So This is Christmas?

When you decide to no longer celebrate a major cultural holiday, you tend to get asked a myriad of questions about your choice of abstention, ranging from politely inquisitive to indignantly offended. I won't tell you why I choose to not celebrate Christmas, and hope that adds to the mystique a bit. What I do celebrate, however, are gratuitous days off of work; days free of obligation and responsibility. Without having to go to see family, or partner's families, Christmas has been just one of those days for about six years. 

This was a stellar Christmas, in that regard. I stayed home, hung out with two of my best freinds, and saw my father. It was like I was the Christ-child and they were the Three Kings, bringing me gifts of humor, wisdom, and books. Marisa, who, no offense, is always good for a laugh, came by and we watched some older episodes of Top Chef. I made her an omelette, showcasing the absurdly fast and delicious technique that Julia demonstrates below (thanks Ruby for telling me about this!). Marisa had left some fakin' bacon in my freezer, which finally got used, relinquishing space that will be better used taken up by real meat. I think I've gotten her hooked on Top Chef.

Nearly right after she split, the Professor came by, and we watched more Top Chef! We also drank some beers. As always, a visit from the Professor is full of great discussion. My father came by as I was making dinner for myself, and hung out with the Professor a bit. We switched gears, and watched some Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares -- the British version with all the f-bombs! -- as the Professor drifted away into the ether, in search of neck-bearded Kiwi's and former roommates. Pops brought me two books, a massive tome of the works of Gibran, and a cookbook from Jamie Oliver, whom I'd never heard of, as well as this tiny camera tri-pod that I've been trying to hustle off of him since June. The book, Jamie at Home: Cook Your Way to the Good Life, is actually pretty informative, and the recipes are broken up into seasons, based on what each yields in his home garden. After a stretch of recipes, on say, tomatoes, he describes how he grows his tomatoes, which varieties, and where to order them. I like that.

For dinner, I had a Niman Lamb Shank, that was braised for most of the day, and was finished with a glaze made from a reduction of the braising liquid and honey. I'm not much of a chard eater, but I figured I should give it a chance (Hey, it was Christmas!). I picked some chard, and kale, which got blanched and sauteèd lightly in duck fat. I did the same thing to the fingerlings. Duck fat and potatoes are friends. I hope we continue to carry these lamb shanks, because they are delicious, and I'd like to do more with them. I wasn't the only one eating these shanks that night, although, maybe the only one alone. This was a pretty nice meal to eat in front of people who had already eaten, as well. Lamb shanks just look primal, and have that handy bone grip.

 

Shiny shank.

Chard, you're alright. 

So, this is Christmas, and a happy New Year.

Product Placement

If I could choose one thing that I feel has dominated the collective American Psyche for the past century, I would choose commercial advertising (all mediums). Our entire culture shifted when the admen found the best media possible to get their suggestive voice into everyone's homes: television. We are once again on the same threshold of shifting advertising culture, as the internet evolves and advertising embraces its cheapest venue to date.

Television, and television shows, just like their radio predecessors, originally had one purpose: to sell products. Sure they entertain you, but they simply exist to provide something stimulating enough between commercial breaks, that consumers (or as they are also known, humans) don't get up and do something else. If you think it's the other way around, you are probably part of their prime demographic base. Thanks to the advertising agencies, we have been fortunate to have been given some real gems over the past sixty years of television, and the future looks digitally bright (and in High Def). 

It's no secret that your good friends over at Proctor and Gamble, and Colgate-Palmolive sponsored midday radio serials targeted at a mostly female audience, starting in the late 1930s, some of which continued onto television, as a means to peddle their soap products to housewives. One of these 'soap operas', Guiding Light, has been on since 1937, making it the longest story ever told. 

In the Nineties, more so than in decades past, Big Advertising got wise that many young people (a prime demographic chunk, Generation X, was becoming a powerful consumer base) were going to movies, and we saw the rise of product placement (Subway in Coneheads, Ford Explorers in Jurassic Park, etc.). Product placement, or embedded marketing, has been around for decades, but for the last two, it has become so blatant, that some movies have used it for comedic effect through outright parody, such as Wayne's World, or as a back handed attack at the advertising industry as a whole, such as Minority Report. Kevin Smith uses it very well to promote the farcical products that give cohesion to the world in which his carachters live, through faux products he has created, like the Mooby fast food chains, Nails Cigarettes, and Discreto Burritos. Product placement is a part of our society, and is probably here to stay. 

Anyway, the reason why I'm even thinking about this has to do with this week's episode of Top Chef. Top Chef is sponsored by brands that are common in American homes: Glad, GE, Kenmore, Swanson, and a host of other food, and appliance companies, as well as Food and Wine magazine. It is a great vehicle for product placement, having a large audience of foodies, food lovers, chefs, and potheads (none of these things are in any way mutually exclusive); people who buy stuff. What caught my eye, was what they were drinking in the storeroom. In the past, I've been angered -- which is pretty dumb -- by the beers that were being drank in the storeroom. Since the brands are obviously sponsors it made sense to me, but it was generally crap. Last season I think it was Michelob, with several scenes of people drinking Michelob Ultra, which from any beer connoisseur's perspective, is a crime against the entire history of brewing beer, and not fit for human or consumer consumption. Dos Equis had the storeroom a few years back, which is also crap in bottle. Syrupy nonsense deemed exotic because it's from Mexico. This year, however, they may have redeemed themselves.

No other than New York's own Brooklyn Brewery was getting some screen time. Brooklyn Brewery makes decent, craft brewed beer, and is not a major player on the national level like Michelob, or even Dos Equis. Brooklyn Brewery beer only recently came to Texas, and has received mixed reviews from my circle of zymurazzi. I sort of like the East India Pale Ale, it snuck up on me when I last had it, but for an American IPA it was subdued, and true to the original idea, except for the 6.8% ABV. British IPA's usually have a bit lower alcohol percentage (3.8% - <5%>

Despite not being the biggest fanboy of this brewery, I really got a kick out of seeing it on Top Chef. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy for some reason; that the consumer portion of my deranged mind felt the tinge of familiarity with the product, and that sense of "I drink that, too..." washed over me. It made me want a beer, even though it was seven in the morning, which means that the advertising worked. 

London Calling: Loose Ends

Well, under ninety six hours to go. I'm stoked. Yesterday, I got off work, hopped on my trusty steed, and dashed down to Congress and Riverside to do some currency exchange at a Wells Fargo. I had to pay five bucks because I'm no longer a member of that bank, and traded in $391.09 for £230.00! This was quite the reality check. I have calculated, more or less, what I'll end up with when I'm over there, and will have to be quite thrifty, but am not fearful.

Damn she's homely.

I got back on the bike, and started heading North again. I kept obsessing over the wind getting in my shoe from the gaping hole in the side of it. I had been talking about getting new shoes for weeks, and just hadn't done it. I made an emergency stop at REI, and bought a pair of slip on Keens, and some synthetic long underwear top, for a cozy base layer. I disposed of my old kicks forthrightly, and went down to the Shoal Creek Saloon, had two beers, and made my way to Bark'n'Purr. 

"Mama always said, 'You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes.'"

After navigating the five o'clock traffic, and West Campus, I made it up to 45th and Burnet. I ran in bought the Innova Evo that the beast eats, and went home. I got home, and was all excited to type it up, and get my NaNoWriMo on, but I was pooped, so I crashed out on the couch for a bit. The Professor came by, and we had a beer before the lovely Miss Cruz and crew showed up. We watched some Trailer Park Boys, Flight of the Conchords, and Top Chef. It was tight.

After they left, I needed to eat, but have no money, so I ate that arugula from the garden, and had what possibly may have been the worst meal I've had in months. I had scored some White Mountain Veggie BBQ from the freebox on Sunday, so I sauteed up some bell peppers, and garlic, with the hopes that this would gussy up this shit, but it didn't. I ate it, but I didn't like it. I know now, that I don't like that stuff, and will never put it in my precious mouth again. 

The hours are counting down, I need to pack, and call my bank and let them know I'm leaving the country. I've got a busy week at work, tons of meetings, have to do an evaluation, and stock produce. Time flies, right? Werd.

Did I Really...?

I awoke this morning to see a pale green bowl with a fork sitting in it on the table next to me. I had slept on the couch -- which I do at least once a week -- and had eaten the worst thing possible before going to sleep, about eight ounces of ganache. Straight ganache. 

I'm glad I brushed my teeth before bed. What the hell was I thinking?

On other fronts, I have managed to watch all four seasons of Top Chef in about three weeks. That's roughly fifty six hours devoted to food porn. The bad thing is, now when  a new season airs I'll have to watch it week to week! Damn it! 

I'm going to be fasting for ten days starting the first. I'll keep everyone posted. I'm sure I'll be missing food pretty quickly.

Bloggin' Town

So. Austin seems to be the hotspot for bloggers and blog-readers. The stats? 15% of adults in Austin have contributed to or read a blog in the last 30 days. Crazy.

I'm now hooked on Top Chef. That show is ridiculous, and absorbing. I actually watched eight episodes in a row last night (instead of doing dishes...), and found my self full of fear and loathing. Fear that the people that had integrity and skills would lose due to some stupid formality, and loathing aimed at some of the scumbags and douche bags whose egos get in the way of the good.

On a TV related note (not about the Olympics), I have successfully gotten my buddy Ryan into Twin Peaks. We are nearly halfway through the second season. He is like the fifth person I've really gotten into the Peaks, and the second Ryan... "You wanna play with fire little boy?"

We're going to watch a few tonight. I plan on getting him through the most insane shit of the show, the revelation of Laura's killer. Who dun it? I know who, and you may too. Oh, it is too good. I really can't believe -- and I've watched the whole series about five times -- that a show like that could have ever been on network television. I don't think that shit would fly today.