The big bologna loaf in the sky

10 07 2009

This is a day old, but still tragic. Lunch meat titan Oscar Mayer has died. He has officially driven the weener-mobile on a oneway ticket to the big bologna loaf in the sky. šŸ˜¦

oscar

His passing has stirred up some very real emotions in me, namely that I have been struggling to determine if I like bologna since the age of 12. In grade school, bologna and cheese sandwiches were my bitch. LOVED them. Hard to imagine, but I used to be a very picky eater. Wouldn’t go near spaghetti sauce ( a sin, looking back). Hated seafood and shellfish. Would hide from things unless they were of the meat and cheese consistency. Now, meat and cheese is the be all and end all to me when it comes to food pairings, but I’d like to think my tastes have developed over the years.

After at least 5 years of eating nothing but bologna and cheese sandwiches with chocolate milk, my tasted buds gave a big F You and said nay, nay we will not eat this any more. I then went on a hiatus from lunch meats — not proud of this.Ā  Years later, I’ve been trying to do bologna again. But it continues to be an issue. Do I even like it any more?

First off. What the hell is it? One gourmet food store says its a smoked deli meat made of veal.Ā  Yahoo! Answers alleges that it is a smoked meat made of cured been and pork. The USDA says it is a cooked and smoked sausage, also known as a frankfurter. The actual Oscar Mayer packaging has quite a few extra words on it. So this obviously requires some investigation, which I plan to conduct in a few minutes. But it will have to wait because I am making something called….

A RAVI-HOLY BURGER.

Stay tuned….





Got your goat

7 07 2009

So I know that according to blogging rules, I’ve broken a biggie: Thou shalt blog often. Not that anyone has missed me because the two people that read this have been busy with lives of their own. BUT, whilst I was on vacation with no internet access, it was surprisingly refreshing.Ā  I’ve been back for about a week now and still enjoying be cut off somewhat, but, like a good margarita, it’s good to end sometime — usually when you lose your pants. What can I say. GUILTY.

So the time is now to get back at it. Holla.

A few notes:

goat_1

Today I learned how to milk a goat. Now, unfortunately, I did not get to manhandle the goats because they were agitated from being milked, but it was an awesome experience provided for by ParadiseĀ  Gardens and Farms in Reynoldsville, and The Food Network Canada. More on that later, with some pretty amusing video.

But if you thought bulls were scary, check out a pissed off goat. They aren’t happy and will kick you. But their owner was masterful with them and was able to calm them the down and still gracefully squeeze the milk out of them.

I also recently learned the ins and outs of jump roping competitively, and let me tell you, it’s hardcore and the people that do it know their stuff. Check out some videos of them (WARNING: Shameless plug). You’ll be amazed.

Now, back to vacation.

Ah the beach. Land of sand, water, frozen drinks and plastic diggingware. Margaritas and clams every day, that’s how I roll. Interspersed with surf fishing, beach bocce ball, winning small plush alligators (OK I didn’t win one but my brother and his wife each scored something.) fannypackand pretending to like “running.”

But no, just because you are at the beach and it looks like you’re supposed to be able to run along the water like the lifeguards do at ass-thirty in the morning, it is not the place to try if you haven’t run inĀ  4 years. Have you ever had to be rescued by a lifeguard….on land? Embarrassing.

My glaring observation from the beach is that it seems to be the land where everything that doesn’t seem OK in the “real world?” is totally acceptable: I.E. Fanny packs; straw cowboy hats; oversized t-shirts that say things like “italians do it better” or “born to kick bass;” bathing suits that don’t quite fit;Ā  pretending like you are intuned to the ocean that no one else is to find shells for an empty glass dish that, if you saw on display at a store back home, you would think tacky; or allowing your kids to pee in the water where others are swimming.

Fanny packs — yes, they’re utility is indisputable but their appearances? Please. Also, why the hell are they called fanny packs when they clearly sit on your frontal groin area? WTF.