Another wine dinner coming up on May 5th. I decided to go Southwestern with mid range California wines to match for the whole Cinco de Mayo thang. Here's the menu:
Chipotle - Lime Shrimp served with an Avocado Salsa Westerly Sauvignon Blanc '02 Santa Ynez Valley
West Texas Corn Chowder Heron Chardonnay '03 Central Coast
Salad of Tomatoes, Queso Fresco and Bacon dressed with a Southwestern Mojo Edna Valley Pinot Gris '03
Pepper Rubbed Roast Tenderloin of Beef with a Bourbon - Pecan Red Mole Sage Roasted Purple Fingerling Potatoes Jicama and Sweet Pepper Slaw Cline Ancient Vine Zinfindel '03 Contra Costa County
Warm Ancho Chili Spiked Chocolate Cake with a Burnt Orange Sauce and Vanilla Bean Cream Quady Essensia Orange Muscat '03
Only one problem. No one has booked as of yesterday. I really want to do that mole. It's only $77.50 a head plus tax and gratuity, which brings it to an even c-note. Ah, well. Serves me right for planning it on Cinco de Mayo and the week before Mother's Day. I can always do it next month...
Y'know, I'm glad she's ok and everything, but does Jennifer Wilbanks have even the slightest idea of how much time, manpower, and money her "cold feet" have cost the various agencies involved in finding her? Not to mention what it's going to cost the caterers and so forth involved in a wedding for 600 people.
I just can't get my mind around the idea that if the pressure of the wedding gets to be too much, the solution is to fake your own kidnapping and take a bus to freakin' Albuquerque. She actually had to plan this little bit of acting out. You just don't decide while jogging, "Screw this wedding shit; I'm going to Albuquerque!" and split the scene. The woman actually had to think about this. That really bugs me.
If I were a resident of Duluth, Georgia, I'd be seriously pissed off at this stupid, selfish woman.
As in: "The Imps were late starting up their freakin' function and everything was off kilter and the damn entreés didn't go out until 8:40 because they wouldn't stop giving speeches and shut the f#%k up long enough to eat their goddamn Greek salads."
...that the idiot Presidential handler that thought this:
would be a neat idea has been severely beaten and locked in a White House broom closet for the duration of Bush's second term.
"Mr. President, trust me on this one. No, really. Take the Prince's hand in yours and walk down the flower path for a photo op! The Saudis do it all the time! It'll be your way of showing you're simpatico with the Prince! The press will EAT IT UP!"
UPDATE: I don't care about cultural relevancy in this case. It's just so not right. The first thought that pops into the head of just about everyone in the USA who looks at that picture is, "So, which one is the bitch?"
UPDATE 2; Laura comments: "Too bad they aren't primroses."
That's how my hands feel this morning after breaking down 5 beef tenderloins into 54 petit filets, 6 strip loins into 76 close trimmed 8 oz. NY Strips and helping Laura pipe out 56 twice baked potatoes.
I think I'm getting old or something. Thank god for callouses or I'd be bleeding and crippled...
So what have I been listening to lately, other than Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds?
~British Sea Power ~Kaiser Chiefs (Shout out to the Denevan for the above!) ~22-20s ~Roy Orbison ~Jonathan Richman (with & without Modern Lovers...) ~k.d. lang ~Sparks ~Maria McKee ~John Lydon ~The Specials ~The Grateful Dead
You know, if I ever end up meeting the Devil at the crossroads, I'm pretty confident that he'll end up looking like Nick Cave.
Last week, The Lady - bless her! - purchased B-Sides and Rarities, a 3 disc retrospective from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. Over the years, ole Nick has grown on us to the point that he's become integrated into The Soundtrack Of Our Lives. Which is understandable. Both The Lady and I enjoy noodling through the dark side, musically, and Nick Cave has got that area pretty much nailed down.
Just the first 3 songs are enough to put The Fear Of GOD into anybody and they work together as a very moody triptych. Deanna, The Mercy Seat and City Of Refuge in all their accoustic glory show Nick getting his holy roll on. And when Nick gets his holy roll on, we're not talking Shall We Gather By The River. We're talking streets running red with the blood of holy retribution sort of holy roll. Nick's more of an Old Testament kind of guy.
And I ain't down here for your money
I ain't down here for your love
I ain't down here for your love or money
I'm down here for your soul
These are bleak, despairing songs that probe the murky corners of the human soul. And that is, as another Child of Darkness would say, a good thing.