Monthly Archives: January 2009

Apple “Crack”.

Miss Carol got this recipe a couple of months ago from a big ‘ole woman who suddenly appeared in the doorway of her office at the hospital. 

“HERE”, she said, spraying Miss Carol with partially chewed food and spittle. “YOU TAKE IT”, and hurled a wadded up piece of paper at Miss Carol. Then she waddled away, stuffing handfuls of something in her mouth from a big ‘ole trash bag she dragged behind her.

Intrigued and disgusted, Miss Carol smoothed out the piece of paper on her desk. It was a recipe:

Apple “Crack”

4 bags of dried apple chips- any kind as long as they don’t have cinnamon

A bag of walnuts

A bag of craisins

A bag of raisins

24 oz box of Quaker Oats Cereal (blue box)

2 sticks of butter

3/4 cup dark brown sugar

3 tsp cinnamon

Melt the butter with the sugar and cinnamon in a bowl. Mix everything else in a separate bowl, then drizzle the “sauce” over it and mix. Use a big ‘ole bowl ’cause it makes aLOT. Refrigerate at least 4 hours and serve. Store any leftovers in an airtight container.

HAHAHAHA, that’s a good’un. There won’t be any leftovers so throw your airtight containers away.

I couldn’t post pictures of Apple “Crack” ’cause we don’t make it anymore. WAY too addictive. You just can’t stop shoveling it in. It’s not so sweet, or buttery, or crunchy, or appley, or raisiny, that you get tired of it. So you just keep eating it. And eating it. And eating it, until you find yourself lapping at the empty bowl and forcing Miss Carol at gunpoint to make some more. 

er, um, not that that happened.

So anyway.

HERE, YOU TAKE IT.

Beans and Sausages.

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This will look familiar if you’ve been wandering around the site. I had originally hoped to have separate pages for separate topics, but that’s not going to work. Instead, I’m going to be categorizing posts. This is the first. Instead of a doggy treats page, you’ll be getting a doggy treats categorized post. 

See how I did that?

Today’s doggy treat is Beans and Sausages. I make this when Miss Carol is out and about with her girlfriends. They call it Ladies Night Out and have even started calling themselves The SeaGals. I know, I know, it gives Miss Carol and me douche chills too. But that’s another story.

Back to Beans and Sausages. Here are the ingredients- to the left, pinto beans, to the right, hot sausages, and front and center, a couple of mommies little helpers.

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First you want to dump the pinto beans into a small pan. No wait. First you want to open one of mommies little helpers, then dump the can into the pan. Season with coarse black pepper and sea salt and put the beans on high until they start to burble-you know, like the pictures you’ve seen of hot mud baths or the way your stomach feels after a long night. Once they’re burbling turn it to low and cover them. Periodically, like after every third sip of mommies little helper, stir the beans, mashing them into the sides and bottom of the pan to create a thick gravy.

Next, put the sausages in a frying pan and, you guessed it, fry them. There’s plenty of fat in sausages so they can just roll around in their own grease until browned. Once they’re browned I like to slice them lengthwise ’cause it increases the surface area of the crispy parts. Grab yourself another little helper and relax. The hard part’s just about done.

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Jesus, could that picture get any blurrier? Maybe the stove was moving.

Anyway, once the sausages are nice and crispy cut a couple of ’em up into man-sized pieces (or smaller if you can’t handle man-sized), stir ’em into the beans, add some hot sauce and chew, baby.

When you’re done, be sure to run some water over the dirty pans to loosen up the crusty stuff. Your wife will admire your thoughtfulness.

Especially after a long night with the SeaGals.

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Superfine.

01_20_09-31

 

What a day.

Firstly, and really, this is it for the weather, NO SNOW. Loser weatherdudes had it all wrong. As late as this morning they were predicting 3-5″, which is pretty much unheard of in this neck of the woods, er, beach. The schools closed, the city closed, folks at the market this morning were talking about staying on the island and hunkerin’ down, drinkin’ beer and hangin’ out. And nothing. Not nada. Kinda’ like my striper fishing.

Dos. I’m finally letting Cutter and Tug run the beach. This is huge for me. I don’t know why it is but I’ve been really leery about letting these guys roll. Even though Tug has taken off a few times Cutter has always stayed close so I don’t know why I worry so much but I do. Maybe I’m becoming a pussy. When Boca and Largo were alive I thought nothing of running a couple of miles on the beach, knowing they were following me somewhere up in the dunes. Cutter and Tug get out of sight and I freak like a little girl. I’m such a sally, but I’m getting better.

Tres. Like anyone cares. I weighed myself tonight and after two weeks of no carbs I’ve gone from 195 to 188. Not svelte by any measure but certainly closer to something Miss Carol wants to see in a thong.

Fourthly. Our new President was sworn in today. Having lived in the DC area years and years and years ago, I was amazed to see the turnout for the inauguration. I only hope he’s different. You have to realize, I’m just a little jaundiced with the whole election thing. I voted for Clinton and hated him by his second term. I voted for Bush and likewise hated him.

Obama? C’mon buddy. Be superfine.

Seriously. WTF????

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It appears Global Warming will be sweeping through our island again. According to the weather reports, we will have SNOW tonight. And SNOW tomorrow. And SNOW tomorrow night.

Did I mention it’s supposed to effing SNOW? Little frozen white fluffy reminders of my hellish childhood.

Being southern born and bred but forced to live with my family as a youngun’ on the Canadian border I am horribly snow scarred. Having lived at the beach for decades and centuries I’ve become grudgingly accustomed to the crispy cold nor’easters but SNOW is a hole nother thing. And I’m not likin’ it one bit.

I told Miss Carol to start packing but she just giggles and tells me to stop it.

Baby, it’s cold outside.

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I HATE cold weather. HATE, HATE, HATEY, HATE it.

As a small child I was forced to live with my parents and brother and sister on the Canadian border where it snows pretty much year round. 

It left me horribly scarred. Winter wise, cold weather speaking.

Nowadays, my alcohol and sun thinned blood just can’t take it. Every winter I curse the cold and dream of moving further south, longing for my tropical island. I know I’m being petty and small. We get none of the grief of our northern neighbors with their blizzards and freezing rain and hell on earth.

But, today, as another arctic blast of global warming slams through, we are treated to a stiff northerly gale that will make your big ones freeze into little hard marbles. And as I walk our double Labs daily; daily emasculating myself, I wonder.

Why.

Why DON’T we move further south? I mean, I have all of the stick-to-it-ness of a post it note. 

And yet. When there’s a fire roaring and the dogs are splayed, sleeping, and the house is toasty, you do kinda get a warm familial feel to your life.

My confusion overlaps.

Low level lackluster.

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I was thinking today that I needed to add to the Cutter and Tug back story. I really wanted to. People are clamoring for it. Unfortunately for the hordes of Cutter and Tug back story enthusiasts, Miss Carol turned on the TV tonight and American Idol is once again burrowing full throttle into our homes.

Oh goody. My fave.

And it got me sparking. Just seeing Ryan Seacrest makes my teeth itch. Not another year, not again, not another seemingly endless season of relentlessly poor television, of vacuous emptiness. Please no.

And yet, it trundles on, mindless as a truck.

And we watch it, like a train wreck. You have to realize, my big thing is that I kinda admire the kids willing to pin their hearts to their sleeves and put their hopes on the line and perform for a Paula and a Randy and a Simon.

I just hate that they have to bravely perform for a Paula and a Randy and a Simon and endure their carefully scripted, commercially timed, comments. 

Makes me wanna stick toothpicks in my eyes. I thinkin’ I’m gonna be holed up in the Me Only Room listening to a lot of music in the coming months.

fishboy.

01_07_2009-16

I went striper fishing this morning. Again.

Today it had seemed, at least on the face of things, that the fish catching gods were aligning themselves in my favor. I sparkled with confidence. The birds were workin’, dive bombing bait fish, (OK, they were a ways out), the solunar table was calling for a major feeding time at 10:32,(OK, it was 11ish) and it was sunny. What’s not to like? Surely the striper were lining up, just waiting for me and my rod.

I got my gear ready, donned my hip waders, and marched up to the beach, certain that I’d be bringing home the bacon, er, striper. Miss Carol was brimming with pride and anticipation.

And I fared the way I normally fare. Which is to say I got skunked. Nary a nibble.  After standing waist deep in 40 degree water for an hour and casting like a man possessed, I came up empty handed. Zero. Zip. Nada. Apparently, there were no marginally suicidal rockfish on my stretch of the beach willing to make me come home a hero.

This isn’t anything new. It happens to me a LOT.

So I came home and put all the fishing crap away and took Miss Carol to a bar we frequent and bought some rockfish instead. Blackened. It was way good. 

I win.