… because the cuttlekids are home.
So, since I can’t cook a meal for you, a special side-dish here, serving as another reminder that what I do is not poetry, and that proper poetry is (or can be) delicious.
I found myself eating, last night, in a dream,
These most wonderful scones, served with real clotted cream
And a strawberry jam that was fit for a king…
I awoke to a fridge that contained not a thing.
… well, close, but not quite 100% accurate. The fridge has all sorts of things in it… for thanksgiving dinner. Not for today. But I did have a dream about scones with jam and clotted cream. Oh, my goodness, I did have a dream about scones, jam, and clotted cream. Now I have to get clotted cream to have on hand for when the Cuttlekids come for thanksgiving. Or maybe just for me.
Have you ever dreamed about food? What food? What circumstances? Have your food dreams ever come true? Was that a good thing?
Update–Oh my word, that was wonderful! I thought about taking a pic of the final product, but foolishly took one bite first… and then ate it all.
Braised for an hour to tenderize, then cut up and marinated overnight, then grilled just a little bit ago. And the Okto wine was the perfect accompaniment.
I can’t hear through the noise that I’m makin’
As the bones in my knees get to shakin’
It’s the worst news I’ve seen
For Two Thousand Thirteen—
We’ll be facing a shortage of bacon!
We’ll pay more, or we’ll just do without
But the shortage is real, there’s no doubt!
The source of our pain
Is the absence of rain
We’ll be victims of this season’s drought.
With the global pig industry troubled,
Where the market collapsed ‘ere it bubbled,
Better rein in your fork
Cos the prices of pork
They expect, by next year, to be doubled.
Via the Chicago (Hog Butcher for the World) Tribune, news of an unavoidable bacon shortage in the second half of next year. The Financial Times confirms that this is a global crisis; swine herds in Poland are down nearly 10%, and informal surveys of UK farmers suggest nearly double that.
Drought conditions have led to jumps in global prices of corn (maize), wheat, and soybeans, while US politicians ignored any mention of climate change. Maybe–just maybe–the politician’s natural affinity for pork will finally make a difference.
Something’s brewing at the White House
But I see no need for fear
They’ve released a vital secret—
It’s their recipe for beer!
There’s a White House Honey Porter
And a White House Honey Ale;
They’re in limited production
And they will not be for sale
If you’re really, really lucky
You might have one with the Prez—
You can judge if it’s incredible
Like everybody says
But if Romney takes the White House
Say goodbye to ale or stout
Which is just another reason
That we’ve got to keep him out!
For the good of all the nation
Give Obama four more years!
For our children… for tomorrow…
For our future… (for the beers!) [Read more…]
Today was, I just found out moments ago, National Donut (or Doughnut) Day, here in the US. How I missed it, though, is easily answered: I spent most of the day waiting while cars were repaired, to the tune of more money that I would have hoped for. Blech.
So none of that! On to the donut (or doughnut) verse! [Read more…]
There is nothing so distressing
As an “inadvertent blessing”
Which can leave an artist messing
With the sacramental wine
But Sebastian Errazuriz
Made a Christcicle, which sure is
Bound to piss off any purist
Who considers Christ “divine”
Is it art, or bad behavior,
Making light of our dear Savior
Though his crucifixion gave your
Life its meaning, don’t you know?—
Jesus loves you—this he shows in
How his sacrifice was chosen,
Now a popsicle, that’s frozen,
As a treat, at ten below. [Read more…]
This morning, Cuttlespouse left for a weekend with friends. Cuttlehouse is, of course, significantly quieter. To compensate, the stereo is considerably louder right now, playing music Cuttlespouse does not care for. Don’t worry–there is plenty of Cuttlespouse-approved music that I love, so this is not a sign of hardship on my part. But that’s not what I am here to write about. That, after the jump: [Read more…]
I bought a bunch of groceries—the things I like to eat—
Some lovely fruits and vegetables, a loaf of bread, some meat;
I picked my way through produce, and I only chose the best.
I’ll eat about two thirds of it, and throw away the rest. [Read more…]
We’ll fathom what becomes of us
By tossing some asparagus;
Examine it; determine, thus,
The path we’re bound to take.
A path we know; we need no scouts!
We know it well; we have no doubts!
We heard it from the Brussels sprouts,
The choices we must make.
The cabbages and collard greens,
The lettuces and lima beans,
They all know what “cold reading” means
And swear it isn’t so!
The spinach, sprouts, and Russian kale
Have told us it’s to no avail
There is no future that’s for sale
In plants that you might grow!
The vegetable predictions fly—
Though roots and fruits won’t tell me why,
While tasty tubers try and try
To tell us what they know—
They want me, though, to part with gold
For goods that might be bought or sold
And all the while it all grows old
With science as our foe.
Kylie reports on a psychic with a brand new hook–she reads asparagus.
Which makes sense, actually. Well, as much sense as any other psychic schtick. And I’ll take the word of a vegetable over John Edward any day. But I don’t think I need the psychic to help me interpret. If I get my hands on some nice fresh asparagus, I can be pretty certain about at least one aspect of my near future.
Nom, nom.