...while the Redskins are getting their asses handed to them, I'm doing, not one, but two kickin' barbeque sauces while the pork butts are into their 5th hour. One sauce is the Mojo sauce and the other one is a Savannah style mustard based sauce.
Right now, my biggest worry (other that W tanking this election) is whether to add some honey to the Savannah sauce. If that's all that's really bothering me on a lovely fall afternoon, I guess I'm doing ok.
Blogging on The Pertinent Issues Of The Day will slack off considerably today and the next few days simply because it's just too overwhelming out there in the blogosphere. I'm tired of politics. A pox on all their houses.
Well, it's getting kind of lonely out here. Everybody but me thinks that Osama is back and bigger than ever. I'm not buying it. Here's why:
1) It all comes down to critical thinking. First of all, the whole vid makes no sense in terms of context and timing. Then there is the question of authenticating himself. There are so many very simple things "Osama" could do to "authenticate" himself that he just doesn't seem to be able to do. Until "Osama" does some pretty basic stuff, like hold up a copy of today's New York Times, I'm not buying it. If he's alive, his handlers seem to be going to great lengths to keep Osama So Very Mysterious. Shit. To hell with the NYT. I'd settle for a weekly madrasa newletter from Karachi or Kandahar.
If Old Rags wants to get my attention, he can basically start off by saying, "YO! Listen up! You tried to frag my ass at Tora Bora, but you freaks missed! Booya! Now, here it is [insert your number here...] days before your so-called "election" and I'm calling your asses OUT! By your calendar, it's [insert relevant date here! See how easy it is?!] and I'm chilling in...Whoopsydaisy! Almost let the infidel outta da bag!! Ha! Whatever. I wanna welcome my first guest, straight outta the big F in I-Rack! My Falujah homie..." You get the picture. Real simple. Straight to the point. Pull those short hairs.
2) Don't jump to conclusions before the story plays out. Doubts are begining to arise out in the blogosphere.
This is Jim Robbins on The Corner a little while ago:
Stories circulated today that the new OBL video was much less bipartisan than at first believed, and that unedited versions of the tape included threats against the Bush family and several Cabinet members. This morning Al Jazeera posted what it claimed was a complete transcript of the video which apart from looking too short to be 18 minutes also had nothing that was not already aired. One interesting side note -- the text of the translation was based on the subtitles in the original video. The transcript does not include the final few sentences in which bin Laden mentions John Kerry. Nor does bin Laden anywhere mention Iraq. He does apparently say that this is the fourth year of the war, but everything else he says deals with the causes of the conflict. Is this a new tape or not?
Now, this is kind of interesting: The transcript does not include the final few sentences in which bin Laden mentions John Kerry. Nor does bin Laden anywhere mention Iraq. So much for authentication.
And the 4th year of the war thing sort of bugged me. It hasn't been 4 years since 9/11. When does the war begin for Osama that would fit the time frame? I'm guessing when it became focused upon him personally. That would be when Clinton went after him in Afganistan with Tomahawks. August of '98. Roughly 4 years later, Osama is holed up in Tora Bora.
I'm thinking this tape dates back to '02. I still think the sonofabitch is dead. Osama bin Laden: The Martin Borman of the new century...
Well, we're heading into the weekend before the election, and things are looking tight all 'round.
So, I'm just going to chill this weekend. Visionworks just called to tell me that my new really expensive glasses are ready, so I'll head up to C'ville for the fitting tomorrow. After that, I'll meet the Lady to go shopping for a power suit for The Interview on Monday.
Some folks hired me to do some barbeque for their election night party. They're Dems, so I hope the barbeque is the highlight of their evening. I'll be taking care of that on Sunday; slow roasting pork butts all day and then pulling the meat that evening. In the meantime, I'll have a pot of Chef Mojo's Hard Life Barbeque Sauce bubbling away on the stove. I'll wash out all the small batch bourbon bottles I've saved over the last year. They get filled with the Mojo Sauce. The client gets one with the pulled pork and the rest gets used for Christmas gifts this year. Or for 'shine trading. They like this sauce out in Nelson County.
Anyway. What it boils down to is this: Come Tuesday, I'll go vote and then I'll wait like everyone else. On Wednesday, if Bush has won, great. If Kerry has won, there's just one thing left to say:
nevermind... Next up! Chef Mojo discusses the acceptability of substituting crow for quail in "Bourbon Glazed Crow."
UPDATE 2: THE HEDGE: This story is still in flux. It seems, however, dead as an issue. But y'know? Boubon Glazed Crow ain't half bad. Especially if you wash it down with a nice Blackhook Porter or six.
I now have a t-shirt that says, "Southern Culture On The Skids Hillbilly Surf Club."
That sort of sums up Southern Culture on the Skids, a band that the Lady and I have been going to see for a number of years now. We caught them at Starr Hill a couple of Fridays ago, I just never got around to blogging them. Which is a shame, because they are more fun than a jar of peach shine under a full moon in June with a passel of hounds and a couple of raggedy barn cats. After you step on the barn cats' tails.
For those of you not hip to them, SCOTS is a band out of North Carolina that goes in for a wild style of hybrid white trash glorifying hillbilly surf guitar.
Anyway, it was a hell of a show, as always. Rick started things off right by dedicating the first song to the Election Year of 2004 and tore into "Too Much Pork For Just One Fork." They were fired up and they seem to enjoy themselves when they come to Starr Hill.
I get the most fun when Rick goes surfin'. The man seriously channels Link Wray big time and obviously revels in it. They always put on a hell of a show. I mean, what's not to like; trailer trash culture and surf guitars? I'm there.
Stayed late at work today putting together the menu for a wine dinner on November 18th. Right now, it's shaping up pretty good. It'll be $85.00 a head, inclusive. I felt I was going a little overboard with the wild boar, but I do love it so. Wines get matched tomorrow. I'm looking for a bad ass Super Tuscan to go with the boar.
Anyway, here's what I have so far.
Lasagna of Blue Crab and Chevre
with a Sundried Tomato and Tarragon Cream
Roasted Butternut Squash Soup
Infused with Passionfruit and Chive Oil
Mixed Field Greens and Herbs
with Shaved Aged Locatelli
and a Dried Cherry – Balsamic Vinaigrette
Roast Saddle of Wild Boar
With Black Perigord Truffles and a Madeira Demi-Glace
Thyme Essenced Yukon Gold Potato Gratin
Baby Green Beans with Sweet and Spicy Pecans
Last Sunday morning, I hauled my carcass out of bed to drive 20 miles north to the Inn to put out breakfast for the guests. Putting out breakfast on the weekends is not my usual gig, but we were short handed. In order to forestall the inevitable, I volunteered to go in and take care of it.
I got to the Inn at about 8:00 and started getting everything together. Starting with coffee, of course. We use a great local french roast from Greenberry's. If you're ever in C'ville, this is the coffee you want to drink. The Lady and I use it at home; a fantastic aged Indonesian in a medium to dark roast. The Lady makes the coffee around here, using a french press to great effect.
Next I put out fresh squeezed orange juice and the rest of the "buffet" items; fruit, yogurt, some of Pat's great pumpkin muffins and a big bowl of my homemade muesli. Then, I throw some quiches in the oven to warm and hold.
After that, it's just a matter of waiting for the guests to make their way to the dining room.
One of our innkeepers, Carole, rolled in just after 9:00 to start on some rooms. She poured herself a coffee and filled me in on how the weekend was going. She got right to the point.
According to her, we had a crack whore staying with us.
A couple had arrived Friday afternoon for a weekend stay. They arrived in separate cars. The woman's car was a late model Volvo sedan and was absolutely jammed full with her clothing and worldly possessions. Everybody thought this was a little weird.
On Saturday, Carole and Pat (the pastry chef) had the unique opportunity of talking to this woman. In fact they couldn't avoid it. She came down in her robe, one breast hanging out, until this was pointed out to her. She had a wild look in her eye and was eating everything in sight. She kept following Carole and Pat around telling them about the night before.
Seems this lady and her guy went out to dinner at a nice place and came back to do what couples usually do in luxury Inns at night. Then she leaves her guy in bed, goes down to her car, changes in her car and walks downtown where she manages to score $450.00 worth of crack cocaine which she proceeds to smoke with a vengeance. She's been up all night watching TV and jumping her guy's bones whenever he shows the slightest inclination. She's in a 12 step program but she's having a hard time sticking to it and she's not a whore or anything because the guy upstairs is her boyfriend and he plays the harmonica and by the way, her breasts are the best money can buy. She's also sorry she's a little intense, but you know how it goes.
Carole finishes her narration. Well. This should an interesting morning.
Breakfast proceeds apace. There's a full house and they circulate in and out over the next hour. No sign of her, though.
At around 10:15, I start breaking down from breakfast. By the time I'm finished with the dishes, it's about 10:45.
While I'm putting away some coffee mugs in the dining room sideboard, she makes her entrance.
She's a compact blonde in a robe and, indeed, her left breast is exposed to the rather cool morning air of the dining room. Fortunately, she notices this before I have to make the difficult moral decision as to whether I have to point this out to her. She nonchalantly tucks her breast back into the robe without a second thought and asks what happened to breakfast?
I notice her eyes and posture. She is completely wired. Great. I explain to her that breakfast was over at 10:00 and that i've put everything away. However, I can give her some coffee, juice and a pumpkin muffin.
She quaffs down the juice, starts in on her coffee and attacks her muffin like a starving demon assuring me that she and the "boyfriend" will be out at noon.
I explain to her that checkout is at 11:00, not noon. And she completely flips out on me. Not at me, really. She just proceeds to have a meltdown in the middle of my dining room. She's freaking out and apologizing and oh-my-god-what-time-is-it-WE'VE GOT TO GET OUTTA HERE in ten minutes OH JESUS I'm so F@#KING SORRY are you gonna charge us EXTRA?
I tell her everything's ok and not to worry. I mean, what else can you say at that point? She's got some wriggle room and flees the dining room.
At around 11:30, I'm wrapping it up and getting ready to leave. Boyfriend comes down to check out with Carole. Smart looking and debonaire. Kind of Italian looking. Seems to be pretty nice. Go figure. I leave him with Carole and head home.
So, on Monday morning, I roll into work. The first thing I notice is Crack Girl's Volvo sitting in the lot. Oh, my. What's this all about?
While I'm putting breakfast out, the back door slams, and I see her headed out the car with a shopping bag of clothing. Her hair is piled up and all over the place and she's wearing some tight pink capri sweatpants, a white cutoff tee shirt and a powder blue hoody. She's on her cellphone and she's screaming at it. She opens the trunk and flings the bag in. The bag bounces out and dumps on the pavement because the trunk is already packed to the limit. She picks up the clothes and the bag and tosses them in the back seat screaming into her phone all the while. She kicks the Volvo a few times and goes storming off towards downtown.
What the hell was THAT about, I'm thinking?
Pat rolls in just before 9:00 to inform me that just after I left on Sunday, Boyfriend had gone back upstairs where he proceeded to "break up" and dump Crack Girl. She, of course, had yet another meltdown. He came up with the bright idea of having her stay with us on his card for another night. Damn white of him, don't you think?
Pat manages to get her on her cell to remind her that checkout is at 11:00. She snaps back at Pat that she's WELL aware of that fact.
Then the shrink a few doors down beat his ex-wife-to-be in the parking lot, but that's another story that has no relation to the current narrative other than my greatest fear was that while all the cops were there, Crack Girl would show up, see the cops, think they were there for her and go screaming down the street into the drizzle and fog never to be seen again.
Alas, that was not to be. She showed up at the Inn at about quarter to 11, still on the cell phone. Only now she's crying, moaning and pleading to whoever's on the other end. She grabs the rest of her stuff and manages to jam it into the Volvo. She's quite hysterical. Pat asks her if she's ok. NO, I'M NOT F%@KING OK!. Pat's being very patient and asks if she has anywhere to go. She's heading back to North Carolina and Mommy. She screams some more into the cell, climbs into the Volvo and screeches off, no mean feat, given the small size of our lot.