Monday, August 3, 2009


French Omelet with fried salt pork cubes and gorgonzola

braised pork ribs with BBQ sauce built from the jus and tomato and hot sauce

Tomorrow will be the beginning of nearly a week spent in New Orleans, or really, the French Quarter, since my accommodations are on Canal Street and I won't have a car. Yes, its a for a conference for my job, but there is no travel money in the department budget this year, so its all coming out of Daddy's pocket. And when travel to a place like Noo OR Lins (or 'Noo Or LEENS', but never 'Nawlins' despite everything you've ever seen in a bad hollywood film), Daddy's pockets will justify only so much work and so little pay. Daddy's pockets want a ROI.

So there will be gumbo (and booze) and muffuletta or po'boy (and beer) and oysters (and white wine) and etouffe and on and on and on. There will clean sheets and a fantastic view of the river. There will be sweating and gnashing of the teeth and mosquitoes and a sad feeling that the quarter isn't what it used to be, for good and ill. We shall see indeed, and if we succeed in attaining wifi, we might even write a word or two about it for those not able to venure into the miasma that is 98% humidity...

Sunday, August 2, 2009


Shaved steak with gorgonzola

Ragu with ground lamb on Rotini
Sauteed Snow Peas
Chocolate Mint Ice Cream

Its been a while. Life has been a little crazy. Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes that's a great thing. Sometimes you're on the wrong end of the billy club. Sometimes, in the chain of events, something you take for granted that you re-visit nearly every day is suddenly gone and you are left looking on the shelf in askance. Patterns allow us to work safely on autopilot. And I guess the worst part of autopilot is that its easy to lose sight of that fact that important parts of your life can end up in autopilot, whether you like it or not. I bake bread every other day, but my oven broke a few days ago, and I am just now realizing how important that ritual was for me. Not just the bennie of fresh sourdough every day, but the process subconsciously kept me moving forward. Always producing the next loaf. Always finishing off the last one as I'm working on the next one. Never really cogitating on it, but always relying on it. Bedrock, tasty tangy bedrock.

Well, now I am.

I'll probably not be posting for the next week, while I'm in New Orleans eating and drinking my way from one side of the quarter to the other (blasted iPod Touch and Blogger still don't work together). Beignet, Po'boys, gumbo, oysters, Zapp's and missing the ability drink a sixer of Dixie on the street corner without getting a second glance.