cornbread and chill?

real maple syrup, neighbors.
yeah.
that's what i do.
new england cornbread is semi-sweet, with a hint of that tree-sap happiness
drizzled into the grits and grains.
mmhmmm.
cornbread is good.
like,
deliciously moist, and crumbly,
and with a thin crisp skin where the heat holds it together along the edges
of where corn and bread and pan all collide.
expert!
y'know what makes cornbread even better?
chili.
yeah.
that's no joke.
when the red part soaks into the yellow part,
and both parts get activated a little exxxtra?
that's what's up.
and after a long, bleak, dreary, lugubrious length of an actual,
literal but metaphorically-lacking eleven eleven day?
.......wordimus prime.
i doo-doo that chilly-weather chili hottness in my whole facehole.
go ahead, start with a quick teleport check:

BAM!
onions, browned up a bit,
and then green bell pepper, and poblano pepper,
and one fat carrot, and two stalks of celery,
and five cloves of garlic, all minced into tiny pieces in a hand-crank food processor.
when that got a little too hot to avoid sticking to the pot-bottom,
i deglazed it with a splash of cider vinegar,
and added in a whole mess of diced tomatoes.
when that got naughty, i added a big italian-style vat of crushed tomatoes,
and a splash of tamari, and water with that veggie bouillon business in it, too.
yum.
cayenne, and crushed red pepper, and black pepper, and cumin, and oregano,
and ginger, and dried mustard, and g.p.o.p. (obvi),
with coriander and sage for good measure,
with a bay leaf, or two,
because i guess that's the way to get into the spirit of the thing.
and when it reduced a bit, as all those veggies soaked and saturated
and spread the F* out,
i fired up some light red beans AND some black beans,
and threw in a whole mess of parsley and cilantro.
yep.
i'm deep into that chili scene, kids.
plus, because it was eleven eleven,
i took dinner there, too.
caramelized leeks?
that's that green onions goodness that gets all the people hollerin'.
and pan-fried homemade lightly seasoned seitan strips?
c'mon.
don't even try to front like that's not SO luscious.
i know better, and so do you.
when it's time to rock a chili party,
you know who to call, y'all.
and with exxxtra cilantro sprankles,
and a fattie wedge of that oven-hot still-piping cornbread,
my pre-woodstackin' power-up was totally and completely expert.
the spice level was nose-runnily righteous,
the food temperature was tongue-burningly toasty,
the heartiness of every element was like an earth elemental from the future,
and all of it had all the flavor, and then some,
that i hope you've come to expect and appreciate, in words and pictures,
from the homeliest homeboy in the heart of these here hills.
yeah.
***********
this is what makes my day.
talking about food i eat.
eating food i make.
making food to eat and talk about.
it's all really happening,
and the highlights are all edible;
never quiet, never soft.....

november rains reign supreme.

no-thanks-vember.
jeez.
so much rain.
so much fog.
so much firewood.
well,
not really SO much firewood,
but some firewood, certainly.
a cord in the a.m.,
and another one after dark,
with one last other 'nother batch of red oak and rock maple headed over this morning.
yup.
now, last year,
i missed out on burning wood indoors.
because i waited too long to order wood,
and somehow the woodsly goodness ran out.
i'd never heard of such a thing, either,
but i still didn't get any, and that was the reason why.
also,
i don't know if i really missed out,
because i used real modern-technology heat throughout the whole of the
holy halls of my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and it actually heated the whole of it, as well;
which truly was kind of flippin' awesome,
being that it was the first winter i didn't think i'd freeze to death indoors.
for serious.
anyway,
if the hotness isn't as important as that hottness jauns,
then for ambiance,
and for rural realness,
and for a messy, dusty, dirty, debris-strewn main feasting room,
wood is good, neighbors.
that's real talk from the mountains an' that..
i ordered it early,
when it was still light outside after 4 p.m.,
and when the temperature wasn't terrible sweater-worthy-
and even then,
the delivery happened nearly two months from the date of order,
damn,
rustic busted bumpkins have got that lumberjackin' demand on blasssssst.
but,
the duder who brought it out here came through from the middle of maine,
and he hauled over the cleanest, neatest, nicest batch of logs i've ever gotten.
i mean it.
and what's more, the delivery was prompt, early, in fact,
and everything was as promised.
i LOVE that.
and then, i got crackin' on the stackin'.
that morning cord?
check the teleport:

.......boom.
one hour of sweat equity, invested in power squats and splinters.
expert.
and much later,
after dinner, and the baking of treats, and some quality crabtree time,
i went back out, to the illumination of my headlights,
and the soundtrack of my car stereo,
and crushed cord number two, too:

word up.
it turns out, i'm not afraid of manual labor at all.
i mean,
i was trying to dominate the job into submission,
so i could resume the remainder of my day off with some semblance of
active participation in pleasure.
instead,
after the shortest of showers to remove the spiders and the slivers,
my good, sweet boy and i both instantly did this:

ha.
c'mon.
ampy-d was there to capture the moment,
but crabtree and i were out cold.
straight reppin' those molto molto ZZZ's.
why was he so tired?
i think it has to be because he's a TERRIBLE helper.
it must be draining to only cause complications
in every single facet of a whole entire day right?
i'll bet.
i mean, it wore me out fairly quickly.
guys,
he tried to eat the leaves before i raked;
he tried to eat the rake when i cleared the leaves from the shed;
he tried to eat the wood when i started stacking it;
he tried to escape through the slats of the shed when he had any available free seconds;
and,
he ran around the whole house a hundred thousand times, inside, outside, upstairs
and everywhere else.
it's exhausting hanging out with him.
that's a thing.
we ran up my street's semi-steep incline,
and where i was winded and weary,
he was primed and powered up for even MORE.
damn.
my cardio levels need to get elevated pronto.
i think it's worth mentioning that when there's a downpour,
and the heavy rains fall on thirsty wood,
from maine to the intervale of bartlett, new hampshire,
said wood gets F*ing saturated,
and heavy as all heck.
i can't imagine how much less uncomfortable it would've been had the
weather, and the wood, and the puppy all been cooperative.
instead,
i made do,
and i did what needed doing, and i still found time to go out and get
some late november ornaments and lights for my impending thanksgiving guests to enjoy.
there's work to do,
always,
and i'm always working.
nobody wants to see that sh!t, though, y'know?
y'all wanna see me LIVE.
well, i'm alive,
and i'm livin' a lucid, lurid, leering, lubricious dream.
it involves wet wood and a hot box,
but i don't think it means what you think it means;
never quiet, never soft.....

'leven 'leven.

today is the day,
again.
it's a whole bunch of things;
some of them are good,
others not so good,
and a few aren't even really worth mentioning....
but,
in addition to a big ol' thanks-for-your-service sort of gratitude
for those military manly men-in-action who did a bunch of war stuff,
it's also my day off,
which, in fact,
directly affects how i spend my time and money,
and in turn,
means that it's very important to me,
since that's the only time i have open to exercise my options
for immediate enjoyment, extrinsic fulfillment,
and personal projects directing my future self's development and evolution.
and also,
it's eleven eleven,
which is pretty F*ing expert just because it is.
word up.
so,
knowing that today is a big deal,
is anyone surprised that it's raining?
awwwwwwwwwww.
nature wins, even when i didn't want to play.
oh, and hold on a minute,
because guess who is getting firewood delivered today?
yep.
it's me.
in this sloppy, foggy, drippy rainy doo-doo,
occupying hours and hours of my one day to do everything i've gotta...
and instead of endeavoring to perseverem
i'll be shelling out loot to a woodsly goodfellow,
and soaking myself sick and silly,
piling stacks on stacks of lumbered jacks and split shivered timbers and tinder,
...without any of the swipe left options.
ha.
that's real.
-
now,
if it's s'posed to be a day of world-weary warrior poetry,
and armistice for the artifice of armored amorouslessness,
what can i even DO to brighten the bleary and bleak weak-sauce of this
worrisome wednesday in the woodsly goodness?
hmmmmm.
cookies?
yeah.
i think that's it.
check the teleport:

chocolate oh-snap buttersnaps.
y'know?
you should.
they're crispy crawnchers,
with that melty cocoa-loco hottness throughout the crumbs.
so, think extra-snappy sugar cookies, or brown burly butterbabies,
or something along those lines,
but,
with the added activation of melted darrrrrrk chocolate vanilla-bean ganache
lathered in between each pair of handsome hearts,
holding them in place,
and putting the candyman bar-barian chocolate into play..
yup.
if you factor in the confectioners sugar sprankled on top,
what you've got is light, airy, melty, decadent,
and dare i say it? delicate dopeness,
served up in matched sets of sexxy cocoa togetherness.
cookie love, kids,
and wood enmity.
that's MY day.
it goes to eleven on the busy scale,
and also to eleven on the hard-stylometer.
***********
neighbors,
i've been keeping crabtree with me at all times.
mmhmm.
it's not easy,
especially when a busy busy workday is underway,
and his little legs need strecthing,
and his tiny teeth need gnawing,
and his stinky butt needs to seriously stop farting right next to me,
because all the crackery super-scentedcandles in the world
can't completely cover the hot fire of a terrier's terrible turd-air....
i'm just sayin',
folks're gonna assume i'm the smelly kid.
uncool.
and, what's more and even worse,
the landlady isn't feelin' a puppy in the building.
i KNOW.
i mean,
c'mon, ma'am, maybe have a little heart?
it's a unique and anxiety-fueled challenge,
to cooperate and collaborate with some of my coworkers to keep him secret,
and squirrel him away in plain sight,
or smuggle him outside at the exact opportune time....
it's like a family movie subplot,
where the naughty precocious hero keeps his newfound pet at home,
while his parents wonder where all the soup bones have gone off to....
hahaha.
i mean it, though.
i'm grateful for the stressful days of synergy and symbiosis
with the dog-loving duders i do business with...
i'm lucky to have my little man,
and all these big side-taking two-legged homies, too.
friends take sides.
i mean it.
that's how you know who they are.
real talk;
never quiet, never soft.....

the crumbs succumb.

sandwich week.
yep.
it's the best.
and i truly do enjoy the experience,
every single time,
of between-bread burliness,
and barbarian big action,
with all the burners, broiler, oven, toaster, and griddles going all out all at once,
while the woodsly goodness gets a good strong whiff of why i never ever ever
feel like i'm missing out on full, fresh, loud, hard, solid flavor in my face,
despite being an epic vegan nerdario.
so, i mean, yeah.
sandwiches.
in my mouth.
all the time,
right up until we're out of time....
which just happens to be right now, neighbors.
awwwwww, MAN.
it's all over and out, done with, and gone bye-bye.
that's real-
sandwich week has run it's course;
an eight day spate of expert excellence,
with hyper-blast-off space-rocket hottness every night of the entire celebration.
no weak sauce,
no diaperbabyish phoned-in laziness,
just monster magic jauns, after mega-omega magic jauns,
from the jump off to the sign-off;
and i'll tell you what, kids-
the grand finale was no exception to the continual furious ferocity
and virtuous viking velocity evidenced by my full-blown festival
of shark-gluttonous good time banquet-style feeding frenzy.
that's no joke.
guys,
maybe check the teleport:

kaBOOMfuego!!!
so much real real,
so much new hottness,
so much taste,
and all the techniques paired up like super-powered team-ups,
and fought my tongue to a standstill.
ha.
no kiddin',
one exxxtra-large order of autumn awesomeness, just for me.
buttered, seared french bread, all soft and warm,
in an actual 12" foot of baked baguette-shaped sexiness.
and watercress, all pungent and crawnchy, sitting on the base,
holding down the fort.
watercress is good, friends. go eat some.
you won't regret it.
how about thick rectangles of world-wrecking sage & fennel crusted,
cornstarch-dusted baked superfirm tofu?
that's the stuff.
all heavy, and hearty, and toothsome, with that semi-sausagey seasoning,
and a salty exterior that brought the thunder like thor's hammer.
for serious.
that'd be a good sandwich, all by itself.
of course,.
rules is rules,
and the last one can't be anything but an arena-rockin' eleventh-level BANGER.
i mean,
it's not like the finale is allowed to go out like a little baby b!tch.
not on my watch, and not in my kitchen.
you'd best believe i'm not trying to fade away,
i won't do anything less than that doo-doo that i do-
you know what it is:
too much is the right amount.
word up.
and that means MORE stuff has to be happening, always.
that's why there's woodsly wedges of broiled olive-oiled salt and peppery
soft and succulent butternut squash, with just a touch of caramelization on there.
holy sh!t.
that's some next-gen hottness technology from the F*ing future.
it was actually SOOOOOOOO dope that i almost stopped myself right there.
...almost,
except that i already had the leeks grilled and blackened and ready to go.
so those are on there, too.
and they kind of activated some hidden old world sorcery
of the type that hasn't been seen since the stone age.
i'm serious.
i think my whole entire mouth traveled to the past and punched a mastodon in his balls.
THAT'S ringing in a new era of delicious.
then,
just to really set it off,
and send it up to the victual valhalla of the worthiest warrior poetry,
i double-sprankled it.
yuuup.
dried cranberries,
AND
fried garlic,
with a little drizz of garlic-infused finishing oil on top,
and a garnish of parsley, just in case the color contrast wasn't quite doing it for you.
FRIENDS,
I WISH YOU WERE ACTUALLY MY FRIENDS,
SO YOU COULD'VE HAD SOME OF THIS AND BEEN IN LOVE WITH IT.
hahahahaha.
aw.
*
how does one accompany such a resplendent specimen of sandwich?
hmmmm.
how about with kale-cabbage-scallion-parsley-pea shoot and tomato salad,
dabbed with sea salt, black pepper, and vegenaise,
for a soft slaw with balanced acidity for maxxximum taste interconnectivity.
that's real.
more?
you want MORE?
ok.
and fried red onion and tamari-glazed brussels sprouts, too.
that's that good good-thang.
yeah.
***********
i LOVE food.
i LOVE creating it,
i LOVE eating it,
and i LOVE talking about it.
pooping, however, i'm hit or miss on.
you can't have one without the other,
without the bitter, the sweet's just not as sweet, y'know?
i s'pose i'll manage, endure, and overcome.
i'm not gonna miss out simply because the epilogue is gross.
that's the truth.
*
oh,
yeah,
and by the way,
i woke up this morning,
and i couldn't stop myself from thinking about how much
i already miss sandwich week.
...so i did a thing:

wu-TANG!!!
it's a secret afterparty encore,
in the form of double day-after morning glorious sandwich sensuality for everyone!!!
tofu and hummus, veggie b.l.t, and all kinds of l.g.b.t-ishness, on english muffins.
that's how it goes, hoes.
this isn't some funny gimmick.
i LIVE it, kids.
this is the actual documentation how a small world turns-
and the circumference of this sphere expands along with my waistline,
and the circles spill out into overlapping ven diagrams of spirit and memory,
and in the densest, darkest ellipse,
eclipsed only by the buns and breads of each successive successful meal,
is me.
that's it.
the molten magnetic lava core of cause-and-effect,
collecting one-off one-shot sniper-style recipes from the secret universal aether,
and sharing them with all y'all.
real life unfolds,
true stories get told,
truly,
and it's ALL really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

the end begins.

november eighth.
today is the day.
the last day of sandwich week.
...and that's sort of sad news,
at least,
it is for those of us who LOOOVE sandwiches.
which is to say, at the very least: it is a sad day for me.
awww.
i'll live to cook another day, certainly,
and i'll make a point of pinpointing a new spontaneously-created holiday
to hole up in my house and cook a whole bunch during.
i do that,
and i like it, too.
y'know what else i like?
this little A*-hole's F*ing face:

right?
i'm just sayin', neighbors-
if that does nothing for you,
you might want to go to whoville,
and expand your heart a few sizes.
ha.
but seriously,
he and i have been playing so damned much,
i think i may have accidentally started enjoying myself.
yeah.
it's true.
i was laughing, out loud, from my mouth;
and while that was happening,
i was also actually not hating anything,
for almost five whole minutes,
in a row,
with just he and i there to appreciate and participate in it.
what is happening to me?
i'd like to think it's the sandwiches,
but it's just as likely i may have found something out about myself-
i'm not the sh!t-salad savage i may have been previously portrayed as.
whoa.
anti-typecasting is now back on the map.
or,
then again,
from another 'nother perspective,
it could really just be the influence of this:

mmmmmmmm.
neighbors,
that's the last breakfast sandwich of sandwich week.
a good one, too.
with big portobello mushrooms,
and mixed greens,
and lettuce,
plus the usual other stuff.
yep.
*
today is the day.
and in addition,
it looks like it'll be a busyish one, at that.
the movie checks are always welcome,
and honestly i could use the work.
i've been mostly just puppysitting while i'm at my job.
letting the labors of love take over the labors of productivity.
y'know?
the thing is,
i like grabbin' that loots,
and interactively participating in the creation
of artishness, whilst also generating a prvable stream of revenue.
tattzapping has been good to me, guys,
and sandwiches don't come for free.
it's all really happening,
and i'm excited to terrorize something wettish,
and maybe served in a bowl for dinner tomorrow night.
word up;
never quiet, never soft.....

saturday night sorcery.

big ba-da-BOOMfire, boys and girls.
that's what i treated myself to last night.
uh-huh.
for realsies.
a platter of magic that dazzled and delighted my spoiled and cynical tastebuds
with new flavors and better textures than i'd had in, like, literally, hours.
ha.
that's a thing.
one ultimo-explosivo expert exxtra-elite extravaganza,
for one homely old hungry homebody hermit,
in labor-intensive comprehensive turbo-deluxe thematic hottness,
from the first to the last of it.
...and it didn't last long.
neighbors,
check the stacks-on-stacks-of-big-fat-attacks-type teleport:

woooooooooooooord.
i mean, c'mon.
and then, right after you c'mon,
then i'm gonna need you to C'MON...
on the ones,
if that doesn't do anything for you,
you are most certainly an A*-hole,
and that's no joke.
homemade fatbread flatbreads, leavened with vegan sour cream,
and seasoned with thyme and black pepper.
grilled up and puffed out, and put aside for a few seconds while the rest of it got ready.
duders,
that bread alone was a magnificent treat.
so when i hit up all the other other jauns,
my whole mind blew right out the back of my head!
yeah.
garlicky hummus spread heavy on the bottom,
to affix the lemon-kissed parsley-cilantro-scallion salad in place,
with pickles to pucker my puckerer,
and some sharp tongue-biting onion slices to fire up an inarticulate spiciness,
with raw veg and hard styles and so much mutha-licking flavor.
-
friends,
i made babaganoush.
yep.
one very slow roasted eggplant,
which, for those of you who are interested, was a fairly seedy female.
ha.
i mean it.
the bottom of eggplants determines the gender,
and the gender determines the relative number of seeds.
there's a post-flower butthole on every eggplant,
and if it's a roundie, that eggplant is a dude, and the seed count is molto low.
but,
if it's an oval, it's a lady,
and she's liklely got a TON of pithy petite potential babies in there.
ah, well.
-
i tuned it up, and peeled it post-roast,
and all-the-way activated it with a blop of tahini,
and a flash, splashy whole grove of lemon,
and exxxtra-virginal olive oil, and roasted cumin, and sumac, and cayenne,
with g.p.o.p., and a whole mess of crushed fresh garlic, salt, and black pepper,
and we have ourselves something worth eating up in huge gulps.
yup.
babaganoush on top, with another 'nother dusting of sumac,
expert.
then, because you know i needed that real-real,
there's a F*ing phenomenal lentil/lemon fritter in the middle.
holy sh!t.
smoked paprika, and cayenne, and crushed red pepper flakes,
and thyme, and coriander, and cilantro, and parsley, and grilled onion,
and garlic and garlic and garlic for days,
with a dash of ginger, and a dose of that roasty toasty cumin,
and a pinch of sumac, which goes SO great with the lemon in there,
all shallow-fried to a crispy-skinned sexxiness that defied all my wildest hopes,
and took them to uncharted levels of eleveniness.
that's word.
and as if that wasn't enough, i toasted sesame seeds,
and they got fried right into the crusty outer awesomeness
like armor-plated sprankles!
seriously,
i kind of took this one to a new realm of righteous Folk Lively freshness.
*
sumac-slappin' babanganoush on the side?
expert.
pepperoncinis and kalamatas, too?
expert.
hummus with MORE sesames?
ummmmm.
SIKE.
expert!!
mixed tomato salad on that green scenery?
i needed that, too.
why?
because too much is the right amount,
and if you aren't dominating your kitchen,
what the heck are you even here for?
and while we're on the topic of domination,
that ricey nicey-niceness is one hundred thousand percent the TRUTH.
real talk.
y'ever had mjeddrah before?
no?
then you might be effing up kind of hard.
it's dope.
like, really dope,
and you probably should get some, a.s.a.p.
in my version of the classic middle-eastern pilaf,
i used farro.
that's like, big burly barbarian cracked wheat,
and therefore, a mandatory addition to my b!tchin' kitchen business.
yep.
i doo-doo that.
with grilled onions, and lentils,
and long grain rice, with few spices, and a leafy green garnish,
it's a scorchy torch of light and joy that brought all the flavors together
in one harmonious choir of angelic jam-session juiciness,
and that's exactly what had to happen.
a lonely saturday night became a spoil yourself with toil-type endeavor into excellence.
haha.
i'm not even a little bit kidding.
this one was a lot of work,
but,
i think i deserve some heroic edible efforts,
don't you?
affirmative.
i am a complicated culinary communicator,
and i will eat my words, symbolically, with a dash of sumac.
this is What Is,
and i wouldn't have it otherwise;
never quiet, never soft.....

time out, time outside, time ousted.

hey neighbors!
i think i might be getting the hang of outdoor autumn leafy hazardous fire times.
hmmm?
oh.
wettish wood spits hot fire and flammable incendiary sparks in every direction,
and when the whole of the woodsly goodness is fallen leaves,
and almost every tree has been laid bare already,
that's basically a blanket of combustion waiting for one ember to ignite
and excite the whole of the forest in a wall of blazing barbarian rangnarok.
ha.
also,
it means that i feel compelled to have a fire,
and fly in the face of imminent immolation,
with the woodsmoke wafting into my eyes as i cry tears of irritation, and joy,
at the perfection of a november night with crabby and ampy-d.
yeah.
check the teleport:

awwwww.
fire is good for you, i think.
unless you're crabtree,
because in that case,
you'd much rather dig a dirt-hole and eat roots.
but,
then again, he's just a dumb baby,
and he doesn't know about that real real hottness yet.
but he will.
anyway,
he and i have been hanging out super hard,
at home, at work, on walks, in the car,
basically everywhere all the time,
it's crabby crabby crabby always in my face.
you'd think he'd want ten seconds to himself-
however,
as soon as i sit down, where that little duder at?
right up my A*-hole, metaphorically.
teleport:

awwwww.
he's just right here. at every available instance;
in the way, greedy for some grabs and scratches.
i would've imagined he'd be a bigger beggar for some sandwich scraps,
but then again,
since i am not the type to give table-top people food to pups,
he may never know about how totally uncool that is.
i really hope that i can maintain enthusiasm and attentive energy for my little man.
anybody can have a regular dog,
but i want a mutha-flippin' expert shark-bullet battle-beast.
y'know?
i'll span as much time together with this small croco'gator as i have to
in order to instill the virtues of warrior poetry
into the daily training regimen i've got going on.
ha.
i don't know if he's the best idea i've ever had.
in fact, i'd wager he's only in the top twenty percent, really....
he's here, though,
and it's happening,
and we're going to be the best team on the field,
because not being dope is not an option.
so,
it's more scheduling conflicts and time-management debacles for the foreseeable future,
and so many hot turds hidden amongst the leaves, too.
there's hazards to this happy homestead now,
beyond the ailing, aging, failing structure.
ha.
*
at least there's still sandwiches.
y'know?
yeah.
check the teleport:

yum.
a bagel sandwich?
mmhmmm.
it seems so obvious, i'm sorta surprised i took so long to tune one up.
cukes, pea tendrils, veg'bacon, hummus, and celery.
simple,
whole wheat ancient-grain goodness, too.
whoa.
wait.
that's the name they gave it, not me.
take it easy.
-
there's dog everywhere.
toys, poops, treats, leashes, leads, collars, clickers, and cages.
i don't hate it.
there's sandwiches everywhere else.
that's real.
and i don't hate that, either.
in fact,
i LOVE it.
i could eat sandwiches for a month,
but i think my big fay bellyhole,
and my sloppy old man buttcheeks would suffer
an insurmountable spate of saggy supersaturation.
i'm tellin' you-
i can't eat as much as i'd like to,
because i'll expand to ten times the size i'm accustomed to.
or maybe even eleven times the size.
i mean, i DO looooooooove sandwiches, after all.
however, re-fattying-up can't be allowed to pop off.
too much is the right amount, except for fat dudes.
less of that is measurably better.
*
alas-
this is it, i s'pose.
shark gluttony and shark bullets;
night fires, and night outings into the windy woodsly goodness,
with a headlamp for increased visibility in the benighted forest realm;
and a pocketful of yappy's dog treats,
that delicious liver-and-tuna taste........with just a hint of cheese.
EW!
that's NOT real,
but,
if you know what movie that's from,
you've passed a major test,
and we are absolutely good friends.
alright,
that'll do;
never quiet, never soft.....

brushing up on bruschetta.

neighbors,
i don't understand why tomatoes are so expert,
but,
i'm not debating it at all.
in fact, i'm endorsing tomatoes as absolutely delicious.
and what's more,
i'm eating them as fast as i can.
sandwich week is a great time to delve into some tomatoey hottness,
and even when they're served at room temperature,
they lose nothing of their overall awesomeness.
that's a thing.
i'd like you guys to go ahead and just really quickly check the teleport:

bellissimo!
one epic and elite brushcetta crostone sandwich,
for your face and for your eyes.
what's up?
is that toasted mini multigrain ciabatta ?!
c'mon.
it is just that kind of breadsly party over here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that crispy, nutty, heavy duty crawnchiness is mandatory for a full-flavored,
full-bodied, fully-activated superior sandwich.
and it's even better with some of those oaty hippie sprankles on top!
it's good to start strong with the bread scene,
and elevate it a whole bunch from the bottom right on up.
....and while we're speaking on the bottom-
there's olive oil-wilted baby kale, chard, and spinach.
mmmmm.
with a little sea salt to bring up all the leafy lusciousness a little bit.
what's the protein on this beige beast?
tempeh.
yep.
i pulled out the new hottness,
and i channeled the italiano-cucina cibo mato jauns,
and turned it up to eleven with rosemary and balsamic and agave,
whisked together and in turn whisked into some burly broth,
which was itself cooked down to a shimmery, shiny, sweet, sticky,
supercharged flavorful glaze that covered up both sides of the beans.
damn,
that's a whole lotta delicious in one spot, boy.
naturally,
there's MORE to it that just that.
i'm sayin'-
too much is the right amount,
and there's plenty of exxtras i'd like to eat at all times.
what's next, then?
dry-fried thicknesses of portobello mushroom.
mmm.
browned up, and seasoned lightly with salt and pepper,
to draw out the wet and turn up the taste.
mushroom monster-slabs on top of tempeh on top of greens?
that sounds good, because it IS good.
which means we're on the right track, but we aren't there yet.
raw chopped tomato, red onion, and clove after clove of red winter garlic?
wordimus prime.
bruschetta is not for weak-sauce watery diaperbabies,
and the garlic level determines the food appreciation ability you possess.
don't get all weak with the garlic, kids.
that's real b!tchlike, and it's not invited to my stankbreath makeout party.
real talk.
anyway, it all got stirred up in extra-extra virgin olive oil,
well before i started any other prep....
so it could get used to living together in harmony.
that's that marinated married business,
and it preceded all the other pieces of the puzzle.
you start with the finale, but save it for the end.
one last thing, though-
torn basil leaves.
i mean,
don't be dumb.
it's a goshdamned destiny sandwich.
those have basil every time.
i'm pretty sure that's real.
*
garlic butter asparagus!
yuuuuuuuuup.
asparagus is good for you,
even if you get the peepee balloon mixture aromatics afterwards.
it's a necessary evil,
and it helps mark your territory,
when you're out in the woodsly gooodness peeing with your puppy.
or maybe that's just berserker battle-beastly the-world-is-your-toilet action?
i dunno.
the asparagus was great, tho.
and then there's tomatoes, friends.
yep.
indeed,
i ate even more tomatoes.
little sungold orange grape jammers,
flipped around with cucumbers and scallions, and red wine vinegar,
and parsley sprankles, for added extra super-expert MORE-ness.
i do-doo that garnish-type sh!t.
why wouldn't i?
i'm not an A*-hole, after all.
***********
sandwich week is a strong eight days.
and the added incentive to accentuate, actuate, actualize, and really realize
a righteous, recognizable masterwork masterpiece meal plan is my motivation.
i'm into it.
a reason to get busy that tastes a bunch better than the usual
just be dope or F* right off day-to-daily affirmations.
y'heard?
it's true.
when you go to eleven all the time,
it's nice to have a reason to take eleven to eleven for a minute.
turbo-charged nitro elitist sandwiches are my rocket fuel,
and i'm a serious test-kitchen test pilot when it comes to professional appreciation,
and professional eating.
it's all really happening.
my made up (c)hungry chanukah of intentional edible togetherness is underway,
and i've enjoyed every minute of every meal.
i'm lucky to have the bread, and i'm grateful for everything between buns.
that's a double entendre, but i'm not sorry;
never quiet, never soft.....

gimme pounds.

poundcake, kids.
it's so heavy.
it's so buttery.
it's so moist.
it's so expert.
yep.
i need that in my life, that's for certain.
and when i've got certainty on my side,
all that's left is to preheat the muthab!tchin' oven and make certain
that that certainty becomes a reality.
word up.
but, if i'm gonna do it,
then generic general poundable cake isn't going to be nearly enough.
after all,
good enough is never enough.
so,
with zest, oil, extract, and juice from lemons on lemons on lemons,
of the meyer variety, (which is purportedly the best one, despite being a mudblood)
i got my exxtra-fattie-boombattie squares  of in-for-a penny jauns all set up,
and then baked jussssssst right.
i mean it-
with small bits of butter melting into the crumb as it heated up,
for an even richer, more delectable, decadent,
right-angled block of big fun in a small package.
lemon poundcake is a helluva good start,
but,
let's not forget what the rules are for these first days of november.
ok?
yeah.
it's sandwich week,
and therefore,
there needs to be something special squished into the centers.
c'mon.
it's part of the fun of the whole thing.
well,
whatever you're on about is your business,
but sandwiches are what i'm all about all week, neighbors.
go ahead, test me.
just check the lemon-plus-type teleport first:

kaBOOM!
lemon poundcake is dope.
lemon poundcake with stuff stuffed in it is clearly better.
no doubt.
there's raspberry jamie-jam jammed on one side of the split cake,
and lemon frosting on the other side.
that's a pretty damned near perfect blend of new hottness.
but that's not all, y'all.
how could it be,
when too much is the right amount?
yep.
lemon goobieblops on top,
and freeze-dried raspeberry-infused sweet frosting, too.
yes.
thosee two tastes are totally so F*ing in love with each other.
and naturally, there's one more extra-special added little tiny bit on top.
that's right,
dried raspberries, ground down into a dusty pow-powder,
and dashed over 'em as spritzy, ritzy sprankles.
expert recognize expert,
so,
if you're actually any kind of expert,
you've already recognized all the really-realness already.
...and i thank you for doing so.
pounds of cake,
in petite parcels.
fruits and berries, in palatable presentation.
sandwiches,
in sugary style.
these are the elements that compose the prose i'm inscribing
on my tongue, and my waistline,
with no wasted lines of illiterative illustration.
ha.
if you get it, you get it,
if you've not got it,
you've gotta get outta here;
never quiet, never soft.....

parliament funkadelic.

raging stormswept savage gypsy cajun seasoning.
from scratch,
one single batch,
and naturally, it went to eleven, right away.
yup.
that's how i did what i had to do,
because i always doo-doo that freaky sh!t,
and when it was all done,
it was one thousand percent expert.
...really.
i activated a big ol' batch of oregano, smoked hot paprika, dried mustard,
black pepper, basil, cayenne, crushed red chilis, agave, tamari, sage and thyme,
with g.p.o.p., with a fat pat of butterishness to fry it all up in.
yeah!
i added that to strips of hearty herbed seitan,
slathered in that ragin' cajun coating,
blackened up and burnt out,
with all the hotness, heat, and home-cooked heart i could muster.
check the teleport:

po' boy?!
PO' boy!!
a po' boy so bad-to-the-bonelessness that we'd better call the po'-lice.
haha.
real talk?
y'all had better never call no damn po'-lice.
that's just not cool.
anyway...
neighbors,
i put it on that grilled soft-center parisian bread,
and spread it up with a nootch-blasted crushed garlic vegenaise aioli,
doused with a dose of louisiana ho' sauce, to keep it exxtra sharp.
and you know that goes great with those perfect sandwich slab pickles.
the pickles are key to the thing,
because that tangy zing-zang is what makes the sauce really shine through.
synergy and vinegar, guys.
that's the way to success.
also,
paper-thing mandolin-sliced red onions,
and radicchio-cabbage-scallion-parsley slaw, to add the crawnch,
and the cool, so that the whole entire thing gets a little more edible
before the sriracha topcoat finisher fuels a feudal fury for your face.
yep.
sriracha jousting your jowls,
louisiana ho' and 'garious garlic heating your tongue,
and that boomfire cajun spice lingering along your jawline.
wordimus prime.
i don't play around during sandwich week.
that's no time for jokes, jerks.
-
crispy fancy veggie crisps?
yes.
parsnip, beet, carrot, and cassave, all tossed saltily together,
for a bigger flavor, and a better accompaniment to that fat sandwich right there.
plus,
MORE of that slaw.
for two reasons.
1- too much is the right amount.
and 2- it's really freakin' delicious.
***********
i don't get bummed out about sandwiches.
for serious.
one of the few small joys in my world is eating awesome food.
i don't skimp out,
i don't skip ingredients,
and i don't take shorts.
the longhand long way home,
and homemade hand-crafted cuisine,
are the things that make my homelife satisfying.
who needs friends when you've got sandwiches, am i right?
yeah.
plus,
crabtree isn't a slouch in the occupied-time department, either.
the minutes away from home,
the hours of home alone togetherness,
the meals and the moves we make-
it's all really happening,
and it feels like it's got the right blend of nourishment and sustenance
for me and my little dude.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

bum bon boom.

fire!
FIRE!
for those about to rock?
FIRE!!
for those who albie rock??
FIRE!!!
we salute you, neighbors,
and we burn the mutha-'ucker down when we doo-doo that guy fawkesy jauns.
mmhmm.
teleport:

a little fuego,
for a little minute,
with my little homie crabtree.
that's what we needed, and that's what we did.
now,
i'll ask you this-
if you'd never seen fire before, would you try to eat it?
huh?
why do i ask?
because that's precisely what crabby did,
almost immediately.
jeez.
on the real,
that just seems SO incredibly dumb;
but,
then again,
i've known about fire for a while already,
and that's including the pros and cons of warmth and light and burns and smoke.
he learned, and he's no worse off for the lesson, which is good news.
afterwards,
once he'd accepted that blazing barbarian flames are NOT food,
we sat in the rustling leaves.
yep.
check the firelights-at-night-type teleport:

awwwwwww.
so kyooooooooooooot,
just he and i.
and we enjoyed some toasty november woodsly goodness in the comparative hottness,
of the specific ambient temperature and relative actual atmosphere at the
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress firepit.
expert.
it was a warm night anyway,
and we were both feeling pretty mellow following a full day at the tattoo studio.
yep.
he accompanied me to the shop for the whole dang day,
and i enjoyed having him around.....
....except for all the farts.
damn.
nothing says tattoo like a cloud of miasmal doom lingering around one's nostrils.
anyway,
we're over here spanning time together, and we're waking and playing
and otherwise occupying all non-sandwich week related time as a team.
*
speaking of sandwich week-
check the breakfast-type teleport:

wordimus prime!
are those ALL the seeds on that spongy italian bread?
yep.
with garlic and onion sprankles, also?
F*ing right, kids.
i want the whole experience, fully-sorcerous and stupendous,
and not just some half-steppin' half-correct friday morning magic.
real talk.
sandwiches are important,
and i'm over here giving praise and thanks
like some kind of a damned virtuous viking victual venerator.
i'm like that, and you like that about me.
don't play pretend with me, buddy...
so.
i've got garlic hummus, and shredded carrot, and sliced tomato,
and crawnchy lettuce, and stringy sprouts, and crisp-edged soft tofu,
and smoky floppy veggie baconical strippy straps.
that's the way to do-doo that 'guini sh!t.
for serious.
and i'm all up in it to win the breakfast title for the sixth day in a row, yo.
incidentally,
it wins pretty hard, if my mouth's vote counts for much at all.
(it's the only vote, really; but, i mean, c'mon, there's no ballot or anything, anyway)
november isn't necessarily the best one,
not once, not ever, not in my experience, anyway-
this week, however, has got it poppin',
and i'm grateful for the experiences, and the sandwiches,
that this remote, rural, reclusive Folk Life has allotted
to us worthy warrior poets and our pets;
never quiet, never soft.....