Mmm... donuts
The culmination of American consumer electronics: the $130 starch-and-sugar-dispensing "Dough-Nu-Matic," an all-in-one machine that forms and fries mini-doughnuts in just under a minute. Without too much trouble I should be able to saw off the small plastic catch at the end and position my yawning maw directly underneath, each donut triggering an infrared sensor that activates a motorized belt attached to my jaw. Two jugs will be positioned over my head, one of milk, the other coffee, spraying a constant mist into my mouth to provide lubrication. Every twelfth doughnut will contain a creamy Klonopin filling.
At random intervals, a distant alarm will sound, barely discerned through the waxy lard that sloughs out of my ears, signifying that somewhere a war has been waged, an endangered species has passed irrevocably through the veil, or that one of my countrymen have been rendered to provide oil for my doughnut fryer. Knotted workmen will scamper across my cracking grey husk using psoriatic skin shards as hand holds, as I defecate an ever-spiraling wizard's tower of red, white, and blue.
[From Boing Boing]
Mmmm... Pho
So I can cook. I even like to cook. I just choose not to. Most of the time anyway.
Every once in a while there's an exception, usually something asian like pad thai or a quick made-up stir fry. Tonight Betsy got a recipe from a roller derby chick and I whipped us up a couple of bowls of Pho. Apparently it's pronounced to rhyme with "duh" rather than "d'oh", rendering my crappy pun of a title even less amusing than it already was.
Anyway. This dish turned out pretty good, and was really easy - simply boil up some broth with onion, garlic and ginger, and pour over noodles topped with thinly sliced raw beef. In a few seconds it cooks, and is finished with some fresh basil and a dollop of hoisin sauce. Yum.
Rant #1: First, don't trust any review you read on Google Local (aggregated from yelp, tripadvisor, et al). Case(s) in point. Yesterday, we went to dinner at an Italian place called La Caterina Trattoria that only got three out of five stars, and was panned by about half the reviewers. As it turns out, the food was quite good, and the desert (tiramisu) was fantastic.
On the other hand, tonight we dined at Salsa, a Mexican/Caribbean joint, which rated 4 1/2 stars, with the only complaints being related to the long wait to get in. That wasn't a problem for us, since we were eating at the positively geriatric hour of 5:30. I thought we'd have to leave immediately when the waitress explained that they don't serve Diet Coke (or Pepsi), but instead offer some vitamin-enriched local hippie cola. Drinks came slowly. Chips and salsa cost $4, and tasted worse than Tostidos. Also, despite the diversity of selections on the menu - quesadillas, fajitas, burritos, tostadas, enchiladas, etc. - everything came out looking identical. What type of burrito would you like? Overall, a D-.
Update: The food at Salsa's made Betsy sick, and I'm feeling a bit queasy myself. Bastards.
Rant #2: I have never in my life seen a greater concentration of surly bums, middle-aged-pony-tailed-fleece-wearing hippies, and pouty emo kids in one place. And I live in downtown Savannah.
Is there even an art school here?
At least Savannah has an excuse for skinny kids carrying flowers, looking despondent and wearing their sister's jeans.
Rant #3: Why can't people yield? Whether they're driving their cars or walking down a sidewalk, people won't show even the slightest courtesy to others on the same route.
Walking around Asheville or Savannah, the wife and I will constantly find ourselves nearly pushed off the sidewalk while others walk three and four abreast, oblivious to those around them.
All I have to say is: watch out dirty hippie, french tourist or sensitive art student. One of these days, I'm not going to step aside. I don't care if you're an oxygen-cart-toting octogenarian or ten year old. I'm just going to lean forward, brace myself, and lay your ass out. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there!"
