue into the same damned stories about third world unrest, fundamentalism, terrorism, bad corporate governance, etc. Fudging ratings-grabbers!
Being male, but on the Bride’s side in a wedding is no piece of cake. On the upside, I get to see a few very pretty girls near-naked for the better part of two days. Also, I get to wear a pink vest with my tux. All in all, pretty sexy. However, there’s also the flip-side. The flip-side on which I may or may not be forced to spend a hundred bucks at the spa the day before the wedding, and also be forced to go to the male side, missing out on the bridal dish-fest. There’s the gas it will take to get home, the price of the present, the tux rental, and taking time off work. There’s also the date of the bridal shower, which I have to get off for, as well. Plus, O. is probably not going to be able to come with me, will miss out on meeting my parents, who finally OK’d him staying at the house if he can come, etc. This makes me cranky, because, though the couple is very progressive and could give a fig for sexuality, their families aren’t as forgiving, and I’m walking down the aisle with another boy. Meh. Though, how I think ANOTHER limp-wristed male is going to help the situation, I don’t know. Good thing I love the bride like a sister.
Horniness as a waiting game sucks. Orpheus worked ueber-late last night, then was supposed to go to a rehearsal for the play he got into. This meant I didn’t get to see him. Boo! Also, he has a rehearsal tonight. So I’m going downtown after work, we’re eating hurriedly, and then he’s leaving again. When he gets back, I’m going to be naked as a jay-bird and frothing at the mouth. If he’s not clean, god help my digestive tract, ‘cause as soon as he’s in the door, it’s on a seek-and-find-the-place-where-the-moans-come-from-type mission.
THINGS THAT FRY MY A$$:
1) Non-stick pans don’t really brown potatoes… Especially not sweet potatoes.
2) The sentence “oil has hit another all-time high,” when used on the evening news.
3) Being male, but on the bride’s side in a wedding.
4) Horniness as a waiting game.
And now, I shall address all of the aforementioned issues in the order that they were presented.
Non-stick pans don’t really brown potatoes… Especially not sweet potatoes. Last night, I was lazy, wanted to try out my new “eco-friendly” non-stick pan at slightly higher temperatures, and therefore decided to fry thin-sliced sweet potatoes. So, I sliced the damned thing up thin, with thick slabs of garlic and big chunks of onion. I sprayed the pan with a little grape seed oil, and cranked the heat to medium-high… well, kinda low medium-high, but still. I had to keep adding oil, which blew donkey balls, as the only time the stinkin’ potatoes would brown was when there was oil to soak off the bottom of the pan. Plus, they were still so crisp in the center, I had to boil off a little water and irish whisky from the bottom of the pan to soften them up, which meant re-browning. Grr. No more potatoes in the non-stick pan!
The sentence “oil has hit another all-time high,” when used on the evening news, sends chills up my spine… in a bad way. It’s not so much that said slogan is sensationalistic. I mean, it’s the news, so that’s a forgone conclusion. The days when reporters conveyed information for its’ own sake are long since past, a glimmer in the lazy eyes of the joyless Bahbwa Wa-wa and Walter Cronkite. No, it’s the way it’s phrased, the nuances of pronunciation utilized by the bo-toxed to within an inch of paralysis journalistic hoard that annoy me. “OIL (portentiously, all syllables given equal weight heavier than what follows) has hit (slight pause,) another (rushed, with a tone almost of annoyance,) all-time (near-Sulu-like,) high, today…” And it’s always the same. ALWAYS… Male or female, the dead-eyed, rictus-grinning mummy face, regardless of sex, uses the same manner of conveyance. And they always use it to segue into the same damned stories about third world unrest, fundamentalism, terrorism, bad corporate governance, etc. Fudging ratings-grabbers!
Being male, but on the Bride’s side in a wedding is no piece of cake. On the upside, I get to see a few very pretty girls near-naked for the better part of two days. Also, I get to wear a pink vest with my tux. All in all, pretty sexy. However, there’s also the flip-side. The flip-side on which I may or may not be forced to spend a hundred bucks at the spa the day before the wedding, and also be forced to go to the male side, missing out on the bridal dish-fest. There’s the gas it will take to get home, the price of the present, the tux rental, and taking time off work. There’s also the date of the bridal shower, which I have to get off for, as well. Plus, O. is probably not going to be able to come with me, will miss out on meeting my parents, who finally OK’d him staying at the house if he can come, etc. This makes me cranky, because, though the couple is very progressive and could give a fig for sexuality, their families aren’t as forgiving, and I’m walking down the aisle with another boy. Meh. Though, how I think ANOTHER limp-wristed male is going to help the situation, I don’t know. Good thing I love the bride like a sister.
Horniness as a waiting game sucks. Orpheus worked ueber-late last night, then was supposed to go to a rehearsal for the play he got into. This meant I didn’t get to see him. Boo! Also, he has a rehearsal tonight. So I’m going downtown after work, we’re eating hurriedly, and then he’s leaving again. When he gets back, I’m going to be naked as a jay-bird and frothing at the mouth. If he’s not clean, god help my digestive tract, ‘cause as soon as he’s in the door, it’s on a seek-and-find-the-place-where-the-moans-come-from-type mission.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Weekend Blues
This weekend was kind of a walking comedy of errors. I made some OK grub, but for the most part, things just didn’t work out. Friday, O. and I were at odds. Saturday, after he finally got off work, again there were odds to split. I was a super-cranky-pants. Sunday, we had a pretty cool day, including an impromptu gourmet-super-market picnic at a huge, beautiful, empty park near an aging bloc of high-priced real estate. This after some very highly encouraging foraging at the malls, where I found (finally) one of the cool Martha Stuart GreenPans at Macy’s. Supposedly, this is a hydrolyzed SiO (glass-well, of a slightly different composition, but glass) based non-stick coating that doesn’t emit toxic fumes when heated above, oh, 5 degrees Celsius. The only thing I find weird about it is, they say to maintain the pan you should rub it occasionally with a seasoning oil… And just leave it like that. Not bake it in, nothing. Soap, water, and occasional sacrifice of vegetable fat. Any way you look at it, the thing’s non-stick worked better on its’ first use than any other pan of its’ type I’ve ever seen. We’ll see if it maintains standards over time.
Resuming the main line, post-picnic we went to see ‘Persepolis’ at the cheap seats. It was amazing. Made me almost wish we’d paid ten bucks each to see it at the “Sundance Theatre,” which is slowly driving all the other art-house cinemas in town out of business with its’ middle-age friendly bland gourmet food and hoity-toity suburbanite atmosphere. Finally, O. had his kind of snippy day, and, since I’ve been generally oversensitive and aggressive lately (must be my period), I took it kind of hard. I made mini-pork and beef burgers with pine nuts spiced like kibbeh, accompanied by fresh corn on the cob with olive oil and a small tomato salad. We did drinks and hang-out with Basso, and watched ‘Reno: 911 Miami,’ a good-time romp, and nice counterpoint to ‘Persepolis’ earlier. There was no sex, which was OK, as O. and I got our Kumbay-ya-ya’s out and needed some juice with which to seal the breach. Though I slept like the dead, I’m pretty sure that Orpheus didn’t last night. Which is too bad. He starts working a lot more than normal, this week, and should probably be rested.
Tonight we have off, as he works late, then goes straight to play practice. His auditions went well, indeed, and he was cast as the inventor and murder victim in a two-man gay short. Afterwards, they’re all going out drinking, which has me a little miffed… I mean, Cinco de Mayo all by myself? He tries pulling that on the 4th of July, and I’m-a gonna stick him! ;-) Just kidding! Anyway, wish me luck, and have a great night, yourselves.
Resuming the main line, post-picnic we went to see ‘Persepolis’ at the cheap seats. It was amazing. Made me almost wish we’d paid ten bucks each to see it at the “Sundance Theatre,” which is slowly driving all the other art-house cinemas in town out of business with its’ middle-age friendly bland gourmet food and hoity-toity suburbanite atmosphere. Finally, O. had his kind of snippy day, and, since I’ve been generally oversensitive and aggressive lately (must be my period), I took it kind of hard. I made mini-pork and beef burgers with pine nuts spiced like kibbeh, accompanied by fresh corn on the cob with olive oil and a small tomato salad. We did drinks and hang-out with Basso, and watched ‘Reno: 911 Miami,’ a good-time romp, and nice counterpoint to ‘Persepolis’ earlier. There was no sex, which was OK, as O. and I got our Kumbay-ya-ya’s out and needed some juice with which to seal the breach. Though I slept like the dead, I’m pretty sure that Orpheus didn’t last night. Which is too bad. He starts working a lot more than normal, this week, and should probably be rested.
Tonight we have off, as he works late, then goes straight to play practice. His auditions went well, indeed, and he was cast as the inventor and murder victim in a two-man gay short. Afterwards, they’re all going out drinking, which has me a little miffed… I mean, Cinco de Mayo all by myself? He tries pulling that on the 4th of July, and I’m-a gonna stick him! ;-) Just kidding! Anyway, wish me luck, and have a great night, yourselves.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Porco (p)Roso
Yesterday revolved around three themes. The first was my obsessive-compulsive e-mail conversation with this lovely man (who never, ever co-occupies the same time-space coordinates with the guy who, oddly, writes the blog appended to Mr. D’s site). It was in regards to some really neat material he wrote about the process of readying his new book, Swish: My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever, for publication. Unfortunately, not being publication-minded myself, I don’t think I gave him the kind of feedback he wanted. But I’m definitely far more excited to buy his book than I was before (which is saying something)! While doing personal essays, he really reminds me of a super-energetic David Sedaris, but far more engaged, witty and urbane. Where Sedaris kind of turns inward at every opportunity, Joel seems endlessly to pour effort outward. The way he uses language is very musical, with closely-considered sentences reminiscent of The Picture of Dorian Grey, but lacking the museum-piece, Tiffany-stained-glass quality of Wilde’s stately-pleasure-dome grammary. In essence, we’re talking vital beauty.
After work, I returned home, where Orpheus eagerly awaited my presence. I chose to do my culinary experimentation with pork loin chops, pancetta and sweet peppers in a prosecco sauce last night. I have one word for you… Success!!! Well, mostly. First off, I’m going to make damned sure that the prosecco I get next time is less dry. Secondly, LESS PANCETTA!!! It tasted like I’d buried the pork in salt for a good month before cooking it. (Yes, I’m given to hyperbole. Roll with it!) Next on the list are the shallots. They’ll be very finely minced next time so that they’ll just melt in the sauce. The peppers will be added later in cooking so that they’re still semi-crisp, and I’ll be using the LOWEST SODIUM chicken stock I can find. I think the neatest thing about the dish, which I initially considered disastrous, was that the broth stubbornly refused to reduce to the consistency of a sauce, even with cornstarch, and instead remained a fragrant soup-consistency. Turns out, it was very attractive pooling that way, and it was also F-ING DELICIOUS to sop up with bread.
The process was simple… I salted and peppered the pork, slapped a piece of pancetta on each face, fried for four minutes/side in grape seed oil, removed from heat, drained pan of most accumulated fat, then quickly sautéed my peppers and shallots. After this, I deglazed with a cup or so of prosecco, put in a cup of chicken broth, added 2 chopped grape tomatoes, a sprig of fresh rosemary, and three sprigs of thyme, put the pork back in, and placed in the oven for 10 min. at 350, covered. I then removed the pork and solid vegetable matter to cook down the stock, which took a little too long, leaving the pork a bit chilled when served. Overall, though, not bad. And the flavor was phenomenal. Both Terra Firma and Sister walked in half-way through the process of making the dish, so I offered them half-portions of the extra chop I cooked, and both of them were enthusiastic about the dish’s future, as was the always-appreciative O.
Finally, when we got downtown, had a little 30-Rock under our belts, and were nice and relaxed, the third obsessive activity took place. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Mmmm. There’s nothing better than clearing out the mental cobwebs with a mind-blowing fuck. Too bad it got warm enough last night to disturb my sleep, otherwise I’d say today is the perfect Friday. Anyway, that’s it for now. Happy belated May Day, ya’ll! And, if you have a favorite recipe, please e-mail me. I’d love to try.
After work, I returned home, where Orpheus eagerly awaited my presence. I chose to do my culinary experimentation with pork loin chops, pancetta and sweet peppers in a prosecco sauce last night. I have one word for you… Success!!! Well, mostly. First off, I’m going to make damned sure that the prosecco I get next time is less dry. Secondly, LESS PANCETTA!!! It tasted like I’d buried the pork in salt for a good month before cooking it. (Yes, I’m given to hyperbole. Roll with it!) Next on the list are the shallots. They’ll be very finely minced next time so that they’ll just melt in the sauce. The peppers will be added later in cooking so that they’re still semi-crisp, and I’ll be using the LOWEST SODIUM chicken stock I can find. I think the neatest thing about the dish, which I initially considered disastrous, was that the broth stubbornly refused to reduce to the consistency of a sauce, even with cornstarch, and instead remained a fragrant soup-consistency. Turns out, it was very attractive pooling that way, and it was also F-ING DELICIOUS to sop up with bread.
The process was simple… I salted and peppered the pork, slapped a piece of pancetta on each face, fried for four minutes/side in grape seed oil, removed from heat, drained pan of most accumulated fat, then quickly sautéed my peppers and shallots. After this, I deglazed with a cup or so of prosecco, put in a cup of chicken broth, added 2 chopped grape tomatoes, a sprig of fresh rosemary, and three sprigs of thyme, put the pork back in, and placed in the oven for 10 min. at 350, covered. I then removed the pork and solid vegetable matter to cook down the stock, which took a little too long, leaving the pork a bit chilled when served. Overall, though, not bad. And the flavor was phenomenal. Both Terra Firma and Sister walked in half-way through the process of making the dish, so I offered them half-portions of the extra chop I cooked, and both of them were enthusiastic about the dish’s future, as was the always-appreciative O.
Finally, when we got downtown, had a little 30-Rock under our belts, and were nice and relaxed, the third obsessive activity took place. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Mmmm. There’s nothing better than clearing out the mental cobwebs with a mind-blowing fuck. Too bad it got warm enough last night to disturb my sleep, otherwise I’d say today is the perfect Friday. Anyway, that’s it for now. Happy belated May Day, ya’ll! And, if you have a favorite recipe, please e-mail me. I’d love to try.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)