Monday, January 16, 2006

CATCHING UP WITH THE CARNIVALS

She Who Must Be Obeyed and I have just returned from a long weekend in Savannah, where we and our friends JoAnn and Gary had a fine time feeding our faces and visiting with the Mistress of Sarcasm.

In our absence, of course, Bloggity-World rolls on apace. Just in case you may have missed ’em, please note that Carnival of the Recipes #74 has been posted at The Common Room.

And Carnival of the Cats #94 is up at Niobium. Hmmm. It’s not every person that’ll name a blog after a Metallic Element, but who’s to argue? Especially in the face of all that Kitty Goodness.

Speaking of Kitty Goodness, Hakuna was so happy to see us, she even let SWMBO pick her up and give her some Up Close and Personal Skritchies. Even more surprising: she didn’t run away after SWMBO let go of her. Hell, it’s been only ten years. Maybe she’ll eventually figure out that we don’t plan to choke her.

SWMBO and Hakuna

SWMBO and Hakuna Too

Saturday, January 14, 2006

FRIDAY EARLY SATURDAY MORNING RANDOM TEN

Was Elisson in Houston this week?

No, he was not.

Therefore, he cannot use an an excuse for being tardy posting the Friday Random Ten, that he was toiling under the frequent Cat o’ Nine Tails lashes of his Corporate Overseers. No, he was just lazy.

Better late than nevah. Here’s this week’s List of Choons from the Little White Choon-Box:
  1. Delhin Yot - Alamaailman Vasarat
  2. I’m Gonna Booglarize You - Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band
  3. A Night In Tunisia - Dizzy Gillespie
  4. Taxim - The Klezmer Conservatory Band
  5. I’ll Be Your Mirror - The Velvet Underground
  6. The Red Weed (Part 2) - Jeff Wayne’s The War of the Worlds
  7. I’m In Love With A Girl Named Spike - Skankin’ Pickle
  8. A Case Of You - Joni Mitchell
  9. Shade - Silverchair
  10. Teeth - Mitch Hedberg
It’s Friday Too Damn Early on a Saturday. What are you listening to?

Friday, January 13, 2006

DINNER WITH MR. DEBONAIR

Mr. Debonair likes an evening meal that is elegant, yet is easy to throw together at a moment’s notice. This one took just three days.

First, go to your neighborhood Purveyor of Meaty Products. Purchase two fine Duck Breasts and take them home.

Once home, remove the Duck Breasts from their wrappings. Give them a quick rinse and dry with a clean kitchen towel, for you know not on whose meat your Meat Purveyor’s hands have been.

Mix together 1/4 cup coarse kosher salt and 1/4 cup cracked black peppercorns. Rub the duck breasts thoroughly with this mixture, wrap in plastic film, and refrigerate for 24 hours.

After the breasts have sat in the salt and pepper rub for a full day, take them out and rinse them off in cold water. Dry thoroughly with a clean kitchen towel.

Place the duck breasts in a flat glass dish or some other inert container, preferably one with a snap seal. Mr. Debonair uses Tupperware, the plastic container that is, alas, well known for burping. Schmear the breasts well with about 1/2 cup or more of Steen’s 100% Pure Cane Syrup. Throw in 4 chopped garlic cloves, a tablespoon of dried juniper berries, and about 10 whole peppercorns. Cover well and stick in the refrigerator for 2-3 days.

When you're ready to enjoy your King-Hell Duck Breast Sammitch - for that is, indeed, what Mr. Debonair is preparing - take the duck breasts out of the fridge and scrape off the goop. Preheat your oven to 400°F.

In an oven-proof skillet, heat 1 tsp olive oil. Add the breasts, skin side down, and let cook on medium heat for 10 minutes.

When the skin is nice and crispy, turn the breasts over and cook for another 10 minutes. Then, stick the entire skillet in the oven for 5 minutes (if you like your meat medium rare) - 10 minutes for medium-well. Remove from the oven and let the meat rest for a few minutes before slicing across the grain.

While all this is going on, lightly toast a couple of English muffins - or use a nice multi-grain bread of your choice. Sometimes Mr. Debonair has to make do with whatever the hell is in the house.

Get out your blender. Into it, lob one whole egg, a teaspoon of Colman’s dry mustard, a couple tablespoons of freshly-squeezed lemon juice, and four peeled garlic cloves. Start your blender, and while it’s running, s l o w l y drizzle in 2 cups of olive oil. The stuff will start to thicken up nicely after you get about 1/2 cup of oil in there. Mr. Debonair only used a total of 1 cup of oil, and it worked out nicely; then again, he wasn’t cooking for a God-damned army, was he? Is the stuff nice and thick yet? You’ve just made aioli: garlic mayonnaise.

Now to assemble your King-Hell Duck Breast Sammitches.

Get your bread, English muffins, whatevah, and spread each piece liberally with the aioli. Now, add a layer of sliced duck breast meat. Slice up a few thin pieces of Brie cheese and bury that duck under the Brie. Add some mixed greens to add a little bulk, and you’re good to go. If you want, jack it up even more by adding a few rashers of lean, grilled bacon. [Mr. Debonair elected to have the bacon-free version.] Cut the Sammitches up if you wish, then serve them forth.

King-Hell Duck Breast Sammitch
A couple of King-Hell Duck Breast Sammitches.

Excluding the three days you will need to marinate the breasts, you can put these Bad Boys together in about 30 minutes. And you’ll have a heap of aioli left over for other uses. Like Tuna Fish Salade Mort de Vampyr. One bite, and you’re safe from Count Dracula and his undead buddies for a solid week.

AND THE RAINS CAME

Rainbow Over May-Retta

After which they went away, leaving this.

MOTIVATION

Most of my Esteemed Readers are probably familiar with those Stoopid Motivational Posters that festoon boardroom walls throughout this great land.

Thanks to this snazzy website, you can now make your own. It’s like the Church Sign Generator, except it generates Useless Motivational Posters.

I discovered this by the grace of Zonker, who in turn got it from Sandy at the Pea Patch. And Sandy has posted a few excellent examples of what can be done.

Of course, my tastes run toward the cynical, so my idea of a Motivational Poster is the kind of stuff they offer at Despair.com.

And, therefore, here’s mine own Demotivational Poster:

Blogging

BIG DEAL

Egosearch

Now making the rounds of the Bloggy-Sphere, this fine Web-Based Application that allows you to see how big your dick is how many links there are that connect both your name and your site. I guess. Actually, I have no fucking clue what it’s supposed to measure.

For all I know, it measures a person’s tolerance for Shirley Temples. Which would explain this:

Humbled

Shirley Temple

FRIDAY ARK #69

The Friday Ark is boarding once again at The Modulator.

Please keep Tiny, one of the Resident Kitties at sisu, in your thoughts and prayers for a speedy and complete recovery.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON, REVISITED

[I posted this back in November 2004, but thanks to the Video-Blogging capabilities of YouTube, it’s worth revisiting.]

THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON

is now available in easy-to-take blog form.

No, I’m not talking about King Solomon, the Biblical figure who was renowned for his baby-splittin’ wisdom. I’m talking about Mike Solomon, the cherubic-looking guy in the picture below.

Mike Solomon
Michael Solomon: minyan guy, fellow blogger.

Mike is one of the regulars at our morning minyan. More often than not, he’s the one who passes around the pushke, the little collection box into which we stuff our daily charitable donations. He’s a frequent attendee at the group’s Thursday night dinners. And did I mention that he’s the recording secretary for our Men’s Club Board of Directors?

Mike has also taken his first steps into Bloggity World. You can visit his site here.

As a kid, Mike was called “Royteh” – the Redhead. Red hair usually bespeaks a fiery temperament, but Michael is a pussycat. Unless you call him “Mikey,” in which case he is liable to kick your ass.

But what you may not know is that you just might have seen his face before - if you’re old enough, that is. Years ago, he made a living appearing in various TV commercials. One of these got quite a bit of attention back in the day, even winning a Clio award in 1980.


Just click on the arrow to play the video.

Yep, that’s him – the guy in the old Federal Express ad who yanks the phone booth right out of the ground. “All you have to do is pick up the phone,” indeed.

TOUCHED

Touched By His Noodly Appendage

Elder Daughter and Khody got me this snazzy Flying Spaghetti Monster T-Shirt for Chanukah.

Have you been touched by His Noodly Appendage?

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

THE LITTLEST CAR THIEF

This morning, as She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were performing our respective Morning Ablutions, our attention was caught by a news item on the Boob-Choob in the bedroom.

Seems an erratic driver led police on a merry chase last night. Driving every which way, knocking over signs, running lights, smacking into any and all in his path. Eventually, the car was forced to a stop and the driver apprehended.

Drunk? Insane? Nay.

Seven years old.

I am amazed that the little shit could reach both the steering wheel and the pedals.

The young man is being charged with reckless endangerment, failure to obey traffic signals, evading arrest, leaving the scene of an accident, driving without a license, speeding, and Being a Fucking Seven-Year-Old Driving A Car. It is not known whether he will be tried as a post-pubescent. If convicted, he could be sentenced to time-out in the corner, and possibly having his Tushy Spanked.

HEADS UP, PIE LOVERS

National Pie Day - January 23 - will be upon us before you know it, much as a cream pie upon Shemp Howard. Thank you, O thank you, American Pie Council.

Yep - pies got councils.

I’m already planning the menu.

For breakfast? Quiche Lorraine would be an obvious choice, but quiche is for Fancy-Boys. I’ll have waffles, thank you.

Lunch? Russian Cabbage and Onion Pie. Maybe some spanakopita - Greek spinach pie.

Dinner? Chicken pot pie. Shepherd’s pie. And for dessert, some of the deadliest, most serious chocolate pie on the planet: Chocolate Cream Pie from Greenwood’s on Green Street.

Fattening? Of course! A good pie crust is nought but Flour and Grease. But oh, so flaky good.

Feel free to make suggestions of your own in the Comments. On January 23, what time is it? It’s Pie o’Clock!

THEFT

Jim, he of the Place to Pull Off the Road and Pee, has had some issues recently with Content Theft.

Seems that some Thievin’ Asshole in Singapore (we think) lifted the content of one of his recent posts, word-for-word. Verbatim.

In Bloggy-World, linkage and snipping little bits of other people’s material is common practice. But there are rules, and there is etiquette. The Forms Must Be Obeyed.

When you use someone else’s material, it’s polite to get permission. If the material is covered by a Creative Commons license, it’s usually no issue to borrow from someone else, provided you attribute it properly and you are not using it to make Filthy Lucre. If it’s covered by a standard copyright, advance permission is required, except for purposes covered under the Fair Use doctrine.

Music and video downloads? I ain’t touching that one here. But free content isn’t always free for the taking, in a moral sense. The only real question you should ask yourself is, “Would Momma approve?”

Normal practice, when borrowing the Intellectual Property of others, is to excerpt it and include a link back to the source. That way, the creator of that Intellectual Property is assured of proper credit, and at the same time has the opportunity to share some of the traffic it generates.

And when using someone else’s image files - or similar-type content - it’s appropriate to host them on your own server. Hotlinking - slapping an image up on your site and having the HTML img tag refer to the other person’s server URL - is a No-No. It is, simply put, theft of that person’s bandwidth.

The Gaping Asshole that stole Jim’s post - go to his site for the details - did none of the Right Things. She (we think it’s a she) lifted Jim’s post in its entirety, with nary a word of attribution or a link back to Parkway Rest Stop. And, as bad as that was, she also hotlinked the photograph that accompanied Jim’s post.

A quick survey of the Offending Site revealed that just about every photograph on it appeared to be hotlinked. This person, whoever it is, either doesn’t have a clue, or just doesn’t care.

After Jim asked her to remove the post, he was ignored. Well, not ignored, exactly. She took down her bulletin board and shut off commenting. “If I can’t see you, I can ignore you” seems to be the operating philosophy.

I haven’t included a link to the offending site for a couple of reasons: One, if you want to see the site, Jim has a link in his post. I don’t want to direct any more traffic there. Two, the site is a real clusterfuck, a Dog’s Breakfast of bad writing, stupid photographs, and horrible music videos that play automatically when the page loads. Trust me: it ain’t worth the aggravation.

As far as Blog d’Elisson is concerned, I haven’t had any issues with Content Theft. I’ve had some of the pieces I’ve written for McSweeney’s lifted from time to time, but in all cases either McSweeney’s or I were credited. That’s good. On the other hand, it may mean my stuff is Shite that is inadequate even to attract thieves.

I have had experience with plagiarism, though.

Back in the late Cretaceous era when I was in university, I was involved with the campus Humor Magazine, a venerable publication with a history stretching back to 1882. In - what? - 1971, thereabouts, we published an article entitled “Frank Merriwell Returns,” a satirical look at what would happen if the hero of a turn-of-the-century series of Boy’s Stories came back to school today. Naïve vintage-1900 Rover Boys type meets early 1970’s drug-and-promiscuous-sex culture; hilarity ensues. That sort of thing.

It was a semi-forgettable piece, but I remember it well unto this day.

About a year later, we received in the mail a copy of the Phoenix, Rensselaer Polytechnic’s humor rag. I’m still not sure why they sent it - whoever “they” were. A backhanded thank-you? Currying favor with the Big Boys?

But in that magazine there was something that got our attention. There it was: “Frank Merriwell Returns,” word for word, complete with copies of the exact same illustrations we had used in our article. Copies: it looked as though they had been crudely, yet painstakingly, hand-illustrated, using our pictures as models. No credit; no explanation; no nothing.

What the fuck?!!?

Now, here’s something to chew on. These self-same Content Thieves - who knows unto what depths their depravity went? Did they cheat on exams? Undertip their Painted Women? We can only guess...and we can only wonder which buildings, chemical plants, weapons systems, and aircraft they subsequently went on to design.

Remember: When you steal Intellectual Property, the terrorists win!

JEWISH WISDOM, FROM AN UNLIKELY SOURCE

Denny and I - among many others - receive regular heaps of e-mail from the legendary Catfish. Jokes, cartoons, mostly funny stuff. Occasionally a more serious “touchy-feely” piece.

And Denny, when he’s feeling a little lazy (admit it, bwah) will post one of those Catfishy pieces. With appropriate credit, of course.

Yesterday, Denny posted a joke that was not only familiar, but one that brought back some nice memories.

It’s an old chestnut about an old guy who prays at the Western Wall. I won’t quote it here, nor will I spoil the punchline - go and read it at Denny’s site.

Old? Yeah, it’s been around a while.

Buried in the Archive d’Elisson, there’s an old VHS tape that we recorded 21 years ago, back when we were living in Atlanta the first time around. We were visiting the ’Rents d’Elisson in the herbaceous suburbs of New York at the time, and someone had managed to latch on to a videocassette recorder. Big and cumbersome it was, but it worked just fine.

One night, I had the machine set up to record Eli (his ownself) telling jokes. Eli was, and is, a consummate storyteller, and he can make the most horrible jokes sound funny. One of his specialties is telling jokes in (moderately ungrammatic) Yiddish, which adds greatly to the comic effect - provided you understand it to begin with. There’s one that, translated, goes like this:

A teacher is reviewing the idiomatic expression “It seems to me” with her class. She asks little Mendel to stand up and tell a story that includes a sentence containing the words “it seems to me.”

“This morning, my father got up and went into the bathroom. He shaved, took a shower, and got dressed. Then he had some cereal and coffee for breakfast. Then, he picked up his briefcase and went out the door. It seems to me that my father is going to work.”

“Very good, Mendel. You may sit down. Deborah, please stand up and tell us a story with ‘it seems to me.’”

“Today I went to the food market with my mother. She bought eggs, milk, butter, flour, nuts, and raisins. It seems to me that she is going to bake a cake.”

The teacher thanks little Deborah and calls upon Josh.

“My 17-year-old sister is taking piano lessons. Yesterday, the piano teacher came over, and the two of them went into the music room and closed the door. One minute, two minutes, three minutes go by, and I don't hear the piano. So I go and look in the keyhole.

“And I see the piano teacher with his pants down around his ankles, and my sister has got her dress lifted up over her head. And it seems to me...

“...that they’re gonna piss on the piano.”

Yeah, I know. It’s funnier in broken Yiddish.

But that night, my Dad told the joke about the old man praying at the Western Wall. I have it on tape: Dad sitting on an ottoman with my Mom behind him, holding him about the waist, using her hands to punctuate the story as it’s being told.

It’s fun to take out those old tapes and watch ’em from time to time, but it’s bittersweet as well. Mom’s been gone for almost eighteen years now. Yet watching those tapes, hearing her voice (with a Lawn Guyland accent you could cut with a knife) - it all brings back some warm memories.

So: thanks to Denny and Catfish for the trip down Recollection Road. Cat, you’re a Good Man in more ways than one. Heh.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

HAKUNA MATATA

Hakuna and Matata

[Sung to the tune of “Hakuna Matata”]

Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase
Hakuna Matata! Ain’t no passing craze
It means no worries for the rest of your days
It’s our problem-free philosophy

Hakuna Matata!
Hakuna Matata?

Yeah. It’s our motto!

[What’s a motto?]

[Nothing. What’s a-motto with you?]

Those two words will solve all your problems

That’s right. Take Matata here
Why, when she was a young kitty cat...

When I was a young kitty cat

[Very nice]

[Thanks]

She found her aroma lacked a certain appeal
She could clear Atlanta to Savannah after every meal

I’m a sensitive soul though I seem thick-skinned
And it hurt that Hakuna never stood downwind

And oh, the shame [She was ashamed]
Thought of changin’ my name [What’s in a name?]
And I got downhearted [How did ya feel?]
Everytime that I...

[Hey! Matata! Not in front of our Esteemed Readers!]

[Oh. Sorry...]

Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase
Hakuna Matata! Ain’t no passing craze

It means plenty of kibble for the rest of your days

It’s our problem-free philosophy
Hakuna Matata!
Hakuna Matata! [Hakuna Matata!]
Hakuna Matata! [Hakuna Matata!]
Hakuna Matata! [Hakuna Matata!]
Hakuna Matata! [Hakuna -]

It means no worries for the rest of your days

It’s our problem-free philosophy
Hakuna Matata!
(Repeats)

I say “Hakuna”

I say “Matata”

[Matata, won’t you quit bitin’ on my ass?]

SOMETHING FISHY

Jellyfish

Something is fishy in Atlanta…and it just may be the Georgia Aquarium.

The assembled Clan d’Elisson and its various hangers-on spent several of the closing hours of 2005 at this, the newest Tourist Attraction in the city of Atlanta.

I’ve seen a lot of Big-Ass Fish Tanks in the fifty-three odd years that I’ve walked this planet. Visits to Florida in my Snot-Nose Days were never complete without a trip down the Rickenbacker Causeway to Key Biscayne, there to while away a day at the Miami Seaquarium. I’ve pissed away Tourist Bucks at Seaworld, had fancy dinners at the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago. But this…this was something else.

The Georgia Aquarium is touted as being the largest aquarium in the world, with over 100,000 fish and other assorted Marine Fauna representing over 500 different species. It is an Olympic Size Swimming Pool next to which the others are mere blow-up wading pools.

Owing to the need for Morris William and his brood to get on the road for their return trip to Texas, we were only able to stay a few hours, which meant seeing only a few of the multifarious Fishy Attractions. But what we were able to see was Mighty Damned Impressive.

Beluga whales, for one – a tank with several of ’em. As whales go, they’re not Leviathans, but they’re still fairly large animals. Disturbingly human, they looked – almost as though they were men encased in white, waxy, living sarcophagi. Playful, too: one of their favorite games was to exhale a puff of air to make a perfect ring-shaped bubble, which they would then swim up underneath and snap right up.

Beluga whales: eerily man-like
Beluga whale: disturbingly human.

It’s easy to imagine them being intelligent, although without opposable thumbs, a tool-building, mechanized warfare-making, income-tax-driven lifestyle is most likely beyond their capabilities. [Which may mean they’re really intelligent.] Do they enjoy their life in the big tank? Do they have a sense of humor? Do they have enough brain-wattage to think we’re assholes?

Fascinating as these beasts were, I was hoping to see something really impressive. With fishtanks, as with dicks, size matters. Length. Girth. Depth. And the Ocean Voyager exhibit had it all, including a tunnel right through the heart of the tank.

Good Gawd. Whale sharks. Huge-ass fish. These were juveniles – impressively large, yet well short of the 40-foot length they will ultimately attain. As they swam though the tank, they were surrounded by clouds of smaller fish, no doubt under contract to provide essential services:

“Yeah, buddy, could you scratch my back, there? Yeah, right there...about a foot to the left of my dorsal fin. A little higher...yeah, right there...aaaaahhhhhh.”

Whale Shark

Looking up from the tunnel at the bottom of the tank, you could see a mosaic of manta rays – hundreds of ’em – silhouetted against the firmament, moving along the upper reaches of the water, resembling nothing so much as one of those M. C. Escher lithographs in which repetitive patterns change shape and blend into one another - an eerie underwater tapestry.

Manta Mosaic
A mosaic of manta rays.

Hammerhead
Hammerhead shark.

Our little nephew William was goggle-eyed - and so was the rest of our little mob. Seeing Remarkable Things somehow awakens the awestruck kid in each of us, and that Inner Child of mine was bouncing against the walls as if he had had a caffeine enema. We left reluctantly, resolving to come back before too long. Since the Missus and I have purchased annual passes, that shouldn’t be too hard to do.

If you needed an excuse to visit Atlanta, now you have one. Besides the opportunity to be in close proximity to alla them fine Jawja Blodgers, that is.

BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES #132

The latest pile of Bloggy Nether-Nuggets is roasting merrily away at The Business of America is Business, home port of Professor Starling Hunter. Great job, ’Fess.

Monday, January 09, 2006

FINALLY

A foolproof recipe for Roast Turkey.

The problem with roasting a turkey - for neophyte cooks, anyway - is that it’s hard to know just how long to cook the bird. Too little oven time, and you have an undercooked bird, with a chance for salmonella poisoning to boot. Too much, and the damn thing dries out. And those “pop-up” thingies are not always reliable.

Here is a turkey recipe that includes the use of popcorn (!) as a stuffing. It is unusual, surprisingly tasty, and perfect for people who need a little extra help figuring out the roasting time.

10-12 lb. turkey (fresh, or thawed if purchased frozen)
1 cup melted butter
1 bag stuffing (Pepperidge Farm is good.)
1 cup uncooked popcorn (Orville Redenbacher’s Low Fat)
Salt, pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350°F. Brush turkey well with melted butter; sprinkle all over with salt and pepper. Fill cavity with stuffing and popcorn.

Place in baking pan with the neck end toward the back of the oven. Listen for the popping sounds. When the turkey’s ass blows the oven door open and the bird flies across the room, it’s done.

Foolproof, I tell ya!

[Tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora to Mayer (Hizzoner) Smith.]

A MYSTERIOUS AND EXOTIC ELIXIR

Actually, the only thing mysterious about an Egg Cream is its name: it contains neither egg nor cream. And as far as being exotic is concerned, it is only exotic to those who have never walked the streets of Brooklyn.

Hmmm. I guess that would make it exotic. To most residents of these parts, anyway.

She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were visiting our friend Gravel-Voiced Larry and his wife Ina in the hospital yesterday. Larry, a retired Miami cop, is still dealing with the aftereffects of a heart attack that struck him about the same time Hurricane Katrina laid waste to N’Awlins. And, as with N’Awlins, the recovery has been slow, difficult, and painful.

As we all sat together and talked about this ’n’ that, the topic of Egg Creams came up.

The Egg Cream is the quintessential Soda Fountain Drink from Olde New York. Simply put, it’s a chocolate soda. But, as with so many things in life, the devil is in the details.

Egg Creams hearken back to the days when seltzer water was sold in heavy glass siphon bottles. Two-Cents Plain, it was called in the soda fountains, because that’s how much you paid for a glass. If you wanted flavoring, you paid extra. Prepackaged soft drinks were not an option, as you might gather.

Today, the Two-Cents Plain is a distant memory. If you want a bottle of Carbonated Water, you may end up with some fancy-pants imported Fizzy Stuff: Perrier, San Pellegrino, et alia. And it ain’t cheap. Two-Bucks Plain, is more like it.

But I digress.

To make a Classic New York Egg Cream, squirt about an inch of Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup into an 8-ounce straight-sided glass tumbler. You may substitute other brands of chocolate syrup only at the peril of your immortal soul.

Next, pour in an inch of cold milk.

Now, dump in ice-cold seltzer water to fill. The Classic Technique involves using an old-fashioned soda siphon (think Clarabelle the Clown and that damned seltzer bottle), squirting the seltzer into the glass onto an inverted spoon. This directs the seltzer to the edges of the glass and ensures the optimum Foam-to-Liquid Ratio. If you do it right, the drink will have a big, frothy head.

Stir and serve immediately.

There is no beverage that better summons those old, warm memories of growing up in New York...even for me, just a suburban kid. It was almost like a Secret Handshake. You couldn’t bottle it; you couldn’t fake it. Simple perfection, it was. And still is.

I’m sure this post will elicit plenty of comments from those of my Esteemed Readers who have their own Egg Cream Memories. If your technique is a little different, share it with us!

Update: With a tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora to Velociman his ownself, who mentioned Lou Reed’s salute to the Egg Cream - the lead-off song on Set The Twilight Reeling - in the comments, I now present for your delectation the following:

Egg Cream

When I was a young man, no bigger than this
a chocolate egg cream was not to be missed
Some U Bet’s Chocolate Syrup, seltzer water mixed with milk
you stir it up into a heady fro, tasted just like silk
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream
Now you can go to Junior’s, Dave’s on Canal Street
and I think there’s Ken’s in Boston
there must be something in L.A.
But Becky’s on Kings Highway, was the egg cream of choice
and if you don’t believe me, go ask any of the boys
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream
The only good thing I have to say about P.S. 92
was the egg cream served at Becky’s, it was a fearsome brew
For 50 cents you got a shot, choco bubbles up your nose
that made it easier to deal with knife fights
and kids pissing in the street
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream
So the next time you’re in Brooklyn, please say hello for me
at Totonno’s for Pizza and ice cream at Al and Shirley’s
But mostly you go to Becky’s, sit in a booth and say hello
and have two chocolate egg cream, one to stay and one to go
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream, ah
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream
You scream, I steam, we all want egg cream

[Lyrics copyright (c) 1996 Lou Reed]

A PLEASANT SURPRISE...

...is a Tit full of Whisky.

The quote is from B. S. Pulley, nightclub comedian and actor - you may remember him for his role as Big Jule in the 1956 production of Guys and Dolls - and a favorite of my friend Irwin, AKA “Moishepipik.”

CARNIVAL OF THE RECIPES #73

Techno Gypsy hosts the seventy-third Carnival of the Recipes - this week, with a Russian Christmas theme, seeing as how Eastern Orthodox churches observe Christmas according to the Julian calendar.

“Gregorian calendar? Who was this Gregory, anyway? We don’t need no steenkeen’ Gregories...”

How my Waffle Recipe fits into a Russian Christmas is anybody’s guess, although all y’all Eastern Orthodox types still eat breakfast on Christmas, am I right?

Anyway: plenty of good eatin’ there. Go visit the Gypsy and tell him Elisson sent ya.