Masasrap!

I am eating the best arrozcaldo ever.

First, I chopped garlic and toasted it in some olive oil in a steel stock pot. I took it out of the pot before it turned brown.

Then I browned a package of drummettes. Take the time to brown them well and on all sides over medium high heat. Drop in about a third cup rice, and let the uncooked rice toast in the chicken oil. Crack a whole bunch of black pepper. Add as much ginger as you have the patience to grate. I just used my microplane grater. I also dropped in two bay leaves and a couple tablespoons of fish sauce patis. Oh, and one dried serrano pepper.

Dump in a whole can of chicken broth. Cover and raise heat to high.

When the broth starts to boil, turn it down to low and keep covered for 15 minutes.

Serve your arrozcaldo with the toasted garlic you set aside at the beginning, some dried pepper flakes, and a little squeeze of lemon.

This is not subtle cuisine, children; you should be hit over the head with the flavors of garlic, ginger, onion, and chicken. It's damn good, too.

When people come over, I use boneless chicken thighs. It's important to brown the chicken, so don't crowd the pan; you'll probably have to do little batches.

So your favorite president is saying some crazy stuff.

African American men tend to die at a younger age than white men; therefore, GWB wants to change Social Security to make it more racially equitable. Save them, Mr. President! Don't let them live another second with the inequity of collecting disproportionalty less social security; fix social security!

Or--wait a second--MAYBE you could work to fix the causes of the higher mortality rate!

Does it occur to anybody that the president is dispicable?

Steal My Business Plan!

Ok, here goes.

I am going to quit my job and rent a storefront in Ballard or the U District. It will be called "Bahay Kubo" and it will have a very small menu, and only be open at lunch.

When I show up at work, I'll stew some chicken adobo in a big stock pot. When that is done, I'll make cucumber salad and slice tomatos.

When the customers show up for lunch, I'll pan fry the adobo in a reduction, top with toasted garlic, and serve with rice, tomatoes and cucumber salad.

Also on my menu: lumpia shanghai (pork and shrimp), longanisa, grilled beef skewers, pinoy hamburgers (flavored with diced onions and soy sauce, served with rice), broiled salmon with soy sauce, maybe pan-fried tilapia.

Soup will be a boneless arrozcaldo (tagalogs say "lugaw") and when we run out, we run out.

Appetizers will be banana lumpia. I'll also offer a side of roasted eggplant with patis.

Dessert? Fresh fruit of the season; maybe MAYBE I'll hire a dessert chef for puto and lemon flan.

If all goes well, I start serving breakfast. Eggs to order, fried rice, longanisa, lumpia shanghai. There will also be steamed sio pao and a light sponge cake. Which means I'll have to serve espresso.

When people ask why I'm not open for dinner, I'll say "go home to your mama, she misses you."

Ok, so it will never happen.

__________

Eternal rest grant unto Libby and Manolito, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.
May their souls rest in peace. Amen.

Addendum: Scratch what I said about naming my lunch counter "Bahay Kubo". The name is taken already by a joint in nearby Ireland. Here are new name ideas:

• Masarap! ("Delicious!" in Tagalog)
• Mangan Tila! ("Let's Eat" in Pangasinan)
• Tampalen taka! ("I will slap your face" in Pangasinan)
• Arrozcaldo (Chicken rice stew with ginger & garlic)
• Ni! ("Hey!" in Ilokano)
• Kili-kili (armpit)

Let me know what you all think.

I'm a big Seattle Snob

Inside Edition is doing an expose on sushi restaurants; how fish is often kept in the "temperature danger zone" (above 41 degrees) and how they've found e coli on samples. They tested ten restaurants in LA and DC.

Here is the snobby Seattle response.

First of all, how does fresh fish get from the Pacific Ocean all the way to Washington DC? Answer: it doesn't. Therefore, I don't give a rip about sushi in DC.

Moving on to LA--the report showed beautiful pieces of sushi from obviously high end restaurants, sending pieces to the lab, and hitting them with a laser thermometer. THEN they cut to the gross violations, the crappy sushi dive in the crappy strip mall. Here's a hint: don't go to the crappy dive.

Here's another hint, and white people, this will be hard for you to hear, but try to understand: go to a sushi restaurant that has JAPANESE PEOPLE in it. Seriously, you have to get over your fears.

Ok, final point of Seattle snobbery. The question on Inside Edition is "How do you know if your sushi is safe?" I don't know, children, how do you know if your hamburger is safe? Do people die of sushi contamination? Not that I know. Do people die of hamburger contamination? Ten years ago, kids and old people died when they ate e coli contaminated hamburgers from Jack In The Box on 50th and the Ave in the UDistrict.

So what is this about then, Inside Edition? It's about playing off the fears that white Americans have of asians and asian Americans. Come on, yes it is. Don't you see it? Is there an expose on "How Safe Is Your Salad?" How about, "What The Hell Is In Your Milk?"

Seriously, our white friends and neighbors drink hella milk. You figure it out.

Instead of Grading

Instead of grading, I'm blogging.

Earlier, instead of grading, I was eating; before that, cooking; before that, grocery shopping. But you're already up to date on that.

I made Julia's zucchini pancakes. I think mine turned out too doughey, and I got too lazy and stopped adding oil. The first batch turned out good, but then I thought that thinning the batter would help, and that's a mistake. Also, I had way too much batter. Live and learn!

I also made tagliatelle alla bolognese, and I made the tagliatelle myself. My arms are sore. Semolina flour is HARD; if you don't want your arms to hurt, you have to do each step correctly; no screwing up. I don't have a pasta roller; it's just me and my rolling pin.

Man, that was hard work. It reminds me of when I volunteered to help grind the corn in El Salvador. That noise was HARD, yo!

It's 10 pm, and I haven't graded squat, but I'm going to bed. I'm tired!

Please keep Susan in your prayers; she's fighting an agressive cancer. Pray also for Lindsay, who is in the final stages. Also pray for Jonathan and Josh, whose father had a fatal heart attack while driving down the freeway, and pray for Jonathan and Josh's mother and grandmother, who were riding in the car and are now in intensive care. Pray for Mickey, Jenny, and her mom; for their safe travels. Pray in thanksgiving for my mama's birthday.

Hoo!

I just spent my last hundred dollars on groceries--emergency mode groceries. So my pantry is full, my gas tank is too, and we're coasting until pay day.

I think for dinner tonight I might be making tagliatelle alla bolongese with zuchinni pancakes on the side. Dessert will be lukban, in English it's called 'pummelo grapefruit' but most people here know it by the Italian name 'pomelo.' I think it's Italian, anyway.

Today is laundry and grading, and I have an afternoon appointment, so there's no way I will get everything done.

Emergency Mode

My sister is still looking for a job, so we're going into 'emergency mode' as of today. No more eating out, no buying anything except gas and groceries. It will be like grad school again, only less desperate. We'll eat well, don't worry.

So my last 'non emergency' meal was with J and M's friends H and A; we had dinner at Smokin' Pete's BBQ, a new place in the Ballard neighborhood which is just citified enough for a gentile foray into down home bbq. It's pretty good, especially the sauce, although I still prefer the Pig Iron. In the bbq wars, I'm coming down heavily on the side of dry rub. It's because I'm Illokano; we tend to pay a little more time and attention to roasting and flavoring meat than the Tagalogs do, which is why our adobo is BETTER.

I said it!

Anyway, H and A felt bad that we were going into emergency mode, but I'm pretty excited. It's like a challenge. They didn't buy it, but I told them, oh, it's Lent anyway.

I'm going to go upstairs and cook myself an egg.

Via Tribunale

Well, my friends and I went to Via Tribunale last night. We were one day too late.

Via Tribunale is a little Neopolitan pizzeria on Capitol Hill, exposed brick, stained glass window lamps, wooden booths, stand-alone wood burning pizza oven. It's gotten rave reviews from people that understand pizza napolitana, but kids and ugly americans give it a thumbs down. Almost everything is imported, including (according to the Stranger) staff and the fire wood (not true).

Anyway, it was delicious, and very authentic; the menu was totally in italian and even had typos. The mozzarella was impeccably fresh, the antipasti were beautiful (an assortment of meats from Salumi); the pizze were thin, fresh, with a bright, sunny tomato sauce, and they arrived unsliced, just like in Italy. My friends sliced it into wedges, the American way, but I ate mine the Roman way, slicing each bite like a steak (and felt self conscious). The house wine was fine, the desserts were dreamy--we ordered a creme brule (which was really panna cotta) and something affogato. With tax and tip, the bill for four was $140. More than I had expected.

____

This morning I got an email from the Dean; he said the Team Faculty's score did not include our 4th place showing at Dance Dance Revolution. Instead of 3rd place, we may have tied for 2nd. Someone should have beeen watching the math.




The only problem is that the Times did a big review on it the day before yesterday, so we got absolutely zero snob appeal last night.

Nobel Peace Prize

When I don't eat on time, I get tense; my head starts to hurt, and I feel like my blood vessels are filled with fizzy Coke. It is a physical feeling and it's awful.

Once, in France, my coleague J told me I had to calm down. HOW IN F*** AM I SUPPOSED TO F-ING BE CONVICED TO CALM DOWN WHEN I'M SUFFERRING FROM FOOD PANIC. As if I'm CHOOSING to be that way. It took a momentous act of will to not rip her to pieces.

I will never with the Nobel Peace Prize.

One time, in Vancouver, my dad drove us around for FOUR HOURS, changing his mind, doing an errand, picking up Auntie C to wait for us. When I finally said I HAVE TO EAT RIGHT NOW he gave me that "you are being disrespectful look," and as much as I wanted to GRIND HIM INTO THE SIDEWALK, I figured that would just delay my next meal.

What do I do? Do I cry? Do I fight? No, I do what I've done for 30 years. I swallow it and suffer.

My dad is an expert at causing resentment. It is his talent. It is his special calling. You'd be surprised at his skill.

My mama tells me to forgive, she tells me I can't get into heaven with all that baggage. My coworkers who I vent to expect in a naive, white way that there is a Hollywood-style reconciliation, and that I am just being hard headed for not trying to find reconciliation.

Well, I just had a break through. The reconciliation will come between me and my father after, and only after, I get to yell "YOU ARE AN INCONSIDERATE, SELF CENTERED, HATEFUL, CAPRICIOUS, JACKASS." I will yell it for hours until I'm tired.

Maybe then there will be the reconciliation that the white people expect. Maybe. But not before.

For 20 years, my dad has wondered why I never say "I love you, too." Maybe he thinks I do it to hurt him, or to be rebellious. Here's the honest-to-God, 20 year old truth. I don't tell my dad "I love you, too" because it simply is not true. Why would I lie?

I will go to Las Vegas to visit my parents at the end of March. It's mid February, and I'm already getting ready to argue with him. Do you understand? It causes me so much anxiety to see him that I rehearse my arguements weeks in advance.

On any given day of the year, I am capable of knotting myself into an angry tangle, just imagining the next arguement. Or going over what I should have said at a past arguement. I am on the verge of tears right now.

People tell me to let it go.

HOW ABOUT THIS: I will tie a porcelain toilet to your back with barbed wire; I'll cover it with super glue and then for good measure, nail it into your flesh with railroad spikes before I set you on fire.

Now, YOU let it go. Ready, go! Let it go now! Let go!

My parents' generation does not deal with their mistakes; they just expect you to forget them. So, since I'm one of those people that doesn't forget, I have to carry that anger baggage around. I can't let it go, because it's strapped to me with barbed wire and glue and nailed to my flesh for good measure. So no, I can't let it go.

And you can't help me out of it.

So I guess I will spend my adult life painfully tied, glued, and nailed to my own anger.

I have a lot of anger. As a rule, you should avoid making me angry, because my cup runneth over, and you don't want to get splashed. If you apologize quickly, I will forgive you even quicker. Seriously, the grudge reserved for my father takes up all my energy; I don't have any extra energy available to hold extraneous grudges.

Ok everyone, it's over. Now we can all see how closely hunger and anger dance together in my psyche. And now you all know why I'm SO FAT.

Friday Night Alone

Friday night alone and couldn't be happier. I told my BSG buddies a big "next time," I told my college friends "plans!," my cousins won't call.

I had dinner with J tonight, she leaves for Europe this weekend to go with her mother to say goodbye to her grandfather. We went to Mykonos Blu again. I had the mostaccioli.

The other night she called me, annoyed because the Italian desk clerk at her husband's hotel kept hanging up on her "No rooms available! Click!" So she called me, and I sprung into action.

This is what I want you to say, I said; and I tried to explain to her how to speak Italian. Forget it! I said, I'll be right there!

So I hopped in the car and sped to her place. Italian! That's my secondary language! I have intermediate proficiency in that language! This is what I trained for! It was the linguist-with-a-hero-complex dream emergency situation. I am a dork.

Anyway, I went to her place, she placed the call, and I managed to get her in touch with the right people. It's been a while since I spoke Italian, so I surprise myself when I remember words. I came up with "qualsiasi che sia," which is a completely reasonable phrase to forget.

This weekend will be Italian weekend. A and her friend J want to go to Osteria La Spiga and Via Tribunale. We're supposed to speak Italian too. Vedremo, carissimi amici, vedremo pure.

Pray for sister Susan. Pray for former student Lindsay.

What else; the senior class won Olympic Week; not a big surprise. The big surprise was that Team Faculty took third place in a strong last day showing. We took first in tug-o-war (I ran out and pounded on the floor), and first in Closing Ceremonies; our skit did not include a beat down, nor did it remind me of mock executions, nor did we spill liquid anywhere.

Needless to say, the students are another story, and they need supervision. The committee needs to revisit what Opening and Closing ceremonies actually are, what Karaoke actually should look like, what the guidelines of each event are. The lack of experience in the Office of Student Life makes my neck hurt.

Four Day Weekend Friday

This morning I dreamt that my father was embarassing me at a restaurant, ordering for me, being belligerent, sitting on the table, etc. I woke up just at the exact moment then the waitress was going to comp the meal out of pity.

This week has been a blur. There's been "olympic" competition events at school every day; today was quiz bowl and tricycle races; there's been basketball, checkers, hand ball, ping pong, etc. Karaoke was yesterday as well, and I was a judge. I had a nice talk with some seniors, about why their act was homoerotic. Better homoerotic than homophobic; but I told them they only had one note. They were disappointed but they get it.

Tonight after work I took a nap at 6:30; at about 7 I got off the couch . . . and went to bed. I slept until 11:30, and now I'm up and writing. There's no cooking in my life; sorry no photos, no recipes.

Please remember our sister Susan in your prayers; the sugery didn't get all her cancer, and the treatment is going to be awul. Also remember her daughters T and C.

Happy Valentine's Day

Hey everyone, Happy Valentine's Day to all my blogasaur friends.

Today is the first day of my school's Olympic Week. Various collegios compete in teams in competitions like Dance Dance Revolution, Karaoke, badminton, basketball, checkers, quiz bowl.

Anyway, the theme of Team Faculty this year is Iron Chef, and I am set to play Chairman Kaga in the Opening Ceremonies, about 20 minutes from now. I will wear a cape, bite a yellow pepper, and unveil our theme ingredient: GIANT PAPER FISH.

There has been concern that we might be stereotypey. I've told people we're going to "just do the show" and not stereotype anyone.

Of course, if we picked a show with white people, there would be stereotypes all over the place.

That's all?

So I've been to Matt's Gourmet Hot Dogs twice now. The first time I had a "Chicago Style." It was pretty good, but it was gone in about 20 seconds. The second time I ordered a spicy Polish, Chicago Style, with cream cheese. It was also pretty good, but gone in 20 seconds.

Nice and cheap, though, and I'm full. Maybe next time there will be a chili dog.

Do I Know You?

Dear Reader,

How did you get here, and why do you read?

Please leave a comment or send an email; anon is fine. Just wanted to know.

l'absurdite

It's only Saturday afternoon, but I've already had an absurd weekend.

Friday after work I got some oysters and chips. I took them out to the tables on the dock and ate my lunch in the sunshine next to the lake. You non-Seattlites, if you ever wonder why your Seattle friends never seem to be that impressed by your city, this spot on the north shore of Lake Union is one of the reasons. I sat on the dock, in the sun, with water, hills, trees, engineering, architecture, and mountains rising around me.

There were some finches who thought I would feed them; when I shooed them away, more showed up. I realized quickly that my shooing motion attracted them; to the finches it must have looked like I was throwing food. So instead of shooing, I sharted slamming my hand on the table, and they got the message loud and clear.

After that, I came home, and I had home owners meeting that I had been dreading but now was actually looking forward to. One "owner," we'll call her "T" was discovered to not be the legal owner of her unit. This is a clear violation of our bylaws, so the board suspended her as a member of the association until they could figure it all out. She was told not to come to the meeting.

And this is why I wasn't dreading the meeting: I was looking forward to not seeing T, and maybe actually getting some business done. T, you see, is a disruptasaura regina, a master at paralizing association business. She's behind around $1,500 on her monthly dues, she crusades passionately against people who disagree with her, accusing them of committing crimes, insulting people if they have proposals she doesn't like, intimidating people with her insane motor mouth. I don't like her.

Anyway, I showed up at the meeting on time, and we were just calling the meeting to order, when T burst through the door with a non-notorized, unrecorded "power of attourney" document in her hand claiming that it supersedes "everything." She declared our meeting illegal, tried to shame us by saying she stood up for our rights, accused J of spending $11,000 illegaly (never happened). Insane motor mouth was going full speed. We then voted to postpone the meeting (!) until her status had been cleared up. I left soon after.

By the way, T is full of shit. I just want to be clear.

Afterwards, I walked with some of my neighbors to Mykonos Blu Cafe (ex Rose Club Cafe), and we processed a little. The new neighbors, unfortunately in my mind, didn't leave the meeting, so they stayed and had a beer with T, who kept trying to bring up HOA business. Luckily, they shut her down every time, and kept it to small talk and get-to-know-you conversation.

Meanwhile, over at Mykonos Blu, the server/owner recognized me from the weekend before, from when I was there with the new neighbors. She said, ah, I see you've brought a different crew today. Yep! Then she went back and told her husband/chef that 'the kids' were back. Ha, we're the kids.

Anyway, the server/owner remembered how I pronounced "Santorini" (i.e., not like a big xeni). She mentioned something about being Greek, so I said "efharisto." That stopped her in her tracks, and she said "Ok! How did you learn that!" And I said, well, I used to work with some Greek people; you wouldn't like them ... actually maybe you do like them; I used to work with the K family.

At that, server/owner was delighted, as her and E were childhood friends, and they still travel to Greece together. I explained that the K family has a reputation of being hard to work with, to which she answered "nobody is harder to work with than my husband." So I asked her to give my regards to the K family, and gave her my card, at which point she almost freaked out.

Say hi to your principal for me, she said, he's a friend of ours. Small world!

Anyway, we walked back home, discussing strategy, figuring out with T where to get legal advice, and pretty soon I got a phone call. C and N (who had spent the last few hours with T) were slightly tipsy, but wanted to come over and watch Battlestar Galactica, and also to decompress a little. So we talked a little business, watched our sci fi, and then talked a little more. By the end, we were tipsy a little. They told me the story of their marriage proposal. They left after midnight.

I woke up at 9:30, got dressed, and went to pick up J. We showed up for waffles at N, D, and S's new house in Tangletown; other teachers were there, parents, and a lot of the girls' cross country team. Apparently they run every week, and every other week there's waffles. Who knew? Certainly not me and J. Also, it was a housewarming party. Both N's and D's parents were there.

Finally we left the Tangletown house; five teachers piled into our cars and regrouped at Gameworks for Dance Dance Revolution practice. It was hillarious, each of us danced at least twice. D is going to represent the faculty team at OW. We had been worried that the students would cream us, and they still might, especially if they own the game and practice all the time, but he won't embarass himself.

Afterwards, J and I got pho at Than Brothers.

Wild day, no? I have a lot of work to do, but all I want to do is play Sim City.

Fish tacos

we had a great, important retreat yesterday and today. somebody's pregnant, somebody else is leaving, and we have to change up our programming, so it was real good to meet. we proposed getting rid of king-for-life and ask for a term; no term limits, but definately a term.

et la t, on lui a demande de ne pas venir a la reunion. je lui ai quitte du site internet. je vieux bien qu'elle s'en aille! elle est toxique. encore des bons nouveaux--elles veulent postponer les elections justqu'elles aient finit avec tout cela. This is huge. I guess it could get worse ...

You want to make kick-a$$ fish tacos?

Buy tilapia filets, salt and pepper, and then give them a light dusting of flour and cornmeal. Fry in butter. Serve with warm tortillitas, diced onions, chopped cilantro, tomatoes (cored and diced), sour cream, finely shredded cabbage, sweet lemon or lime.

Black beans and rice is a good accompanyment, as is guacamole.

I've decided, if you have fresh, flawless avocados, just cube them with lime, salt and diced, cored tomatoes, for color. If you have brown spots, spoon out what you can, and then mash them all the way smooth.

Gossip Gossip Gossip!

la voisine que ne paie jamais sa cotisation, celle qui toujours fait du chaos ce qui paralize la comission de l'associacion des condominiums . . . la folle . . . elle n'est pas meme la proprietaire de sa maison! Donc elle n'a pas le droit de voter, d'assister aux reunions, de se porter plainte, ni de habiter la! C'est illegal!

Oh, quand meme. On vera ce qui vas nous passer; vendredi soir est la reunion anuelle. On vera, quand meme.

Speaking of Octopus

One of the things my sister misses most is Spanish style octopus. They boil it for an hour, and then snip it to pieces; salt, olive oil, paprika. It is awesome.

So the other day I went to Uwajimaya and took home two arms. It had been previously steamed. The finished product turned out chewier than we were used to, but delicious. I think even the steamed octupus needs to be boiled for an hour.

My sister H is on her way to Portland now, finally, she's going with her friend V on a road trip to a medical conference. When V came by to pick up H, she parked in the street and came inside. She didn't set her parking break, so while she was in the house, the car rolled backwards a few doors down the street, and then turned 90 degrees and backed over the curb, and then ended up suspended on the sidewalk, back wheels hanging over a ditch. A chain link fence had stopped it from rolling al the way down.

It took a tow truck with a winch to pull it out of the ditch, and while standing out in the cold, I managed to meet the neighbors, A and G next door, and P down the street, who invited me to the CAT meeting.

note to self--others may disregard

me estoy volviendo loco trabajando con los supervisores que contrataron este ano. son dos, y son muchas sus responsibilidades; desafortunadamente, lo que tienen en comun es que son completamente inutiles en cuanto a ensenar el liderazgo a los alumnos. lo que me habian dicho al principio del ano fue 'para los muchachos, por los muchachos,' lo que puede ser la cosa mas ignorante e irresponsable que jamas he oido en la vida. no saben lo que es montar un programa frente a un publico, no saben nada del dinamico del grupo, no comprenden que ser director de actividades es una profesion con literatura, conferencias, y comunidades profesionales; y lo peor es que no escuchan cuando tratamos de ayudar. no se si es por orgullo o sea por ignorancia, pero van aprendiendo por sus errores. o sea, espero bien que esten aprendiendo por sus errores.

bueno, los muchachos han montado unos programas hororrosos, y el publico no sabe mejor, no se acuerden del ano pasado cuando tratamos de hacer cosas originales de una manera muy profesional. cuando el programa fue ofensivo, les dieron la culpa a los alumnos y nos pidieron tambien la perdon, diciendo que acceptan 'una parte' de la responsibilidad. una parte! jolin.

bueno, por eso no me gusta trabajar con ellos. pero si hay una cosa mas personal entre yo y el f. no responde a mis mensajes a menos que yo incluya en el mensaje otra persona, para que tengan verguenza. si no puedo encontrar pretexto para incluir a otroa persona, no me responde y yo tengo que leerle la cabeza. le pedi sus seleciones musicales en una fecha, y dos semanas despues todavia no me habia dado nada. cuando trate de arreglar la situacion, me evito. al ultimo momento me dijo 'tu elijes.' hijo de puta, no me lo podias haber dicho antes, idiota?

y en cuanto a este baile, no me respondio hasta el dia del baile como iba a juntar a los chaperones. eso es porque no los habia organizado. que verguenza. en los demas aspectos de su trabajo es posible que hagan lo suficiente. pero en cuanto a las actividades estudiantiles, son una verguenza. en cuanto a este asunto, son peores que la w. en serio.

otra cosa. mis alumnos hicieron un gran error esperando que el f o la t enseguraria los productos de los senior en so oficina. alguien se nos habia robado unos seis, lo que nos significa unos $200. si, hicieron un gran horror los alumnos confiandose en los adultos. hay que decir que en ellos no se puede confiar. imaginate, cuando trataba de convencer los ladrones de devolver lo que se nos habian robado, sugirio el f que anulemos la gran festival hasta que se arreglara la situacion. 1) es que ellos tienen la culpa (una parte!) y 2) idiota, eso no funcionara.

hay muchos mas ejemplos de su inutilidad, pero ya hace tarde y de todas formas ya no estoy escribiendo ideas coherentes. basta decir que no me gusta trabajar con el. mas tarde lo explico todo.

Seattle Susherias

I'm the only one who says "susheria," and the only reason I say it is because when I was in Mexico, I asked if it was a word, and they lauged at me.

Our all-time favorite place is Mushashi, it's a sushi cafe with a short menu, but consistently good sushi, and cheaper than you think is fair. They use Niko Niko rice, which is the rice we grew up on. They have the best (and cheapest) teriyaki in town, but it's hard to bring yourself to order it, sometimes, because the sushi is so good. Uppity, clueless folks don't like Musashi because it doesn't give you a snooty 'dining experience.' The place is always packed, and it's one of the few places where I will consent to waiting for a table.

Their fish is always sliced on the generous side, and we tend to not like other places just because we've become accustomed to Musashi's slice-to-rice ratio. The chef de cuisine's name is M, and she works her ass off filling orders behind the counter, and she is always sighing and lamenting in between speed-rolling. Don't worry, it's just her thing. Don't forget to yell "thank you!" as you leave.

Wasabi Bistro is a fusion pile of crap. Sloppy, fussy, overpriced, and the rolls fall apart. I Love Sushi is better, but it bothers me that they present things in groups of three and four. Whoops, not very Japanese.

Fuji in the ID feels like a little slice of sophisticated Tokyo. I will be going again. Unlike Mushashi, it has the full menu.

Maneki is the secret Asian hot spot in the ID. Haven't gone yet. Soon.

There are tons of other places in this town, especially in Belltown, but I feel like they're all overpriced.

Fusion Cuisine

"Fusion cuisine" is just another word for 'experimental.' Notice that 'fusion cuisine' only happens in snooty, trendy date restaurants that want you to have a 'dining experience' rather than 'dinner.'

And just to be clear, "pan-asian" is another word for 'not asian.' It's a way for white people to have asian-like food that's prepared by one asian chef and his mexican assistants all using french techniques so that the white restauranteurs can ensure that their clientele be completely free of asians.

Somebody in Seattle thought it was a good idea in the 90s, and white folks flocked to the snooty pan-asian restaurants they were told to enjoy. The most evil was "Obachine" owned by Barbara Lazaroff, wife of Wolfgang Puck. She had a racist painting of an effeminate chinaman in a kimono sipping tea while sitting on a crate. When asian groups asked her to take it down, she said "my asian friends in california don't mind it!" and then left it up as a first amendment issue.

I never walked by that restaurant without flipping off the customers in the front window, saying "RACIST! RACIST! RACIST! RACIST!" One time, a white woman coming down the street in the other direction with her baby in a stroller looked me straight in the eye as we passed and said, "I agree!" Here's a link to the NW Asian Weekly article.

Luckily, most of those pan-asian places in Seattle have closed by now. Some noteable exceptions are Wild Ginger (which didn't even have a chinese soup spoon when I asked), Blowfish Cafe (where the waiter looked my friend and I in the face and explained to us how to order 'family style), and Wasabi Bistro (whose rolls FALL APART).

Sigh. It's Saturday and I have to go in to work, first for a three hour meeting, and then to chaperone a dance. GRRRRRRRR.

Clarification: 'Fusion' cuisine is experimental and original. Sometimes, it's even good. 'Pan-asian' cuisine might also be tasty sometimes, but it is always infuriating. In either case, if either phenomenon happened at a diner or low end eatery, you'd throw it in your server's face. Somehow, it's only acceptible if you're paying too much.

here are the burger bites and avocado/tomato salad I was talking about. omg, when I'm hungry, I totally think of burger bites. It's all I want.  

Cougar Gold

During one of the World Wars, the creamery at Washington State University took on the task of creating an honest-to-God cheese in a can. Real cheese that could stay on the shelf forever.

Well, they did it, and as much as I enjoy persecuting current and former students of wazzu as the intellectually inferior and alcoholic-stinking buckets of flesh that they are, I do enjoy their cheese.

This was my experience as I walked into the WSU Connections store.

koog: Does it smell like cleaning products in here?

me: no.

koog: Can I help you find something?

me: cheese.

koog: (reaching for a can) Gold?

me: yah. How much is it?

koog: 24 bucks.

me: man, it's cheaper on the website.

koog: yah, it comes out to about 25 if you order online.

me: it kind of does smell like cleaning products thanks.

koog: yah, all of the inventory is here in Seattle. It makes sense to order online if you're buying a whole bunch, but if you're just buying one.

me: ok, thanks.

For the record, the price of Cougar Gold online is $15 for a can. Add $7 shipping, and your grand total is $22 for a single can. Shipping costs get better the more cans you order.

The embarassing part, in my mind, is that there was another koog standing next to your boy the whole time. Tool, I thought. No, too kind. Two-elle.

Stop the Car.

Stop the car, I'm getting out.

The driver's eyes flashed at me contempuously in the rear view mirror and returned to the road.

Man, I said, stop the car. I slid to the rear passenger side door. I'm getting out, I said, flatly.

I pulled the latch and pushed the door into the current of air flowing past the passengers' side. The driver looked angrily at the rear view mirror, slowed the car, and pulled the car to the right.

What the hell are you doing? The door alarm screamed angrily as the atmosphere blew out the back.

I'm getting out of the car, you moron, I said, being careful to enunciate.

Hey! Are you crazy! The driver was yelling at me now, his reddened face flashing between the rearview and the shoulder ahead. The car rolled to a stop in the scattered gravel. I stepped out of the car into the daylight and stood beside the car.

Yah, go to hell... He strained as he yelled at the mirror.

Ok. Good luck. I did not move.

Hey! Close the door! Close the damn door! I didn't move. He reached around the back of the passengers seat, twisting and extending his neck to curse me directly. Close the damn door!

Close it yourself, you idiot.

The driver slammed both hands onto the steering wheel. In one motion, his door flew open and he stepped out, and slammed his door shut. His lip muscles pulled taught across his teeth in an sarcastic smile. He was shaking, he was so enraged. He trained his teeth and eyes on me as he came around to shut the door.

As soon as he rounded the hood of the car, I sat down in my seat and locked the door. I saw him stop in his tracks and bring his hands down on to the hood of the car. No!

I stood to reach the powerlock, which dropped shut just as the driver reached for the passengers' side handle. I threw myself into the front seat of the car, positioned myself carefully in the driver's seat.

The driver was rabid now, yelling and hitting the car intermittantly as I fastened my seatbelt and readjusted the mirror.

As I pulled away, I lowered the windows with the power switch on the arm rest. First the front windows, then the back. You are not a smart man.

He grabbed the window pane as I rolled by, cursing and yelling. I tapped the gas and the car slipped out of his fingers.

Hey! Hey!

In the rear view mirror I could see him sprinting, almost on top of the trunk. Stop the car! he said, STOP THE CAR!

I stood on the break pedal with both feet, closed my eyes, and felt the car lurch forward as his body slammed into and over the trunk and rear windshield. When I opened my eyes, my rear view was clear. I activated the left turn signal and pulled carefully into the lane.

When I had reached the speed limit, I checked the rear view. Clear. I thought about turning on the radio when my cell phone began to ring.

At this point in the dream I woke up, sneezing. My mouth was dry and sour, and I had 12 good minutes before my alarm had been set to go off. I rolled out of bed, into the bathroom, and yawning and reaching with two hands I turned on the bathroom light, fan and clock radio all at once. I splashed some water into my mouth and checked my face in the mirror.

Nah, I thought, I'll shave tomorrow.

I'm Full!

Breakfast: Gross BK breakfast sandwich, tots, oj.

Lunch: Bi bim bap from the place on the Ave that used to be Proud Bird.

Dinner: Burger bites, diced avocado & tomato tossed with lemon juice and rock salt; steamed rice.

I'm full!