Yakety-axe

Jeez, I've wanted one of these for a long time. Maybe since I saw James Burton backing up Ricky Nelson on the Ozzie and Harriet Show. The show ran every week on television from 1952 until 1966. And at the end of each episode, Ricky would come out with his band and do a song. And in the band behind him, on the Fender Telecaster, was James Burton.

There were great guitar players back then like Chet Atkins, and Les Paul, but they were for the older folks. There was Scotty Moore, Elvis Presley's guitar player and a giant, but he played more Merle Travis-style swing-style guitar. And Chuck Berry, who wrote so much of the elementary guitar book, but he played a horn-based kind of rhythm and blues. James Burton, on the other hand, rocked. And he introduced me, and the rest of the world, to the Telecaster. Over time, the Telecaster evolved to be the sound of country music, that high mid-range, snappy kind of sound that everyone calls "twang".

And now, some fifty years later, I got me one. A Fender American Special Telecaster. Made in the USA. Gloss sunburst finish with a maple neck and Texas-style pickups.

Do I need one? No. I guess I feel that if you've wanted something for 50 years, and you can give it to yourself, you might just as well go ahead.

Now I gotta get busy and start a country band.

Stranglehold of death

Someone told me once that the word "mortgage" is from the French and means "stranglehold of death". Well, yesterday afternoon I went to my bank and withdrew money from my savings (that was paying me .5 percent) and drove over the local branch of US Bank and paid off my (5.5 percent) mortgage. In full.

So now, my little strangleholders...I own my house. Free and clear. There are now no bankers, stock brokers, debt traders, mortgage companies, real estate agents, lien holders or other low-life bloodsuckers involved in my personal business.

P.S.
I also own my car. I also have no credit card debt.

So, to you...you so-called financial wizards who brought this country to its bloody knees, you who heartlessly drove people from the homes you cheated them into buying and then put them and their children out on the street...you who traded and sold our hard-earned gains like baseball cards...you who created an unprecedented toxic environment of unemployment and deep, ink-black depression...to all of you pencil-dicks in your bad-fitting suits, tasseled cordovan loafers and stupid ties...to all of you I would like to just say, not in a nice way...

..."Go fuck yourselves."

A-1

Yesterday was my birthday. Sixty-four years old. Which inevitably brings to mind the song, and consequently curiosity regarding the answer to The Beatles in-light-of-the-current-situation-really-not-all-that-rhetorical question..."Will you still need me?/Will you still feed me?/When I'm 64?"

Well, I received sixty-plus birthday greetings from friends from all around the world via Facebook and in my e-mail box. Which really was quite special. And I was treated to a truly incredible Japanese dinner dinner and sake by Hollie, in the company of my daughter Zoe and bf Ryan, at Amu, an izakaya in Boulder. Note the mysterious, and wildly appropriate, writing that appeared magically in a bowl of soy dipping sauce. A deus ex machina comment on the day.

And then I was taken back to Hollie's house, fed champagne, the tasty ice cream roll-cake that Hollie made at my request, and showered by very cool gifts...books, folk art, cooking machinery, and more.

So, will I be needed and will I be fed when I'm 64? The answer apparently is...yes.

And now...my favorite birthday song, "Have a Good Time" by Paul Simon.

Yesterday it was my birthday,
I hung one more year on the line.
I should be depressed
'Cuz my life's a mess,
But I'm having a good time.

A wild and crazy guy

Yes. My close personal friend, Steve Martin. We chat frequently, mostly via Twitter.

He posted something the other day and I erroneously schooled him on his punctuation. I mistakenly believed that "correctly punctuated" should be hyphenated. I was then myself schooled by Hollie and some other person who's name I can't remember, and was directed to the Chicago Manual of Style for verification. I was wrong, and stand corrected.

What follows is a verbatim exchange between my close personal friend Steve Martin and myself from Twitter, the afternoon of October 21, 2010.

Steve: Today is get it right Friday! In an earlier tweet, someone pointed out that “correctly punctuated,” should have read “correctly-punctuated.”

Me: That was me. I was proven wrong, according to Chicago Manual of Style

SM: Evidently, that someone was wrong. So "get it right Thursday!" starts off with a bang!

SM: Get it right Friday to become regular feature every Thursday.

SM: So it's correct to say, "Chicago Manually of Style?"

Me: If correctly punctuated, yes.

SM: Am checking Tri-County Area Manual of Style. Very adamant about capitals beginning sentences, or at least being second letter.

SM: Tri-County Area Manual of Style also suggests, for clarity, inserting Arabic numerals when spelling them: Fo4ur. Fi5ve. Six6ty-Sev7en.

Thanks, Steve. Talk to you soon.

Failure is not an option

Wrong.

I made this dinner for Hollie and I the other evening that sucked. It was some magazine recipe. I clipped the recipe out and it sat around and I kept looking at it and the accompanying photograph looked so good I wanted to eat the paper. But I didn't. I cooked the recipe instead. At some expense, I might add. And in hindsight I should have eaten the fucking paper.

But, it was something new and I tried it and it failed and I will try more new recipes because what I really like about cooking is trying new things to see if I can make them, or at least learn the technique. And I don't even get flustered anymore when they don't work because I know that my local is right down the street, less than a block away. And if it's really that awful, I can chuck my efforts in the dustbin, take a short walk down to the corner and be eating a hamburger inside of twenty minutes.

But we ate the bloody mess anyway. And I was thinking later that ten years ago I might have seen what I made as a success. So my standards have risen as, to some extent, have my abilities. And if you watch competitive cooking shows, which admittedly I do, you see that anyone, on any given day can screw the pooch.

So, you know...onward.

Gadzukes! at the Jamestown Mercantile

Interesting gig. The tiny mountain town of Jamestown, Colorado is a throwback. Pot smell filled the air. Lots of big dogs wandering in and out. Abundant dreadlocks. But also well-dressed people with nice homes in the hills. It's kind of hippie/kind of 1980.

Our host, Rainbow (I don't make this stuff up, folks,) was really nice and although we were billed for most of the week as Gadzucky (wtf? Rainbow said someone asked her if we were Russian,) the sign was changed by the time we got there. It kind of seemed like no one was paying attention at the beginning, but the crowd warmed up, people danced and there was a full tip jar by the time we finished. We played pretty well despite being squeezed into a small space with a marginal PA. Got lots of nice comments from folks and invitation to come back.

By the way, the stars at night up in secluded Jamestown were worth the drive.

Le baguette

Tiring of no-knead bread, I decided to make some real bread.

Made a starter with yeast, flour and water. Let it sit for 15 hours. Made dough. Let it sit 75 minutes. Knead it for ten minutes. Let it sit for 45 minutes. Rolled out the baguettes. Slashed them with a serrated knife. Baked for 30 minutes on an oven stone in an oven pre-heated to 500 degrees, then reduced to 450.

First starter attempt. Fail. Not enough water, or maybe weak yeast. But my second try turned out fine. Nice, crispy, chewy, airy baguettes made in my new baguette oven form.

Voila. Madames et monsieurs...le baguette.

Ropa vieja

Old rags. A great cuban dish made with peppers, onions, an average cut of meat like flank steak, lots of garlic, tomatoes, capers, and spiced with cloves, cinnamon and bay leaves. The meat is cooked for hours and then shredded with two forks, thus the "old rags". Rice, beans and a couple of warm tortillas. It has a surprisingly, nutty flavor...perfect for a cool fall day.

This recipe can easily be cut in half, but I like the leftovers. here, try it yourselves.
http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/ropa-vieja-with-capers

The raw and the cooked

Lately I've not felt like doing this blog business. But nonetheless, I have been cooking and eating, in no particular order...a veritable cornucopia of hot dogs in Chicago....polish sausage for breakfast at Ronny's in the Loop...homemade moon pies in my kitchen...paella, gazpacho, and some chocolate deal for dessert for eight on the patio...spaghetti vongole at Club Lucky in Bucktown... scallops caprese on the grill...dim sum at Star Kitchen...the tasting menu at Black Cat in Boulder, courtesy of Hollie..croque monsieur tartiflette with bechamel sauce...a food cookoff at Kusmanoff's avec a hookah pipe, and tonight, my daughter's birthday dinner at Colt & Gray.

I'm having dreams about being a pastry chef. And I keep buying cookbooks, for some reason. And I wish I could get better at cooking, for all my books and bookmarks. I think about it too much, and I don't do it enough.

That's all.