Text 12287, 154 rader
Skriven 2007-02-24 09:10:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
     Kommentar till en text av JIM WELLER
Ärende: You and you 115
=======================
 -=> Jim Weller said to Dave Sacerdote <=-
 DS> you should receive some sort of recognition for your mAd r3cipe
 DS> c0llexx0r skillz, and therefore I appoint thee the COOKING Echo Recipe
 DS> Archivist. 
 JW> I am honoured and will endeavour to maintain the high standards
 JW> expected of that position. [g]

w00t.

 JW> Wasn't Lawrence Kellie the semi-official archivist here years ago? He
 JW> had a monster collection too.

It looked to me as though he just slapped his name and info on
the bottom of recipes and released them into the wild. To give
him credit, he generally did not delete previous identifying
information, unlike several others. I figure he was sort of like
a Fred Goslin, only with slightly [slightly] better taste. I think
all these people thought of themselves as providing an archival
service, but as far as I know there wasn't ever anything official
about it. Official things are nasty things anyway. Mr. Kellie
rather annoyed me when he took a private dispute (apparently about
various cults of Mormonism or something) public on Sharon's echo.
Carol S. and I both chid him rather mildly, and he tried to rip
us both a new one and then stomped off forever, no great loss,
before Sharon could say anything (if she would have, which I
don't know).

 -=> Dave Sacerdote said to Jim Weller <=-

 JW> a wish. It dropped to 28 there the next day. So her wish came
 JW> true. She is now going around bragging that she is a
 JW> powerful sha-woman who rules the skies.
 DS> Please let Neekha know that the word "shaman" is derived from a
 DS> word in the Tungas language of Siberia, and is equally applicable
 DS> to men and women.  The three letters "M A N" at the end have 
 DS> nothing whatsoever to do with any English root word - it's just
 DS> a coincidence.

Of course, the "man" in "shaman" has no manliness about it, but
the "man" in "woman," if the Daves in back would quit sniggering,
is there honestly. The word "woman" comes to us through the Old
English "wifman" [spelled variously], meaning what it looks like
(as you know, until recently the standard marriage service ended
with "I now pronounce you man and wife," which reminded us of this
traditional inequality of the sexes). This confounded the feminists,
some of whom tried to substitute the term "womyn" with no success.
You can let Neekha know this too, as soon as she can assimilate it
properly, which may be, given the level of awareness you attribute
to her, today.

 DS> And tell her to quit bragging.  She's old enough now to be warned
 DS> about the dangers of hubris. [g]

Concurring opinion: she's old enough now to be warned about
the annoying nature of hubris. I actually think the gods have
been pretty lazy with their thunderbolts in the last couple
thousand years. Certainly Donald Trump and Rupert Murdoch would
be deserving recipients of a few million volts (not even to get
into politics, no, no, no), as would the guy who sued his employer
for being fired for looking at porn at work, because, far from
being fired, he should have been given treatment for his condition
of "Internet addiction." (No, death is too good for this guy, his
name and picture should be published everywhere, and whatever
should happen happen.)

Grilled Quail with Black Rice, Sour Cherries & Pomegranate
cat: main, game
servings: 4

1 c red wine vinegar 
1/3 c honey 
1/2 ts red chili flakes
8 quail, spatchcocked [not in original recipe]
2 c water 
1 c black rice 
1 Tb olive oil
1 pn salt
1 Tb chicken or vegetable stock
1 ts butter
1 bottle of port 
1 ts lemon juice 
1 Tb honey 
1/4 c grape seed oil
1/2 c sour cherries 
1/2 c red wine 
olive oil
s, p

Whisk together vinegar, 1/3 c honey, and chili flakes.
Pour over quail. Marinate 1-2 hr.

Combine water, black rice, olive oil, and salt in a
pot; tightly seal with foil. Bring to boil for 30 sec
and turn off. Allow rice to steam for 25 to 30 min or
until water is absorbed. When heating rice for the
plating, add stock, butter, and seasoning to taste.

Reduce Port by 80 percent in a stainless steel pot. Add
1 Tb honey and allow to cool. Whisk in lemon juice and
grape seed oil and season with salt and pepper.

Bring sour cherries and red wine to a simmer, adding
salt and pepper to taste. Allow to cool to room temp,
then drain cherries of all liquid.

Brush quail with olive oil. Season. Place breast side
down for 1-2 min on a medium/high grill. Move 45 degrees
for 1 min. Flip over and repeat. Be sure to watch the
skin to prevent burning.

[Original omits: cleave quail in halves or quarters; plate
reheated rice, arrange quail pieces, and strew cherries
over. Drizzle with Port syrup.]

M's note: I'm sure the honey is excessive in the first
setting and supernumerary in the second.

Vintage Lounge, 72 Broad Street, Boston

===

Originally posted somewhere by me ten years or so ago:

A minister asks one of his wayward flock out to play golf one
day, hoping to have a conversation about righteousness and
sin and one's eternal just deserts. It doesn't seem to be going 
too well, because the parishioner is not very receptive to the 
good words. They are just not getting along, and each one is
becoming angrier and angrier, fluffing shots, muttering, and
generally grating on each other's nerves. Furthermore, every
time the parishioner pounds a ball into the rough, he shouts

"JESUS AITCH CHRIST! MISSED AGAIN!"

Eventually the clergyman (who merely raises his eyes to heaven
in an imploring way when things go wrong) remonstrates with him:
"If you don't watch your language, God will surely smite you dead."
The parishioner is a little bit cowed by this information and 
manages to behave himself for a few holes, but just as the
match is just ending, on the 18th hole, with the final result 
still in doubt, he hits a cruel hook right into the water hazard.

"JESUS AITCH CHRIST! MISSED AGAIN!"

Just then, the sky turns overcast, thunder rumbles, and a
lightning bolt hurtles to earth and strikes down ... the clergyman.
As the stunned parishioner looks down at the smoking remains
of the minister, a deep voice rumbles down from the heavens: 

"JESUS AITCH CHRIST! MISSED AGAIN!"

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