Alex

Also Vedge.

My favorite dressing: Hellman's mayo, good sour cream, Maille Dijon mustard, apple cider vinegar, fresh lemon juice, a bit of sugar, a bit less of salt, and -- here's my novel contribution -- some jarred white horseradish.

I've made it clear to any and all who would listen (which now includes the eG community) that I absolutely will not live in any euphemistic housing (assisted living, nursing facility, independent living, memory care, etc.). The only exception would be for a post-surgery or post-injury rehab facility, with the clear expectation of returning home. As one might gather from my presence here, food is a not insignificant part of that decision. The places with the type and quality of the food I like (and need) to eat are few and far between, not to mention expensive. And even if were to luck into a place with someone like CaliPoutine as a meal planner and chef (remember that topic?), there's no guarantee it'd last. Then, of course, there's my lifelong abhorrence of anything that might involuntarily interfere with my autonomy and independence. I feel extraordinarily fortunate that within hailing distance of 70 I still have all my teeth, most of my cognitive skills, much of my (not too gray) hair, and about half of my sanity. I also have financial stability (aided by our being way past running out of room for more cookbooks or kitchen equipment); a wife whom I love and who loves me (given a couple of my less-than-charming personality traits, sometimes I wonder how she manages it, but I'm not going to question it too closely); and a reasonably healthy body that can still play pickleball three times a week thanks to a low-carb diet, a panoply of supplements, a couple of prescription meds, and a good orthopedic surgeon and physical therapist. But should the day come when I spy incarceration -- for that's what it is -- over the next ridge, I'm outta here.

A remarkable article in the Guardian by Wendy Mitchell, author of Somebody I Used to Know, her memoir about living with early-onset Alzheimer's.

In his famous speech in Berlin in June, 1963, President Kennedy made clear his support for West Berlin by saying "Ich bin ein Berliner." To this day, it's a zombie myth that by including "ein," he mistakenly called himself a pastry. Here's the comprehensive Snopes report about this.

Announced today -- a recall of King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour in five-pound bags, due to potential E. coli contamination.

Very clever. Twenty-two replies so far. Priceline occasionally does the same thing with an email subject line ("Don't open this!")

Me, too.

Yay! I loved her first two blogs.

And here's an article from today's Guardian.

Does this journal article help? Here's the lede:

Could you provide some links about those uses? Thanks.

The naming of drinks is a difficult matter, It isn't just one of your barhopping games; You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter When I tell you a drink must have TWO DIFFERENT NAMES. First of all, there's the name that the drinkers use daily, Such as Julep, Manhattan, or Punch or Great Dane, Such as Vesper, Old Fashioned, or Coffee with Bailey's — Each one a sensible everyday name. To be continued, maybe...

Just joshing here.

Hey, Sydney was the 165th most popular name for female newborns in the US for 2018, ahead of old reliables like Diana, Rachel, Amy, Rebecca, and Nicole.