Grilled Chile Shrimp Tacos

INGREDIENTS
twenty bigge asse shrimp
chile powder spice blend
salt
olive oil
sweet and hot peppers
garlic
dried oregano
splash of dry white wine
corn tortillas (we get ours from Nixtamal tortilleria)
radicchio
tomatoes
white onion
cilantro
ground black pepper
avocado
limes
queso fresco

IMG_3685

Mix the chile powder blend and salt into a couple tablespoons of olive oil and thoroughly coat the shrimp. I used a premade chile powder from The Spice Hunter, which contains chile pepper, onion, garlic, cocoa, oregano, red hot pepper, cumin, cinnamon, and cloves, or you can make up your own blend of spices. Put the shrimp in the fridge and allow to marinate for at least a few hours.

IMG_3686

Sautee rough-chopped garlic in olive oil with oregano and black pepper until it is starting to soften.

IMG_3687

Add chopped sweet and hot peppers, and continue to sautee until the peppers are really nice and soft.

IMG_3688

Deglaze with a splash of white wine, turn up the heat, add salt, and reduce.

IMG_3689

The wine is all reduced away and this shitte is done. Remove from the pan and reserve for later as a condiment for the tacos.

IMG_3695

Throw the shrimps onto a hot grill pan (or use a real grill if you have one).

IMG_3696

Turn them over once to grill both sides.

IMG_3697

Look how motherfucken tasty those motherfuckers look!

IMG_3698

Here’s all the stuff for the tacos: shrimp, pico di gallo, radicchio, limes, crumbled queso fresco, avocado, cilantro, and the satueed peppers. I made the pico di gallo with chopped tomatoes, chopped white onion, cilantro, salt, and pepper. Make it at least a few hours ahead of time so that the flavors can all meld together.

IMG_3699

Warm the tortillas, put some radicchio on the bottom, and then two shrimp on each.

IMG_3701

Then put all the other stuff on top.

IMG_3702

Close-up view of the radical deliciousness!

Srsly McDonalds?

Gigantic multinational corporations are still signing off on teevee ads selling their products based on how goddamn fucken hilarious it is that dudes who want to do important shitte like eat deep-fried formed chicken asse pellets in peace instead have to listen to blithering bitchez yap, yap, yap at them about their stupid blithering bitch gibberish?

Republican Filth Getting What They Want: Racist Gay-Hating Supreme Court Justices Who Hypocritically Lie About The Constitution

Scalia: The Supreme Court arrogates beyond its constitutional power today when it strikes down a law overwhelmingly passed by Congress that intentionally fuckes gay people up the asse, but is totally within its constitutional power yesterday when it strikes down a law overwhelmingly passed by Congress that seeks to ameliorate intentional vote suppression by state governments.

Search Term Hilarity

I do this only very, very rarely, but here are the top search terms the last few days leading people to my blogge:

goddamn apple mail
what rss reader works with feedly cloud
luganica sausage
questions on membrane physiology
resubmission revision ro1
window 8 personalization register
triage of grants
whiteass
cat loving lamps
rigatoni with tarragon
obama destory kenyia

Yes, this is an eclectic blogge.

Republican Filth Getting What They Want: Woman-Hating State Senators Who Forge Floor Votes In Their Zeal To Kill Women


Hundreds of jeering protesters helped stop Texas lawmakers from passing one of the toughest abortion measures in the country, shouting down Senate Republicans and forcing them to miss a midnight deadline to pass the bill.

Initially, Republicans insisted they had started voting before the midnight deadline and passed the bill that Democrats spent much of Tuesday filibustering. But after official computer records and printouts of the voting record showed the vote took place on Wednesday, and then were changed to read Tuesday, senators convened for a private meeting.

Is there any moral depth to which these woman-hating white christian racist vicious anti-American republican scum will not descend?

Republican Filth Getting What They Want: A Speaker Of The House Who Is Grossly Ignorant Of Basic Macroeconomic Principles


But sell off is in large part due to the policies that we’ve had coming’ out of the Federal Reserve. You know, you can’t continue to deflate our money and deflate it and deflate it– have equity markets go– without some change, yeah. Bernanke has made it clear he’s doing these policies in the absence of the government doing its part to help improve our economy.

That’s why Democrats and Republicans here on Capitol Hill and the president need to deal with– fix our tax code that would help us promote more economic growth and deal with our long term spending problem. We’ve spent more money than what we’ve brought in for 55 of the last 60 years. That ought to scare the hell out of every American.

We need to deal with this problem openly and honestly. Because if we do, investors around the country, business owners are going to look up and go, “Gee, they’re actually dealing with the issues that I’m most concerned about.” Then they’ll begin to invest.

Moby Dicke CHAPTER 22. Merry Christmas.

At length, towards noon, upon the final dismissal of the ship’s riggers, and after the Pequod had been hauled out from the wharf, and after the ever-thoughtful Charity had come off in a whale-boat, with her last gift—a night-cap for Stubb, the second mate, her brother-in-law, and a spare Bible for the steward—after all this, the two Captains, Peleg and Bildad, issued from the cabin, and turning to the chief mate, Peleg said:

“Now, Mr. Starbuck, are you sure everything is right? Captain Ahab is all ready—just spoke to him—nothing more to be got from shore, eh? Well, call all hands, then. Muster ‘em aft here—blast ‘em!”

“No need of profane words, however great the hurry, Peleg,” said Bildad, “but away with thee, friend Starbuck, and do our bidding.”

How now! Here upon the very point of starting for the voyage, Captain Peleg and Captain Bildad were going it with a high hand on the quarter-deck, just as if they were to be joint-commanders at sea, as well as to all appearances in port. And, as for Captain Ahab, no sign of him was yet to be seen; only, they said he was in the cabin. But then, the idea was, that his presence was by no means necessary in getting the ship under weigh, and steering her well out to sea. Indeed, as that was not at all his proper business, but the pilot’s; and as he was not yet completely recovered—so they said—therefore, Captain Ahab stayed below. And all this seemed natural enough; especially as in the merchant service many captains never show themselves on deck for a considerable time after heaving up the anchor, but remain over the cabin table, having a farewell merry-making with their shore friends, before they quit the ship for good with the pilot.

But there was not much chance to think over the matter, for Captain Peleg was now all alive. He seemed to do most of the talking and commanding, and not Bildad.

“Aft here, ye sons of bachelors,” he cried, as the sailors lingered at the main-mast. “Mr. Starbuck, drive’em aft.”

“Strike the tent there!”—was the next order. As I hinted before, this whalebone marquee was never pitched except in port; and on board the Pequod, for thirty years, the order to strike the tent was well known to be the next thing to heaving up the anchor.

“Man the capstan! Blood and thunder!—jump!”—was the next command, and the crew sprang for the handspikes.

Now in getting under weigh, the station generally occupied by the pilot is the forward part of the ship. And here Bildad, who, with Peleg, be it known, in addition to his other officers, was one of the licensed pilots of the port—he being suspected to have got himself made a pilot in order to save the Nantucket pilot-fee to all the ships he was concerned in, for he never piloted any other craft—Bildad, I say, might now be seen actively engaged in looking over the bows for the approaching anchor, and at intervals singing what seemed a dismal stave of psalmody, to cheer the hands at the windlass, who roared forth some sort of a chorus about the girls in Booble Alley, with hearty good will. Nevertheless, not three days previous, Bildad had told them that no profane songs would be allowed on board the Pequod, particularly in getting under weigh; and Charity, his sister, had placed a small choice copy of Watts in each seaman’s berth.

Meantime, overseeing the other part of the ship, Captain Peleg ripped and swore astern in the most frightful manner. I almost thought he would sink the ship before the anchor could be got up; involuntarily I paused on my handspike, and told Queequeg to do the same, thinking of the perils we both ran, in starting on the voyage with such a devil for a pilot. I was comforting myself, however, with the thought that in pious Bildad might be found some salvation, spite of his seven hundred and seventy-seventh lay; when I felt a sudden sharp poke in my rear, and turning round, was horrified at the apparition of Captain Peleg in the act of withdrawing his leg from my immediate vicinity. That was my first kick.

“Is that the way they heave in the marchant service?” he roared. “Spring, thou sheep-head; spring, and break thy backbone! Why don’t ye spring, I say, all of ye—spring! Quohog! spring, thou chap with the red whiskers; spring there, Scotch-cap; spring, thou green pants. Spring, I say, all of ye, and spring your eyes out!” And so saying, he moved along the windlass, here and there using his leg very freely, while imperturbable Bildad kept leading off with his psalmody. Thinks I, Captain Peleg must have been drinking something to-day.

At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It was a short, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor. The long rows of teeth on the bulwarks glistened in the moonlight; and like the white ivory tusks of some huge elephant, vast curving icicles depended from the bows.

Lank Bildad, as pilot, headed the first watch, and ever and anon, as the old craft deep dived into the green seas, and sent the shivering frost all over her, and the winds howled, and the cordage rang, his steady notes were heard,—

“Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green. So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between.”

Never did those sweet words sound more sweetly to me than then. They were full of hope and fruition. Spite of this frigid winter night in the boisterous Atlantic, spite of my wet feet and wetter jacket, there was yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.

At last we gained such an offing, that the two pilots were needed no longer. The stout sail-boat that had accompanied us began ranging alongside.

It was curious and not unpleasing, how Peleg and Bildad were affected at this juncture, especially Captain Bildad. For loath to depart, yet; very loath to leave, for good, a ship bound on so long and perilous a voyage—beyond both stormy Capes; a ship in which some thousands of his hard earned dollars were invested; a ship, in which an old shipmate sailed as captain; a man almost as old as he, once more starting to encounter all the terrors of the pitiless jaw; loath to say good-bye to a thing so every way brimful of every interest to him,—poor old Bildad lingered long; paced the deck with anxious strides; ran down into the cabin to speak another farewell word there; again came on deck, and looked to windward; looked towards the wide and endless waters, only bounded by the far-off unseen Eastern Continents; looked towards the land; looked aloft; looked right and left; looked everywhere and nowhere; and at last, mechanically coiling a rope upon its pin, convulsively grasped stout Peleg by the hand, and holding up a lantern, for a moment stood gazing heroically in his face, as much as to say, “Nevertheless, friend Peleg, I can stand it; yes, I can.”

As for Peleg himself, he took it more like a philosopher; but for all his philosophy, there was a tear twinkling in his eye, when the lantern came too near. And he, too, did not a little run from cabin to deck—now a word below, and now a word with Starbuck, the chief mate.

But, at last, he turned to his comrade, with a final sort of look about him,—”Captain Bildad—come, old shipmate, we must go. Back the main-yard there! Boat ahoy! Stand by to come close alongside, now! Careful, careful!—come, Bildad, boy—say your last. Luck to ye, Starbuck—luck to ye, Mr. Stubb—luck to ye, Mr. Flask—good-bye and good luck to ye all—and this day three years I’ll have a hot supper smoking for ye in old Nantucket. Hurrah and away!”

“God bless ye, and have ye in His holy keeping, men,” murmured old Bildad, almost incoherently. “I hope ye’ll have fine weather now, so that Captain Ahab may soon be moving among ye—a pleasant sun is all he needs, and ye’ll have plenty of them in the tropic voyage ye go. Be careful in the hunt, ye mates. Don’t stave the boats needlessly, ye harpooneers; good white cedar plank is raised full three per cent. within the year. Don’t forget your prayers, either. Mr. Starbuck, mind that cooper don’t waste the spare staves. Oh! the sail-needles are in the green locker! Don’t whale it too much a’ Lord’s days, men; but don’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting Heaven’s good gifts. Have an eye to the molasses tierce, Mr. Stubb; it was a little leaky, I thought. If ye touch at the islands, Mr. Flask, beware of fornication. Good-bye, good-bye! Don’t keep that cheese too long down in the hold, Mr. Starbuck; it’ll spoil. Be careful with the butter—twenty cents the pound it was, and mind ye, if—”

“Come, come, Captain Bildad; stop palavering,—away!” and with that, Peleg hurried him over the side, and both dropt into the boat.

Ship and boat diverged; the cold, damp night breeze blew between; a screaming gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave three heavy-hearted cheers, and blindly plunged like fate into the lone Atlantic.