The spice must go!

Okay, I went with the Dune reference for the title, but I had to choose between that and several others: 

On the rack

In a Pickle

Herbs and a-whey

A Change of Seasons

Spicemaggedon

And several others. I'm sure you'll have other ideas. 

What finally made me settle on the title above is that I realized that the guy whose famous series was about a substance that made faster-than-light travel possible, a substance called Spice, was named Frank HERBert. So there. 

Sorry, I'm crazed from lack of sleep. 

 

We have a moving truck booked, and if you've ever hired house movers, you know they won't take food. Especially stuff in open containers. Why should they? Who wants to deal with that?

If we were moving locally I could bring all the open herb and spice jars and condiment bottles to the new place in the car, but we are moving hundreds of miles away, and between humans and large dog there isn't going to be a whole lot of room. Plus, while we can get to the area in less than 12 hours, the movers may take three to seven days. Even with all our crap, we can't fill up the truck ourselves. So we need suitcases and a hotel room. 

So no, no room for spices. Ironically, the thing that makes travel to the stars possible in Dune cannot travel at all here. 

And no one wants your old, open spice and pickle jars. I had a small handful that had not yet been opened, which I will donate with canned soup and the like. But the rest? Down the toilet, down the drain, or just into the trash. 

I just finished the job and I have an incredible mound of plastic and glass for recycling day on Wednesday. I also have a garbage can that smells like an amazing antipasto. 

Now the goal is not to cook anything between now and next week that will be bland because I had to do the purge. Needs coriander? Sorry, that's down the sink. A bit of rosemary? Headed for the landfill. Onion powder? Pardon the oniony scent in the loo. Hundreds of dollars' worth of flavors, gone. 

Can't be helped, I guess. I've already had to part with so much -- sentimental items, books a-plenty, money like there's no tomorrow -- so what's a recently opened jar of dried bay leaves compared to that? 

On the bright side, some of those seasonings looked a little too seasoned. I think my bottle of dried savory had a Durkee label from two or three iterations ago. Never had a lot of call for savory .. . .

A new lend-lease act.

A few surprising things came out of the US being the primary host for the World Cup this year. One is that a lot of my friends were following the games closely -- some, having coached soccer for their kids, have learned to like the game somehow. Another is that the American squad made us proud, proving that they were not in the tournament just because we're hosting (the old "it's my party and you have to let me play" rule). And the third?

Ranch dressing. 

Ranch dressing, the little dressing born in Hidden Valley, California, has conquered the nation -- and now the world. It's my wife's favorite salad dressing, and she's not alone in that. In fact, The Takeout noted that in a Kraft survey of favorite dressings by state, Ranch dominated, winning 13 states including the Eastern Seaboard from Maryland down. And our visitors from overseas apparently could not get enough of the stuff. 

I was honestly surprised that they had not tried it before. Many people visit America, and you can't escape Ranch dressing, as a dip or on a salad. I would have thought that you could get it in Western Europe, at least. After all, you can find Japanese curry mix in Walmart, Irish sausage in my local supermarket, and I've even seen Marmite occasionally. Vegemite might take some looking, but you can certainly get it online. I would have thought the buttermilk goodness that is Ranch would have wandered farther afield before now. 

But I am glad that visitors to our mighty nation have found a culinary treat to love. I think what is needed is a new lend-lease act to help our overseas brethren enjoy the wonders of Ranch at home. We can start by filling up some oil tankers that are at loose ends; we'll send them to Europe first. Two or three would be good for starters.

You've seen houseboats, but never ranchboats!

Interest-free loans will be given to finance these exports. And no tariffs! We want them to enjoy the dressing and not try to steal our secret salad technology. There's a reason that Valley is Hidden. 

Enjoy the taste of freedom, friends! 

[P.S.: For the record, I prefer French or Italian or even creamy Caesar to Ranch . . .  but keep it under your Uncle Sam hat.]

American as fried apple pie!

I don't know if you heard the big news over the Fourth of July celebrations, but for a limited time McDonald's (yeah, the place with the twerp CEO) brought back its apple pies.

"But," you who haven't heard ask, "they always have apple pies."

"Yes," I respond, "but not deep-fried apple pies, the way God and Man intended."

Monolith Pie

You obviously have not heard that, for a limited time around America's 250th celebration of Independence Day, McDonald's would be bringing back it's fried version of its pies, rather than the baked type they have been selling for years. I personally suspect that this was at the urging of its most famous french fry cook, one Donald Trump, who as we know loves McDonald's food even more than does its rather peculiar CEO -- who seems to have never eaten it. I think Trump put the word in -- to make this holiday REALLY special we need McDonald's pies deep fried in grease, which is how we won the Cold War. (It just stands to reason.)

Well, last week we had house-selling stuff going on one night that precluded cooking, so dinner came from the Golden Arches -- and so did dessert. 

So, how did it match up to the pies of my youth? Was it crispy? Was it tasty? Was the filling as hot as magma, roughly 2600 degrees Fahrenheit, as people recall? 

Yes, unlike the modern McPie, this had a nice crispy exterior with a sugary top. It was pretty tasty, although as the celebrated Mrs. K notes, the pies were never all that awesome; if they were, the famous failures of the McDonald's ice cream machines wouldn't be such a big deal. As for the heat of the filling, it was no big deal -- I think if you eat the pie as soon as they hand it out it's much hotter than if you save it for dessert, as we did. 

But make sure you eat it ASAP: the label warns you that the clock is ticking!

You don't want your pay frito to turn soggy and oily. 

On the whole the pie was a nice but not needed treat and a pleasant schlep down memory lane. Now, if they start frying the potatoes in lard again, that will be much bigger news that will require a new investigation to be opened. Stay tuned! 

Cheeri-oys.

I hate affirmations.

I mean, it's one thing if someone close to you says, "You're pretty cool." Or your boss tells you, "Nice work on the Schnorbuss account." These are people who know you and have some experience of your characteristics and actions, and can tell you something good about yourself that you have reason to believe. But mindless affirmations ("You're the best you that you can be!") mean nothing coming from a fortune cookie or some repeated meme.

Then we have this.

From the back of a box of Cheerios.

These are actually even more useless than affirmations; they are chants to make yourself feel puffed up. They're worse than someone who doesn't know you saying you are great; they're slogans to delude yourself into thinking you are terrific, based on nothing. (They also seem to think that 33% of Americans speak Spanish as their first language, or at least 33% of Cheerios eaters. What the hell, maybe that's accurate.)

Anyway, I don't buy it. They don't know me, and I know from long history that telling myself I'm awesome doesn't work; worse, it always seems to invite circumstances (like, say, a letter from the IRS or complaint from a client) to remind me that awesomeness is far out of my reach. 

So, for me anyway, General Mills' attempt to make me feel better about myself has wound up making me feel worse. Thanks, cereal dudes; I've just lost my appetite. 

Will Fred survive this burger?

The current CEO of McDonald's, Christopher Kempczinski, made internet infamy a couple of weeks back with what seems to be an ill-considered video of him trying the company's Big Arch, their most enormous hamburger to date, I believe. From most accounts (such as this one) it did not go too well. Mr. Kempczinski seems to be a man in good shape, one who does a lot of aerobic activity -- for all I know he rides a bike to work. He does not, in fact, look like someone who has ever set foot in a McDonald's restaurant. 

By contrast, when Donald Trump took a turn making fries and working the window of a McDonald's in 2024, he looked like he fit right in. 

But while Kempczinski was battered with many jests and parody videos, if his intention was to get people to hear about the Big Arch, he did succeed. The large burger is decribed thus: "two quarter-pound beef patties, three slices of white cheddar cheese, crispy onions, slivered onions, pickles, and a tangy new 'Big Arch sauce' on a sesame-and-poppy-seed bun." Available for a limited time.

Well, on Monday, because we had no time to cook, and we were out later than hoped, the mrs. and I decided to pick up a quick dinner to go from McD's. Even though I was not ravenous, I was curious, and I felt a little bad for the CEO, so I decided to try the monster sandwich. 

Buckle up! 

 

We start right off with the weird hybrid bun -- an holy marriage of sesame and poppy seeds. As neither of these provide much flavor, it seems like McDonald's is just showing off here. Julia Child once complained that the Big Mac had too much bread, and the Big Arch is also bread heavy (although lacking the center slice of the Mac). But I love bread, so no complaints on that score. 

As we take a much more considerable bite than the CEO did, we note that the "Arch Sauce" is not related to the "Dijonaisse" sauce from the failed Arch Deluxe of thirty years gone. This has a more orange look, a bit darker than the Special Sauce of the Big Mac but with a similar flavor. Maybe a little paprika makes the difference. 

(Notice I got the small fries with this burger rather than my usual medium fries; got to watch my figure, you know.)

I would say that if you like the way McDonald's makes hamburgers, this is that but more of it. I could have used more pickles to brighten it up, but that may have been an assembly line error. The crispy onions were tasty but kinda soggy. Since they were cooked, though, they were less gassy than raw onions.

So, I give the Big Arch the conditional thumb's-up.

The CEO claimed he was going to eat his Big Arch for lunch, but I would doubt that even if he had taken a real, manly bite instead of a nibble. I would never get a Big Arch for a meal if I had to be alert afterward. With a reported caloric load of 1,020–1,057 kcal, I would be much more inclined to take a nap.

I did feel afterward like I had consumed the tire off a city bus, and in fact still felt that way in the morning. But I'm no hungry teen -- and I knew some teen athletes in my youth who probably could have eaten two of these with fries and a shake, then wanted dessert. I'm well past that kind of chowhoundery. 

For the record, as hefty as the Big Arch is, it contains fewer calories than Five Guys' Bacon Cheeseburger (1,060), Wendy's Triple (1,195), or Applebee's O-M-Cheese Burger (1,900). That last one is in a class by itself, I think. So while large, and too much for lunch, the Big Arch is hardly the Godzilla-size sandwich it's made out to be. But it ain't health food, and the American Heart Association is probably devoting a page to it on its website as I write.

Foodball!

You may have heard there is a large football game going on tonight.

Big bin of these in the store Friday:

As you probably also have heard, Glad Take-Alongs are helpful food-safe plastic containers that are as airtight as Tupperware but cheaper and not expected to last for generations. They are often used for party situations -- if you're bringing food to a party, you don't want to demand your Tupperware back before you go home; you also don't want to demand your host do the dishes for you and return it clean at some point. With a Take-Along, the thing can be chucked or washed and reused or returned and no one feels like he or she has been taken advantage of. You see them around a lot for Christmas, but this is the first time I have seen sports-shaped containers -- here, American footballs with the classic brown.

I'm not going anywhere tonight, or I might have been tempted to pick up a pack. But why? As I considered through my aisle wandering, it occurred to me that the individual containers are not that large -- too small for, say, a party-size serving of wings or Swedish meatballs. (Sorry, Vikings.) Also, while the containers are heatsafe and microwaveable, they are not great for transporting hot foods, and they have no natural insulation. You might be riding in the car with a lap full of really hot beanie weenies. 

Further, they're too small for chips, too large for dips, too small for salads, too funny shaped for desserts . . . In fact, I can't think of any party foods that would work well in these containers. Maybe that's why there were so many of them in the bin with two days to go until the Super Bowl. 

Will unsold units be sold at a discount? Will they be returned to Glad? I'd be interested to know. But I think that either these things will be used for leftovers, or they will be leftovers. 

Good luck, Glad. Maybe basketball-shaped bowls for NCAA March Madness would work better? 

And a Milk-Bone in a pear tree.

Traffic at the supermarket was on the light side Friday morning -- I could only suppose that people were still reeling from the celebrations or still had a lot of food left in the house. Maybe both. But I was there, although my list was short, and the PA system was still playing Christmas music -- mixed in with a few secular tunes, as it is important to detox slowly. 

Near the entrance I saw this for a big discount and snapped it up. It is billed as an advent calendar but it is NOT; it is a 12 Days of Christmas calendar, and therefore just a couple of days into its usefulness.  

 As you can see, Milk-Bone called this an "Advent Calendar for Dogs," but the theme is the "12 Days of Woof-mas." It works as a treat-a-day display as such, since there are 12 days of Christmas, but as an Advent calendar it would fall short by weeks. And yet, there it was, five dollars off, so apparently everyone is out of whack on this one. 

The thing has fold-out backing to stand up, and each little doghouse has a medium-sized treat from the Milk-Bone catalog behind it. Had I bought this new it would have cost ten bucks, which is way too much for a handful of treats for a heathen dog. (He was blessed on St. Francis's feast day, but still.) Actually, five bucks was still too much, but it was worth it for the novelty. 

Well, pup got two treats yesterday and will get two today, on the fourth day of Christmas, and that will bring him up to speed. One way or another, I am sure he is enjoying them more than he would four calling birds, which would probably just fly off and annoy him. Ditto the French hens et al. A treat in the hand is worth any number of birds in any number of bushes to a dog. Actually, for me too. 

Christmas roundup.

The thermometer says it is no degrees outside -- yes, friends, we are at Absolute Zero -- so it's winter! And that means Christmas is coming. It's practically here! 

Today I offer a brief roundup of some memes and candy that have popped up on my radar lately. Sweetness abounds. 

I thought this was hilarious, but I had to explain it to a couple of people. It took me a moment also, to be fair. 

I love this one because I never liked the movie and I hated the book. 

Chico had the Man's number, I think.

Next up, further proof that one day all the memes will join together into one Mega Meme. 

Guess what I found in my local supermarket on Saturday, December 20? That's right -- Valentine's Day Candy!

TV listing from Sunday -- tell me you've never see the special without telling me. 

I think AI is writing them now. 

And that brings us to a visit with longtime friend of this blog: PEEPS

Yes, we've reviewed Peeps and Peep Accessories many times on this page -- even other Christmas-themed Peeps, a decade ago. But we've never seen Gingerbread (or, as the yellow box notes, "Gingerbread FLAVORED") Peeps before. I'm a fan of the plucky little Just Born company of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, but I am cautious. Can these possibly be any good?

Verdict: Yes, if you like marshmallow and you like the flavor of gingerbread and you think they'd work well together. Unbelievably sweet, of course, as the outer flavoring is also sugared, much as so many pumpkin spice treats in the fall include sugar. I think you need it; lightly melted sugar helps other flavorings stick, first of all, and second, sugar has a lovely and underrated texture all its own. But man, this is sweet. 

You might drop one of these dudes in a cup of (mostly unsweetened) cocoa and let him melt; I think that would taste good, although you hate to see a friendly face get the Wicked Witch treatment. 

So there's some hot and cold takes for this last Monday before Christmas. Hope to post tomorrow, but definitely on Christmas Day. 

Distasteful food words.

Handy in the kitchen

Do you like to eat food? Sure, we all do! But sometimes it bothers me that English, which is such a useful and interesting language, manages to have the ugliest words to describe food. Sometimes I wonder how we stomach the stuff with words like these. 

Seriously, look at this list and think of the words as words rather than what they mean. Eating is a pleasure; food is lovely. Why do we have gross words like these to ruin the experience?

Moist -- famously a top hated word in the English language, possibly because it is squeaky and is used equally for baking and fungal infections. 

Vegetables -- I've complained before that vegetable is a horrible wreck of consonants and vowels, more suited for something that clogs the toilet than a class of healthy comestible. Shortening it to veggie just makes it a toilet clog for children and idiots. 

Succulent -- An X-rated verb masquerading as a G-rated descriptor, and using the word when being arrested in an eatery probably just makes the situation worse. 

Slurp -- Another word for boneheads and a violation of every table manner since tables began; if there wasn't a punk band called The Slurps then I'm disappointed in the genre. 

Juicy -- About as bad as moist and for similar reasons. It also makes you spit a little at the end, which makes it a little more demonstrative than we really need. 

Scrumptious -- Anything that is described with a syllable like scrump ought to be involved in crushing, like a trash compactor. Supposedly a bastardization of the less-painful sumptuous. 

Toothsome -- Who thought this was a good word? It's usually used to connote good flavor, but teeth have no taste sensors. If your teeth are getting strong feelings from your food, it's time to see your dentist. But that brings us to:

Mouthfeel -- We know what it means and there's no real substitute word, but does it have to be so... vivid? Oral tactility is now my preferred phrase. 

Yogurt -- You get no sense of the creamy goodness of yogurt with this ugly Turkish word. The cows would go on strike if they knew. 

Munch -- Violent and stupid. Used for comical purpose by people who can't tell jokes. 

Chomp -- Violenter and stupider. 

Yummy -- Another word for small children, dingdongs, and dummies, and damn near incites me to violence. Grow the #@#^&! up.

Dripping -- Not really a food word although often used to describe supposed benefits of foods that are moist and juicy and a big fat mess. I ain't cleaning that up. 

Delicious -- Two shusches in a row make thus Latin import a wet mess. Pity, as it is the fundamental word for describing things that taste good. Shortening it to delish is almost as bad as veggie. 

Barbecue -- Not too too bad, but compared to its lyrical Spanish origin (barbacoa), it's definitely more violent and ugly. Shortening it to 'cue is just stupid. 

Mouthwatering -- What whets your appetite better than a word that makes you think of obvious, uncontrollable drooling? 

Luscious -- Delicious's drunk brother. 

Well, that's my list, and I daresay it's probably only the offenders who came to mind today. You may have other such words that hit the nails-on-the-chalkboard-o-meter, which I invite you to share in comments. English is such a wonderful language but can be so gross. 

But it was delicious.

While many people remember the tragic Great Molasses Flood that struck Boston in 1919, few now recall the Tremendous Canned Jellied Cranberry Roll that nearly flattened the city center in 1913. 

Battle of the cheesians!

Like a lot of Americans, my wife got through college with the help of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. The same is true for Canadians, except for them it was Kraft Dinner. Same powdered cheese product, different name. Beloved staple of families with young children, immortalized in the Barenaked Ladies' classic song "If I Had $1000000."  

But is Kraft Mac & Cheese (as it is styled now) still the big boy on the block? The kids who used to demand it for dinner are adults now, and do they want something more out of a boxed side dish like this (or in a pinch, a main course)? 

That's what my wife asked when she heard about a product called Goodles, a new contender trying to take on the old pro. Goodles isn't the first to try -- Annie's Homegrown has been at it since 1989 (now owned by Nestlé) and corners the organic market. Goodles' gimmick is higher nutrition, though. Specifically higher protein.  

But is it really better than Kraft? 

We thought we'd find out. 

In the left corner, the reigning champion, Box Blue, Old Faithful, your childhood reliable... Kraft Mac & Cheese! 

And in the right corner, the Groovy New Guru of Goodness, the challenger... Goodles Cheddy Mac!

Right off the bat there is a price issue. At Walmart, the Goodles box cost $2.98, whereas the identical size Kraft box was a paltry $1.24. Is Goodles' quality enough to make up for the more than doubled price? Well, you note the award leaves in the lower left side of the box, indicating that Goodles is "Clean Label Project" certified -- in other words, it tested clean for pesticides and heavy metals and other stuff you may not want the kids to eat. 

Unfortunately, the part of the label that warns you that the food is larger on the label than in real life has to have some third-grade cutseyness attached, unlike the same thing on the Kraft box. 

"Enlarged to show YUM" -- this is not the last we'll see of that kind of stuff. 

On to the cooking! 

Both K and G cook up similarly, with 6 cups of water. Boil the pasta, drain (but don't rinse), add 1/4 cup milk and the inserted powdered cheese pack. Kraft calls for four tablespoons of butter as well. Goodles says no butter, but notes that if you want, you can add a couple of tablespoons for richer flavor. My wife said to go ahead and add it -- to give Goodles every chance to take on Kraft in the same weight class. 

I was quite surprised to see that the Kraft powder looked less phony than the Goodles powder, which was bright orange. My wife, looking at the pots, guessed wrongly that the more orange one was the Kraft. There may be a legit reason for that, as I will discuss below. She is convinced that Kraft's used to be more bright orange, like a Syracuse linebacker, and indeed she is probably right. They dropped the food coloring in 2016. 

Kraft

Goodles

While we wait for the tasting, here are the comparisons of the nutrition facts. Kudos to Goodles for listing every possible vitamin and mineral like it's a bottle of Centrum. We also see that has only 5g more protein per serving (15g) than Kraft (although with the optional butter it would be a smidge higher). But that is an issue with the kiddies. A grown man needs 52g of protein daily, but a kid between four and eight just 19, so 5g is not nothing to them. 

One curious factor when these products were prepared is that Kraft's box seems to make a lot more. Seriously, by volume it looks like a quarter to a third more food than the Goodles package. And yet the serving sizes and number of servings per box are comparable. I assume that the Goodles pasta and sauce are weightier, since these things and serving sizes are measured by weight rather than volume. 

Finally, the main event -- the taste test. What tastes the best?

And my answer is: The fun-size Twix I ate while cooking. 

But of the two contenders? They both taste good, but in different ways. I'd go with Kraft, but Goodles' product tastes more like real cheese. I think that the basic Kraft Mac & Cheese is made with something approaching American cheese, though -- it may have been a more fair test in that regard to use Kraft's white cheddar variety. Goodles' cheddar-centric flavor may account for the more orange color, and led my wife to prefer it to Kraft's. We agreed that the higher protein content probably made Goodles more satiating.  

But picky-eating kids usually prefer bland food, as in the Kraft classic. Such a dish, however, may be a canvas upon which one can create -- adding chicken or broccoli or something to get the kids to eat healthier. Of course you could do the same for Goodles. 

Either product would make a fine side dish. I'm not saying either is health food, though. They each left the pot and the wooden spoon with a very yellow, very sticky coating, the sort of thing that makes you think This is the kind of highly processed stuff that the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics warned me about.

I'm going to ultimately give my award to the box that annoys me less. The Goodles' use of YUM puts it at a disadvantage, but look! Kraft getting out over its spiritual skis!

Seriously, I know your grandma probably made Kraft Macaroni & Cheese for you, because she couldn't really cook, and that's a warm memory, but if you need a boxed pasta kit to feed your soul, get your ass in a pew. You need more help.

Does that make Goodles the winner? Not necessarily, because they use a unicorn on the box. Poor unicorn, once a medieval symbol of purity and light, now the unfailing sign of weird, smirky self-regard. Plus the word "community," which equals Communism Lite, and "love," which means "nothing we thought of as love until ten minutes ago." 

I call it a draw. Maybe next time Annie's Homegrown can leap in off the top ropes and make it a free-for-all. Get Bernie the Bunny to do a throwdown on both these guys. 

Advertising.

 

Counter culture.

It seems like there are more and more small kitchen appliances on the market all the time, and less and less counter territory for them to occupy. I've blogged before about the preponderance of small appliances and the value of kitchen real estate. Appliances of this sort, in my experience, are ranked into one of four categories, and their category (and even rank within their category) are crucial to their survival:

1) Constant Companions 

2) Close Advisors 

3) Occasional Agents 

4) Whuh?

Constant Companions are always on deck, ready for action. In our house, we have five appliances on permanent display, and no one who knows us would be surprised that three of the five are coffee related: coffee grinder, coffeemaker, coffee pod machine (for Kcups, of course). The other two are used almost daily, those being the toaster oven and the microwave oven. Except in the cold months, I hate to use the big ol' oven if I can avoid it. 

Close Advisors are appliances whose location you always know, because while they don't rate permanent residence, they are used a lot. For me those include the slow cookers (Fat Man and Little Boy) and not much else. Some people have really gotten into the Instant Pot, and I can understand its appeal as it has many functions that take the place of other appliances--pressure cooker, slow cooker, steamer, fryer, rice cooker, and such. I don't know that it does any of them as well as the originals. I do know that Instant Pot recipes always look more complicated than slow cooker recipes. ("Set pot to Sauté. Sauté onions for five minutes. Add spices. Add chicken. Set vent to Sealing. Avoid death-dealing steam as you do a quick pressure release." Etc. Etc. Versus "Throw everything in the crock and set to Low for five hours to six days.")

Occasional Agents usually make appearances for special events, like the stand mixer for birthdays or the food processor for particular recipes. I don't always know where they are, but I can find them without too much trouble. Some Agents are other people's Constant Companions, which says something about them. If a blender has Favored Nation Status on your counter and no one in the house likes smoothies, maybe your rum consumption is a wee bit high. 

The Whuh?, of course, are the things you used for a while and gave up on but figured you'd get back to. Sometimes these appliances, sold to make jobs easier, involve so much cleaning that the net work benefit is canceled. But mostly, you get tired of the novelty quickly. Things like the pasta machine or the George Foreman Grill or the espresso pot or the or the electric grill or the sausage maker or the sandwich press or... You know what they are. You'll see them again at the yard sale. 

In thinking about this topic today, I realized that among our Close Advisors are the backup coffeemaker, the backup coffee grinder, and the tiny coffeemaker for rare times when one person wants more coffee than the pod machine will dispense when needed. That does not even count the Melita cones to make coffee if the power goes out. I'm starting to think we have a drinking problem around here -- a coffee drinking problem. 

You can pick your friends…

… but can you picnic?

Maybe where you live, you can barely enjoy the five remaining weeks of summer because of all the wailing and gnashing of teeth among the youths who have already started school. It doesn't start here until the day after Labor Day, but the school supplies have been featured prominently at stores since July 5, so the misery is growing here as well. 

Nevertheless, let us not forget that we're only halfway through August and, despite the Halloween candy in the stores, there's still a lot of summer left. In the socialization department, there's still Labor Day weekend, which means another shot at having a decent backyard party. Maybe it won't rain this time. Maybe Uncle Al won't throw a fist at Uncle Lou this time. Maybe that kid with the purple hair with the snot ring will stay home instead of moping in the corner and grumbling about Trump. Who knows? It could be the party of the year. 

And I am here to offer you a terrific idea for your gathering. 

Barbecues usually have great food, but unlike indoor holiday dining, there's no centerpiece item to make the guests ooh and ah, like a beautiful ham or prime rib or Norman Rockwell-esque turkey, or, for that purple-hair kid, lump of tofu. Well, there wasn't -- until now! Simply follow this recipe for a real show-stopping fruit salad.

Take two (2) blueberries. Cut a slit in two (2) strawberries and insert a blueberry into each. Take two (2) ripe peaches and cut into them halfway; work the pits out. Insert strawberries. Take two (2) mangoes and do the same thing to them, inserting the peaches when the pits are out. Take two (2) honeydew melons; cut in half and scoop out the seeds. Put a mango in each and reassemble melons. Take one (1) very large watermelon. Cut in half lengthwise and scoop out enough to fit the honeydews inside. Put watermelon back together and serve on enormous platter. 

Ladies and gentlemen, you have just presented the Wahonmangpeastrawblu. Slice firmly but carefully and serve in buckets.

I'd much prefer this to a Turducken. Does anyone really like those? They have "turd" right in the name.

So make sure to sling up a Wahonmangpeastrawblu at your Labor Day party! It will get the guests talking, that's for sure. ("What the hell is wrong with Jeff?") You may even help them feel glad that summer is coming to an end. And isn't that what it's all about? Helping?

Be good.

It's been a while since I did a book post on a Wednesday, but don't get all happy -- I am not prepared with time or commitment to bring back the Humpback Writers feature. That, of course, never involved writers with hunched backs, but ran on Hump Day, and was and remains the worst name for a book feature online. So no, I'm not doing that right now.

Nevertheless, it is Wednesday, and here's a book. 

The Good Citizen's Handbook: A Guide to Proper Behavior, compiled by Jennifer McKnight-Trontz and published in 2001, is a look back at handbooks from the 1930s to the 1960s, designed to help Americans live healthy, worthy, happy lives. 

The pages inside are not altered from the original handbooks, except for the addition of headers ("A Good Citizen..."). To the credit of the writer and publisher, the book's endnotes have citations for all of the originals, printed in the smallest type you ever saw in your life. 

So let's get to it: What ought a citizen do in order to be a Good Citizen? 

All right! But surely there's more to it than that?

Hmm. Seems a bit familiar, yes? Like everything being shouted at the citizenry in 2020? Not that it's bad advice for avoiding being sick, but it was also our Civic Duty to ruin our lives to save them in 2020. So is this old pamphlet really goofy and out of touch, when it was exactly what we saw four years ago, just with updated clothing on the models?

In fact, while the book looks like it's intended to poke fun at the earnestness and innocence of the past (à la Nick and Nite's "How to Be Swell"), it can't help but shine a light on the aspirations of an America that wanted to be better and safer for all its citizens. 

Better dressed, too. 

I like the "Clean Play" page. The rules of good sportsmanship are the same as they always were. But the last professional sportsman to follow them that I know of was Barry Sanders, who didn't show off or brag when he scored his many touchdowns and show up the other team. These days we tell kids in school not to be dickweeds, but then we behave like dickweeds ourselves everywhere else. More is caught than taught.

Happiness through purpose, friendship, communication, exercise, and faith. This is the precise advice we still from mental health professionals, except that now the “spiritual values” one is always (and I mean always, 100% of the time) illustrated by photo of a young woman meditating in the lotus position.

This book may have been compiled to chuckle at the innocence of the past, but what sane person would not prefer to live in a society where people really do want to strengthen the republic, help one another, and bolster goodwill? "Today good citizenship means less to us," writes McKnight-Trontz in the introduction. "We worry far more about our demons than our duties.... We belong to fewer civic groups, vote less, and spend far more time doing things ourselves, for ourselves. No wonder it feels like everything is going to Hell." And that was written before the invention of the smartphone! 

Of course, the America of the 1930s through the 1960s had all the problems we can imagine -- tragic family trauma, addiction, racism, poverty, corruption, misogyny, war, whatever else you want to add. Despite that it was a high-trust society, especially compared to the current moment. Two-tiered justice systems, handwave treatment of violent criminals, election theft, tribalism, stores locking up goods, institutions run by fools chosen for the shallowest reasons, children being miseducated if educated at all -- this is all part of our new low-trust society. The Good Citizen's Handbook is a window to the past, not as it was but as those living then wished it could be. We don't even have that now. Whenever I see art depicting a hopeful future now it shows a multiculti group of young people, no children or oldsters, dressed like bums, doing no work, and if a white male is in it, he's probably dressed like a woman or a unicorn. The future is dumb.

Sadly, the handbook is out of print, although as I write this McKnight-Trontz has another Chronicle Books title out: How to Be Popular. Which I know I could use. Perhaps then I could learn How to Be Swell. Nick at Nite didn't really help that much. 

Ain't no never mind.

I've complained about Chinese fortune cookies in the past. In 2016 I opined about the poor quality of the fortunes in our cookies. In 2017 I noted the sad case of Donald Lau, a fortune-cookie fortune writer with a career-ending case of writer's block. In 2019 the crisis deepened as the fortunes seemed to be descending into madness. But in 2021 there was a new hope as the fortunes returned to sanity and even seemed to regain their classic cleverness. 

Now? They look like they have given up. 

What happened here? It seems the message was intended to convey hope -- that you can indeed teach old dogs new tricks -- but instead we got a double negative that is almost unparsable. No one is never too old to learn. So... everybody IS too old to learn? Not only is that demonstrably untrue, it still doesn't really reflect what the message is. You are not never too old. So You are always too old. Nope, no sense at all. 

Don't tell me this is a language barrier issue. The Chinese fortune cookie was invented in America and has been a staple for as long as 110 years, so whoever is writing them is bound to be in the United States. So I'm afraid there's no excuse -- I must give it the alphorn of stupidity.

If you are reading this and you happened to be the one who actually DID write that fortune, please don't take it too hard. Yours was a harmless mistake, one easily understood and dismissed. Perhaps it was just a typo in the heat of the moment. 

On the other hand, our nation is currently unable to bring a couple of astronauts home from space, keep violent criminals in jail, restrict the benefits of citizenship to citizens, make entertainment products that are entertaining, and do a million other things that used to be par for the course but now are beyond our stupid elite class to handle. 

So yeah, no one is getting hurt from a fortune cookie. But that doesn't mean no one is getting hurt. 

Meloncholy baby.

I look forward to the produce section in summer. I really do. Excellent berries, sweet corn, peaches, plums, and nectarines. What a delight! 

And every year I fall for the watermelon. 

I love watermelon, I really do. But it is the TARDIS of fruit, I swear. You come home with a baby five-pound watermelon and by the time you finish cutting it up you have eighteen pounds, not counting the rind. I don't understand how it works, but I know that if watermelon had more solid nutrition in it, no one would ever starve. 

No one's starving at my house, which is why, no matter how small a watermelon I buy, I always wind up throwing some out. Because despite claims that others enjoy the fruit, only I wind up eating it. One normal man can only eat so many pounds of watermelon a day. It’s great but not super versatile. And no one liked the grilled watermelon when I tried it.

I was better positioned to consume the whole fruit before it rotted when we had Tralfaz and Nipper, our previous dogs. Tralfaz liked a nice bowl of cold watermelon on a hot day, but Nipper absolutely adored it. Nipper, mind you, would pick individual blueberries off a treat and spit them out, but he was a devotee to Citrullus lanatus and would tear through a bowl like Sherman through Georgia. Izzy, however, Nipper's actual nephew, spurns fruits and vegetables as much as any dog ever, except for chewing grass like a freaking sheep. Dogs are unpredictable. 

Really, if I'm to be so foolish as to buy an entire watermelon again, I ought to enlist the help of "Buffalo" Jim Reeves of Western New York, a professional competitive eater who holds the watermelon-eating record: 13.22 pounds in 15 minutes at an event in 2005. Now, that was some years ago, but I'll bet he still has enough left of his A-game to help me dispose of a petite melon, however large it is inside. 

Mark your calendar for National Watermelon Day on August 3. Who knows what magical thing may happen? Maybe Izzy will eat a minuscule chunk of watermelon. Or maybe I'll wise up and stick to blueberries. At least you can make other things from blueberries. 

Gift certificates -- you're doing it wrong.

I like Britain's Sorted, on YouTube. If you're not familiar with it, the series features several lads -- a mix of professional chefs and "normals" -- doing food-related projects in the kitchen, from product testing to trying trendy or silly foods to surviving cooking or eating challenges. The Poker Face challenges, where they will eat or drink something horrible and have to keep a stiff upper lip, are particularly hilarious.  The show is lots of fun, and much better than anything Food Network is putting on these days. 

Many subscribers 

I was honored to be given a gift certificate to the channel, a code that could be used to unlock a subscription for their premium content. Many successful YouTubers have a feature like this. 

But I ran into a snag. Maybe you've encountered something similar. 

In order to activate my gift certificate, I had to give them a credit card number. Why? Because they would automatically renew my membership at the end of the year unless I told them not to. 

I thought there might be a mistake, as this was a gift and so I had no financial obligation involved. But no, after some back-and-forth with customer service, I was told that they needed my credit card or I could not use the gift. Refunding the giver was also out of the question. 

To me, this goes against the whole spirit of a gift certificate. First of all, it craps on the altruism of the "gift" part, forcing an obligation on the receiver. Second, gift certificates are encouraged because they expose the recipient to the joys of shopping or subscribing and thus are good for business on their own. But I told the customer service I would not be renewing even if I loved the service, and in fact I wound up never using the gift. 

Am I old-fashioned about this, or just wrongheaded? A gift is a gift, right? It should have no strings attached, either from the giver or any third party. 

It's too bad, because I probably would have enjoyed the subscription, but the hell with it. Bad way to run a kitchen, lads. 

New products!

As you undoubtedly know, going to the market is one of the highlights of my week. When I was a wee tot I liked going to the supermarket with my mom, and there's still something quite satisfying in it. Perhaps it's the hunter-gatherer in me. 

But often we gather things, or at least take a gander at things, we perhaps shouldn't. Here I am with a new edition of What's New In The Store, a.k.a. What The Hell Is That Thing? 

Sorry for the poor picture. What we have here is a room-temperature ice cream bar, not just dehydrated but hyper dehydrated, like the so-called "astronaut ice cream" on steroids. Those of us who remember that unusual but tasty treat were saddened when we found out that the stuff was not good in space because it was too crumbly, and crumbs are a menace to equipment in low- and zero-G environments. 

The bar you see above dispenses with the astronaut hoopla and goes right for the tongue: crunchy and flavorful, concentrated goodness for any time or place (except outer space). It comes from an outfit called Sow Good, although it is not made from pig milk. I don't know why they call it that. Maybe it's "sow" as in "sew." The whole things is weird. They make freeze-dried candy, and they made this freeze-dried ice cream bar. I could not resist trying it, even though it was pricey -- I forget how much, but more than five bucks. 

 

As it turned out, it was pretty good, with a strong fruit and ice cream flavor, like an Atomic Dreamsicle. Probably not worth the price. But as of this writing the company has dropped its ice cream line to focus on its candy products. Maybe they found out people don't want to pay six bucks for dry ice cream when they can get the real thing for a third of that price. Well, it was tasty, and I wish them well, and hope for their sake they can work that price point down. 

Now that you're in the mood for food, how about: 

Uh, yeah. "Smell funky? Get Skunky." Skunky is a pack of 25 rinse-free sponge sheets, useful for camping, for travel or water emergencies, for the nearly bedridden (you still gotta be able to move to some degree), or anytime you might get slimed and need to de-stink yourself without a bath or shower available. I think the name needs work, although it did get my attention. 

I did not buy a pack to field-test it. I didn't have to. I've been getting Scrubby Dog Bath Mittens for years, and they work the same way -- just add a little water. They came in very handy for the late, large mud-loving dog Tralfaz. I don't think Scrubby and Skunky are made by the same company, but it's the same principle.  

I think Skunky would be helpful for campers and for people who can't shower and don't have health aids to help. I don't camp and I'm not that far gone -- yet. 

We'll end with these beauties, which people Of A Certain Age will be shocked to see making a comeback:

Yes! Wooden salad bowls! They roamed the fruited plains of our great nation unhindered throughout the 1970s and 1980s, then suddenly seemed to go extinct around the time MTV stopped being a music channel. Scientists thought they were gone forever, but no! Like it or not, they have been spotted in the wild! By the time you read this, you may have a set of six with the big bowl and a large fork and spoon for serving in your cabinet! Resistance is futile!  

Racism and MSG.

I’m not sure why the late Anthony Bourdain is regarded as such a hero. He was an opinionated loudmouth, for one thing, yet the people who hate Trump for that loved Bourdain for it. He always seemed pissed off. Like we'd all failed to meet his precious standards.

Tony was satisfied to buy whatever protein was cheap, sear it in a hot pan, baste it with a lot of butter, and then serve it up, presuming that the customers didn’t care and would never know the difference. He was smugly dismissive: Everything and everybody was expendable. I was right there with him and angrily dismissed him. This wasn’t a near miss, this was a story of roads diverged. My anger was further fueled by what I found to be his pretentious demeanor. One expression of that was he no longer went by Tony. He was now only Anthony—Anthony Bourdain.

That quote comes from chef Peter Hoffman, who came up in the business with Bourdain. In his book What's Good? A Memoir in Fourteen Ingredients, Hoffman spares no horses in lambasting the man in his youth, as above, but does express sorrow that they never reconciled later in life, when they saw eye-to-eye on a lot of issues.  

I never watched Bourdain on TV (I prefer Andrew Zimmern if I want to see a guy travel the world and eat bugs), but I get the feeling he was often talking through his hat. For example, he went on a rant during his 2016 show about MSG: 

Bourdain, who traveled the world and showcased an extraordinary diversity of cultures and cuisines, was more explicit. “I think (MSG) is good stuff,” he said in a 2016 episode of “Parts Unknown” filmed in China. “I don’t react to it – nobody does. It’s a lie.”

“You know what causes Chinese restaurant syndrome?” he added as he walked through the streets of Sichuan. “Racism.”

Thanks for adding to the paranoia in the world, Tony.  

As far back as 1971, a study in Biochemical Medicine stated that "The signs and symptoms following the ingestion of monosodium glutamate (MSG) were found strikingly similar to those induced by acetylcholine (ACh). The effects of anticholinergic and cholinesterase (ChE) inhibitor support the hypothesis that Chinese restaurant syndrome is a 'transient acetylcholinosis'." 

And what does ACh do to you? According to the CDC, "Excess acetylcholine produces a predictable cholinergic syndrome consisting of copious respiratory and oral secretions, diarrhea and vomiting, sweating, altered mental status, autonomic instability, and generalized weakness that can progress to paralysis and respiratory arrest." 

I guess Drs. Ghadimi, Kumar, and Abaci of the Department of Pediatrics, Methodist Hospital of Brooklyn, who did the Biochemical Medicine study, were all Chinese-hating racists. Probably the CDC too.  

It's racist because only Asians use MSG.

I remember the eighties, when the fear of MSG was a real thing, and everyone or her cousin got sick after getting takeout from the Chinese place. Was it overblown? Almost certainly, but no more than the current health scares that show up every week. My theory is that fear of bisphenol A will be racist next, because so many things made in China contain it. 

Worries about MSG were not just from people seething with racism and making themselves sick; there were legitimate studies done and results indicated there was cause for concern. In 1986, the FDA said that MSG was "generally recognized as safe" but noted that some people seemed to be sensitive to it. In 2012 they backtracked, saying that studies did not find any consistency among people who reported sensitivity, which would seem to contradict the 1971 findings. Who knows? In 2025 they may find something in support of MSG sensitivity again, and then I guess the FDA will be racist. 

My ear doctor notes that monosodium means sodium. Sodium can cause a flareup of Meniere's syndrome, so it's a concern in his practice. Considering that we're all eating too much sodium, does that make us racist for wanting to cut down? He cautions that Chinese takeout is known for having high sodium content; he even singles out P.F. Chang's frozen dinners. And indeed, Chang's Chicken Fried Rice Bowl (a lunch-size portion) contains 1,040 milligrams of sodium -- almost half the 2,300 mg or less of the daily intake recommended by the health pushers. Eating Well magazine notes that too much salt can cause headaches, nausea, dizziness, and vomiting -- which sounds like a lot of the so-called Chinese Restaurant Syndrome symptoms. Maybe it was not the Chinese in the Chinese food that was causing the problem for all those racists; it was the overload of sodium. I think it's a plausible explanation anyway. 

The damage is done, though. Hating on MSG is racist. In his book Damn Good Chinese Food, chef Chris Cheung writes, 

My friend, the late great Anthony Bourdain, called racism on this and I have to agree with him. I have professionally cooked Japanese food, Thai food, and American food, and MSG was used in all of these kitchens, but I have only ever seen the request, “please, no MSG” when cooking at a Chinese restaurant. I feel the message they are trying to send is that Chinese people are trying to make you sick through their food. 

Feelings aren't facts, Mr. Cheung. When the MSG scare began, the only Asian cuisine most Americans were only familiar with was Chinese food; Japanese food was almost entirely confined to the West Coast. Otherwise, Japanese and Thais would have gotten blamed too. Would that make you feel better? If you really want to find a hotbed of anti-Asian hate, I suggest you focus on Ivy League university admissions offices.

Racism is stupid, vile, ignorant, and lazy. You know what else is? Slapping the "racist" label on things because they annoy you, without knowing anything about why things are the way they are. Our main cultural problem is probably ignorance, and the overweening pride that makes it impenetrable.