Fresser
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Posts posted by Fresser
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I figive U, Fresser.
In my mind is a picture of your Lady Who Lunches in a Santa hat and red high heels gettin' wiggy wid dat, indeed. Wanna recreate that image for all of us?
Red high heels and lipstick to match! Shimmery stockings would complete the holiday outfit.
Is Fress in a Dress welcome in your kitchen as well? "I can bring home potatoes, Fry 'em up in a pan!"
EDIT: Oh, and back by Pontormo's request is Heather Duster!
Just swap the feather duster for a rolling pin and I'm downright festive!
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When you serve the pudding, make sure to play Will Smith in the background singing, "Gettin' figgy wit it! Da da da da ta da! Gettin' figgy wit it!"
Sorry--I couldn't resist.
If you're serving latkes, the sour cream accompaniment would be tasty on the fig pudding as well.
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Girls just wanna have fun (at any age, apparently). I'm a little ashamed of Mayhaw Man, flirting shamelessly for corned beef sandwiches and 'strong drink'. Didn't you feel a little cheap and tawdry?
Bring on the Belles du Chapeau Rouge! I'd be thrilled to flirt with them just for their company. A corned beef sandwich would be a bonus.
Next up: Finagling a moon pie from the Sweet Potato Queens.
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Fresser: I would like two dozen spiced dark chocolate truffles, a healthy wedge of Stilton with a side of figs poached in port, and thin slices of dense, nutty bread. All served on a silver platter by Tyson Beckford.
Well, considering that I, as your newest pledge sister, am doing all the shopping for salted meats and chocolates, I guess Tyson could ride shotgun and deliver the foodstuffs. You want I should lend him my toque and chef's whites?
Which begs the question: when you ladies get the Menstrual Munchies, do you send the lucky men in your lives out shopping? Or do you order in?
Just curious...
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ok ladies - and steve since you are obviously monitoring this thread, my dear Heather...
Gee, and I thought I could sneak in here unnoticed.
I'm kind of jealous of all the camaraderie and snacking going on at the Pi Mu Sigma (Π Μ Σ) sorority. May I join if I bring chocolate and a nice wedge of feta cheese?
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I subscribe to the Cream of Wheat theory: Northerners see grits and think it's hot cereal, so they try to eat them plain. They don't know to mix their egg into them, or red-eye gravy, or fried ham.
It couldn't be that they don't have red-eye gravy or fried ham, right?
To my Yankee ear, red-eye gravy sounds like something served aboard a 3 A.M. airplane flight.
Just what is it, exactly?
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The fear of regional cuisine crosses the Mason-Dixon line going up, down, and sideways. I know plenty of northerners who had to be dragged into trying grits, and I also know plenty of southerners who had to be dragged into trying corned beef. Heck, I know a guy from Montana that had to be dragged into trying bagels (he wouldn't eat them because he couldn't abide "that California food", another story)!
I understand that in Texas, bagels are known as "Jewish doughnuts."
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After the Hee Haw Truck Stop Recipes, grits surely represent the South's finest contribution to American cuisine. Shockingly, however, some Northern folk would wrestle an alligator than try a bowl of grits or another Southern dish.
Once I worked up the nerve to offer my sister a bowl of my famous (around here, anyway) cheddar cheese grits. "Grits?" she scowled. "I'm not from the South!" was her indignant reply. You would have thought I was trying to poison her or something. Sure, I could have argued that grits are actually made from corn, a grain that typically is grown NORTH of the Mason-Dixon Line, but I didn't bother.
Another time, some college friends told of their drive back to Chicago from their spring break road-trip to Florida. Weary from driving and in need of repast, this group of intrepid noshers stopped at a Georgia diner to order eggs for breakfast. Their waitress cheerily chirped, "Would y'all like some grits with that?" To which an ordinarily polite New Yorker smirked, "Grits??? Do you have any POTATOES?"
I don't think the waitress conked him on the side of his head with a cast-iron skillet, but she surely should have. Teach that damn Yankee some manners, I say.
So how did I, a hardly well-traveled Fresser, acquire my taste for grits? My chum Puddin' Buns always drilled into me that when you travel to another part of the country or world, you eat what the residents eat. Try it--maybe you'll find something new. So when we visited his cousin at Washington University in St. Louis, we dropped in at a Waffle House and decided to try some grits with our eggs.
Instantly we were smitten. Here was an alternative to the hash brown hegemony so common in Yankee slop-houses, and really: shouldn't we just save the potatoes for dinner? Given that we were new to Southern cooking, Puddin' Buns and I topped our grits with (shudder) maple syrup--a capital offense in Mississippi, I later learned--but I have since mended my ways and stick to sharp cheddar and a splash of cayenne pepper sauce atop my bowl o' Southern heaven.
I can just imagine the reactions some of y'all have endured when trying to introduce the novitiate to the glory that is Southern cooking. So sit down with some cornbread and tell us your stories.
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I posted a few pictures of me with my cooks.
I am the oldest one in those pictures at a whopping 27 years of age. In the group picture I am the one on the front left (as you are looking at it).
You guys make for quite a stylish BOH staff picture!
I see by your stripes BubbleheadChef that you're a Chief--a rank well-deserved. Are the colored insigniae on your breast pocket really called "fruit salad?"
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One of the things that I like to do for my crew is have an idea of what religious holidays will be coming up and have something special for them to commemerate. Make a challah or get a kosher cook book and make something appropriate.
That is so gracious of you, BubbleheadChef! You're a welcome guest in the Fresser kitchen anytime.
This is just the kind of courtesy that would generate loyal customers at any civilian restaurant you might work at, post-Navy.
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I have to say that, to this civilian, this is an absolutely fascinating thread! Thank you so much for participating on eGullet!
Aye, matey!! All the land-lubbers in cyberspace find your seafaring stories just fascinating!!
Just a few weeks ago, some ex-military guys at work spoke of maritime munchies and declared, "The Navy gets the gravy," meaning the Navy gets the best grub. Thanks for confirming it.
And the next time you dock on land, make sure to alert the local eGulleteers. We'll feed you mighty well on dry land.
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Oh god, I have a date tomorrow night. I hope don't bite his head off. Or cry during Harry Potter.
Once when I was dating Girlie Girl, the long-fanged, three-headed Menstrual Monster reared her head. When I figured out what was happening (and that GG didn't MEAN to act homicidal
), we retreated to the grocery to purchase a chocolate bar, pretzels, Midol and Diet Coke to wash everything down.We then held an impromptu picnic outside the grocery, where GG wolfed down a fistful of pretzels, several chocolate squares and the Magic Midol pill. Definitely an interesting date, even if I did feel like an extra in a George Romero movie.
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Twas my maiden voyage to New York--and first time aboard an airplane, no less--so naturally I had to visit Peter Luger's Steakhouse.
My host Big Mushy and had I spent the day sightseeing and perambulating all about the City, walking from Wall Street across the Williamsburg Bridge and back across the Bridge all the way up to Central Park. A hearty eight-mile or so walk was just the ticket to work up an appetite for Steak for Two.
Though Big Mushy and I both hailed from the Heartland, we had done our research on the Peter Luger protocol: don't ask for menus, order your steak medium at most, ask for creamed spinach and don't gorge on the rolls. So when our crusty waiter strode to the table and asked if we needed menus, we declined and followed our "Steak for Two, creamed spinach and hash browns" script.
"Very good, Gentlemen!" our waiter replied and bowed out. We had passed our audition. Or so I thought...
Two minutes later, our waiter returned to our table and intoned to me gravely, "I'm sorry, Sir, but we don't have any more steak tonight. We only have fish."
My jaw unhinged. I was ashen-faced. I had traveled hundreds of miles for this meal. I stared blankly at the waiter, looked agog at Big Mushy, and then turned back to the waiter, who blurted, "BWAAHAHAHAHA!!!" The waiter and Big Mushy then belly-laughed together.
I then turned to Big Mushy and declared, "If our waiter makes fun of me, it must mean he likes me!"
This waiter saw right through my urbane facade and decided to pull my chain--to the amusement of all, actually. Sure, the food was excellent-- they rummaged through the kitchen to find an extra porterhouse just for us
--but our wiseguy waiter really made the meal. -
A little later, several of the men wandered over to see just what was going on at my house. The appliance was again demonstrated but with typical Hispanic male chauvinism the men went back to the party, shaking their heads at the frivolity of women enthusing over a kitchen appliance.
One of the women remarked that if it was attached to an automobile or truck they would be figuring out how to afford one "to play with". For some reason, this seemed hilarious and we all had a good laugh at the idea of big boys and big toys.
This is SO true!
On the TV show "Home Improvement," Tim Allen and his sidekick would whip up masculine versions of different appliances and rooms. Tim's favorite room was the "Man's Bathroom," complete with stainless-steel beer fridge, cupholders, magazine rack, and (say it loud) MORE POWER!!!
I can only imagine what the Man's Dishwasher would look like...
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I had a case of the heaves just the other night, and when the moment-of-truth arrived and I emptied out my stomach into the porcelain throne, I found myself thinking, "Gee--my vomit tastes just like jelly beans!"
This idea is just bloody brilliant!
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When the Grateful Dead was still around, some of the people I knew in that scene were "freegans." For most of them it was not at all philosophical, or a response to percieved social or environmental problems, but just a way to save money for more important things, like weed, concert tickets, and gasoline.
I've heard that you could get a mean grilled cheese sandwich at the Dead concerts.
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Be sure not to miss the photos .. and especially the one of the Freegan Salad Bar:
and the equally tempting:
Say, for people who don't wish to be seen as consumers, where did they get the digital camera used here??
Aha! Hypocrisy unmasked! Just where did they obtain this digital camera and the webspace to post their site?
If you need further proof of their motives, check out their Orwellian approach to inhabiting abandoned housing, known on their site as "Squatting." But lo, when they speak of their anti-capitalist mode of shelter to the public, they call it "Homesteading."
Madison Avenue would be proud.
Well, I think they're mostly against wastage of food and are trying to prove a point that there's food being thrown out that people could eat. Besides, how's it possible to come to a conclusion that they're absolute anticapitalists just because they choose to feed themselves on what people throw out? That's like assuming someone's a vegetarian just because they don't eat beef. I mean, take a look at this, same thing right? Just more organized and less DIY.
Freegans proudly brand themselves as anti-capitalists on their website:
.Freeganism is a total boycott of an economic system where the profit motive has eclipsed ethical considerations and where massively complex systems of productions ensure that the products we buy will have detrimental impacts we may never even considerTheir site also states that
Many freegans sustain themselves by recovering and making practical use of the the massive waste of our materialistic, greed-driven economy.Now I'm no friend of waste either, and happily give away food to charities instead of seeing it go to waste. Many a time have I bundled up leftovers from an office lunch and distributed them to Streetwise newspaper vendors on the streets. But there's a more efficient (and sanitary) way of picking up that excess food and getting it to hungry people before it lands up in a dumpster, filthy. I know of many restaurants (some corporation-owned) that donate the day's excess food to local shelters. Freegans would be wiser to work directly with restaurants & groceries to retrieve their excesses than to rifle through garbage bins just to avoid contact with business whose raison d' être they openly deplore.
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I'm partial to getting my morning coffee fix at Dunkin Donuts (which, in the Fresser household, is called "Dunkie Donuts"), so a happy camper was I to see the new flavors they offer.
You can choose from blueberry, chocolate, cinnamon, marshmallow and other flavors, even mixing up to three separate flavors in one cup. So far I'm hooked on a medium chocolate decaf.
They even feature a "Flavorology" wheel that you can spin to determine your mystical flavor match.
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Be sure not to miss the photos .. and especially the one of the Freegan Salad Bar:
and the equally tempting:
Say, for people who don't wish to be seen as consumers, where did they get the digital camera used here??
Aha! Hypocrisy unmasked! Just where did they obtain this digital camera and the webspace to post their site?
If you need further proof of their motives, check out their Orwellian approach to inhabiting abandoned housing, known on their site as "Squatting." But lo, when they speak of their anti-capitalist mode of shelter to the public, they call it "Homesteading."
Madison Avenue would be proud.
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If only my cravings were tied to my cycle! I have cravings every day! What's with you girls? ... Can I still be in the club?
edited to add:
PS: I mean, you let Fresser in, after all!
yeah, but rebecca you HAVE seen steve in his maid's outfit, right? damn, that guy has better legs than most women i know... and looks like he could be my sister
Modesty prevents me from re-posting my Heather Duster picture--but you could see it here.
At this rate, I could get invited to the Ladies Who Lunch thread soon. You think they'd welcome a Hostess with the Mostess, Suzi?
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Back in my ice cream scooper days, Baskin-Robbins offered pink taste spoons that we used to proffer tastes to customers. Ever the salesman, I would hand out tastes of spumoni, daiquiri ice and my other favorite flavors to customers, some of whom would scrunch up their faces when they didn't like my flavour du jour.
Honestly, who wouldn't like Golden Delicious Apple Sherbet?
Now, tasting was part of the B-R culture, and while the occasional knucklehad would come to sample six different flavors and not buy ANYTHING, we were happy to offer samples. But it seems that offering tastes is more common at delis and places with counter service as opposed to sit-down restaurants.
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I figured if KatieLoeb eats there, the food must be pretty good. So I checked out Koch's Deli, courtesy of Holly Moore's website.
There's some serious schtick going on here, with the overstuffed sandwiches and the kibitzing sandwich-makers behind the counter. But what caught my eye was their schedule: "Open Thursday to Tuesday; Never on Wednesday."
"What kind of joint closes on Wednesday?" I wondered aloud. Maybe the place is run by doctors who take the day off to play golf.
Now I realize a guy needs a day off, but the middle of the week seemed a strange time to shutter a deli. Charlie Trotter's is closed on Mondays, true, but that's a whole different kind of experience. Are there any other restaurants that might not be open when I pop in mid-week?
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[Yes, I know I'm hanging out in the girls' treehouse, but I just gotta ask: how do diabetic women tame this "sugar beast?"
Ferocious as this sugar beast may be, it's far less dangerous than the ketoacidosis beast.
heather(steve's female alterego) -
probably with stevia or splenda. that was what it was developed for..
Splenda does make for a fine-tasting pastry. But would Splenda satisfy the chemical craving with which I am blessedly unfamiliar?
Green Bean Casserole
in Food Traditions & Culture
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You mean the knuckle-on-knuckle high-five? Too late. Thurston, Lance and I all practice it after Sunday shuffleboard.
But green bean casserole? Now THAT'S a well-kept secret within Caucasiandom. I asked my black co-worker Freddy if he had ever heard of this dish. "Green bean casserole? What's that?" he blurted. Then a wave of comprehension came over him and he added, "Wait...I just heard about it on a TV commercial the other day." He didn't seem too eager to try it.
Of course, Freddy also calls bagels & lox "Jewish soul food," so he's not exactly phobic toward different cuisines. Maybe we could create a new cuisine to house the curious casserole and other Caucasian cooking: White Soul Food!