DEAR READER
Today's Document
taylor price
Peter Solarz

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

Kaledo Art
Sweet Seals For You, Always
sheepfilms
RMH
Three Goblin Art
dirt enthusiast

Origami Around
Acquired Stardust

â
tumblr dot com

shark vs the universe
NASA

ellievsbear

seen from TĂźrkiye
seen from Australia
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Japan

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Bangladesh

seen from Singapore

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@cookanddestroy

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Reblog to make a transphobe uncomfortable eating M&Mâs
Thatâs not a picnic basket
Sept 1 != autumn
In my farmshare today I picked up a watermelon.
NOT a pumpkin.
There were also peaches, corn, tomatoes and squash. SUMMER squash.
Put that pumpkin-scented crack pipe down, now.
Did I mention that it was a WATERMELON?
I got a pleasant surprise this week as the last two weeks of my CSA were combined into one, this morning being the last pickup of the season. Later this month the Winter CSA beings, and Iâm still...
I keep accidentally posting my C&D blather to my other blog, and rather than root out all the links and repost here, Iâmâa just leave this link right here.
Next time, tho (the thanksgiving pregame post), I should get the technical shit right for once.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Brassicaâd off
In this weekâs episode of What Hath My CSA Wrought:
Clockish from top left: a pair of kohlrabi, sweeties, a sextet of Grimes Gold apples, rosemary, bag of Mystery Salad (âmixed Asian greensâ, more turnips than I know what to do because theyâre turnips, one ginormous savoy cabbage, and at center square some skinny-ass bok choy.
Though I may not have the slightest clue what to do with all the abundant green, this guy certainly has ideas:Â
Rosemary, baby! (I had to sequester that fragrant sprig right after snapping this, as the cat was about to make it his bitch.)
Apples and sweet potatoes I can always Do Unto, and a wad of fresh herbs never goes to waste in my kitchen (at the very least I can dry it, but the cat can get just about anywhere in the apt and then I come home to find heâs been doing bong hits of it all day), but Iâm honestly stumped about what to do with All. These. Focking. Greens.Â
Bok choy is fairly easy to stir fry with anything, and Iâll cook the tonic & kohlrabi greens with some bacon and vinegar. The Kohlrabi Iâll risk effing up by peeling it and grating it into the Mystery Salad ... and then Iâve still got that enormous mfâing cabbage, assuming Iâll actually eat all of the other green stuff. Oh, and thereâs the uckfing turnips, and itâs too early for Jarramplas.Â
Maybe Iâll just let this little savage figure it out for me....
more farm
So I neglected to post any blathering about my fabulous CSA farmshare gleanings, as Iâve been running around with a case of The Crazy, finishing up teaching my summer course, keeping the dojo operating, and averting technology disasters at the library through the use of zip ties and toy dinosaurs. Â This past weekendâs haul was magnificent, though, and also the first one from Greensgrow Westâs new digs.
So we had this oodle of stuff that used to be just a pile of dirt and a few pellets of genetic matter, lovingly watered and solarized and not allowed to be eaten or otherwise savaged by feral cats just yet:
a bag of Tokyo Bakana (in the back), which is apparently a Japanese salad green and will be gone by the time you read this.
a whole mess of tomatoes, including a bigass heirloom beefsteak which I already ate the hell out of, the rest of which are salsa-bound and/or ratatouille-destined.
poblano peppers, which are going to be roasted and added to the salsa made from the surviving tomats (the remainder may be used for chilaquiles).
an eggplant and a few zucchini. if it cools down enough Iâll make ratatouille. If not, Iâll make ratatouille and curse a lot.
a hunk of Yukon gold potaters. (Already eaten, mashed with ghee & garlic, sorry.)
two onions. theyâll be used.
That watermelon, though. ALL MINE.
4 ears of Sweet Mirai corn, which did not make it to the photo because I was hungry (roasted in the husk, elote-style, on the grill; some of the kernels made it into the salsa but feck they were good).
This is the first week in a while that itâs been temperate enough to do more in the kitchen than stand in front of the open door and pour seltzer over my head, so thereâs more cooking for me to screw up in the next day or two.
(UPDATE: I used the pictured tomaters for the salsa, but went and got some more from Green Zebra Farm for the ratatouille. Listen for the f-bombs emanating from my window soon enough.)
"Born to lose, live to broil."
The return of the return of
First they brought back Crystal Pepsi, and I did not speak up because I did not drink soda. Then they brought back the 80s, and I did not speak up because I was too busy watching Stranger Things. Then they brought back Zima, and that's when I said fuck this nostalgia shit.
Unspeakable Acts of Mac nâ Cheez
While searching for softish foods that my recently deconstructed face can chew upon without aggravating my stitched-up gums (periodontal surgery; not at all fun but afterward they give you nice drugs and an excuse to savage your Netflix queue), I saw what could not be unseen: Burger King has toyed with the natural order of things and rolled out a limited edition deepfried mac & cheese coated in crushed Cheetos.
Now I know why they gave me extra Percocet.
Two takes on this (other) Orange Horror:
Kotaku: The King thinks Mac nâCheetos is something you might eat (âBurger King is out of control and doesnât care who it hurts.â)
Nerdist: Mac nâCheetos are a nightmare snack (âa desire to render the stygian, eldritch creations of H.P. Lovecraft in fast food formâ)
Currently contained to a small swath of southern California, by next week these possible giant sandworm larvae may find their way through subterranean crawlspaces and split the earthâs crust to emerge at a drive-thru near you. May the Elder Food Gods have mercy upon us.Â

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
BERRIES ARE GO GO GO
left: first raspberries from Bartramâs Gardens; right: juneberries (service berries, saskatoon berries, totally not blueberries) from Super Secret Undisclosed Location
Farm Aid
(NOTE: actionable recipes appear way down at the bottom after the wording. But read it anyway, itâs nice.)
This floundering blog has been on hiatus due to a bout with SAD, which you might popularly know as Seasonal Affective Disorder but in this case stands for Sucks Ass, Dude. Iâve avoided this venue for every procrastinating reason under the sun and clouds (mostly clouds until few weeks ago), channeled my efforts into the pursuit of an illusion of joining a meritocracy that does not exist, bounced through a string of budding relationships that failed to launch or just plain vaporized before my eyes, sulked under a month of grey damp that was abruptly followed by blistering swelter (in literally one day we went from 55 degree overcast drizzle to 90 degree blue skies punctuated with thunderstorms), fended off mood swings that thought they were qualifying for the olympic halfcrackpipe skateboard team and bouts of inflammation in nearly every quarter of my body, sat in meetings gripping the arms of my chair lest I jump on the table and either start swinging or, worse, start monologuing.Â
Mostly, I have not been cooking. And that has not been good.
So whatâs different today? Simple: This morning I picked up my first farm share from the Greensgrow CSA (Community Supported Agriculture, not the Confederate States of America; donât be an idjit). This wasnât even the first week: Iâm in for a half share, which means I pick up every other week, and I missed my first pickup due to some miscommunication on both ends. But in order to get to karate class on time I headed out early, picked up a fat bag of greens and roots and sweet things plus a dozen eggs at Greensgrow West and stashed them in the fridge - only to learn that karate was cancelled for the day due to the dojo getting its floors refinished. So I spent my afternoon sorting through the bounty and plotting acts of pickling and muddling and cookery, also while doing this:Â
(Theyâre strawberries. Theyâre really fucking good strawberries.)
After another run to the coop and the State Store (thatâs a liquor store for those of you outside PA; wine and spirits must be purchased from the loving graces of state employees who urge you not to drink too much whilst either ignoring you or pouring you a freebie) before the mercury broke 90 and in time to beat the soothing afternoon downpour (which never came. Fuck you, fickle sky gods!) I found myself surrounded by absolute bounty and the will to do something with/to/about it.
So far Iâve pickled a jar of Hakurei turnips, the only sort of âneeps I know of that can be eaten raw (but why would you want to?). This is the end of their spring season, and I managed to glom one of the last bunches at the CSA (it was either that or rhubarb, and I donât understand rhubarb). I started defrosting some Stryker Farms Italian sausage to use with the gigundo head of escarole in todayâs haul, and by the time Iâd done all the prep for storming the produce fortress, I needed a nap (shut up. Naps are good, and it was 88 degrees and humid). Â
This evening (already topping 90) I had a go at the bunch of mint and quart of Eshâs strawberries. After all, they are the two items in this weekâs haul that are most perishable, and I cannot allow waste.
(A dozen or so shy of what I brought home. Forgive me, but someone had to suck the juices out of their little fruiting bodies.)
(Yes we can ... make mojitos! And try to keep it away from the cat, who cannot distinguish this from catnip.)Â
Before I embarked on any mixological experimentation I managed to pickle the turnips:Â
(Theyâre ugly, but theyâre turnips. What did you expect?)
The kind juxtaposition of mint and âberries, coupled with the fact that Iâd remembered to pick up limes and also that my favorite Haitian rum was on sale led to some afternoon mixperimentation with the dayâs booty. But by the time Iâd gotten the âneeps put up and get my intention for tomorrowâs cookerlympics,  I realized that I felt better than I had in weeks. And yes, this was before Iâd even had my first strawberry mojito.Â
By now it should be obvious that reconnecting to the natural world, wherever you can find it, is a core component of lifting oneâs human mood out of the shitstorm of modern life. Itâs also too easy to forget when youâre pummeled down in the pit of said doldrums that you can just get off your SAD ass and go inhale the growing things, even if that includes the ornamental pear trees that stank like semen (because itâs actually tree cum. Yes, really, look it up: Callery Pears. Also, thank you City of Brotherly Luv for planting so many of those horndog trees that donât even bear edible fruit so that our spring sidewalks reek like the end of a bukkake shoot).Â
So if you see me occasionally rolling in a patch of catnip, please donât call 911 on me. Iâm just trying to stay healthy.
Tomorrow Iâll have at the escarole (with cannellini and Italian sausage and maybe some smoke), garlicky beet & turnip greens with bacon, weird lettuce & spinach salad, first tomatoes & fresh mozz salad in balsamic dressing with whatever herbs I can scrounge, and pickled beets. But for now hereâs the dayâs doings:Â
(Thus endeth the blather; actual recipes to follow.)
PICKLED HAKUREI TURNIPS:
These âneeps are about the only ones youâll find that donât require heavy stewing and seasoning and other tricks to convince you that they are not in fact turnips. Hakureis can be grated raw in salads, but they do tend to have a tad more of that âHey! Iâm turnip, bitch!â flavor than the radishes that will be ready to harvest a week or two later. So smack their shit down thusly:Â
Ya needs:
A bunch of Hakurei turnips (duh)
1 tsp kosher or coarse sea salt (more is fine, just donât go apeshit)
1 tsp sugar (adjust to taste or insulin sensitivity; stevia or other sugarless sweeteners will work here but not nearly as well as the real deal crack cane)
4-6 oz rice vinegar (or white vinegar, but it wonât be as good. I know, I was all out of rice vinnie, so I used 1/2 oz sherry vinegar + ~4oz white vinegar. See below...)
A pint canning jar or other non-reactive and tightly sealable container
Optionals (but good):
fresh ground black pepper
thin sliced fresh ginger
a dash or two of mirin
whatever flavorings float your boat. Just make it count.
Start by washing and gently peeling the turnips (âneepsâ is what we calls âem)Â and then slicing them thin (as thin as you can without cutting your fingers. Use a mandoline if you have one, or get righteous with your knife technique). Toss to coat with a teaspoon or better of coarse salt in a bowl and let sit for 30-40 minutes, shaking the mixture up every 10-15 minutes or so to ensure even coating until those fuckers get nice and tired.
Drain the salty water from the âneeps - they should be fairly limp by now. You can squeeze excess water from them but itâs not essential. It is fun, though.
Jam ye the flaccid âneepies into a pint Ball jar or a tightly sealable container (glass is best; metal adds flavor that you wonât want; plastic is forever bullshit). Add the sugar (or whatnot), seasoning (I used 1/2 tsp black pepper and four slices of fresh unpeeled ginger plus a dash of mirin), and enough vinegar to cover. Seal and shake the fuck out of it, then settle it in the âfridge for at least 90 minutes. Itâll be ready then, but peak flavor happens after a day or so. These pickles will keep for up to a week. Theyâre better than you think theyâll be.
NOTE: this is almost identical to the quick pickling method I use with various radishes, especially Korean or daikon radishes. Thatâs where the additives make the difference: for Korean pickled moo youâll want a whiter vinegar and maybe some chiles in the mix. But weâre not dealing with them right now, so go enjoy the Hakureis, because theyâll be outta here in a week or so.
STRAWBERRY MOJITOS
Gotta have:Â
fresh mint. As much as you can stand.
fresh strawberries on the verge, or at least ripe as fuck. Only local ones will do for this;Â âberries trucked in from Cali wonât have the flavor you crave for this and will be too tart to make it work. Either go local or donât use them at all - but see below.
rum (any white or aged type will do for this; I used Rhum Barbancourt. Avoid âspicedâ rums or the super dark variety like Myerâs or Goslingâs. If you omit the strawberries, youâll need a lighter rum to balance the lack of tartness those lovely red juicebursty critters will bring to the party.)
juicy limes
some sugar, not much, or another sweetener if you roll that way
ice, ice, baby
a muddler or a sturdy spoon and some elbow grease
Make it:Â
In a shaker or heavy glass, muddle the following:
2-4 sprigs of mint
1/2-1 tsp sugar or sweetener. (Yes, youâll need it, even if you donât have a sweet tooth; the sugar brings it together but if you canât tolerate sucrose use the equivalent of stevia or whatever you like.)
A fistful of strawberries that wonât survive the night, stems removed and sliced roughly but lovingly (I have big hands, so you might want to go two fistfuls if yours are normal sized, or if you really, really loves those melting late season âberries.)
the juice of a healthy wedge of lime. (As much as you like, or about 1/16 of a normal sized lime. If itâs a Key lime, you are in for a treat: use more of it, up to 1/4 of the fruit.)
Muddle that sucker into submission, pouring a few slugs of rum as you go until the sugar (or whatevah) is dissolved, the mint is a mere shadow of its former self, and the berries are slurring, âno mĂĄs, no mĂĄsâ. And also it should smell good, minty and sweet and tart and the berries are yelling about a rematch but could they please just get a clean towel and lie down for a while.
Let it sit a minute or two. Donât get anxious, itâll be fine.
Strain that ambrosia over a tall glass packed with ice, mashing the solids into the mesh of the strainer until they give up their delightful jazz, dripping through into the cold places below. Add more rum/rhum/RUM! to taste (but donât go nuts or youâll be a wreck and no one will like you ever again. Moderation; add the fermented cane juice a dab at a time until you find the right balance).
Top off with seltzer or club soda or, hell, use tonic water for all I care, itâs your drink. Stir gently, stick a long sprig of mint in there and look fabulous, querida.Â
(Yes, itâs somewhat pink, but youâre fine with that because youâre secure in your gender identity, no matter how fluid it may be, and if anyone calls you a girlie for drinking this, take it as a compliment. Because fuck those idiots, they be confused and just do not understand the nuances of the human experience or the deliciousness of this pint of YUM youâre hoisting. Also, itâs just a goddamn drink. What the fuck, really. Those berries wonât last forever.)
I got ya snacks right here, jamokes.
My Best Tweets of 2015
Bone broth is the most important thing to happen to me since white men invented tacos.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) February 2, 2015
If everyone quits their bullshit corporate jobs and follows their dreams, who will buy all this artisan toast?
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) March 2, 2015
How do male chefs cook with their big olâ dicks getting in the saucepans all the time?
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) March 2, 2015
Deviled is the lowest form of egg.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) April 4, 2015
I made your goddamn falafel recipe and they all broke apart in the oil so thanks a lot you fucking asshole fuck you forever.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) May 3, 2015
I wish I knew how to jazz up my oatmeal.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) June 30, 2015
I wish there was a food conf where I could hear TED-style talks from chefs telling me to love harder while I eat beautiful granola snacks
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) June 15, 2015
Can everyone stop pretending the âremove corn from the cob with a Bundt pan and a knifeâ technique is a good idea? Because it isnât.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) June 17, 2015
Sometimes you find out that a person you love and have known for a very long time does not know how to fill a dishwasher properly.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) June 4, 2015
Stank ass truffle oil pic.twitter.com/QkR1cbOabb
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) June 12, 2015
Would drink. pic.twitter.com/r5gMxqjHOp
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) July 14, 2015
Weâre going out for bone broth! pic.twitter.com/rj2dRSdY4U
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) July 20, 2015
This is a giant ass bird eating a rabbit and then the bird pooped and flew away. Hug your babies we will all die. pic.twitter.com/rE7RWbDpig
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) August 25, 2015
This man is carrying a bucket of mayo on the subway, and itâs all I can think about. #mayotrain pic.twitter.com/UMgWwUL8gN
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) August 17, 2015
Why did God put a hole in the Bundt cake pan if he didnât want me to put my dick in it?
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) August 24, 2015
Panicked that I donât know how to pick thyme correctly and that Iâm going to be yelled at by a white man. pic.twitter.com/yo1EVPiqeL
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) August 18, 2015
First in a series
these are my recipe boxes. pic.twitter.com/1xVfFmUYSv
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) August 14, 2015
OK, Iâm calling it. White Male Chefs: Congratufuckalations for taking a step forward and being less of an asshole. There. Are you happy?
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) August 18, 2015
Spatchfucked pic.twitter.com/rkkufP8irk
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) August 22, 2015
Yes, this is my personal watermelon. And I wonât talk about it. Because itâs personal. pic.twitter.com/L32uGlEXGe
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) August 15, 2015
Rice Krispy treats but Fruity Pebbles and a life of no regrets. pic.twitter.com/5nuK6nveod
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) September 13, 2015
My takeaway: The key to getting more female voices heard in food is to get more editors to care about hearing those voices. #tastetalks
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) September 12, 2015
Please stop turning your personal tragedy into a teaching moment for the rest of us and then tacking a recipe on to the end of it.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) September 9, 2015
.@ChristinaTosi I just invented Funfetti on peanut butter while drunk and also high on Ambien. Am I cool? pic.twitter.com/CGk5UKktlB
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) September 3, 2015
This Barnes & Noble gets it. pic.twitter.com/lg6LHUvYQm
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) September 30, 2015
When you tell me weâre having queso for dinner. pic.twitter.com/njem51sszP
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) October 23, 2015
First in a series
52 Theme Weeks for Your Food Publication (because theme weeks are fun and drive traffic and never get tiresome for readers)
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) October 20, 2015
If someone wanted to write about the diversity of food editorial teams, I would read it.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) October 27, 2015
Pot roast is the prettiest ugly. pic.twitter.com/1EnQxm1Hmt
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) October 20, 2015
This pumpkin got me half chub. pic.twitter.com/29FRl3zYb1
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) October 25, 2015
THE ANGER OF A WHITE MALE CHEF IS SO REAL pic.twitter.com/TaJwyvlokj
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) October 30, 2015
what if gravy could talk to us? what would it say? and would you be ready to listen? really listen?
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) November 17, 2015
Sad news. We had to take the Hasselback potatoes out behind the shed and put them out of their misery due to overexposure on Pinterest.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) November 20, 2015
Me explaining why your bread program is doing some interesting things but fails to deliver an innovative experience. pic.twitter.com/Qto7sqPk6s
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) November 11, 2015
Imagine having to tell your children tomorrow that Santa isnât fully bean-to-bar.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) December 24, 2015
A bag of aggression. pic.twitter.com/fU99XNs5F9
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) December 23, 2015
Incredibly mad and terribly drunk.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) December 5, 2015
I hate everyone in this Nordstrom Rack. pic.twitter.com/tZvC1f1cPO
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) December 30, 2015
First in a series
Pleased to announce my 2015 list of the Top 100 Food Writers.
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) December 23, 2015
They should rebrand Brussels sprouts as âpersonal cabbages.â pic.twitter.com/tJdlDMGEi9
â your friendly SFB (@shitfoodblogger) November 21, 2015
âTis the cooking season
My kitchen has been largely dormant these last few weeks. Usually the onset of autumn triggers my culinary gland into action and pushes me to max out every square cubit of counterspace and all four burners. But this season has been a slow one for a few synergistic reasons. Iâve been deep into three projects, essentially working a job and a half under deadline while driving to the cusp of publishing my first poetry collection (out on Kindle now, soon to be in print). Along the way, I found myself considering starting up a small publishing company based on the response I got from two colleagues at a recent reading, both of whom asked how I got into self-publishing and wound up asking if Iâd make their books happen. So I have another project churning even as I put the print edition to bed and prep for a minor book tour, with LLC papers to file, workspace to secure, plans and plans and plans.
Also, I reincarnated TreeHouse BrewWorks, which is a schmancy way of saying I whipped up two batches of homemade beer over the last two months, and keeping the kitchen at a steady temperature has been essential to not having either of them (a hybrid porter/winter ale called Volar Portex plus one currently in the fermenting tank that should come out as something like an ESB with the malt turned up a little) turn skwonky. Tomorrow is bottling day, and the next batches will use a lager yeast that loves lower temperatures than my standard ale-making critters, which means I can move the fermenters into a cooler space that keeps at a steady 60-65 degrees - and allow the kitchen to go a little infernal when needed.
Thanksgiving weekend, though, is a time for cooking oneâs ass off, and I managed to stumble through a Bien Cuit-style loaf of bourbon bread (which I nearly burnt but managed to save through some intensive crust intervention), some emergency cornbread in the event that I couldnât save the bread and which my 15 year old son described as tasting like plastic on top of cardboard, and the cranberry-orange relish/sauce/jam that used to get me laid on a regular basis (and yes, when itâs good itâs that good). And although I broke my favorite coffee mug in the process, I was able to remember that a lame day cooking is better than a good day being lame.
At the moment the low-bid contractor crew is renovating the apartment upstairs, the landlordâs brother having vacated it. Theyâve been going at it for about a week now, and Iâve got right of first refusal on it once itâs done (and after theyâve stopped knocking the buildingâs wi-fi offline by unplugging the router every now and then). Itâs about the same size as my current place, but with a deck out back, and possibly an open kitchen. Next week Iâll have a look at it, so I will hold off on starting my next two beer things (a black IPA and another attempt at making a Gruit) in case I need to transport the fermenting tanks upstairs (they donât like traveling while incubating the Precious).Â
Todayâs plans are more of the same: tweaking the layout on the book and sending off for a proof copy, collating proposal info for next yearâs contract negotiations at the college, looking at workspace options and small business banking and submitting some new(er) poems for publication and not giving a flying fahrvergnugen whether or not they get accepted, because soon enough Iâll be able to to publish them on my own. Then itâs off to the Clark Park Farmerâs Market, a date with Don Memoâs taco truck, and before the cold rain comes Iâll be cooking what needs, demands, aches to be cooked this afternoon while bottling the ESB and maybe even designing some labels for the bottles (so I donât confuse the winter/porter with the malty bitters).
Strap on your aprons, kids, itâs going to be a wild ride.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Beer for Jesus
Standing on the Dock Street beer line at the Baltimore Ave Dollar Stroll, a hipster evangelist handed me a crisp dollar and said "your next beer's on me". And then his buddy passed me a dollar-shaped slip telling me that Jesus loved me so much he wanted me to have a free beer or at least a dollar to do with what I wanted. So I gave him one of the $1 PBR cans I snagged at Queen of Sheba and toasted dollar-giving Jesus with my plastic cup of Golden Goat while we watched the Polynesian fire dancers next door. I'm saving the other can for the Pope when he comes to Philly next week. Im'a tell him all about Beer Jesus and treat him to some street barbeque and lapsed Mennonite mac & cheese and random accordion players. Because Frank might just understand. And we would toast for peace on earth in our lifetimes and then go get tacos and see if that church was still handing out dollars so we could snag a couple more Golden Goats without having to pawn one of his rings.
LâShana Tova, yo
Today I exercised some kitchen mojo between bouts of couch sloth and bursts of physical therapy exercises. The result is, well, letâs not call it fusion, because that would imply that I couldnât make up my mind and still thought I was giving birth to Aphrodite herself. Instead I made a few items from some of my favorite culinary traditions, some of which Iâve never tried before and all of which simply needed to go into the bowl or wok or pan. Hereâs the dayâs tally:
One tortilla espaĂąola with Andouille sausage, grated Grana Padano, sweet potatoes, Hungarian peppers, red onion, Roma tomatoes and red garlic. The eggs and veg were all from West Philly or Lancaster County.
Tempeh & mixed veg stir fry with every sauce-potion from the Korean grocery store.
Pai huang gua (Szechuan style garlic and sesame smashed cucumbers).
Pickled French Breakfast radishes with red chiles.
Roasted pepitas with nary a trace of the dreaded pumpkin spice.
One bigass salad.
One liter of sangria (Argentine tempranillo, Valencia oranges, lemons, Zestar apples, peaches, Italian plums, Knob Creek bourbon & seltzer). LâChaim, byotches!
I may have left something out, but no worries, the cat will probably eat it. May your sorry asses be inscribed in the Book of Life for another miserable year.Â