Handbill Handout

Mise en place - half an onion, sliced garlic, thinly sliced home-made pancetta and some garden-grown parsley. Decided to do a riff on the Portuguese recipe from the Les Halles cookbook. Bourdain may be slipping into self-parody at this point in his television career but the guy wrote a solid cookbook. Of course, he has six mussels recipes that are all essentially the same technique with varied ingredients (which is why I felt comfortable turning the dish Italian with the pancetta ) but hey, as long as people want to learn recipes and not skills why not take advantage? The victims, fresh from the fish guy at the St. George farmer's market who had trucked them in from the North Shore of Long Island that morning. He made me laugh by referring to them as "rope grown"; I guess because farmed fish has a (justifiably in most cases) bad reputation among people who know food they don't even want to use the word for shellfish which is actually better if you can get it

Oh I ate the poor dog’s homework Yes sir I surely did I ate that poor dog’s homework And then he ran and hid I ate the kitty’s cat’s tuna Yes sir that definitely is quite right I ate that poor cat’s tuna It was a grisly sight I ate the bison’s grass feed Of that there is no doubt I ate that bison’s grass feed It was green and chewy and stout I ate the dolphin’s fishes They cooked up tasty and nice I ate the dolphin’s fishes Over the top of rice Oh I ate the poor dog’s homework It was a dumb thing to do I ate the poor dog’s homework And now I have to poo!

Fascinating article . Oddly enough, the registration feature on the website the article references is down right now. Oh, how will I ever know where I stand without the machine telling me?

Seems like a lot longer, actually. New York was a different city then. My life was a different life. Regardless, 15 years ago today I witnessed the greatest sporting event I have ever seen in person. Or ever will see in person There are other games that I’ve been fortunate to see in person that come close. September 7, 1996 when Canada beat Sweden in 2 overtimes in the World Cup of Hockey semi-final in Philadelphia . I remember Mats Sundin getting roughly a million and a half scoring chances and cashing in on none of them. I remember Tommy Salo playing the game of his life in goal for the Swedes. I remember the Philly fans, hockey sophisticates all, yelling"C'mawn Lindrows" and not caring a ton for the rest of the action in what was a classic international contest. I sometimes wonder what the atmosphere for that game would've been like if it was played in Montreal where I was lucky enough to attend a couple of WCOH games in 2004. Another event I was luckey en

Thanks to the fact that the HR area of my employer is primarily Southern California-based we’ve gotten more updates, e-mails and discussion about the swine flu outbreak than we did about September 11 and the Gulf Coast Hurricanes combined. I always suspected that those events never really happened to anyone who didn’t have roots or relatives or a sentimental attachment to the affected areas. This would seem to prove it. Fortunately they’ve reacted sensibly, dispensing five extra sick days to all employees which coupled with the elimination of overtime for hourly employees and the general morale malaise laying over corporate America did not result in junior level employees calling in “sick” on those nice, sunny mid-70 degree days over the last few weeks. Of course it didn’t. And then of course there was the genius maneuver of having Purell dispensers installed in the bathrooms right next to the sinks where you’re supposed to wash up after you pee and poo and whatever. ‘Cause that’s

Player Piano is a novel by Kurt Vonnegut. It was his first novel, in fact, published in 1952. The main theme of the novel was the mechanization of society. It’s a good book, better than most in fact though not Vonnegut’s best work. It is however his most prescient work. So what, right? Don't worry, this isn't a book report. I was reminded of the novel this morning by a news story from yesterday’s Wall Street Journal that, rather inexplicably, has yet to explode on the internet. I received it as part of a subscription-only package of media-related news clips that arrive in my work inbox from the fine folks at SNL Kagan each day so I can’t provide a direct link but here’s the relevant headline and paragraph: “Google reportedly turns to algorithm to retain top employees” “The Wall Street Journal reported May 19 that the search giant is now using such a system to help predict which employees are most likely to quit. In particular, the tool is helping to identify which employees fee

I am walking up 6th avenue toward the bus stop where I wait to be chauffeured back to Staten Island on one of the MTA’s finest vehicles. For some reason the sidewalk is choked with people. The sidewalk on 6th is normally crowded but today for some reason things are worse. I’m confused by this for a moment until I see the first one: some kid in a gown. Oh crap, it’s graduation season. Every year in mid-to-late May several graduations take place around the Rock Center-Times Square area including a few at Radio City Music Hall. Radio City Music Hall happens to be across the street from where I wait for the bus home. Graduations equal slow-moving tourists/bridge and tunnelers times a thousand. You see my dilemma, don’t you? And you see why thoughts like these pop into my head when I run across, say, the NYU graduation: “Look at that, there’s literally a thousand or more schmucks who just paid in the high six figures or maybe even seven to have their kids smoke dope in the Village

My mind has been congested by work this week. Not that work is particularly intellectually stimulating. No, quite the opposite really. However it does exact a toll on my ability to string words together in a way that I find interesting or entertaining. Notice, dear reader, I didn’t say “you” because in all likelihood “you” are a figment of my imagination. No, you’re not there but I’m going to keep doing this because it defrosts the synapses frozen into place in the intellectual Arctic that is my profession. However, I don’t have anything to write about. Sure, I could note that today’s coffee cup was clearly European in origin. It was a 0.4 liter cup for “Campus Suite Coffeeshop Deli & Lounge”. Sounds English so far but then we have the slogan: “Dein Korper dankt” which Google translates as “Your body thanks”. The bottom says Kaffeespezlallat aus Arabica-und Robustabohne which even I could figure probably means that this place only uses Arabica and Robust beans. OK. Righ

Mother’s Day is a little different when you have a dead parent. (“It’s not dead, it’s sleeping.” I said “dead parent”, not “dead parrot” Monty Python-quoting voice in my head!) The upside is you don’t ever have to worry about a gift. No crowded stores or obscene shipping charges from a website to get the gift there on time or packed restaurants with crappy fixed price menus and servers who are pissed off because other than Valentine’s Day Mother’s Day is the ultimate amateur hour for restaurant eating and the amateurs don’t tip. Nope, you don’t have to worry about any of that, not even a phone call. If you’re like me and you have a small garden plot on your parents’ grave however, well, you have a whole ‘nother set of worries. You know all those people who made restaurants amateur hour on Mother’s Day? You know what happens when their mother kicks off? That’s right; all those people flock to the cemetery where ol’ mom’s mortal husk is interred. What’s wrong with that? Nothing. I visit

Cup #1 from a coffee cart: a forest (pine) green cup with cartoonish art-deco-y bottles, cups, salt shakers and other food implements sketched on it in white. There is a white oval about a half-inch from the top of the cup that is blank. The bottom rim offers no information - there's no way of finding out where this cup came from! What a drag. Cup #2 from the Flavors branch that just opened in our building. No point in describing it because it's a cup made for the chain itself and has the website printed right on it so you can see for yourself: www.flavorstogo.com . If you happen to be named Coach Ray and are reading this, please do not go to that website, I do not want you to be upset on a fine springtime Friday. When I started examining cups I didn't think it would be this darned interesting. Maybe I'll start bringing a camera to work to photograph the samples. Maybe I should start up an entirely separate blog dedicated to the subject. Nah, what the hell w

I am on a downtown-bound R train in rush hour when a black gentleman boards at 42nd street. He is carrying a plastic cup of beer. It's exactly the sort of plastic cup of beer you buy at ballgames, probably a 16 ouncer. I have no earthly idea where he got such a thing anywhere near the 42nd street subway station nor how he was walking around with it without being hassled by the cops but I have learned not to ask questions or dwell on such matters. Just go with the flow. This is New York, after all, and maybe it's a good sign. I've always thought the open container enforcement in this town was ridiculous. If you're not creating a disturbance or endangering others who cares what's in that container in your hand? Hell, a hot cup of coffee or tea is more immediately dangerous to you and those around you but that's perfectly legal. Anyway this guy gets on the train and sits down. He puts the beer between his feet on the floor. And he begins to opine. "Yeah, fuck

Today’s coffee cup was a generic one, but oh the information it contained! First off down the seam we have “SBUS 1942 PREMIUM CUP Caution: Very HOT!” Written out just like that. Then there’s a notice that says “Printed with soy ink.” I guess that’s a selling point? The bottom of the cup is a bonanza of information. “16 oz Distributed by Ko Chi Sales Soy bean ink Water based coating Designed by ARTIPUS Mfg by SB group www.sbus1942.com ”. Of course I had to go to the website. You already clicked it, didn’t you? It is a bonanza. Non Pollution! Best Quality! Low Cost! Short Delivery! You thought you couldn’t learn anything from a silly old beverage container. Oh, you were so wrong friends. So, so wrong. I am enjoying the exploration of coffee cups so much I officially decree that it will be a regular feature of this blog. Perhaps I will inspect other items as well – napkins, plastic forks, and of course the obvious follow up to

Monday - immerse brisket in a brine of water, sugar, kosher salt, pink salt, chopped garlic and home made pickling spice. Remove on Saturday, discard brine, rinse brisket and boil for 3 hours in a pot with fresh water and more pickling spice. During cooking process, remove lid from simmering pot and hold camera directly over the top because what can possibly go wrong? Maybe steam will cover the lens before you can snap a picture? Having learned your lesson, wipe condensation from camera lens and take picture from an angle. After about 3 hours of simmering, remove brisket and let rest for a few minutes before carving. Hey, it really did turn pink! Slice corned beef thin with knife and present to table on cutting board. Then realize you're dripping liquid on your hard wood floor, then realize it's not a big deal because your in-laws' dog is visiting and can lick it up.

"...I like rain. Curtains and draperies and endless rain going on and on, pattering, rustling, spattering on the roof, not like the challenge of sunshine that moves hour by hour through the room, over the window ledge and the carpet, marking afternoon on the rocking-chair and finally vanishing on the chimney breast, red as an indictment. Today's a respectable and grey day, an anonymous day outside time; it doesn't count". - Tove Jansson , "The Squirrel" I just thought I'd give anyone who was still dropping by a treat by transcribing some words from a real writer. Someone with bona - fide talent who I am incredibly, incredibly grateful to have discovered when visiting my grandmother's home country. Or country of origin is a better way of saying it I suppose since she lived in the states much longer than she lived in Finland. It's been like that for a couple of days in the NY area though, hasn't it? Grey days existing outside of time

I am at war with the office cleaning lady. A week ago I received an item in a rectangular UPS box. The box measured roughly 18”x12”x4”. So it is not a huge box. It is not a heavy box. It is made of cardboard. Therefore, I believe it can be put into the paper recycling can. And there’s the problem. I have tried laying the box on top of my recycling can. I have tried jamming it into the recycling can. Each night I leave in the hope that the box will be taken away. Each morning I return and find the box on the floor next to the can. When it was on top, sure, maybe whoever emptied the trash put it aside to dump the paper out and forgot it. However once I put it in the can there was no mistaking my intent. It was my way of saying “This, dear blue-smocked lady of undetermined Eastern European descent, is paper garbage. You need to take this away to wherever you put all of our paper garbage. I am not a bad man, one of those idiots who tosses his empty soda cans into the blue pape