Random Acts of Thursday - Give me lots of hair

Hey, kids!  I know it's Cinco de Mayo, and I should be writing about beer, and how May 5th ties into the reason so many great Mexican beers are brewed with classic German brewing know-how.  However, that seems too predictable.  Besides, it's been almost two years since the NFG (owner and proprietor of NFG Worldwide and all known and unknown subsidiaries) shaved his face in its entirety, the first time in nearly 12 or 13 years that my chin was cold and nekkid.  That didn't last very long at all. 

For the most part lately, I've rocked a pure goatee, no moustache to strain my soup or tickle Lori's upper lip.  However, I am getting a little lazy in the shaving department, sometimes going a week or more without touching the fuzzy undergrowth.

I really want to do something 'out there' with the facial hair (thanks to La Bev for the linkage).  Handlebar moustache.  Long goatee, a la Scott Ian.  Elvis sideburns.  A la Elvis.  However, in deference to my marriage, I never go beyond joking about it.  Lori seldom laughs.

It's not much of a quiz this week, but since it seems nobody answers many of these anyway, not much risk in offending any of you.  This is a research quiz, for your benefit and mine, feel free to Google or guess, your choice.

1)  Who shaved his trademark moustache first: Alex Trebek or Tom Selleck?
2)  Who has the better beard, Billy Gibbons or Dusty Hill?
3)  For which film did Chevy Chase (known for playing Dusty Bottoms in the film 'The Three Amigos') don a wicked cool beard, Walt Whitman style?
4)  Is there anything besides Whitman's beard which qualifies him as 'cool'?  (Okay, that's a trick question.  Of course there isn't.)
4a) Which actress starred with a slightly zanier Chevy Chase after featuring in the original film production of 'Hair'?
5)  Which surrealist painter made a film about facial hair, and in which film was he dragged behind a piano alongside a fellow surrealist?

Not much this week, but you know.  Gliddy glup goopy, nibby nabby noopy la la la lo lo. Sabba sibby sabba, nooby abba nabba le le lo lo.  Feel better?  If not, go have yourself a cerveza.  That should fix it.

Fun Fact Friday - Shoot That Poison Arrow

First, some business.  

First, I've been unfollowed.  Perhaps it was the blatant sexism sexiness of my holiday blogs.  Perhaps whomever unfollowed is offended by the thought of Free Bacon.  Obviously they weren't of the open-minded, intelligent ilk represented by you, dear readers.


Second, on the topic of Free Bacon, Movies and Artwork (not necessarily in that order), there's still a contest to be won.  You've got until tomorrow, and right now I only have one entry with a single question answered, so there's hope for you yet.


We now return you to your regularly scheduled Fun Fact.  Note the artful use of parentheses throughout.  And not just so I could prove I can spell 'parentheses'.

Growing up in Milwaukee, with a neighbor who worked for Miller Brewing back in the day when the employees were paid in beer, I was exposed to alcohol at a young age.  (Not surprisingly, when I Google 'Lots of Beer', the first photo of someone actually drinking was proudly taken at Milwaukee's lakefront.)

Now that it's New Year's Eve, and I'm an adult, I will have a tipple or two before I toddle off to bed around 9:15.  (Hey, I'm a party animal!)  I certainly won't be driving, since yesterday's freezing rain had me sliding from the top of the lot to the bottom at the office, and I don't need a repeat of that.  Thankfully, the OfficeMax driver asked me to move my icebound car before, and not after, he slammed into the side of it with his truck.  (Not so thankfully, I'm still not sure of the damage I may have done to the car myself when I was stopped by the snowbank.) 

speaking of party animals, how about that guy with the candle in his skull?

As a child I also had a ratty, worn copy of 'Ripley's Believe it or Not!', a double-sided paperback edition, that taught me what it meant to be intoxicated: 

intoxicate - early 15c., "full of poison" (pp. adj.), from M.L. intoxicatus , pp. of intoxicare  "to poison," from L. in-  "in" + toxicare  "to poison," from toxicum  "poison" (see toxic). The verb meaning "to poison" is first attested 1520s; meaning "make drunk" first recorded 1570s (implied in intoxicated)

Specifically, Ripley stated that to be intoxicated was to be shot with a poison arrow. 

To that point, I found a shot called The Poison Arrow, and it's a perfect dare shot for your New Year's festivities:

Poison Arrow Ingredients:
1 part Lime Cordial (Rose's Lime Juice)
1 dash Grenadine
1 part Bailey’s Irish Creme

Directions: Fill up a shot glass with lime cordial and add a dash of Grenadine to the top. Now very slowly pour Baileys into the center of the shot glass until the liqueur hits the bottom of the shot. Take a straw and slowly twirl it round so the Baileys twists around the tube. Retract the straw and serve.  (Recipe and photo courtesy of OXM-UK - and yes, there are all sorts of video-game-themed alcoholic beverages out there.  Not that anyone asked.)

Don't that sound tasty?  What this fails to mention is that the lime juice will curdle the Bailey's.  Mmmm, mmm.  Chunky.

Happy New Year, kids.  Don't go messing with any arrows while you're drunk, poisoned or not.  (You'll shoot your eye out...)

Random Acts of Thursday - I had to work a double shift at Cinnabons

Oh, October, how do I love thee?  I love the mist in the mornings, the wind overnight, the smell of fallen leaves, fine seasonal beers and the re-appearance of pumpkin pie in the grocery store.  Given proper funding (see button at right) I also have some wonderfully gruesome, children-wetting-themselves Halloween ideas that need to be played out at some point. 

And this weekend, Lori and I will be attending a masquerade ball themed around Poe's Masque of the Red Death.  Among the tarot readers, headless horsemen and the "Guess who's Death" game, I found a new musical genre that just cries out to be loved:  Goth-a-billy.

I'm already a fan of rock-a-billy and psycho-billy, and despite having never worn black nail polish and a floor-length black coat, I love The Cure.  This just screams to be downloaded for my listening pleasure, I'm sure.

The band playing at this little soiree is named Cult of the Psychic Fetus.  If it wasn't already a band name, Cult of the Psychic Fetus would be a GREAT band name.

Speaking of macabre little pagan holidays, I must say I'm rather disappointed in Food Network even more than normal.  As if it isn't bad enough that Sandra Lee gets a Halloween special, last weekend we watched the Food Network Horror Cakes Challenge.  Judged by Leatherface himself, these were kindly little cakes with little actual horror.  Mock horror, perhaps.  Horrificomical?  Maybe.  But the judges were looking for gumpaste intestines dripping with raspberry blood, the glint of some medieval torture device sawing limbs from exchange students.

And really, who isn't?

And speaking of medieval torture devices, I've noticed an alarming number of dead blogs in my random trolling of the web.  People who clutter the limited disk space of the worldwide web with pages that haven't been updated in three or four years or more.  Sure, pages like MyDeathSpace can tell us when someone's page isn't updated for a reason, but how many people just forget their passwords or lose interest with no sort of sign-off? 

I'll do my best not to do that to my readers.  What I will do is leave you with the award-winning costume Lori made for me a number of years ago.

Now, your turn.  What's your best Halloween/Autumn memory ever?  And for my readers in the southern hemisphere, Spring memories work, too.  Until then, stay out of the daylight.

Trendy? Me?

**Author's note.  My apologies, this was originally scheduled for 8:00 this morning, but it never published. 

So I've never been a trendsetter, nor have I ever been a follower.  I've kind of made my own way, and nobody seems to care what that is one way or the other.

But if putting fried eggs on bacon cheeseburgers is a trend, haul me up onto that bandwagon, baby! 

I'm up in the greater Cleveland area again this week, and eating restaurant food far more often than I should.  By chance last evening, I found the B Spot.  Beer, brats, burgers, bologna (fried), it's quite the place.  How often do you go someplace that has a pickle bar?  Not often enough, in my opinion.  Pickled onions, green tomatoes, spicy pepper relish, hot sweet pickle chunks, garlic dills and house-recipe ketchup.  Fresh rosemary on the crispy sliver-cut fries.  Yolk running down my fingers and commingling with juices from a truly rare burger. 

(Really, dark pink, soft and beefy, just the way a burger was meant to be.) 

I was surprised, during my meal, to look down at the paper holding my fries to see Chef Michael Symon's name on the logo.  I knew he opened a few more restaurants since my last major visit to the city.  But this was a sight to behold.  An entire page of beers, many of them on draft?  Pulled pork and pickled jalepenos on fries, the midwestern answer to the nacho?  A vanilla bean apple pie BACON milkshake?

I'm not a fan of 'celebrity', of style over substance, but I have to say, I like what I'm seeing and I want more.  I'm ready to take back most of the less-than-kind words I may have had for Chef Symon in the past.  Only time will tell.

Oh, and an amusing rental car anecdote, for those of you who can't get enough of it.  Monday night at the restaurant, I caught sight of a car behind me, out of the corner of my eye, as I was pulling gracelessly into a parking space.  When I turned my head, it was gone.  But, convinced I must have missed it, and concerned that I might back up to straighten my park job and strike someone's beloved automobile, I looked again.

The Grand Marquis is so sporking big, so...damn...huge, that I mistook my own rental car in my peripheral vision for AN ENTIRELY SEPARATE VEHICLE. 

Gee. Thanks, Enterprise.  Way to make me look forward to Friday.

Fun Fact Friday - What's more Irish than fajitas?

Sure and begorrah! Inasmuch as I've been partaking of the Guinness the last few evenings, and spent an evening at a pub-ish sort of place last night with some former co-workers, I fully expected the restaurant to have an assortment of Irish dishes.

Now, we've not yet had the opportunity to travel in Ireland, but I can't say as I've seen the fourth item on their menu advertised for St. Patrick's Day specials. Maybe that's just me.

And I really do like the Guinness, with its health benefits and all, but fajitas and stout? Doesn't trip anything special for me.

Humanity has been grilling meat since we harnessed the power of fire. That was way back in like 1938 or thereabouts, I'm sure. I think. Maybe.

Anyway, back in the days of cattle drives, the ranchers would slaughter cattle during the drive to feed their cowhands. And the 'less-than-desireable' cuts were given to the Mexican vaqueros as part of their pay. Cow heads, hides, innards and skirt steak were all put to good use. Cow's head stew, menudo (not the band), and grilled skirt were all on the menu.

Over time, the grilled steak became a common household meal in Texas, up through the sixties. In 1969, Sonny Falcon, an Austin, Texas meat market manager, opened the first commercial fajita concession stand at a rural Dies Y Seis celebration in the town of Kyle. At the same time, fajitas made their debut on the menu at the Round-Up Restaurant in Pharr, Texas. Notwithstanding similar dishes served across the border in Mexican cattle towns for decades, the fajita had taken hold on the U.S. psyche. In the seventies, this meal took a step forward and started showing up on restaurant menus throughout the Lone Star State.

In 1982, the fajita took an even greater step. Chef George Weidmann, when opening the new Hyatt Regency in Austin, picked up on the dish and added a sizzle platter to the mix.

The sad part of this process is that as the dish evolved, it moved further away from its roots. Seldom do restaurants use the original skirt steak, opting instead for the more manageable and innocuous sirloin, as well as adding chicken and other meats to the mix. And the dish has evolved into an American melting-pot classic, with flavors that seldom evoke the flavors of Mexico.

Or Ireland.

Fun Fa(c)t Friday - Food Pr0n (NSFV)*

An ode written between courses - by Elliott Mason

Oh bacon, don't look upon me hastily and lump me with the porkies-come-lately, I was yours from the start. Your sweet, salty, applewood-smokedness has dazzled and held me captive. Others have come and gone, but my love for you has only grown, deepened and matured over time. My earliest memories are of you, lover, like a comforting hug from my grandmother. There was no time when you were not with me, easing other foods into my consciousness. Alone or in harmony with vegetables, lesser meats and offal, bread and even sugary treats, you exemplify casual versatility and porkish perfection.

You complete me.

As is the norm (Norm!) when I travel, my clock gets all screwed up. As such, I realize my readers won't see this, possibly for weeks, since it wasn't posted in the wee hours of a weekday morn. That's okay, since this post is as much for me as it is about me.

In case you haven't already figured this out from my last few posts, I'm smitten with Cleveland, taken by the city's charm. And if you come here, you MUST eat here. There is no choice in the matter. Sure, there are chains, but you shouldn't eat there. Even if you live here, don't eat there. This isn't so much a restaurant review as a foodie's wet dream. They're not paying me to say these things, these are restaurants I would share, will share, with my friends and complete strangers.

I will start by saying that while I thought Michael Symon was a great improvement over "chef" Robert Irvine, that's not saying much. As a personality, I don't have much respect for a man who carries himself like the next Bobby Flay. That lackluster opinion changed entirely when I ate dinner at his restaurant, Lolita, last night.

Some of you might have noticed I'm a bit of a carnivore. And I may have ranted about vegetarians in the past, made some derogatory comments about them. Maybe.

Well, every one of those statements still stands. At Lolita, I started simple, with crispy chicken livers on a bed of soft, unctuous polenta. Atop these little organs was a combo of sauteed oyster mushrooms and bacon. The whole dish was surrounded by a tiny moat of what I can only describe as 'bacon au jus'. I used my bread so as not to waste a single drop.

Following the livers, I opted for the butternut squash ravioli in brown butter. "But Elliott", you say, "that's a vegetarian dish!" Until you toss the brown butter with hazelnuts, sage and matchsticks of prosciutto. Yes, porky, dense, chewy and aromatic cured ham. More vegetables could benefit from this treatment.

Ultimately, I didn't want to leave without trying one more item, just a little tidbit to finish off my meal, and let me finish my ginger-infused vodka with ginger ale and lime. Cut then to the chef's suggestion, the roasted bone marrow. Roasted in a wood oven, the marrow and crostini picked up a beautiful smokiness, coupled with the salsa verde, rich and spicy with raw garlic and parsley, and gently accented by the pickled red onions.

If you're going to be in the Tremont neighborhood (and you should go, really), stop by some of the other bars in the neighborhood, too. Local beers are by Great Lakes Brewery, and worth a taste. (Am I gushing? I'm still food-drunk, what do I know?)

Today for lunch, my client and I walked over to Melt Bar and Grilled, and while I'm not generally a bandwagon jumper, this place has a niche and works it like nobody's business. When being told I would have a 45-minute wait for a table, they wouldn't take my name. Instead, I got to pick a random name from the plastic pumpkin (I got to be Tupac Shakur!). While the wait wasn't that long, the menu was. Some of these sandwiches are simply criminal. Chorizo and hash browns, three kinds of cured pork, crab cakes, all in melt format. I settled on the gentle, daintily-composed Parmageddon - two potato and cheese pierogi, vodka and caraway saurkraut, sauteed onions and cheddar cheese. This eight-pound sandwich was a challenge set before me, there is no other term. This is the kind of sandwich bears would eat before hibernation if they didn't care about cholesterol. Add to this the atmosphere, this is a place to visit at least once on your way to the cardiologist.

Tonight, again wanting something special (and who doesn't), I landed at The Flying Fig. Artsy and a little loud, and I played coy like I was new, but I already read the menu online. I was after the chicken livers, so as to make comparisons and generally enjoy myself. Crispy and soft at the same time, with candied bacon, dressed bitter greens, goat cheese and orange segments, It was bliss on a plate. After that, I was torn. My server, Amanda, knew the dilemma I faced. On one hand, I could eat from the small bites menu, and miss out on a beautiful local pork chop. On the other hand, I could eat the chop and miss out on a stuffed scallop.

Of course, I'm the fat guy. I got both.

The chop was brined and grilled to medium rare, served on a bed of pumpkin risotto and braised red cabbage. So simple, yet so perfect. Every bite rang home just what a pork chop should taste like, from the days before we bred every last little bit of flavor from our meat.

I almost cried.

And of course I got the scallop. Like you wouldn't. Seared and stuffed with braised beef cheek, it gave a steak-like quality to the sweetness of the scallop, served in a beef jus with horseradish mashed potatoes.

I may actually have cried at this one.

Thanks for enduring this, a most personal revisitation, moments I could live again and again. If we're ever in town together, I'll take you.

(*Not safe for vegetarians)

I'm an international sensation

Either that, or there’s some sort of multi-cultural whiskey-related internet scavenger hunt going on. Thanks to The Bev’s page, I have aquired some tools to see who’s reading my site. As such, now I know that in the past week, I’ve been tagged again and again by a few dozen Google searchers from Latvia, Norway, Taiwan, Argentina, South Africa, New Zealand, Belgium and Brazil, among many others.

And they’re all getting to my site based on one picture, and one picture only.

Except for one weirdo with a zombie fetish.
Freak.

And as for this week’s contests, there’s still a movie quote to be named, and a movie role to be identified. A hint on the latter, my favorite author has a brief non-speaking cameo in the film in question.
He’s the man. I've no intention of taking up smoking, but I will smoke Pall Malls in tribute to him if I do.
Since we're talking whisk(e)y, a few of his choice quotes on the subject of drinking:

“I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone.” (Our friend Julie has fallen prey to my drunken calls, but she loves it. Want her cell number?)

“I have this theory about why men kill each other and break things. ... Never mind. It's a dumb theory. I was going to say it was all sexual ... but everything is sexual ... but alcohol.”
And while this was not intended to be a tome dedicated to a man I miss horribly though I never met him, thoughts of him make me wistful but happier, saner at the same time.

“Oh, she says, well, you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope. I meet a lot of people. And, see some great looking babes. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And, and ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is, is we’re here on Earth to fart around. And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And, what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And, we’re not supposed to dance at all anymore.”
— on telling his wife he’s going out to buy an envelope

And to me, the best, simplest quote of all, the one that makes my meat cry out ‘O, happy meat!’, that makes my soul cry out ‘O, happy soul’, is even better when perched between the slick hot shoulder blades of a beautiful woman:

Has Bacon Madness Jumped the Swine With Bacon Beer?

Always one to share the joy of bacon, and especially if there might be alcohol involved, I must pass along the following article. If there was ever a reason for me to start brewing my own beer, it is this concept. This might even supercede my plans to perfect a bacon vodka.
Has Bacon Madness Jumped the Swine With Bacon Beer? I vote a hearty 'NO'.

Make sure you click the link at the end of the first paragraph, it takes you to another article with direct quotes from the brewer. Color me excited!

(Shared via AddThis)

Fun Fact Friday - I love rock and roll

So my nerdilated life has hit a little speed bump (or traffic calming, if you will). I had a busy week, and the things I thought might be interesting to share really weren't, so you're getting more of a factlet clip show. Have a beer and make the best of it.

This week we mourn the passing of Les Paul, born in my one-time home town of Waukesha, WI, and inventor of the modern electric guitar. I had a guitar as a child, after I begged each Christmas for Santa or Jesus to drop one off for me. I loved my guitar, loved the way the strings squeaked as I ran my hand up the ridges and tightened them. However, being fat-handed and unmotivated, I made it through one makeshift lesson with the neighbor before I gave up on the whole thing. For the next 25 years, my 'axe' went from home to home with me, until our move to Florida meant some drastic purging of childhood embarassment and the guitar went to Goodwill. In reading about electric guitars today, I decided that I really don't find them that interesting. Fail.

This Sunday, in addition to being my mom's birthday, is the anniversary of the King's untimely 'death' in 1977 (or was it?) As the King of Rock 'n' Roll, with roots in rockabilly (which itself is seeing a recent resurgence, according to the AirTran magazine I read on yesterday's flight), proceeded to offend God-fearing conservatives everywhere while hanging with Ann-Margaret and Richard Nixon. Cool guy, you bet. Worth a whole Triple-F entry to himself? Doubtful.

My next thought was to share with you the exciting history of the jukebox. Apparently, the Jook was a dance back in the day, but I didn't feel like finding out what kind. Beyond that, coin-operated stereos, sounds like a specialized vending machine to me. Didn't we already do that?

Finally, for some unknown reason, I figured I'd research the fun, extensive history of goldfish crackers. Pepperidge Farms makes the little critters, and I love them, but really. Crackers?

I think maybe I'll just go have a beer.

Fun Fact Friday - Vendor now or vendor later?

I have an addiction to the carbonated arts, particularly in diet cola form. This has persisted for years, even though I did manage to quit for an arduous three months back in 2006. My co-worker quit smoking at the same time, and NOBODY wanted to work with us.

I like vending machines. They're convenient and impersonal, so nobody can judge your unhealthy choices. Today while buying my third soda of the day, I got to wondering about the original vending machine concept.

Apparently, during the early 1880s, the first commercial coin-operated vending machines were introduced in London, England and dispensed post cards. English publisher and bookshop owner, Richard Carlisle invented a vending machine for selling books, around the same time. I don't like this, personally, because how can you randomly read a few pages to know if you'll like it? And unless there's a coffee-and-pastry machine right next to it, how do I get my full Barnes and Noble experience?

In 1888, the Thomas Adams Gum Company introduced the very first vending machines to the United States. The machines were installed on the elevated subway platforms in New York City and sold Tutti-Fruiti gum. In 1897, the Pulver Manufacturing Company added animated figures to its gum machines as an added attraction. The round candy coated gumball and gumball vending machines were introduced in 1907.

Vending machines soon offered everything including; cigars, postcards, stamps, etc. In Philadelphia, a completely coin-operated restaurant called Horn & Hardart was opened in 1902 and stayed opened until 1962. In the early 1920's, the first automatic vending machines started dispensing sodas into cups. In 1926, an American inventor named William Rowe invented the cigarette vending machine.

Beginning in the 1940's, A company called Vendorlator Manufacturing Company of Fresno California made a series of classic vending machines that mostly sold Coca-Cola and Pepsi.

Of course, I look forward to an eventual trip to Japan, where they have the best vending machines ever. Beer? Don't mind if I do. And while you're down there, could you pick me up some panties and a 25-pound bag of rice? And if you get the chance, you can play the claw game, too.

Beer me!

Eager to jump on any health trend that works in my favor ("Bacon prevents Alzheimers! Couch Potatoes Live Longer!"), I feel compelled to share the following article.

Study:Guinness Good For the Heart

So, go have a pint! I'm off to encourage the addition of stout to our company wellness program.

Sláinte Mhath!