Management

I started a Tumblr.

http://steersman.tumblr.com/

Mostly so I can post whatever song I'm getting all worked up about at the moment and you can listen to it. Since it requires less (read: almost no) work, it is highly likely there will be more activity there than over at Emus in the Zone, about which the less said at this time the better.

Also, I share things in Google Reader, in case you care what I think is neat today on the blagonetz.

http://www.google.com/reader/shared/theposthorn

If you use Google Reader, which you should, you should just become my Reader friend, and we can share and share alike.

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Pizza Scramble Recipe:

1 slice leftover pizza
1T olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
three large eggs
1T cream

Cut pizza into ~3/4" squares. Heat olive oil and salt over medium heat in a frying pan. Vigorously scramble eggs, cream and pepper with a whisk, and add to pan, stirring frequently. Add pizza squares when the eggs are almost cooked. Serves one.

"I found it at once loud and boring, like watching paint dry while getting hit over the head with a frying pan." -- Peter Bradshaw

"...if I wanted to see Megan Fox in the vicinity of giant hulking stupid metal things, I'd just put Maxim next to a microwave." -- Amelie Gillette

"its like a movie screen taking a really boring shit on your face for 2 and a half hours" (sp) -- @azizansari

But for crying out loud. I think people thought that all those nice things I said about the folks that ran the company I used to work for were just, I don't know, platitudes, or hot air. Email below just received from the (former) CEO of that company, which has been effectively out of business for over three months.

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hi everyone,

You should be receiving a final pto payment today. Several of the investors put money into the company in order to cover this payment and to help wind down [company name] even though they will not get any of it back.

The assets of the company are being transferred to a third party as part of an "ABC" (assignment for benefit of creditors) and shortly I will not have any official capacity vis-a-vis [company name]. However, if any of you need help with health care issues (e.g. if you need a letter for hippa) please let me know and I will be glad to help on a volunteer basis.

It has been a pleasure working with you all. We brought together an amazing team and built a great product. I look forward to working and socializing with many of you in the years to come.

best wishes,

[CEO name]

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Sushi.

The eggs I ate at home for a good portion of my adolescence were arguably farm-fresh, to use the currently popular adjectival catchphrase, in that they came out of a chicken's butt usually within a week or so of being made into my breakfast. They were not literally farm-fresh, as the chickens that laid them lived not on anything resembling a real farm, but rather in the sturdy but clearly homemade plywood coop situated a twelve-second walk from our back door across our one-acre yard. Conscientious of my health and the good of the planet and all that, and fortunate to live in San Francisco where such things are available even at many corner markets, I have as an adult always purchased organic free-range eggs. The last two dozen I've bought, though, came from these farm-fresh sources we have now, one dozen from the 24th Street Cheese Company (purveyors also of many non-cheese fine foods) and one dozen from Mission Pie. No amount of organicity nor free-rangitude can compare. Just looking at the eggs in the carton was enough to bring me back to those heady days of having so many fresh eggs on hand we had to give dozens away, and eating them has been transcendent. All of it has forced me to confront the disparity between the things hens lay and the product called "eggs" that is available in most stores.

I really love eggs. I feel exactly the same way about them as I do about meat and seafood: I take a vehement stance on how they should be cooked, most notably how they should not be overcooked, and I think poorly executed egg dishes are often inedible. But eggs done right are incomparably satisfying to me, especially scrambled, fluffy and delicate. Very fresh eggs, as I recently rediscovered, also have an intense rich flavor not hinted at in their grocery store counterparts. Normally I require some additions or flavoring in my breakfast scramble, something as simple as cheese, chiles or sauteed onions at the least. The fresh eggs shine all on their own, cooked slowly in a bit of butter or oil with maybe a few herbs, or just salt and pepper.

Part of the explanation for this flavor difference is the freshness itself. Though "farm-fresh" (like "organic;" see below) is ill-defined, one hopes eggs advertised thus are a week old at the most, preferably only as old as their packing and transportation time. Eggs you buy in the store (organic and free range have no bearing on freshness) might be four weeks old. I think the sell-by date is 30 days from the packing date. Furthermore, the washing process those eggs undergo removes most or all of the natural protective coating on the shell, accelerating spoilage. Refrigerated unwashed fresh eggs will keep for months.

The differences in physical appearance are even more remarkable. Different breeds of chicken lay eggs with differently colored shells, most in the vicinity of white, tan-brown or pastel green. Any individual hen's eggs may vary in size, and there is more variance between breeds. They might be squat and almost round, huge double-yolkers, or long and torpedo-shaped. Normal, healthy chickens lay misshapen eggs, and particularly with little lumps and bumps, like calcium growths on the eggshell. Of course, eggs that have not been washed have smudges of mud and dirt, perhaps a piece of hay dried to them here or there, and yes, sometimes smears of hen insides.

Whereas the eggs from the store, as you certainly have noticed, are all about the same size and shape and color, be they brown or white. How do they do that? Some of the answers are obvious, and some not-so, but even the seemingly-innocent obvious answers are unappealing to me. So they only breed chickens that lay a certain color egg? Genetic homogeneity of that sort is, you may know, a bad thing. I don't know which would be worse: if the hens are also bred to lay eggs that are all just the same size, or if eggs of an appropriate size are kept and all the rest discarded, or maybe, as seems to be so fashionable, incorporated into the hens' feed.

I am certain all the information I could possibly want about egg agriculture is available on this superhighway, but I will choose not to seek out the answers, rather just to accept that I won't like them, and stick with paying about double for fresh local eggs what I would for grocery store eggs. The latter don't measure up, however Organic or Free Range they might claim to be.* All the proof I need that this is the right decision can be found in the stunning bright yellow yolk.



*Both those buzz-phrases are and have long been unreliable indicators of any kind of food quality, health benefit, or eco-friendliness, as the legal standards for both are not just grotesquely low, but poorly enforced. If you use Organic Valley products, for instance, I am led to believe you may be doing your health and the world a favor, but if you buy Horizon or Clover Organic you're just getting ripped off. I am as guilty of this as anyone, but I'm trying to improve.

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This morning coffee, bacon, an orange, Ciabatta toastlets and, you guessed it, Pie Ranch eggs over easy.

Cynical Optimism: maintaining positive expectations knowing they are unrealistic

Optimistic Cynicism: expecting to make the best of inevitably negative circumstances

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Bento Box: fried pork cutlet, roast beef sushi, asparagus salad, wasabi potato salad, rice with black sesame.

The other day I noted on Facebook that I drink too much coffee and MKD suggested I take up tea. Today I had green tea, then coffee.

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For breakfast, coffee, a tangerine, reheated naan from leftover Indian delivery, two eggs fried in the grease from three slices of thick, thick, delicious bacon (also consumed of course). I went to the Potrero Hill Whole Foods the other day to acquire a few specialty goods I knew could not be acquired most other places. I also just happened to be out of bacon at the time, and bacon must be kept adequately stocked in this house, so I bought this hyper-expensive shit. And man. Oh, man.

Back it up: the Cala/Bell whatever grocery store here in Noe Valley has recently closed, and, it is purported, will be replaced by a Whole Foods soon. The annoying lack of any grocery store during the period between Bell closing and WF opening notwithstanding, I have chirped at length about how I consider this a wash. Both stores are evil corporate entities, so nothing gained nor lost there. Bell was much cheaper and had inferior groceries. As long as I have decent income, I'm equally comfortable paying more for superior groceries at WF. So wtf ever.

But, like, superior. I like nice things. I especially like nice foods. In my current unemployed state, I cannot sustain shopping at WF, of course. But as long as you're careful to actually check the price before putting anything in your cart, most things can be had for just slightly more than a reasonable price there. And this bacon. It was like eight dollars for 12 ounces. But damn. I do not exaggerate when I say it is everything I ever dreamed bacon could be.

I would tell you the brand if I knew it. The packaging is long gone.

I am overtly defending neither WF nor the yuppie lifestyle it represents, here. I am, though, taking back my frequent assertion that the change is, qualitatively, a wash. I will be much happier with the yuppie store.

All this could dovetail neatly with a discussion of the ideas of San Francisco prosperity and unsustainable lifestyles that are alluded to by the picture above, but I don't currently have the head of steam necessary for that.

Or maybe that's the extended unemployment talking.

http://www.avclub.com/articles/meme-time-wikipedia-names-your-band/

"I have often thought that if there had been a good rap group around in those days I might have chosen a career in music instead of politics." -- Richard M. Nixon

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A bagel, toasted with butter. Kale sauteed with ham and onions, dressed in lemon. An apple.

For dinner last night a salad of baby lettuces, fennel, apple, parmesan and bacon with a tangerine-balsamic dressing, served over grilled radicchio leaves. The bacon soaked up the dressing in especially exciting ways. I discovered halfway through the meal that a much better method of consuming this would have been to shred the lettuce and chop the fennel into smaller pieces and use the salad as a filling, rolled up in radicchio leaves and stuck through with toothpicks or something, like little salad burritos. Radicchiurritos? Burradicchios?

Also some mild brie on rosemary flatbread.

Jesus Hannibal Christ, people, it's an aggressively simplistic three-note melody on top of the third or fourth most common chord progression in pop music. Coldplay doesn't owe you money.

Edit: Links:

1, 2, 3, 4

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Bagel with cream cheese, apple, mandarin satsuma. (Satsuma mandarin?)

Um, I think, maybe, The Onion might sorta have it in for someone.

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So hungry.

It may or may not be worth your time to meticulously assemble all these ingredients, but this is definitely as good as it is possible to get. Not open for debate.

1/2 lemon
1 tbsp Worcester sauce
2 tsp Peppered Bacon Salt
1 tsp hot sauce
1 tsp fresh ground pepper
1 tsp prepared horseradish
2 to 3 oz vodka (optional)
ice
2 cups tomato juice (or vegetable blend)
5-10 capers

Garnishes:
1 jalapeño-stuffed green olive
1 tomolive
1 pickled garlic clove
1 stalk celery
1 jumbo shrimp, cooked and chilled (optional)

Squeeze the lemon in a cocktail shaker and add the Worcester, Bacon Salt, hot sauce, pepper, horseradish and, if you want, vodka. Whisk thoroughly. Fill the shaker with ice and add tomato juice. Shake thoroughly and strain into a tall glass. Add capers and gently stir. Spear garnishes and arrange aesthetically.

Vodka and shrimp say "(optional)" because you can omit them if you are vegetarian or don't drink, or just don't feel like a shrimp, or don't want to drink, or whatever, and it is still the best Mary in the world, for you, right at that moment. If you likewise omit other ingredients, that's fine, but it is no longer the best Mary in the world. Still not open for debate.

Quantities of spicy stuff may need to be adjusted to taste. I always, always prefer my Marys with gin, but vodka, tequila and bourbon are all good.

Pumpkin seeds. I had heard the rumor some time ago that the secret to the smooth, creaminess of Papalote's salsa was pumpkin, but it didn't seem quite right. I am now fairly confident that their salsa is actually just a red pipían, which is an apparently not-uncommon Mexican sauce I just learned about from Homesick Texan:

I was determined to recreate [pipían] at home, especially since I had a large supply of pumpkin seeds (or pepitas in Spanish). I then learned that there are not only countless ways to make pipían, but not all pipíans are green. ...the pumpkin seeds made it rich and smooth.

Bless her.

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At present consuming Pad See You from last night. Have switched to brewing half-caffeinated pots of coffee at work so that I can drink more of it. Is that weird?

My CSA sent me sweet potatoes again. Just one more irritating gaffe on their part will earn them an entire post of bitching.

Given that

Date/Time

Activity

Location

Details

Nov 15, 2008

7:44 AM

Departed FedEx location

PORTLAND, OR

and

Date:November 17, 2008, 11:00
I submit

Driving directions to San Francisco, CA
and therefore one must conclude

WTF!!#^%#*&#^ ARRRGGhghh where are my games.

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Krispy Kreme Donut

What arrives in my produce box every week is the primary factor in making decisions about what to cook. (Sort of excluding squash. It's squash season, and although I'm ok with squash, I don't especially love it, and I definitely only know a few ways to prepare it. Also, it keeps a long time, so I don't feel the urgent need to use it, as with the rest of my produce. Meaning I now have a stockpile of two acorn squashes, two small pumpkins and a winter squash, none of which I'm all that excited about eating. Anyway.) Last night I was planning to blanch and sauté my rapini with garlic and chili, and make parmesan mashed potatoes, but I was craving protein also. What protein goes with that stuff?

Oh. Um, steak. So I hiked down to Drewe's Brothers and bought a hunk of Chateaubriand, which, for my money, is the best cut of beef there is. It's from right near the filet and is nearly as tender but more flavorful, and because there's like six times as much of of it, it's usually much cheaper. I also managed to cook it exactly the way I wanted to, which is the first time in my life I've done so with a steak. It required burning the butter and filling my apartment with smoke, but it was worth it and then some.

I like my steak rare, a crisp crust on the outside over a thin layer of gray cooked meat surrounding a completely raw interior. The pinkish meat inside the "rare" steak you get at most restaurants is of course medium-rare to medium. So I got my skillet extremely hot with the butter in it well past its smoke-point, fried the meat for about a minute and a half on each side, and let it rest for a while.

I deglazed with soy sauce, balsamic and water, with the browned butter also providing a lot of the sauce's flavor, and used that for the steak and potatoes. Good holy fuck I enjoyed my meal last night. Is what I'm trying to say. Happiest food moment in some time. Plus I only ate half the steak, which was like 18 ounces, so I'm having it again tonight, and it was rare enough that it will still be good after reheating.

Aren't we going about the whole Pro-Choice thing wrong? I mean, A Woman's Right To Choose to have an abortion is something I strongly, unconditionally defend, but, like, A Woman doesn't have the Right To Choose to do a lot of things, like, for instance, murder kids. Framing the discussion in terms of a personal right to make choices allows the selfish, idiotic opponents of legal abortion to focus the discussion on definitions of when a fetus becomes a person, thereby legitimately and logically taking away the right of anyone to choose to "kill" it, even within the Choice framework posed by progressives. There is nowhere in the world where a government allows its citizens the unconditional right of personal choice, and with good reason.

The more advantageous position to present, from the side of reason and goodness in this dispute, is that the fetus, be it living, sentient, a person, any, or none of these, is parasitic, and is actively taking away the liberty, individual rights, and physical well-being of its host (the mother) merely by existing. In that context, if the Supreme Court were to rule that the thing is a "person" and therefore has "rights," as totally absurd as these conclusions would be, there still would remain the issue that fetus Gary Brunson, who is now legally a person, is violating his mother's rights. Of course, his mother is a woman, and no one gives a damn about the rights of human beings who are women in general, but why would they give more of a damn about their right to Choose, which isn't, actually, a right any of us have, in full?

Clearly, I should be running, law, politics and PR everywhere.

Smooches,
steersman
wild-eyed radical
greatest swordfighter in the world

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Burrito from El Metate with both their superlative Chile Verde Pork and their crispy sauteed vegetables which are second to none, burrito-joint-wise. And cheese.

Overheard whilst in line waiting to procure said burrito:

Customer: "Que milagro, no?"
Employee: "Qué?"
Customer: "Que milagro que tenemos nuevo presidente."
Employee: "Oh, sí. Espero que no resemble Bush."
Customer: "Sí, ojalá."

"Emus in the Zone hopes to be a collection of quality essays and reviews of movies and television, and sometimes books or other media.

"The title is taken from the narration track of Sans Soleil, and though it is presented as part of a thesis statement in that strange movie its meaning is nebulous, having something to do with altering the way we process media and displacing things from their typical contexts."

That's what it says at the bottom of the page at http://emusinthezone.blogspot.com/ where there is just one post, a somewhat long and sappy review of the movie Rachel Getting Married. So I now sort of have three blogs. Why? How many licks? To review:

This right here "weblog" (which word, FYI, is determined by Firefox spellchecker to be unacceptable, though "blog" is just fine) wherein I occasionally post things about stuff if and when I feel like it and, for some reason, also outline what I've eaten that day or recently. Average Postings Per Month: 2.2 (That includes some long hiatuses. [Hiati? Nope, hiatuses. Thanks, Firefox!])

This one, where I deposit the blog posts I am compelled to write about sports, to avoid further trying the patience of those of you who are generous enough to humor me by reading the contents herein, but care not a lick about sports. PPM (2007): 2.2 / (2008): .25

And now Emus, which, just because, is across the sea from these journalistic shores of Live. There I hope to post, well, what it says above. If you wanted to come over and read what I have to say, I would be most pleased. If the timbre of my prose makes you want to curl up and vomit, well, thanks for thus far pretending to care, and sorry for the mess I've caused on your shoes. PPM goal: 4 / xPPM: 1.8

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Patxi's Chicago-Style Pizza for breakfast!

Salon has good advice on what not to wear for Halloween. I've been casually promoting a similar message the past several days. However:

"2. Wall Street playboy with noose around his neck

"Because, as tempting as it might be to poke fun at millionaires forced to fly business class, these are real people, who lost real money, who are in real pain. It's just not funny. It's bleak and horrible, and you'll make everyone sad. Why not just walk around in a wet blanket?"

...

Fuck you. Eat the rich.

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Sandwich from Mr. Pickles for lunch. Some person, who I hope will spend eternity in the hottest corner of hell, stole the French Press from the work kitchen, and I have had to settle for the swill some people call "coffee" which comes out of a boil-and-drip brewing device. Feh.

(I have submitted this complaint to White Whine. I received the automatic response: "Ugh, thanks for submitting to WhiteWhine.com. I'm so excited to have yet another email to read. Like I don't read enough email at the office everyday. What ever happened to 'me time'?"

Manual double spaces after the periods, too. Dude is qualified.)

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Meandering and cantankerous tone of post brought to you by Fernet Branca, Prohibition Ale, and six hours of intermittent sleep.

1. Delightful document leakage. "In July, a few days before Barack Obama paid a visit to British Prime Minister Gordon Brown in concluding his seven-nation tour of Europe and the Middle East, the PM received a six-page diplomatic briefing on 'Obama's political makeup' from Sir Nigel Sheinwald, the British Ambassador to Washington."

My favorite bit: "The charge of elitism leveled by both Clinton and McCain was rich coming from them, but not entirely unfair."

2. Thanks to my namesake I am now aware of The Lair of the Dreaded Atrox, which, as webcomics go, may or may not be all that special, but which has earned my undying affection thanks to the following sequence in which the Atrox and pals go to see Me and You and Everyone We Know:

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Only one tasty apple today. And coffee. Not eating much in the way of breakfast. What should I have for lunch?