The Owl Meat Apocrypha

Denise Whiting – Dumpster Diva

2010-12-30T12:41:00.000-05:00

Baltimore Sun editor John McIntyre, self-proclaimed Royalist and contrarian opined from his Sun blog bully pulpit that the lowly commoners are jealous of Denise Whiting's retro-cartoon-trash megalomania. I think he might be right. How hot is this self-proclaimed dumpster diving diva? Notice that the fake "hon" accent is turned off here but the high-pitched diva screech is up to 11.

Nick and Nora Go To a Protest

2010-12-22T10:26:00.000-05:00

The dynamic duo of Owl Meat Gravy and gal pal Switchblade Kitty believe that earnestness causes cancer. With that in mind we embarked (late as always, SK!) for Hampden.

Taking our cue from Nick and Nora of the Thin Man movies, we believe that champagne or martinis make every event better and helps you solve crimes.

Sorry that it took so long to post these, but Blogger won't let me upload photos this week. I had to go through four passes via Flickr. Damn software!

We arrive at the scene of the crime. Switchblade Kitty with plastic cup of champagne and a bottle of Cook's finest. Because it's not a protest without champagne.

SK posing in front of the comically large display of police presence, five cars. And we're off!

Someone has their car decorated with various not-HON logos.

Attila the Hon badgering the crowd one by one.

Bad photo.

This girl was WAY too serious. More champagne, Switchblade Kitty! Is that the City of Baltimore flag? I don't get it.

Here comes the best sign.

Craptastic Hontown window display.

Here he comes

Earnest girl in homemade t-shirt etc.

This guy was really funny. Note how most people are smiling or laughing. I guess I didn't have my John McIntyre curmudgeon lens on.

Pretty girl smiling with lame sign. John McIntyre, where are the frowny people?

Parting shot from out getaway car. A successful hit and run protest. Except for earnest homemade t-shirt girl, the crowd was jovial and having a great time on a very cold day. SK and I flee the scene for High Topps in Timonium to watch the Ravens and check out the b/Sun "party". FAIL. The "party" seems to be discounted wings and crap lite beers. Hit and run, baby. And we're off!

We land at Nacho Mamas in Canton. Check out the menu. Hahahaha! Scunny mocking the whole thing by daring Denise to sue him. Way to go. A perfect end to our first hit and run day of fun.Then it's home to build a blanket fort and smash wine glasses in the fireplace.

Don't forget to check out other posts here including the video we made of Denise Whiting's new venture the CRACK CAFE™

Keyword Analysis Fun

2010-12-18T09:43:00.000-05:00

Statcounter reports that people found this blog using these search engine words (for the past week):

#Hits Perc. Search Term
40 Hits 54.05% grackle
10 Hits 13.51% owl meat gravy
5 Hits 6.76% grackles
5 Hits 6.76% owl meat apocrypha
4 Hits 5.41% owl meat gravy blog
2 Hits 2.70% rollicky bread bun recipes
1 Hit 1.35% "cafe hon"
1 Hit 1.35% autopilot airplane
1 Hit 1.35% cafe hon denise whiting
1 Hit 1.35% crack cafe whiting
1 Hit 1.35% denise whiting owl meat
1 Hit 1.35% owl meat
1 Hit 1.35% owl meat blogspot
1 Hit 1.35% squagel

What is the deal with grackles? I want to meet the person who Googled "rollicky bread bun recipes".

Denise Whiting, owner of Cafe Hon™, opens ghetto-fabulous theme joint the Crack Cafe™ (version 2.0)

2010-12-17T18:44:00.000-05:00

Version 2.0 has much better animation, some rewrites, and lots of sound effects and background sound. Dig it!

Retweet or Share on Facebook to spread the word.

Denise Whiting, owner of Cafe Hon™, opens ghetto-themed Crack Cafe™

2010-12-17T11:35:00.001-05:00

The Owl Meat Continuum has created this for your entertainment.

An Owl Meat Gravy™ Production.

The size of the box is better on YouTube. Check our YouTube channel here.

The pirate emo thing is good. The other two are old experiements with lame free software and photos and video from a $6 digital camera the size of a half of a Chicken McNugget.

That's a wrap! Shut it down!

Today's Trademark Infringement Fun

2010-12-11T19:13:00.001-05:00

I'll let others deal with the Denise Whiting Hon-icide™ debacle for now. For now. Who knew that trademarks could be such a galvanizing issue?

Your move, Baltimore City Schools.

Java Zombies & The Baltimore Farmers' Market

2010-12-03T20:01:00.001-05:00

Below is a rant on kids, strollers, and slurpy annoying coffee narcissists at the Baltimore Farmer's Market. Originally posted on the Baltimore Sun's Dining at Large blog. Reprinted here with minor revisions. Damn, I sure was irritable then.

____________________________________________

Jenna, just take a look at the post on kids in restaurants from earlier this year that spilled over onto the mommy blog. It was a steel cage death match with few parents coming out alive.

I think babies are just useless. Well they are. Give me a puppy any day. Kids as accessories annoy me too. Depending upon my mood, people in general annoy me. Wasn't it Sartre who said "Hell is other people."?

If I were in the mood to rant, which I almost am, given the sore muscles from doing actual physical labor yesterday that didn't involve a keyboard, a mouse, or a wine glass, uhhhh...

Set phasers to RANT.

Yeah, most of the time when I go to the market I'm not so much in the Bon Marché kind of strolling mood like my ex-girlfriend used to dig. Any market, any day. Stroll stroll stroll. The Paris bird market was her fave. I'm a freakin' laser guided maniac sometimes. I want apples, I want bok choy and I want to get hell out of there.

So what bugs me more than strollers, because I can see them on my radar and evade? It's the ankle dragging freakin coffee people. Yeah, and that's probably some of you. You know who you are. Mmmmm..... slurpity slurp slurp, ahhhh, mmmm, shuffle stutter-step stop linger start stop wandering in your addict's haze and narcissistic dark roasted egoism. Walking two or more across because if nobody hears your mouth-gasms they just aren't that good.

The problem other than my lifelong hatred of the coffee HABIT (not coffee, it's the celebratory ritual of lame addiction that irks me, damn, if you're going to get that worked up start chasing the dragon, swirl into a deep opium fog thinking of crickets and chanting all the vowels.) So I can't avoid you and I can't get to the stand with the hot farm girls. This is about food and an appreciation of tawny young women who rise at dawn and tear things from the ground for my nourishment and gustatory pleasure, get out of my way you poseur weekend divas with your khaki dreams and public onanistic mouth rapture. Gentlemen set your phasers to vaporize, I want my purple habaneros, a sunny smile from pepper girl, and in my mind-kill-zone there is just a puddle of non-fat milk java that is the stain that you will be. Slurp on that.

Good morning world. 8>O

Posted by: Owl Meat KillSwitchEngaged | September 16, 2008 9:45 AM

Chiu on This – Worst Sashimi Ever

2010-12-03T19:26:00.000-05:00

Lobster Girl and I had a late Saturday and lazy Sunday. We missed brunch, but made it out of the house for an early dinner. I wanted sushi, but didn't feel like heading to my beloved Minato. I decided to give Chiu's Sushi a second chance, since it's only a few blocks away in Horrible East.

Big mistake. Trust your first impressions.

First of all, the kabuki theater atmosphere with female employees dressed in kimonos is lame. The room looks like it was designed by someone who had seen The Mikado on acid.

The best way to judge any sushi place is the sashimi plate or omakase. None of the expensive stunt rolls. So I see they have a sashimi dinner and deluxe sashimi dinner. Deluxe!

First up is the hot towel. Ow, ow, .. ah. Then some hot sake. Done. They brought the usual miso soup which was okay, but like everything there it was overly ornate in a non-functional way. I don't need a cup, a lid and a goofy American plastic spoon. Japanese drink the soup from the cup.

Then there was a weird "salad" which was iceberg lettuce and a strange clumpy orange dressing. Fail.

I got the deluxe sashimi for $27. The deluxe model has salmon, tuna, and yellowtail. That is it. The fish was cut way way too thick; it was an unpleasantly large mouthful. The quality of the tuna was the lowest possible. It was bright red with no fat at all, signifying frozen and low grade cut. The salmon was adequate, but had a weird foreign taste sometimes like it sat in the refrigerator next to turpentine. The yellowtail was adequate.

The accompanying bowl of sushi rice was poorly prepared. I make better rice at home.

A sashimi plate is an opportunity for the chef to shine and to order it is a compliment to the chef. The artless slabs of fish on the platter was sad. Did I mention we were the only customers there? Three kinds of fish on the deluxe platter? Three? How sad is the regular version?

They did use real mizuna leaves. The gari (pickled ginger) was disgusting. Obviously store bought (hey, I make my own, it's not hard) and dyed with repulsive candy-like flavor from some kind of sweetener. Blech.

They also wrap & rewrap their fish in plastic wrap which is a huge foul according to Alex Tran, the owner of Minato. It traps weird flavors and bacteria.

Lobster Girl was happy with her goofy makis and slathered them in soy sauce and wasabi. That's what she likes, so that's what she gets.

I have a theory that sushi bars are like chiropractors. Everybody thinks theirs is the best. When I hear people say that Chiu's has good sushi, I wonder what they think bad sushi is. So, remember that when people brag up their chiro, keep in mind that they keep going back over and over and never get fixed.

Finally, the room was ridiculously noisy, with three separate LOUD conversations among employees in Chinese. Just because you think we can't understand you, doesn't mean we can't hear you. And if you look at my girlfriend and say "dee oh lay, ... dai bo". I know what you mean and yes they are real.

Sayonara.

Helliday Reboot for the Apocrypha

2010-12-03T18:39:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the Hellidays reboot of the Owl Meat Apocrypha. Usually the time between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day is a tedious depressing period. There's Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas, and New Year's Eve. Kwanzaa and Hannukah don't add anything positive either. My usual strategy has been to yell at the TV, drink bourbon, clean my guns, and stare forlornly into the middle distance while arguing with imaginary ex-girlfriends. Not this year.

This year I am going to be socially promiscuous and accept any and invitations to do things, especially new things. I am going to seek out social opportunities and enjoy them all. In short, I am embarking on a radical agenda of enjoying life. So I will try to blog about fun things around town and forgo poetry about food and death.

Let's go!

Play me out, Walt Whitman

I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

The Future of the Apocrypha

2010-11-24T07:34:00.000-05:00

At the moment we don't really care about the blog format. At the moment. Right now, we are putting most of our effort into the (Mobbie Award-winning, stupid whore) Twitter feed @OwlMeatGravy. If you don't use Twitter, now you have a reason to. You don't need to tweet your sandwich experiences and traffic woes, just sit back and be entertained by @OwlMeatGravy, @LordMarmalade, @BadThanksgiving, @HeardAtMyBar and @BobEhrlichWigs.

The staff and interns at GravyTron thank you for your support. Have a jarpy day.

Anger Is An Energy

2010-10-24T12:25:00.000-04:00

Dear Blogware,
I hate you. You suck. I make formatting changes and then you ignore them or change them. If it wasn't such a pain, I would pack up and move to WordPress. You're making me look bad. Do you have a drinking problem?

Get me the head of Klaus Kinski!

2010-10-24T12:16:00.000-04:00

My iPad Has Been Drinking (Not Me)

2010-10-23T17:45:00.003-04:00

Domo Arigato, Mr. Brewboto.

My iPad drank my Stella. Seriously, I'm not drunk. It's a software glitch.

Welcome to the brave new world of techno-drinking. Strap on your frackin' holobands and board Future Swerve 2010.

Brewing is hop-deep in unseen technology. The only technology drinkers need is a bottle opener (sometimes) and a glass. Darth Glass is the ubiquitous shaker bottom masquerading as a pint glass. Ethan Cox, a Certified Cicerone (beer sommelier) praises them for, "holding liquid in a consistent shape and not leaking."

Glasses vary at deluxe joints like Brewer's Art. Huzzah. Sam Adams steps it up with the Ultimate Boston Lager® glass. Behold laser etching to promote effervescence, a lip that delivers malty flavors to tongue receptors, and a corpulent torso that captures aromatic essences. Too bad it wasn't designed for a better beer.

Sam Adams' design is obsessive but laudable. Miller, on the other hand, has delivered moron technology. Meet the Miller Lite vortex bottle. Because you need a rifled beer neck to coax it out?

I saw a robot cocktail system in Panama. Press the Cuba Libre button and it kerplunks ice, rum, and Coke into a glass. Perfect pour, no theft. One flaw -- only rail liquors were hooked up.

There is a German model available called The Qube -- Die Cocktailmaschine. I'm not so sure about having a really smart German robot around. I don't want it organizing a putsch with the FryDaddy and InSinkErator. Technologie über alles. iCaramba.

On the non-robot front, who doesn't love a Japanese monkey bartender?

Watch out, Germany, your old Axis pal is coming. Konnichiwa, Asahi beerbot.

Mother's in Federal Hill had a system that dispensed beer from table taps and updated your tab. My email inquiry received no response. Maybe their monkey bartenders are downloading monkey porn.

Geeks at Yelp created an iPad application, the KegBot, that runs a self-serve keg system and tracks individual users. It's mega-geeky-cool and suitable for your frat house or brew pub ... beerus ex machina.

That's all for Tipsy Techday. Now tell us what drinking technology you love and what you hate. Bonus points for technology you make up. As the president of my alma mater DeVry College of Fixing Stuff said, "If you can dream it, someone at MIT can build it."

Photo source: Getty Images

Rock Me Amadeo's - an extended review of Osteria da Amedeo in Little Italy

2010-10-12T12:23:00.003-04:00

Below is the unedited version of the review I did for the Baltimore Sun's Midnight Sun blog. Above is the original artwork.

Osteria da Amedeo

Psst ... I found an oasis among the dining hubbub of Little Italy. Don't tell anyone.

Osteria da Amedeo glided in under the radar a few months ago. It's called a wine bar, but it isn't really. The last osteria in the neighborhood was an Italian sandwich shop. A true osteria is an Italian tavern that serves simple food and wine. That describes Amedeo's perfectly.

So much of Amedeo's charm is about what it is not. Not an oenophile snobfest. No oo'ing, cooing, or gurgling over monster goblets of Chateau Loutre Songeuse.

If you wanna get your Jäger on with your brosephs or compare body piercings with your skate-punk buds, this is not the place. Wanna troll the skankosphere? Not here. Wanna slip into a smooth jazz coma with an appletini? Nope. It's a normal bar that feels of the neighborhood, but offers something complementary to the LI scene.

It has a relaxed European feel that you rarely see here. Americans usually get that wrong with gimmicks, forced vibe, and cliché decoration. There are no gimmicks or affectation here.

Fellow Little Italians said I should check it out. "Where Pepino's was?" I asked. Nah. I put it off because I couldn't see how they could do much with the dive bar that was there.

I dropped in and was blown away by the transformation. Then I did something selfish -- I kept it to myself for a while.

The physical changes are stunning. The walls painted with nicotine and a grim black ceiling are gone. A beautiful white tin ceiling has been restored. There is much exposed brick and handsome dark wood. The space seems much bigger. There is a charming little back room suitable for conspiracies, trysts, and hullabaloos.

On my first visit the owner was bartending. He was friendly, unpretentious, and laid back. The three regular bartenders have a similar demeanor.

The crowd, never throbbing, is skewed younger than the hip-impaired bocce ballers you might imagine. Conversation happens at Amedeo's and for me that's better than sport X on a giant TV. People pop in for a drink and move on home or to another destination in the neighborhood.

This is not a tourist joint. It's fun to meet tourists in Little Italy restaurant bars -- until it's not. The question, "Are you a local?" makes me cry inside a little. Why? Because it often means that people will offer cliché inquiries like, "You don't look Italian. How can you live here?" Oh, Hank from Sheboygan, not tonight.

The scene at Amedeo's is whatever people bring to it on a given night. On various nights I watched Roy Halladay throw a no-hitter, listened to a woman talk about her baby's enormous head and Michigan or was it Minnesota football, ran into some old friends, went on a grappa safari, etc.

The wine selection is respectable, focusing on affordable Italian wines.

They plan to keep the food selection basic. Panini are $7, a plate of olives and cheese is $4, and bruschetta is $4. There are seven panini, with creative combinations of imported Italian meats and cheeses, fresh mozzarella, olive tapenade, baby field greens, tomato, and turkey. They use an excellent rustic Italian bread that is baked specially for them.

I recommend the Italiano or Parmacotta panini. I was never a panini fan, but these are delicious.

On a recent visit I did a tour of Italian digestifs and grappas. Digestifs, unlike apéritifs, are served after a meal to promote digestion. Because they often have a strong bitter herbal taste, they are an acquired taste. I love them.

Welcome to the Bitter Zone -- Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate.

Limoncello is a very sweet Italian liqueur, traditionally made from Sorrento lemons. The Sicilian limoncello at Amedeo's had an uncommon creamy taste and texture. Definitely the best I have ever tasted.

Cynar is an Italian bitter liqueur made from 13 herbs and plants, with artichoke as the dominant flavor. It's very artichokey. I like it, but it's an acquired taste.

Fernet-Branca is an amaro, a bitter, aromatic liquor. Fernets are made from herbs and spices including myrrh, rhubarb, chamomile, cardamom, aloe, and saffron. It's a mule kick of bitter pleasure. You will not forget this flavor.

Ramazzotti Amaro is a medium style amaro. Very good.

Amaro Averna is produced in Sicily. Herbs, roots, and citrus peel create a complex sweet, thick, smooth bitterness.

Grappa is a brandy made from pomace -- what's left after grapes are pressed for wine. Bad grappa is often justly compared to kerosene. These grappas are good to excellent.

Banfi -- smooth and reminiscent of many Balkan brandies like raki/rakia/rakie. It even resembles Slivovitz in aroma. It tastes clean and uncomplicated. True grappa.

Alexander -- has a distinctive smell that evokes immature wheat and fresh human blood. I know how that sounds; think of biting your cheek, not vampirism. Decent taste.

Nonino -- A pleasant seductive aroma of exotic fruits. Passion fruit? Watermelon Starburst? Much smoother taste. This is a real treat, exceptional.

The owner said that he is planning to increase his stock of these eccentric liquors. I hope he does.

Suggestions

-- A printed list of wines by the bottle and glass. Currently they are going through a process of natural selection, listening to customers before making a set list.

-- Wi-Fi -- not essential, but it would be nice. I was told that it is coming.

-- Some better beers. I know it's not a beer bar, but how about an IPA at least. Until then Moretti la Rossa will have to do.

Tourists seem to love Amedeo's because they feel it's the total Little Italy experience -- rubbing elbows with locals and getting that East Coast ethnic experience that you don't get at the Olive Garden in Omaha. As one said to me, "I always wanted to hang with some pie-zones."

Amedeo's is part of a gentle metamorphosis in Little Italy. Many people have said, "The neighborhood really needed it." I agree. The addition of Isabella's, Max's Empanadas, and now Amedeo's adds variety for residents and visitors.

http://isabellasbrickoven.net/default.aspx

http://www.maxempanadas.com/

Amedeo's is the sparrow on my windowsill. Not flashy, loud, or exotic, but its presence makes my world a little better.

Osteria da Amedeo

301 S. Exeter Street at Fawn Street, one block east of High Street in Little Italy

Monday - Friday - 4:30 p.m. - 1 a.m.

Saturday 11:30 - 1 a.m.

Closed Sundays

They may be open for lunch on weekdays in the future.

410-727-8191

Bungalos and hullabaloos

2010-10-12T12:11:00.000-04:00

After months of neglect I returned to the Apocrypha today to find that the software has been improved. It automatically changed all me text to Hindi. Really? What kind of crazy default is that? Is it some Google programmer in Indian getting retribution for the horrible TV show Outsourced?

It also seems to not work with my Opera browser anymore.

Namaste, already.

Resurrection Ale Photoshop Contest

2010-06-01T14:50:00.015-04:00

Here are some entries for the Midnight Sun contest from me and several friends that didn't make the cut. Lot's of geeky fun had by all.

Two for the road

"Looks like we're gonna need a bigger boat ... and some more beer!"

Sam Sessa sez "Don't get in the shark tank at the National Aquarium." Too late.

I got my mind on my Rez and my Rez on my mind.

Because a drunk baby in a Trump wig is funny.

The movie I wish they would make.

Because monkeys are funny

Self-explanatory

Christian Jurassic Park with beer

Why not?

That explains why they marched that far

Ganesh, the best bartender ever

Vanity shot

Behold, Mighty Zeus! Keeper of the beer

Creepy bar photo

2009-11-10T11:55:00.005-05:00

Here is the origin of today's Midnight Sun Tipsy Tuesday creepy bar photo

Crop and do a little Photoshop magic and you get something more David Lynch-y:

I liked this one too:

Swine Flu Heaven

2009-10-23T12:09:00.001-04:00

Bacon... tastes like Heaven on Halloween.

Mystery logo / mascot revealed

2009-09-19T20:50:00.003-04:00

This logo character represents Korean kim chi. It's a terrible logo. I love it.

Asparagus transformation

2009-09-06T12:46:00.006-04:00

Anything this phallic is fraught with symbolic complications.

I used this for my post on Midnight Sun's blog for my Tipsy Tuesday column. The post was about the restorative power of asparagus extracts on hangovers. Sam Sessa very cleverly gave the post the headline "The Asparagus Drip", you know, like an IV drip, plus it goes with the photo. I processed the photo to give it a kind of magical aura. The last thing I wanted to do was give any additional sexual nuance. Boring purple background becomes spectacular burst of energy in the process.

Consider what happens when I take the same photo and rotate it to give a more, urr, virile angle. It's practically impossible to deal with a single spear of asparagus without it being sexual. Example, that's just weird:

If you want to get even weirder here's another treatment:

It matters where you put the light flare.

Odalisque

2009-08-18T10:40:00.004-04:00

I used this photo of a drunk chick for my post on Baltimore Sun's blog Midnight Sun today. Laura Lee called her an odalisque, which I had to look up. It does come out looking like something from a Velvet Underground song.

Baby octopus photo

2009-08-16T19:44:00.003-04:00

Here's a photo of baby octopuses and the Picnik.Com manipulation.

Another example of Picnik.Com photo manipulation

2009-08-12T08:42:00.004-04:00

Below are the source photo and the result of it being manipulated in Picnik.com. Picnik is really easy to use.

I think that I cropped it, used Autofix, and then the Invert effect but chose the hue instead of using the default actual color inversion. I just slide the button around until I found something that worked best for me. My intention was to change it to something less realistic to emphasize the symbolic nature of the image. I think that before I inverted the colors I used tghe Vibrance effect to give greater contrast to the whitish foam against he white background. It worked really well.

The second photo was used for my guest column on the Baltimore Sun's bar and nightlife blog Midnight Sun.

http://weblogs.baltimoresun.com/entertainment/midnight_sun/blog/2009/08/tipsy_tuesdays_breaking_the_se.html

Cuban sandwich

2009-08-05T10:54:00.005-04:00

I don't think that I ever posted this before. It's kind of simple for me, but most people still don't get it. It's not really about marriage OR a Cuban sandwich, but a Cuban sandwich is a very good thing. I'm hungry.

marriage/lunch in Miami

someday I'll marry

a Cuban sandwich

scrunch in togetherness

full of meat and juices

bundle up ourselves

in a smashed crusty-fresh roll

all full of enthusiasm

hot-pressed between iron plates

flavor sealed in, naturally

from the Baltimore City Paper, 2002

Overheard today – ponies

2009-07-25T17:20:00.001-04:00

Guys in bar talking about ponies ...

"A pony costs $3000 a year to lease or $10,000 to buy."

Cabbage and cheddar

2009-07-02T17:13:00.002-04:00

I put Google ads on this blog out of curiosity. I was curious what kinds of ads would be placed. I never expected to make any money. The way it works is that when you get to a hundred dollars they give you the money. I am happy to say that since December 2008 I have accumulated $0.86.

Keyword analysis

2009-06-24T17:40:00.002-04:00

I was just looking at some data about visitors to this blog. One function is called keyword analysis. That logs the words used to find this site via Google or some other search engine. Here is the most recent data:

Num Perc. Search Term
9 25.00% owl meat
2 5.56% www.owl meat
2 5.56% owl meat apocalyse
2 5.56% meet and f**k my favorite
2 5.56% owl meat apocrypha
2 5.56% why so glum chum
2 5.56% i left my heart in sam clam's disco
2 5.56% poeme mr owl
1 2.78% feelin good in the neighborhood
1 2.78% feeling good in the neighborhood
1 2.78% sub bourbon
1 2.78% sam clam's disco
1 2.78% owl meat gravy
1 2.78% girl kill chicken
1 2.78% where does the term dumb pollock come from?
1 2.78% owl meat blog
1 2.78% sideways pinot noir monologue
1 2.78% is owl meat tasty or healthy
1 2.78% apocrypha meaning tattoos
1 2.78% www.owl meat apocrypha
1 2.78% apollo dancing with the muses by francesco bartolozzi
36 100.00%

Interesting. I wish I had more data. How did "girl kill chicken" get here? Or "meet and f**k my favorite"?

Fun with black and white photos

2009-06-24T16:54:00.004-04:00

For tomorrow's post on Dining@Large in the Baltimore Sun I started with a black and white photo. Then I used the heat map function in Picnik to create a color image and manipulated in various ways to create four different versions. Then I made a collage and tilted it out of frame a little.

I use different software for image manipulation, including PhotoPlus (a Photoshop knockoff), TiltShift, and Picnik. Picnik is a free program available at Picnik.Com and is very easy to use. I even bought the upgraded version.

My favorite image transformation

2009-04-30T13:41:00.004-04:00

I love messing with photos. I have no training or talent but it sure is fun. I used the free program Picnik.Com for the transformation of the photo below.

The coolest part was turning a black and white photo to color.

Momofuku and the Chicken Wing Test

2009-04-13T21:38:00.009-04:00

[This blogware stinks. Some links were added manually.]

I was writing this post at Amicci's bar, but the conversation of a couple next to me kept jabbing in like the cold nose of a beagle. They were a young man and woman whose stiff questions and forced anecdotes gave the appearance of a first date. I usually flee from that situation for my own sanity. That night I decided to stay and write down some of their words in between my own. And now ... voyeuristic noodle theater.

Chip: Gulps from a heady pint of Moretti La Rossa. "You're part Polish? Do you know where the term 'dumb pollock' comes from?"
Chip launches into a history of the Poles' resistance to Nazi mechanized cavalry (tanks) with horse cavalry.
Ashley: "Oh" and then sips Michelob Ultra from the bottle.
Too much yap-yap junior jarhead, slow our roll.

So, delicious ramen noodles, where are you from?

The process for turning traditional ramen into packaged noodles was pioneered by Momofuku Ando, the founder of Nissin Foods in Japan. In 1970 Nissin introduced Top Ramen to the United States. It was even named the greatest Japanese invention of the century in a poll. Ramen is the Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese lamian or lo mein, meaning "hand-pulled noodles".

How am I going to weave these threads together? It's like knitting ramen with chopsticks.

Chip: "The girl I'm gonna marry is 13 years old right now."
Ashley: Icy Michelob Ultra silence.
What? Back pedaling, Chip explains that he doesn't want to get married for at least ten years, but ewwww. He then orders a shot of Corazón tequila to add some luster to his pervy patina. If this is a date, it just circled the drain.

Quick, change the topic. I used to eat the raw ramen like snacks. I saved the unused flavor packets in a drawer for seasoning or soup later. That never happened.

Chip: Switches to Clipper City Loose Cannon. "For a first date I like to take a girl out for wings. If she can pick a chicken wing clean, then she passes about eight different tests. And I can see how she reacts [to how I eat.]"
Ashley: "That's smart."

Nooooooo. There are so many things wrong with that. Ladies? Does the chicken wing test sound like something that would work for you? I tend to avoid messy food for first dates. Actually I like to avoid first dates altogether. I wouldn't think of ramen as either a date food or a messy food, but in Japan it is both and slurping is considered good etiquette.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aT7TtJh_Il8

Ashley: Regarding her Michelob Ultra: "I do like the feel of the cold bottle".
Not boding well for you Chicken Winger Chip.

My college friend Balthazar used to make two packages of ramen at a time and eat them from the pot like an angry badger.

Ashley: On her phone checking on her fantasy girl's volleyball league.
Chip: "You gotta really be into that to know anything. Uh, I just know those two chicks from the Olympics."
That's bikini beach volleyball Chipwich. Apparently there was a girl's volleyball convention in town, with Little Italy awash in Sporty Spicettes in ponytails and matching team warm-up suits.

Fantasy volleyball league? How about a fantasy ramen world where monkeys make the noodles?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aT7TtJh_Il8

Ashley: On and on regarding the rules about injuries in girls' volleyball tournaments. "Because it's totally unfair to use the 1989 rule book just because no one has the current rule book. It's just not fair!"
Chip: "We like to keep the bottle caps from beer in our pockets to show much we drank last night. Sometimes I pick them up from the street to cheat."
Now they're not even trying to connect and Chip is talking directly to me ... as I'm typing his words.

The photos on ramen packages show healthy vegetables, sliced pork and chicken, but really, the usual additives were hotdogs, Tabasco and desperation.

Chip: "I heard that Mr. Rogers was a trained assassin and ex-Special Forces marine in Viet Nam who killed a lot of dudes, man. He wore cardigans to hide the sick tattoos that covered his arms."
Ashley: Not even listening; peeling the label from her beer bottle and thinking about fantasy volleyball.

I heard that Momofuku Ando was murdered by ninjas and his spirit haunts ramen makers as the bespectacled ghost Noodlehead [See photo above.]

Although a pillar of comfort and poverty food, I don't think that ramen is in the same league as Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.

Chip: "You ready to roll baby?"
Ashley: Uh huh.

And off they went to ... the Ramen Museum?

And ... scene!

Let ramen be the finale of seem.

The Horror, the Horror ...

2009-02-06T12:02:00.003-05:00

So Word didn't install properly, so no gloomy poems yet. Worse than that my hard drive started making high pitched noises like tacks in a blender yesterday. Then in just died. It is still making slightly less harsh sounds, but I fear the end is near.

This morning I woke up feeling confused and rudderless because I thought I would be wihtout the internet again for a time. Technology is the cure for enlightment. Talk about ruining a quiet mind.

Laura Lee brought up the grieving process. I think I went through that a month ago when my wireless connection died. What are the steps? Anger, denial, bargaining and acceptance. I won't tell you the mnemonic tric for remembering that. Okay, I'll change it a little: Always drink alcohol before doing anything. The stages were similar. Now I try to save various things until my hard drive commits suicide.

Why So Glum Chum?

2009-02-05T16:20:00.003-05:00

Ah that picture reminds me of the good old days when I used to play the accordian for coins in Ljubljana. Now it's all winter and discontent. It was 49 in my bedroom this morning. I didn't mind at all. Spite is the most warming of all emotions. BG&E isn't getting any more of my tolars than necessary. My utuilty bill for January was $80. Ha! It's a good thing that I have superhuman circulation and a new down quilt.

My wireless connection stopped working around January 6 and I spent a few days trying to fix it with no luck. First I had a panic attack from being disconnected form the unreality of the internet. Next I decided to experience that feeling fully. Then enlightment, in a small way. I decided to go without technology for a while. I started reading some zen books and practicing mindful breathing. Bam! It all made sense finally. Then I knew I had to avoid the distractions and empty instant gratifications of the internet. So I drank wine and read Thich NhatHanh and Pema Chodron, Buddhists of different traditions, but very accessible for Westerners. It turns out that depression and enlightment are quite similar. In both cases nothing matters. Sort of.

In the end I had to completely reinstall Windows to fix my TCP/IP software. I'm still reinstalling stuff and downloading plug-ins.

I was inspired by Laura Lee's questions about when I would get this thing rolling again. I'm not inspired yet but I figure I'll give it a stab. Now to install Word. Now reboot, etc etc etc. So thank you for the encourement LL. I will be scanning the archives for something ridiculously depressing to go with the season and my mood. I hope you visit soon and comment.

I Must Have One

2009-01-05T16:13:00.002-05:00

I Left My Heart in Sam Clam's Disco

2009-01-04T17:44:00.013-05:00

Just when I thought I had really run out of food poems, I found one that seems to be inspired by a pasta package ... and Satan! Originally the two different versions were side by side, but it doesn't fit that way here. I would like to say that it is just fun and free of any deeper meaning, but you never know.

Cool photo. I added some Photoshop effects. Great, now I'm hungry for clams. Mmm... Rocco's in Little Italy has a great vongole appetizer.

Linguini 17 Clam Sauce Recipe

In the seaport city of Naples they use fresh clams in this classic White Clam Sauce. Canned clams make a quick and easy – but still authentic – and delicious variation.
– Ronzoni package

In Shreveport sin it’s not please
thank you it’s flay my flesh crams
it in claws slick wit I
Can’t Cause dem lambs make cake
clot an deez evil buts all frantic
hands they lash for reason.

In a Sleeze port, sit’n ape the eels they
flow scram slick through sewers
blames crêche Franta Claws and
Clama Cause pees in deep
Zees but still gawks the takes
bans the fishious vary barely ates them.

Heads will roll

2009-01-03T19:04:00.015-05:00

Since the lovely alliterative Laura Lee liked the last one, I'm posting another word salad surprise. Deal with it. You'll thank me later.

One problem with this blog site is that when you copy text onto it it loses all the formatting. This next poem was a pain to recreate the formatting. I'm not sure it matters, but hey, you don't want to piss off a sensitive artist. The font was too small yesterday. I fixed it.

losing our heads (over Cuba)

Ooops! all heads fall off
passengers seat backs fullupright
blood-less detachment with massive
jerk over Cleve(d)land roiling
boling a round aisles not properly
stowed under seats
and    nodded off no noggin bodies
      snooze on end others flip
through Time Life People
   &
   heads head will roll thanks my
   God to turbulents and rollicky
   tumblepath flight of headless crew
(now)
besuited MBA baldly grapplechews
pantleg teeth(c)limbing
to reattach but not attracts
no attention of bodymate
Hello
porcupine haircut w/ stamenthin
‘stache corners stewardess
in: corner licks off blush
while& she tongues into aisle,
crew…is…bowling into
cabindoor but no body heeds
DISNEY®bound vacationeers MOLECULING
around in Avoga(u)dry mirth AND
a wilted vegetarian a
lounge singer lock:mouths
behind the 1st Class bulkhead
make neck-breathing whistlehums

American Air 321 pinballs the Caribbean
ignoring the gravity of it all
just displacing entropy with clutter and
the head (of an) accountant
unties women’s shoes
   tongue and t-t-teeth who-cares

1998

Sub-Bourbon Dreams

2009-01-03T11:22:00.007-05:00

I really tried to find something happy and interesting for today. I can't quite make those two things work together. Calling Doctor Bombay ... I'm afraid faithful reader and adroit commenter Laura Lee might be having nightmares about her kitchen by now. I did find this bit a hallucigenia (is that a word?). I hate the suburbs so I'm okay with letting the dogs take over. I wasn't convinced about this one until I saw the (sub)burban/bourbon wordplay. Hmmm ... I think my title is better than the one below.

When the dogs take over suburbia

Black stuttered shutterds nailed
opento bricks not shutup
ornamuhmental howhowse
with squirrelrobins stapledto

oaktreelawn ornamuhmints
ceramicwhite kittypaws fixed
to bricks backtacked as the
lackeredblack stutters unhide

the burbanslob bourbonflesht
unrealing inside
fuh fuh
whatthe fuhfuh hesays asthe

neighbuh borhood dogsnot
pokerplaying drive a toothpicksharp
(Milk Bone trained dogeschewed)
picketwhite stake inna the

velveeta painting of 2dogsuit
people buttsniffing bumperchasing
pierces the fabric HeyHoYipYip
so Luckycracks open a bottle uh

bloodNsprays down the wallpaper
cuz he shookitup & fizzed
fuhgleeing over the smattered

melancolliemood of the staketosser
as his muhmuh aster limps
from the frame.

1998

If only...

Slakey Whispers, I knew him from rodeo school

2009-01-02T13:57:00.004-05:00

I had a dream last night that involved taste and smell (and ghosts). That seemed odd since one's sense of smell is turned off while you sleep. I guess this is as good a time as any for this poem about dreaming of food while you succumb to the smoke of a house fire. Macabre? Indeed, but I really like it. It has a disturbing beauty.

fire!

sleep slow smoking
mountain trout tender
languored fumes snake slakey
whispers over the transom

we dream-collaborate
in rapt synchronicity
lungs smoke us inside out
as skin mediates wicking

egg shell white bubble & blister
we slowly slow turn jerky
as toes curl, fingers gnurl
to an old man’s clawfist

the closer the flame the farther we are
strnuggling tender loins in sizzle
dreaming hollandaise and horseradish
singe-mingling in burnt communion

the dream we dream
contains us
cradles us

2002

As Promised

2008-12-31T11:58:00.001-05:00

nujhyjnhuyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyythyt6u7777777777777777777777777777777777777777777 mn,jhunb

Leggo My Oeuf

2008-12-31T11:10:00.008-05:00

Phacellophora camtschatica, the fried egg jellyfish. Really.

Today I thought I might just lay my head on the keyboard and see what it spelled out, but then I saw a discussion on Dining@Large about putting a fried egg on a bison burger. Here you go. This is probably the only verse meditation upon that subject. I didn't think much of this poem at first, but it grew on me a little. Mixing some Sartrian (is that a word?) existential concepts into lunch dishes is novel. With Being-in-itself you get egg roll. Definitely a nominee for the Pretentious Bastard Hall of Fame.

The Oeuf of Paris

A man is what he eats, but a people eats what it is.
– Socrates

In the land of super suede brief cases
all I see is, how would Sartre have said it,
the thing-in-itself – the egg.

“It is the French way.”

Thai cabbage salad with peanut
sauce: where’s the spice, the umph?
Instead a hard boiled egg on top.

“But that is how it is done.”

A floating oeuf dur regatta on
Bengali shrimp soup?

“It’s the essence of life.”

It may have been a life, but on a pizza,
it’s an arrogant slimy eye.

The thing-in-itself, for Parisians
is being Parisian, seeing
themselves winking back
from their pizza, being-as-food.

1999

Clouds got in my way

2008-12-29T15:43:00.000-05:00

Suck on this Joni Mitchell. Well isn't that a great way to start the day? Our author seems to be able to find menace almost anywhere. I found an even more angry cloud poem, but that will have to wait.

The Violence of Clouds

Shrieking white rips the
blue. Cirrus-serrated
gashes acid-sear gouging
ice-crystal rasp-ripping.

Cumulus layer on layer blubber-tumbles
havoc, cirrus sprint shredded
slivers of white joint-torn
steel-shard splintered,
phlegm-belching
cumulus damning cirrus, lacquers
up the blue, and
scars slide off to
sight’s horizon.

2002

He ain't heavy Father, he's my noodle

2008-12-29T10:29:00.008-05:00

Oh whoa is he. First up is a tale of whoa and pretension replete with newly minted words as if English is just not big enough for his massive emotional spectrum. I can't resist a poem that ends with the line: You want fries with that, Sir?

Then something more fun. Wow, how awesome is the picture below. Sadly this artist's other works are really creepy, with a lot of semi-naked elf girls. This one is called "Bad Date".

BTW the post title comes from my favorite New Yorker cartoon which I can't find a copy of. It shows a priest talking to a human-sized fork with a large noodle in its tines. The fork says ...

Tormemorenting No More

I will language
you away
cast your meaning

from my heart
de(-ar)range the thought
I gave you
to begin with

make you a silly sentence
of squeaking styrofoam
tumbling behind a Burger King

the little voice of
I love you
now c(r)ackling to the indiffident

through the metal box,

You want fries with that, Sir?

1998

Fellini Dates Heidi

The waiter’s nose slides
off his face into her water glass.
She retrieves it with her soup spoon.

I order the live Maine lobster,
knocked senseless and served on a bed
of blurry naked pictures of the Pope’s mother.

She has a glass of blush and a self cleaning
forkful of Caesar salad, no anchovy
dressing on the side.

She makes conversation like a mortician presenting the bill.

I loved the movie: Bloodbath of the Apocalypse.
She swears it was The Sound of Music II – Return to Edelweiss.

I set fire to the bathroom to avoid paying the check.

After slips and snaps and straps, things are ironed out.

Mmm... goaty.

Is that the Brass Elephant?

2008-12-26T17:31:00.006-05:00

Fusion food at its finest.

Tonight’s Specials

My name.
Is Ricardo.
I will be.
Your server.
Before we start Stockinged toes intrude.
I will describe Not my wife’s.
some items Maneuvering.
not on the menu.
We are offering a Calf.
lemon Thigh.
vodka ...
fettucini
done lightly Hand inches under fabric.
in a splash of virgin
olive oil over ... Lace pantied expectation.

as an appetizer
or an entrée ... Marinated in hope.

brushed with
almond butter, grilled ... To imagined perfection
at the end of every
broiled ... fingertip landing
baked ...
sautéed ... simmering skin
appetizer/entrée Cajun barbecued ribs
eightfifty
singed flamed crushed her husband
strained mashed boiled my wife
burgled werst vork tel sprinkled with
walgrus hortense panopoly seering passion
weasel bandaid refried ... or just
hot and sour ...
new potatoes on the side.

1990/1997

The Post-SPAMism Affair

2008-12-26T16:47:00.005-05:00

Post Spamism: Naked and Loathing

My best friend’s
wife. I used to hate her guts
called her stupid.
Ant brained. Dilettante, Necco wafer,
desiccated single celled academic ...
whacked me so
hard a canine
punched—cheek—blood tasting…

(tasting)I loathe her
pinch the skin in the small
of her back
between my lips,
trickle sweat taste
distracts from the tedia of
post Joycean food
metaphorks, bendless
Virgina Woof parabulls,
and lecjures on Spam as
a cultural icon.

Will Someone Please Kill Mr. Kinski

2008-12-26T10:14:00.007-05:00

What makes an excellent palate cleanser for the horror that is Christmas in America? Some quotes by Klaus Kinski of course. Talk about getting the face you deserve. The title of this post comes froma short film that I saw a few years ago at the Maryland Film Festival. The next time you are bitching about a co-worker, employee or boss, just imagine what your work day would be like if it involved Klaus Kinski. See the short film here.

People think we had a love-hate relationship. Well, I did not love him, nor did I hate him. We had mutual respect for each other, even as we both planned each other's murder.

- Werner Herzog on Kinski

Herzog is a miserable, hateful, malevolent, avaricious, money-hungry, nasty, sadistic, treacherous, cowardly creep...he should be thrown alive to the crocodiles! An anaconda should strangle him slowly! A poisonous spider should sting him and paralyze his lungs! The most venomous serpent should bite him and make his brain explode! No panther claws should rip open his throat--that would be much too good for him! Huge red ants should piss into his lying eyes and gobble up his balls and his guts! He should catch the plague! Syphilis! Yellow fever! Leprosy! It's no use; the more I wish him the most gruesome deaths, the more he haunts me.

- Kinski on Herzog

And some more wisdom from Mr. Kinski

I am your fairy tale. Your dream. Your wishes and desires, and I am your thirst and your hunger and your food and your drink.

I didn't choose solitude.

I don't need anybody to tell me how to be alive.

I have to shoot without any breaks. I yell at Herzog and hit him. I have to fight for every sequence. I wish Herzog would catch the plague, more than ever.

I knew there were, in myself, the souls of millions of people who lived centuries ago; not just people but animals, plants, the elements, things, even, matter. All of these exist in me.

One should judge a man mainly from his depravities. Virtues can be faked. Depravities are real.

People who do not see the terrible things therefore do not see the beautiful things, either.

Sometimes my heart hurts so much, I beat it with my fists. I try to run. But you cannot run from this. It waits for you. Even when you think you have escaped it, it is there.

The truth is, I can never die. For I will be in everything and see you in everything and watch over you. I am your reaction in the water of a mountain lake.
Klaus Kinski

The ultimate acting is to destroy yourself.

Merry Öwl Meatmäs

2008-12-26T09:50:00.003-05:00

Merry Öwl Meatmäs

Here at stately Owl Manor, we have eschewed the usual sturm und drang, weltschmerz and schadenfreude today and have given in to Christmas - Owl Meat style.

I combined elements of my German and Mexican heritage to give you a glimpse of the holiday festivities here. First up is El Vez doing a killer version of Feliz Navidad. If you don't love this video, you have no soul. For those not familiar with El Vez, he is the Mexican Elvis and he LOVES Christmas. Does it get any better than Melvis dancing with a giant inflatable Santa and Frosty, while his band lays down some chunky Ramones-style thrash? I want his suit.

While bearing a striking resemblance to the late German maniac/actor Klaus Kinski, the photo above is of Krampus. Who is Krampus you say? Mein Gott im Himmel! Clearly you did not grow up in the Bavarian alps. Krampus is Saint Nick's evil assistant. How very, uh, German. He is bad cop to Santa's good cop. Krampus Night is celebrated on December 5, the eve of Saint Nick's birthday. So what does Santa's assistant do? He, meaning any able-bodied man, roams the streets frightening children and whacking women on the gluteus festivus with a stick. Drinking heavily is part of the ritual, which may explain why it goes on for two weeks. Nothing says Happy Birthday Jesus like binge drinking, dancing around fires, and random sexual assault.

Now how do we combine such seemingly non-intersecting cutlures and traditions at Christmas? With food of course. No Mexican Christmas would be complete without the special pork tamales. What makes them special? The addition of one or more secret ingredients, which I think is cinnamon and rabbit. One can never be sure. Tio Toro always brings his gucamole with mango and some amazing ceviche to celebrate his roots in Veracruz. The best of all is his ceviche de pulpo - citrus marinated octopus. Mmmm... que bueno.

The German part of the feast is short on tradition and long on meat. Cousins Dieter and Elsebeth grill something Dieter has recently killed on a bow hunting trip. In the past we have had elk, bear, and Canadian snowshoe hares (with a bow?). Elsebeth's bear paw soup was delcious and not at all frightening. Naturally there is homemade sauerkraut and a fermented beet juice that has purported rejuvenating qualities.

Another thing that unites both sides of the family is beating something with a stick. Since my lawyer says that our Krampus days are kaput, we have allowed the German side to make their own version of the piñata. Last year it was stuffed with homemade venison jerky and gherkins. I guess we will have to wait to see if Uncle Klaus and cousin Dieter's hunting trip to Canada was successful. The form of the piñata will be of whatever public figure has aggrieved them most this year. It could be anyone from Rod Blagojovich to Hugh Jackman or even Billy Mays. Can you imagine how history might have been different if the Germans had invented the siesta and the piñata?

Of course the evening always ends with drinking and dancing. Uncle Flaco acts as DJ, spinning vinyl copies of his favorite Norteño music, which sounds like Mexican polka to me. The night usually ends with Great Uncle Fritz announcing Archimedes-in-the-bathtub style that the Mexicans stole their music from the Germans, as if he just discovered this. But harmony prevails, because I have hidden the tequila and Jagermeister and bellies are full of elk jerky and pork tamales as El Vez rips into "Feliz Navidad" again.

Frohe Weihnachten de Carne de Buho.
(Merry Christmas from Owl Meat.)

Flanguid

2008-12-24T13:27:00.001-05:00

the state I’m in

flanguid as a June
breezes into April
flanguid as garbage
trucks by
flanguid as warms in raining
of cools noontime

a red sparrows the sill

this bumbling bee a yellows
jacket half shuts shutter dawns

the angle of attacks the sun
rays brick off concrete grins

flanguid as is baby eels in cooled cups water
fingers in dangling
feets in off piers
all-swirling swirling

The Face You Deserve

2008-12-24T13:23:00.000-05:00

the face you deserve

just as people
come to look like their dogs
you wear your sins on your face
they press and pull like gravity
those certain muscles
for deception and solitary self-loathing
in the nights of clenched dreams
and hollow defeats – they make
you over from the inside-out
turning the mask you wear
into the one you are

Owl Meat Gravy group on Facebook

2008-12-23T10:08:00.005-05:00

There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why... I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?
Robert Kennedy

Pretentious enough? And that's why I created the Owl Meat Gravy group on Facebook. I just discovered Facebook and it's a little addictive. While I love the interaction on the Dining@Large blog, it has limits and the time it takes to get a comment posted can be several hours or more. I thought that this might be a nice addition if people want to interact more spontaneously. There is no such thing as off-topic there and no Sun editors looking over our shoulders. It's an experiment. Yes, Facebook is for adults now. I scoffed at it just a month or so ago, but now am hooked.

Real Estate Stains

2008-12-22T13:28:00.003-05:00

Real Estate

a drop of red sauce
metamorphed by multiple
microwavings mutters
white trash, the red
crusting to brown & yet
unnamed earthy, dirty hues

little misarrangements and disorders
make moral statements against us
people inspect, agents preview, leave
judgements on the answering machine

our stuff owns us now

2002

distance

Like a
lively
string of
spit
dangling
from your
mouth, she

has the greatest value
the farther she gets away.

1994

Extra Crispy Moist Ideas

2008-12-20T09:34:00.003-05:00

TalkOverTapas

Mind of his
filled with STOP signs
laundry tickets
voice mail passwords
the click-click-click
of the bike messenger
gliding by

She minds the fat grams
in a Nutty Buddy, mind-full
and loaded with the sound
that makes her shift from
2nd to 3rd and the coolwomb
comfort of air conditioning
under flannel sheets.

Moist ideas lubricate
the distance between them
contemplation of conflagration
charred and crispy is the
common ground they neglect
to mention in between bites.

1994/2002

Tasty Stranger

2008-12-19T14:12:00.004-05:00

stranger at a bus stop

on a plain wooden bench
on the sandy concrete
in a tweedy earth-tone jacket
all slub and dun with
chocolate leather shoes
half pale wan and waiting
her legs her face hair hands
eyes teeth ears
sketch a simple spectrum
from white to light brown

the colors in a half-
chewed caramel crème

the colors are flavors
that blend and merge
melt and stick to
the intimate parts
of the mouth

through the glass I stare
and write she expects
something someone now
now gulp of red wine
I wash away the
memory flavors
I lick a drop of red
from my lower lip
she does the same
from her pink lips
which jump into
my imagination
as the only part of her
outside the spectrum

her pinked mouth and tongue
signal the beginning
and end of intimacy

I look back and she’s gone
that fast

1998

Bleak Bonus Thursday

2008-12-18T14:42:00.005-05:00

If you've completely given up on trying to be cheery today or this year and prefer to wallow in your winter depression, here's a gift for you.

walking wounds

scabs on the landscape
scraping by
these men-
shadows in rags
drawn grizzled
barely sticking
to life evaporating
toward death
have they lost the skill to live
or the will to die ?

2002

The Other Other Red Meat - Penguin

2008-12-18T10:24:00.004-05:00

I'm not sure what to make of today's poem about penguin ranching. Is that a real thing? I wonder what penguin tastes like? I'll bet it's a lot gamey and a little fishy. Have you ever had bonito in a sushi place? It's the darkest red fish flesh I know of. It looks like venison. Don't penguins eat a lot of krill and small cold water fish? You would think that their meat would be high in those healthy fish oils. I suppose some people will be aghast at the idea of eating them because they are cute. Tell that to Bambi. Anyway ... I think the ending is strong. I like its low tone of murmuring menace and conspiracy.

Someday, Timmy, there will be computing machines that will allow you to access all the knowledge of the world from your home. Let's say you want to find a location that is dedicated to evil penguins -- it will be there. What a brave new world it will be.

the black & the white

They say penguin ranching
has no future.
They are so wrong.

And there’s no vocation that beats it
on glee alone.

It’s a cornucopia of oxymoronic delight.

Where else can
giddy and slaughter mingle easily
in the same sentence?

the tastiness of beef
the healthfulness of mackerel

name another meat source
that’s really fun to play with
before it’s dead

Here in Tierra del Fuego
where the icy oceans mix it up
the wind speaks, they say, but
I say it just blows

at night
it stirs the ’guins:
they murmur and whisper
like disgruntled civil servants
asked to work through their coffee break

I Live in Fear of Food

2008-12-17T10:40:00.008-05:00

I thought I might be running out of interesting food poems and then I found this one. "I Live in Fear of Food" really lays it out clearly for you, like "I Walked with a Zombie" or "Mars Needs Women". I almost understand the sentiment, since I usually have some fearless mad scientist experiment going on in my kitchen. I think Blue Oyster Cult would be the perfect soundtrack for this one.

I Live In Fear of Food

I love those food synthesizers on Star Trek.
I loathe what’s in my refrigerator.

Not just the It’s Alive yogurt,
plucky yeast & primordial sour
dough mix, no, all natural things.

While sleeping I might snore
and some food could jump down my trachea.
Who knows what its agenda is.

Remember, you can drown
in an inch of water and don’t play
in a refrigerator or plastic bag.

They say any natural substance
in excess is a poison, even water.

Where there’s life there’s danger, I say.

Natural is the lurking evil,
it hides in purity, clings to life
in the fridge, so if you must sleep, do it sitting
up against the purring reanimator box or just
sleep in your car.

1998

Terrier Mom on Squagels

2008-12-16T18:23:00.004-05:00

I don't think that I have ever heard of a squagel before (a square bagel), but I guess I can see the point. Dining@Large commenter TerrierMom sent me this self-penned interesting bit of verse on the squagel. Huh, Google Image offers up many squagel pictures. I need to get out more. Maybe there are square donuts (squonuts) or triangular pitas. The world is changing too fast. I think she writes a little bit like a terrier might - quite snappy.

Squagel

Square bagel ...
Squagel!
Mutant
Sandwich-ready
Scorned by
Jewish parents
here you are
melty melty
chewy chewy
square perimeter
hole in the middle
Why the hole?
For what you lost?
Change your shape
Lose your soul

A Scary View of Dim Sum

2008-12-16T00:17:00.004-05:00

Yesterday there was a post on Dining@Large about the lack of dim sum places in the Baltimore area. Maybe that is true. But would you want to go to this dim sum place? And could you ever sleep afterwards? Another disturbing food poem. Enjoy.

Dim Sum

Things are out of place.
Pearl earring in an oyster
served by a bony waitress
minus an ear. Big dogs
tied to a flagpole howl
from un-tongued mouths,
having chewed them in
error. In a graceless

Chinese restaurant, a boy wearing one black mitten
brings a dish of Szechuan finger sausages.

Now Tommy and Maria gnaw on
fistfuls of barbecue wings.
In the lot behind the Golden Palace
I search my pockets for car keys while
Maria fans her hand to lick at the hidden flavor.

Half-seen in the dusty gravel, five wingless crows with yellowed
beaks wrestle, hop and roll, scratch and poke for the
privilege of pecking out our eyes while we dream and digest.

A View of Hell from Pizza Hut

2008-12-15T14:09:00.005-05:00

So I went looking for an interesting pizza poem. Mostly I found ones where empty pizza boxes were loaded with depressing symbolism. But then I hit the jackpot. Enjoy.

A View of Hell from Pizza Hut

Searing pizza cheese pain tears into the
the roof of your mouth the agony she laughs
didn’t “Mitzi” warn you nincompoop she snarls
and looks far away to Shoe Town ...

She daydreams her way
through rack upon rack
stacked to the dropped ceiling
up the aisles of pumps
tagged floating free fluorescent

now naked greywhite blobby flesh air-sliding
over the skins stretched for our non-metric feet

Downtown a man in her
day dreaming hops off
with a display shoe
on his one foot

(in a place where a pair is more costly
than the silvery gun that “Mitzi” is fondling
now thigh-strapped silent rubbing converting
rubles to yen for fun in her head)

1992

Not Feelin' Good in the Neighborhood

2008-12-14T02:28:00.014-05:00

Could eating in a chain restaurant drive you insane? I believe that it could based upon this poem.

I want my baby back, baby back, baby back ... Apparently Lisa was a popular name for Chili's waitresses in 1991.

A Million Lisas (Is Too Many)

for Lisa

What a treat was the
auburn-haired Lisa that
took my order and
what a nice surprise
was the fishnet
Lisa that doted on the

croutonicity of my salad.
After the Is Everything
OK Heather, I was
bombarded with a sizzling
Fajita Lisa and a sidecar
Lisa-in-training Lisa.
The satisfaction Heather had
molted into an Is Your Meal
OK Lisa and the previous
Lisas of the Crouton, Fajita,
et al had organized in
the lounge, splashing
around the Exxon
Super Premium and igniting,
hand-in-hand: a mega
circular union of
Lisa-ness for
Happy Hour patrons.

For those who wondered
what is the critical mass
of Lisas or Kirstens or
Ashleys, Christies, Staceys
or Kellys, the answer
is nine, at least so says the
burning ring of Lisas
in the lounge tonight.

Topic: I love comments

Laura Lee suggested The Nine Muses a series of poems and the painting "Apollo Dancing with the Muses" by Francesco Bartolozzi (1725-1815). Thank you Laura.

In Praise of Charles Simic

2008-12-13T16:22:00.008-05:00

In college I took a writing course with John Barth. The TA didn't like poetry much so he selected something by Charles Simic called "The Butcher Shop" for us to read. I didn't like poetry much either and still don't. But I loved Simic's poem because it showed me that poetry could have power and meaning in unexpected ways.

Bartolomeo Passerotti

Butcher Shop

Sometimes walking late at night
I stop before a closed butcher shop.
There is a single light in the store
Like the light in which the convict digs his tunnel.

An apron hangs on the hook:
The blood on it smeared into a map
Of the great continents of blood,
The great rivers and oceans of blood.

There are knives that glitter like altars
In a dark church
Where they bring the cripple and the imbecile
To be healed.

There is a wooden block where bones are broken,
Scraped clean– a river dried to its bed
Where I am fed,
Where deep in the night I hear a voice.

-- Charles Simic

Another great suggestion from Laura Lee:

Tales of the Impertinent and Presumptuous

2008-12-13T13:43:00.014-05:00

Taking a cue from a discussion on Dining@Large about bacteria, saliva and bottled water I found this poem, which features Pinot Noir and saliva in a tasteful fashion. Did you ever notice that you can't taste your own saliva? Yet there it is all the time. Just like cable TV - you really only appreciate it when you don't have it.

Pinot Noir makes Rainer Werner Fassbinder happy.

An Impertinent Vintage with a Presumptuous Aftertaste

Picture this … sings Frank
in this … 52nd floor … big view lounge
where conventioneers finger tap
Bud bottles to Sinatra.

Tactless Pinot Noir in a liberal goblet,
warm & red, sheeting over my tongue, leaving
a quilt insinuating foreign saliva.

Peculiar to this wine tonight, never
before with a Cabernet, Chianti,
Merlot, or Beaujolais, this flash of a kiss
of immoderate familiarity and moisture.

It rouses a memory strong but attached
to no mouth or face I recall. Struggling
to place the taste of anyone’s saliva

while bearded business drunks,
“I used to be Irish!” repeat everything, “If he don’t, I will!”

“I used to be Irish!” twice “If he don’t ...”
twice and “You bet Bob!” “... I will!”

try to place it, but no reference point,
no saliva standard, can’t fix the taste
in my own “You bet!” mouth “Bob!” mouth.
End up
guzzling Pinot Noir memory scanning
for a tiny overflow of saliva from
under her tongue, she maybe had
to be home early for a watching father
or husband or job, maybe could stay out all night.
But I doubt it.

While we're on the subject of Pinot Noir, why not pull out the monologue from Sideways? I think that he might be talking about more than just grapes.

So nervous beardy guy in pain, why are you so into Pinot Noir?

Uh, I don't know, I don't know. Um, it's a hard grape to grow. As you know. Right? It's, uh, it's thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It's, you know, it's not a survivor like cabernet, which can just grow anywhere and thrive even when it's neglected. No, pinot needs constant care and attention. You know? And, in fact, it can only grow in these really specific, little tucked-away corners of the world. And only the most patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time to understand pinot's potential can then coax it into its fullest expression. Then, I mean, oh its flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and... ancient on the planet.

My Boy Smuckers

2008-12-12T13:14:00.008-05:00

What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.
-- Soren Kierkegaard

Here is today's food poem - neither menacing nor disturbing. I wonder if they named their kid Smuckers?

Sunday morning anticipatter

Holly up
and paints
some names
on our almost-baby
dip dipping a fingertip
in the jar of strawberry
preserves on the tray
next to our bed.

Her belly mountain of us
accommodates several
and several are expunged –
thinking while licking
I trace the rubrics
with my tongue and
kiss away her ripe ideas.

The Trolley of Meat

2008-12-11T08:41:00.005-05:00

Another day, more food anxiety.

The Trolley of Meat

back when everybody rode the streetcars
back when the butchers
worked here
but lived over there

there was the meat car
with men hanging onto straps
with bowling pin forearms

our dogs chased the streetcar
and we let them

we never witnessed the goings-on
in the sprawled buildings
beyond the guards and gates

I think our dogs knew
but didn’t care
or didn’t want us to worry

Super Bonus Wednesday

2008-12-10T13:20:00.009-05:00

Scylla

I like this one. Just the right balance of menace and food and paranoia.

Torn between the Scylla Salad and Charybdis Pesto

Fleeing orange acid
riptides, razor clam surf
punks, ankle grabbing sand hands,
swept onto the Dunes of the Accountants.

Number crunchers on steroids
swinging rolling pins with
hands as big as your fist
sport t shirts that beckon
Kiss Me I'm Symbionese.

Chased, bludgeoned into a run down restaurant
Pasta Agonistes
I stumble I circle the salad bar,
I just can't take any more.
Bones shattered, a bag of pretzel sticks,
Humiliated Uncle I pronounce.

In a Handi Wipe moment it's shopping mall new,
bursting with college kid wait people
reenacting my torment with souvenir
rolling pins for the
families of threes ordering dinner:
"Does the Linguini Achilles come in a child's portion?"

Bonus Wednesday

2008-12-10T13:04:00.004-05:00

I'm avoiding doing something else, so I will continue with more food and disturbing poetry.

Maybe the writer shouldn't be sleeping on an ebi sushi. I can't say that it would be my first choice for a pillow.

Heads

4 AM and Paris is finally quiet, but
for a low hum outside, harmonious
and growing in volume.

I swing open the windows
to a buzzing serenade.
From the fifth floor
it's hard to tell, but I
think it's a gathering
of the shrimp and fish
heads I left staring
from my plate.

They seem to want something.

Wednesday

2008-12-10T00:32:00.002-05:00

Oops, it's already Wednesday. Time for another terrifying poem about food. This one will do.

Martinique Blood Sausage Spree

Steely electric guitar flitters
to the taped rhythm track,
the black man with the blue Strat,
off a Rive Gauche alley,
spewing happy
singing.

The waiter slides around,
points a finger
above my ear, then
into his chest.

“I am egg gal. I am.”

French with a German accent, I think
he means the painting’s signature:
M. Hegel.

I nod and smile,
he nods to the guitar player
who nods to the cook as 2 tables
nod a lot, dance out the door
and leave me alone in Cafe Martinique.

I order from the page marked
Wondrous Gifts of the Sea
in bad pointing French.

Red wine goes quickly with
the tangy squid stuffed
with different squid, bananas,
fiery yellow peppers, cinnamon.

The guitar player turns up the echo.
Wine and squid drift away.

Hegel brings more wine and a plate
of deep red sausages. Wondrous
gift of the sea? I ask and all three
nod yes, to each other, to the music,
to the sausages.

The painting looks down on me:
green fatigued,
a black soldier
blue spume anchored,
arms skyward
clutches a bayonetted lobster
wriggling on gunpoint
and ashen white goat slung
around his neck

M A R T I N I Q U E

in black sparrows, contorted,
twisted wings into letters.

Heavy knife dull pulls
tears the skin
and a reddish brown
pushes out, oozing, intact.

In my mouth: hot spicy nutmeg pepper.
On the wall: lobster soldier leer smolders.
On my tongue: aroma soft rising round
viscid roe salivary urging
fermenting goat
blood glowing.

Over my shoulder, smiling
black and white, restaurant
staff bouncing to the
echoey blue guitar.

Tuesday

2008-12-10T00:23:00.003-05:00

Pretzel Girl

I guess I will add a poem once a day or so that amuses or offends me. Here is one.

It’s not sex, just too much entropy

The air is poisoned,
so you desire women with
messy unwashed hair.
A desire to wrestle
with their hair ribbons
and sunglasses, bracelets,
scarves, and necklaces.
To consume all this junk,
to lift women from the
streets of Montparnasse
like cheese fondue.
You hate yourself a little.

You hate yourself more as a Parisian
object of desire turns out to be a poli sci major
from Kutztown State, “that’s in Pee A!”

You no longer know what you desire.
You no longer want naked women.

You only want to make them naked.
To un-accessorize them, unravel them
and iron out the wrinkles of attitude.

Grackle Day poem

2008-12-07T18:22:00.006-05:00

Lissa brought up Grackle Day and that made me think of a poem about grackles. Now that I look at, I'm not sure that it's about grackles at all. It definitely isn't safe for the restaurant blog.

Grackle Sandwich To Go

North we went, me and Carolyn, who I snagged
from TGI Fridays near Cape Canaveral. Skipping
DisneyWorld we settled for french fries & fucking,
forsaking Mickey & Minnie for fast food and self-made
obstacles – steering wheel & head, heels & windows,
friction & gravity – all easily overcome.

I thought a grackle sandwich was a joke but the more
Georgia we went & the more accustomed I became
to rental car vinyl the more real it became
until I felt a heavy flapping beside us in the dark
as we turned inland and went off the menu.

Cracklin’ on the plasticized mattress at the Peach Grove
Motor Lodge, Carolyn face down foot end of the bed
white bread crusts scattered to the 4 corners of the rug
& more I shook her hard. Dead, not really, wish I was she said,

black feathers on white sheets, a crunchy memory, a shame
on nature and two dead bottles of Jack – grackles loomed.
Suffocating in the doughy white, lively dying in a sandwich,
my head throbs as the night before jerks back, a zesty wing beat

makes the Wonderbread spongier more compressed and I hear
memory shards of Trim the crust Honey. I hear more than I want
& my tongue becomes self-conscious, roaming around

new sores & punctures & sticks, sticks stuck in gums
feather stubs. Up to vomit, Carolyn runs a greasy hand between
my legs & off we go. To the heart of America, where birds sit
on fences & people sit stuffed on sticks in fields of scare.

OH ... MY ... DAD ... !!!

2008-02-12T15:46:00.000-05:00

Yahweh delivered this ironic day-of-rest smackdown to his
Son this Sunday in Rio.

Jesus, as always, could not be reached for comment.

Maybe Christ was still busy writing up Mike Huckabee's
300 million person fast food delivery order. Really Mike, I'm
sure he could have done an electronic transfer, despite the
obvious inflationary pressure that that many loaves and fishes
would have caused.

Psst, the next time you're in an idol smiting mood, look into these
fools. (I Google-mapped it for you Lord).

Pirate Awareness Alert

2008-02-12T06:57:00.000-05:00

News

Piracy attacks rise 14% as Nigerian and Somalian coasts become more dangerous
London, 16 October 2007

Piracy and armed robbery attacks against ships rose 14% in the first nine months of the year compared to the same period in 2006, the second consecutive quarterly increase in attacks, as the coastal waters off Nigeria and Somalia became ever more dangerous, the International Maritime Bureau (IMB) reported today.

In the first nine months of the year, 198 attacks were reported versus 174 attacks reported in 2006 during the same time frame. A total of 15 vessels were hijacked, 172 crewmembers were taken hostage, 63 were kidnapped, and 21 were assaulted. If this trend continues, the decline in piracy attacks begun in 2004 will have bottomed out. Crew assaults, kidnapping and ransom rose dramatically from 2006.

Pirate Reporting Bureau

Well, out here we call them "pirates," Ned.

Because of the resurgence of piracy in the Indian Ocean and elsewhere, I thought I would feature a video that takes us back to a more innocent time. Loss of an eye ... perhaps the only physical deformity that is appealing to some people, except breast implants.

Arrrrggg indeed.

Spammered

2008-02-11T14:07:00.000-05:00

Crazy Tasty!

Compared to Hot Pockets, Spam is damn near a health food.
Ingredients: Pork with Ham, Salt, Water, Modified Potato Starch, Sugar, Sodium Nitrite.
__________________________________________________________________

Continuing the theme of processed meat murder, here's a poem from Minnesota poet and architect Brinsley Schwartz.
__________________________________________________________________

Spammered

There is no death as low
as being hammered
with Spam uncanned.

In teams or singly
they beat you wiggly
with that jiggly meat-product,
inflaming the tissue 'til
you’re pain and hot gristle.

Bloated and purpled,
groaning plum out of Hell,
you beg for tenderizing and
steaming like a vegetable.

(c) 1998, Courtesy of the Spam Museum Archives.

Spam Museum, Austin, Minnesota

Death by Hot Pockets

2008-02-10T14:49:00.000-05:00

Mein Gott im Himmel! I repent!!

Forget the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. When the world ends, we will perish in a fiery blaze of molten cheese and meat-filled pastries.

Hot Pockets!

Apocalypse Pockets!

No need to microwave your Hot Pockets in Hell, just wave them over the Lake of Fire.

Hot Pockets!

Hell Pockets!

Hot Pockets Calzone 4 Meat & 4 Cheese

INGREDIENTS: Water, Unbleached Enriched Flour (Wheat Flour, Malted Barley Flour, Niacin, Reduced Iron, Thiamin Mononitrate, Riboflavin Folic Acid), Cooked Italian Sausage (Pork, Water, Seasoning [Spices, Sugar, Garlic Powder, Natural Flavorings], Salt), Tomato Paste, Green Peppers, Part Skim Mozzarella Cheese With Modified Food Starch (Part Skim Mozzarella Cheese [Pasteurized Milk, Cultures, Salt Enzymes], Modified Food Starch), Imitation Mozzarella Cheese (Water, Modified Food Starch, Casein, Soybean Oil, Whey. Contains Less Than 2% of: Imitation Mozzarella Cheese (Mozzarella Cheese [Milk, Cheese Culture, Salt, Enzymes] Water, Casein Soybean Oil, Food Starch, Whey, Sodium Aluminum Phosphate, Salt, Sodium Phosphate, Lactic Acid, Natural Flavor, Sorbic Acid [As A Preservative], Artificial Color), Cheddar Cheese (Culture Pasteurized Milk, Salt, Enzymes, Annatto), Imitation Cheddar Cheese (Water, Modified Food Starch, Casein, Soybean Oil, Whey, Contains 2% or Less of Salt, Sodium Aluminum Phosphate, Sodium Phosphate, Lactic Acid, Sodium Citrate, Natural Flavor, Sorbic Acid [Preservative] Artificial Color), Sugar, Canadian Style Bacon Made with Pork Sirloin Hips, Chunked and Formed, Smoke Flavor Added (Cured with Water, Salt, Dark Brown Sugar, Dextrose, Sodium Phosphate, Smoke Flavor, Sodium Erythotate, Sodium Nitrate), Seasoned Cooked Beef (Beef, Water, Seasoning [Salt, Spices, Dehydrated Onion, Sugar, Dehydrated Garlic, Caramel Color, Natural Flavor]), Partial Hydrogenated Soybean Oil, Seasoning (Salt, Sugar, Spices, Onion Powder, Methylcellulose, Romano Cheese [Part Skim Cows Milk, Cheese Cultures Salt, Enzymes] Garlic Powder, Xanthan Gum, Locust Bean Gum, Carmine, Disodium Phosphate), Seasoning (Parmesan Cheese, [Part Skim Milk, Cheese Cultures, Salt, Enzymes] Maltodextrin, Whey, Salt, Disodium Phosphate] Dehydrated Red Bell Pepper, Spice, Partially Hydrogenate D Soybean Oil, Maltodextrin, Worcestershire Sauces Solids, [Molasses, Vinegar, Corn Syrup, Salt, Caramel Color, Garlic, Sugar, Spice, Tamarind, Natural Flavor (Dehydrate Parsley, Salt, Citric Acid, Natural Flavor, [From Whey], Potassium Chloride, Sugar, Lactic Acid, Cultured Whey, Calcium Lactate), Baking Powder (Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate, Sodium Bicarbonate, Corn Starch, Monocalcium Phosphate), Partially Hydrogenated Palm Kernel Oil (With Soy Lecithin, Citric Acid As Preservative), Dough Conditioner (Calcium Sulfate, Salt, L-Cysteine Hydrochloride, Garlic Powder, Tricalcium Phosphate, Enzymes, Wheat Starch), Locust Bean Gum, Modified Food Starch, Modified Potato and Corn Starches, Yeast, Parmesan Cheese (Made From Pasteurized Milk, Cheese Culture, Salt, Enzymes), Locust Bean Gum, Modified Food Starch, Modified Potato And Corn Starches, Yeast, Salt, Monocalcium Phosphate, Rice Flour, Tapioca Dextrin, Dried Egg Yolks, Leavening (Sodium Aluminum Phosphate Sodium Bicarbonate), Dextrose, Caramel Color, Xanthan Gum, Soy Flour.