Death by Tomato

Dear Beaver,

We found a farmer’s market in the next town, the hippie town, to us, and, of course, we deride hippies in general, the royal We, but really they have this town hopping. Everyone wants to go and hang out there when farmer’s market is open on Saturdays. So the royal We bought a box of reject tomatoes for $8 and then brought them home and washed them. And then I put them on the table where I usually sit for meals and let them dry. And now I won’t let Angelique move them, Continue reading “Death by Tomato”

Dude Ranch Makes a Burger: a study

Dear Beaver,

A little about Dude Ranch’s habits every Tuesday and Thursday, and alternate Sundays.

He enters, post-workout, through the side door like he’s an electrician. He darts to the fridge and pulls out fresh ground beef. Fresh as in not frozen, and not freshly killed, though now that I think about it, how would I know? I never ask him about his experiences in the past with stock yards, cattle ranches, or burgers at rodeos, as in, Continue reading “Dude Ranch Makes a Burger: a study”

Note to the Beaver while making crème brûlée, french for knick-knack

Dear Beaver,

I was making crème brûlée and thought of you by way of the owl.

The crunch of the burnt sugar top from the last stand of the crème brûlée last night, paired with the fruity taste of my blueberry tea made me think of that Tootsie Pop commercial.  How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, this little kid who looks like Barney Rubble asks an owl.  Then the owl eats the kid’s candy in three licks, being the asshole owl that he is.

image of a cartoon kid holding up a tootsie pop to an owl
Why is that kid naked?


Quit, with the proper and not phonetical spelling of her name (pronounced Kwee, as in Bisquit [Beese-kwee], which means Cookie or Cake, as in “I married Cookie Monster”, but that’s a whole other story), told me the crème brûlée we’d served her friend Cri-Cri from France was delicious.  However, neither of them finished their dessert that night.

One ramekin sat deserted in the fridge for 2 more days after Cri-Cri stumbled back to Montréal.

I decided to eat this last one while watching Damages.  Quit discovered that using my American Netflix account while in Canada enabled us to watch the 5th season of Damages.  If one were to log in using an internet shield, say, and watch ‘from America’, one would only have Seasons 4, 3, 2, 1 to contend with.

In the aforementioned show, Glenn Close plays a lawyer who drinks a lot of Bourbon or Scotch, and when I thought about watching another episode I felt a sensation in my chest as though I too drank a lot of said beverages.  The color of the alcohol in Glenn Close’s tumbler reminded me of the color of butterscotch.  I kept telling myself that they couldn’t be drinking butterscotch to emulate the alcohol, that it was probably iced tea.  But my pallet preferred the butterscotch path, which got me to thinking, Hm, what can help with this sensation?

Enter failed dessert.

Continue reading “Note to the Beaver while making crème brûlée, french for knick-knack”

Note to the Beaver: attempting crème brûlée

photo of blowtorch in action

Dear Beaver,

I will be attempting Crème brûlée for the first time ever even though I’ve owned one of those gas jets for the hand for years.  Never used it till tomorrow.  Some friend of Kwee’s from France is coming over for luncheon.  Kwee discovered the wonders of clorox and became a stepford wife cleaning every thing in site (about time). She obsessed over what to do about dessert, as in Hmm, what to do about, what can we possibly serve, we must have a dessert …. till I finally yelled out, For the Love of God I’ll do it just shut up about it.

I’ll report later how it actually tasted.

So then I’ve got all these egg whites and I’m thinking, Knocked one new dessert out of the park why not go two for two.  I tried making macaroons.  Total failure.  I am going to have to scrape the dead macaroon bodies off of the numerous pans.  And then wash the buggers so that Madame le clorox doesn’t have a meltdown.   I mean, Jesus.

Kwee got her flu shot today.  I made her take this hoary halloween candy with her.  The worst of the worst – I can’t tell you what flavor any of it was but suffice to say that the word ‘candy’ was on the bag and it cost her maybe 12 cents to buy the whole thing.  She hates halloween, hates having anyone coming to our door.  So we prepare every year by getting ‘candy’ for 12 cents a bag and then letting the whole thing stay fresh as a daisy for 9 years before I scream, This is Not Candy, and then throw it out.

The turnaround time was faster this time.

Kwee says that there were a whole bunch of Jewish kids also getting their shots and since Kwee spoke English to them they took that as a sign that they could eat this stranger’s candy.  Which they did.  She said it really got them in the mood for the shot.

All of which to say it’s not candy and I am not getting any bloody flu shot.