Bistro Bijou

[unpredictablebijou]

Pork loin, as with any good inside leg meat <waggly eyebrows> one need only slow roast

waggly eyebrows right back atcha. How ya been, sweetness?

I do love me some good inside leg meat. In fact, we were just discussing kosher laws over in the Homburg's Cock thread.

speaking of Squalor....

bj

 

[Homburg]

waggly eyebrows right back atcha. How ya been, sweetness?

I do love me some good inside leg meat. In fact, we were just discussing kosher laws over in the Homburg's Cock thread.

speaking of Squalor....

bj

Oh geeze. I need to go look at it again, I'm sure....

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Oh geeze. I need to go look at it again, I'm sure....

I totally want to be called Rabbi Bijou now.

Angeline, you're among the Chosen People, so you get to answer this too:

Is semen kosher for Passover?

bj

eta: It's officially Friday night at the Bistro.

ahem

and

ahem

 

[Anschul]

<whine> I wanna sit at the oval table. </pout>

It's my turn to cook and I'm making (in spite of the recent mushroom growers' fire just outside of Edmonton) pork chops with mushroom and garlic sauce, mashed taters and steamed brocolli.

A bit of elbow grease and the squalor will be upgraded to smuttiness and amoral won't matter since morals (morels?) only exist on fables, not tables. Even oval ones.

I'm all for morels, but NEVER morals.

Pork loin, as with any good inside leg meat <waggly eyebrows> one need only slow roast with a yummy rub of brown sugar, garlic and dry mustard. (By slow roast I mean place meat in a cold oven and then set the temp to 400... once the oven reaches the 400 degrees [ie: the preheat light goes out] turn it down to 325 and roast for about 25 minutes/pound or until it reaches internal temp of 160 F). Let stand for about 15 minutes, top with sprigs of fresh rosemary and serve with either roasted or mashed taters.

Champ, perfect, but I'd add just a dash of finely-chopped fresh rosemary and just a splash of a good dry white wine--just enough to make a dry paste--to the rub. Also, I'd turn the oven down to 300 degrees, roast a bit longer (maybe 35 minutes/pound). Just like sex, slower is usually (but not always) better. Also, you might consider some freshly roasted garlic in the mashed potatoes.

I do love me some good inside leg meat. In fact, we were just discussing kosher laws over in the Homburg's Cock thread.

speaking of Squalor....

bj

Rabbi bj, I know where you can get some really fine kosher pork loin. Maybe when I get to Kansas.

I totally want to be called Rabbi Bijou now.

Angeline, you're among the Chosen People, so you get to answer this too:

Is semen kosher for Passover?

bj

Mine is.

Chef(?)

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Mine is.

Chef(?)

yet another reason to move to Kansas.

and I have morels, anyway. Seriously. This year's been cool enough there should be a bunch of them. Come and cook them for me.

bj

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I bought a pork roast this morning. I'll be checking in with you on cooking tips in a few days. It's a tenderloin. I do not have much experience with cooking pork. Ahem.

And speaking of ham, look who's the editor's choice at this poetry journal. Go monkey! Go Sox!

Do you do crackling?

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Do you do crackling?

Now THAT sounds intriguing. I've always wanted to know that about ANgeline but have been afraid to ask.

I may have to just anticipate the answer to that one, since very soon I must close the shop and skate for dinner and Things.

But yes, by the way, witchipoo, we do have jelly babies here in the US but we call them gummi bears. And of COURSE you bite the head off first. Just like chocolate bunnies.

But never Jamison-shaped gingerbread men.

J, where's my PM nekkid pics of you?

I have beads now...

bj

 

[Angeline]

Do you do crackling?

Is that like bacon? If it is, yes I do (but don't tell my ancestors--they're still reeling from my Christmas trees).

 

[Angeline]

I totally want to be called Rabbi Bijou now.

Angeline, you're among the Chosen People, so you get to answer this too:

Is semen kosher for Passover?

bj

eta: It's officially Friday night at the Bistro.

ahem

and

ahem

Only after I perform the blessing, which involves davening and chicken schmaltz.

 

[Guest]

......

 

[Anschul]

Only after I perform the blessing, which involves davening and chicken schmaltz.

Schmaltz? Ooh, Baby!! Is that legal in Maine? I could really cook with schmaltz.

Chef!

 

[Angeline]

Schmaltz? Ooh, Baby!! Is that legal in Maine? I could really cook with schmaltz.

Chef

It's the only way to make chopped liver sing!

 

[Anschul]

It's the only way to make chopped liver sing!

* to the tune of a C-major chord * LA LA LA LA LA LA LA

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Is that like bacon? If it is, yes I do (but don't tell my ancestors--they're still reeling from my Christmas trees).

The crackling I meant is on the pork joint not sure how it's sold over there but we buy it with the rind on and some fat. When I cook it I rub it with oil and then after roasting remove it from the rest of the joint and put it under a hot grill till it pops and crackles scrumptious!
Am I safe giving cooking tips in here seeing as I am being led astray by you all in this den of iniquity?

 

[RhymeSmith]

The crackling I meant is on the pork joint not sure how it's sold over there but we buy it with the rind on and some fat.

Crackling, or craklin' as they say in the US Deep South, is a common snack food, enjoyed at least there and in much of Latin America. Yankees (i.e., US citizens from North of the Mason-Dixon Line) might konw them better as "pork skins."

Personally, I prefer them to crackers or chips, for cheese spreads or some dips - spinach dip, for example.

 

[Eluard]

To put the madness of this place (Literotica, I mean) in some kind of perspective, here is something that happened in the past, a long way away.

When I was an undergraduate I was part of a poetry group called the Friendly Street Poets — and the more you dug into it the more ironical that name came to seem. There was one particular poet who has thought to be a “genius”: largely because he wrote his poems on scraps of paper, and never wrote them up as fair copies. Most of the time he was in a mental hospital (schizophrenia and paranoia). He was smart for all that but never got a degree because he could never complete a course. But he was a fixture of the scene and known to everybody. He loped around the streets with wired-on glasses because the frames always seemed to be broken. And when he said anything it seemed both brilliant and off-the-wall at the same time. We used to hang out at the same bookstoes but didn’t talk because…well, you couldn’t have a conversation with him.

In the end he developed a crush on a girl who did Uni theatre and began stalking her (as we would say today, though we didn’t have that term at the time). Frustrated by his love for her, he launched a javelin at her, which was in the theatre wings, and it went straight through her foot. She was lucky — he was aiming higher up.

After all that, and there was so much more besides, this place is comparatively stable.

 

[WickedEve]

UYS, is that you in the av? What a lovely image.

 

[Angeline]

To put the madness of this place (Literotica, I mean) in some kind of perspective, here is something that happened in the past, a long way away.

When I was an undergraduate I was part of a poetry group called the Friendly Street Poets — and the more you dug into it the more ironical that name came to seem. There was one particular poet who has thought to be a “genius”: largely because he wrote his poems on scraps of paper, and never wrote them up as fair copies. Most of the time he was in a mental hospital (schizophrenia and paranoia). He was smart for all that but never got a degree because he could never complete a course. But he was a fixture of the scene and known to everybody. He loped around the streets with wired-on glasses because the frames always seemed to be broken. And when he said anything it seemed both brilliant and off-the-wall at the same time. We used to hang out at the same bookstoes but didn’t talk because…well, you couldn’t have a conversation with him.

In the end he developed a crush on a girl who did Uni theatre and began stalking her (as we would say today, though we didn’t have that term at the time). Frustrated by his love for her, he launched a javelin at her, which was in the theatre wings, and it went straight through her foot. She was lucky — he was aiming higher up.

After all that, and there was so much more besides, this place is comparatively stable.

Oy! What a story! Do you know what ever happened to him?

I remember a fellow from way back when I was a teenager, who I first met when he walked up to me at a bus stop and said "Why are you reading The Idiot, you idiot?" Well, I was standing there reading The Idiot, and I thought he was strange but funny and we sort of became friends. His name is Bob, but everyone called him Weird Bob because you never knew what bizarre thing he'd say or do. He was very entertaining in his odd way and very smart (he knew who Dostoyevsky was, for example). He was great at a party, always had everyone in stitches. Well years passed and the old crowd drifted apart. About ten years ago I flipped on my television and saw Weird Bob on tv, he was the spokesman for some regional Tourette's Syndrome group, so yes, it turned out that there was a reason for Weird Bob's weirdness. And of course I felt guilty for laughing at his antics back then, but who knew?

I never even got the chance to say that I think your poem is deliciously angry, deleriously angry. Just about everything you railed about in it makes me crazy, too. (I do not have a cell phone, I will not drink something called a mock-achino.) I have an idea for a Mayakovsky inspired poem, but I have no idea if it'll come together in my mind by tomorrow, when the challenge will once again move on like a slightly derailed train.

I'm glad you're back.

 

[Anschul]

Hey folks,
I'm thinking Thai tonight, whaddya think?
Start off with some of these veggie dumplings I just made, a nice Thai-basil chicken with carrots, sprouts and green onions, a simple ginger-broccoli rabe saute', maybe some lavender-infused steamed basmati, and I've got this insane ginger ice cream I just put up in the freezer.
Who's gonna do the poetry reading?
Chef A

 

[Angeline]

Hey folks,
I'm thinking Thai tonight, whaddya think?
Start off with some of these veggie dumplings I just made, a nice Thai-basil chicken with carrots, sprouts and green onions, a simple ginger-broccoli rabe saute', maybe some lavender-infused steamed basmati, and I've got this insane ginger ice cream I just put up in the freezer.
Who's gonna do the poetry reading?
Chef A

Would you like to come live with me?

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I owe Eluard an apology. I am personally responsible for, or have at least been peripherally involved in the creation of, absolutely everything that has ever pissed him off.

Your javelin story killed me, by the way. I mean, how many stories do you hear these days that feature a javelin launched by a spurned lover?

Chefzilla, Chefapallooza, Cheffington, what an excellent idea for the menu. And since you can't swing a poet in here without hitting a cat, you'll probably get plenty of volunteers for a slam...

ohai angeline, I'm with Vonnegut: Tourette's is my favorite disease. And I think Weird Bob is an excellent nickname. Names, nicknames, terms of endearment, honorifics, all those personal labels we have -- it's always been a little fascination of mine.

I sure would like to see Jamison's red X's.... *reckless eyebrows*

bj

 

[UnderYourSpell]

The story of the avatar pic

I won a makeover where they promise to make anyone beautiful then charge you the earth for the photos. I went up to London for the day and with a touch of powder and paint and without my specs they took the pics. I couldn't believe it was me you see I always thought I was ugly that old insecurity thing I guess. I thought it was just a fluke and some clever camera work. When I met Ron he kept telling me I was beautiful but then again I just thought he was biased anyway. A while back I looked back at some pictures taken when I was 21 and I did a double take and thought my goodness who was that lovely girl ..... all those years wasted and I never knew and now it is too late and I start to get lines maybe still young looking for my 58 years but I wonder what could I have done if I had known long ago?

 

[Anschul]

Chefzilla, Chefapallooza, Cheffington, what an excellent idea for the menu. And since you can't swing a poet in here without hitting a cat, you'll probably get plenty of volunteers for a slam...

bj

In Miami they call pronounce Chef, "hefe". I think this is spelled Jefe, and I don't think it's a compliment. Hmmmm.....Chefapallooza? Sorta has an interesting ring to it. A bit over the top, but....

Would you like to come live with me?

Only if I can bring the Amazing Aline, six-foot one inches of young love who calls me "Her trophy husband" (she's seventeen years younger and a Vice President of something, and who we actually DO refer to as AA--not to be confused with another AA of my acquaintence).
Also, if you can promise me that winter will last only 36 hours. We don't do winter very well here.

 

[Guest]

In the right thread now.

.........

 

[Angeline]

In Miami they call pronounce Chef, "hefe". I think this is spelled Jefe, and I don't think it's a compliment. Hmmmm.....Chefapallooza? Sorta has an interesting ring to it. A bit over the top, but....



Only if I can bring the Amazing Aline, six-foot one inches of young love who calls me "Her trophy husband" (she's seventeen years younger and a Vice President of something, and who we actually DO refer to as AA--not to be confused with another AA of my acquaintence).
Also, if you can promise me that winter will last only 36 hours. We don't do winter very well here.

You can absolutely bring Aline. If she loves you, she's ok in my book. The winter thing is problematic though since you're more likely to get 36 months of it than hours around here. Maybe you could just send some dumplings...