JoNorvelleWalker

In 1960's Britain I was schooled in proper pub crawling by experts. I enjoyed calling out for a flagon to see what would come. I also witnessed fifteen year-olds attempting to get served. As much as things change, as much they stay the same. Edit: I never vomited in a British pub. I have my standards.

Something unusual for me: for the first time in a year and a half I ate in a restaurant. My dinner was fish and chips, with malt vinegar and a pint of cider. Some minutes after our meals arrived the server returned with a large platter of fries for us. He said there had been an executive decision in the kitchen that the fries I had been served were not up to the restaurant's standard. There was nothing wrong with the original fries, though admittedly the second batch of fries were prettier. My dinner companion took most of the platter home, as well as the fries remaining from my plate. (She had opted for a healthy salad in place of having fries.) It was also the first time in about a year and a half that I've had dinner with anyone besides myself.

For this reason I gave up on purple cabbage many years ago. I just made a batch of coleslaw for my dinner. I dress my cabbage with Hellmann's (must be Hellmann's), garlic lime hot sauce, and thinned with apple cider vinegar. As an added benefit green cabbage is a lot less expensive than the purple kind.

Always glad to help. I attended work-required slip and trip training this morning, and I now know how to do that. I have a die for extruding this shape pasta but the gemelli I used last night is store bought via nuts.com. They don't name their supplier but they say the gemelli is made in New Jersey by a 45 year old family business that employs brass dies and 100 percent super coarse semolina. Whatever you call it, it is one of my favorite shapes. I thought the pasta really was rather exceptional.* And my sauce was not half bad. *good thing because I have two pounds.

Last night’s dinner: penne all’arrabbiata from The Romagnolis’ Table. However I am penneless, and made do with gemelli — or as I have always called it, farmer’s pasta. The dish was fine but I was mainly looking for an excuse to practice my photography.

Me too.

It was dark. The only excuse I can think of is that the server confused "bitter" with "lager". But this is inexcusable in a world class restaurant. I never asked for bitter in any corner pub in Britain and was served lager. And I assure you I drank my share. And if I had asked for lager the server should have clarified what lager they had and which I wanted. Curry and lager might have been traditional in Britain in the 1980's but this was in 1972. The Harp did not sit well with my curry. The Veeraswamy Vindaloo might have been OK but the experience was not worthy of a world class restaurant. Or even the local Indian restaurant in the Princeton shopping center.

I have more experience with women than cigars.

I've dined at Veeraswamy. The experience was disgusting. I ordered up a pint of bitter and was served a bottle of Guinness Harp. Since I was a naive American who had never heard of Harp, I tried to drink it. Lager turns my stomach. If they did not have bitter on offer, or any decent ale, they'd been right to say. How they deserve a Michelin star I cannot see. I would not go back to Veeraswamy if you paid me. Where I would like to eat in London is The Cinnamon Club by Vivek Singh.

The only good results I have with leftover rice are when I leave it in the Zojirushi overnight and have it for dinner the next evening. Last week I reheated leftover paella. The rice was acceptable. Acceptable, but I would not say good. Rice is like a woman. In the words of singer/songwriter Mary Gauthier: "It's a natural fact, once she's really gone she can't come back." "Ain't no mercy in her soul when a woman goes cold."

Is the name because it is the sauce served with French fries?

I reheated more pizza tonight. As good as the preprogrammed pizza reheating function is, 175C at 20 percent steam is better. But you have to watch it like a hawk and pull the pizza as soon as the cheese begins to melt.

I shall never again sneeze pouring a jigger full of rum.

As of this morning* nor does mine. *technically, afternoon

Odd. I've only had dinner out once in the last two years. My boss and her family were then seated at the next table. We did not plan this. She was not my boss at the time and we live some distance from the restaurant.

I came here to say how good the pizza reheating was -- but I see I already said it three posts previously.

I cooked up a pound of very old RG midnight black beans last month. They were fine. What I find challenging is that some varieties of RG beans cook quickly. Another variety took four hours in the pressure cooker. Seriously.

In home ec class we once made cornmeal mush. My memory is that it was delicious.

You found the pecan ones?

Salt goes well with popcorn.

A fly is buzzing about my computer as I write. I've been wanting one of those salt air rifles with laser sights for offing insects. Yesterday I took delivery of five pounds of Himalayan sea salt.

I paid $100 for my Wand last year.

I was going to keep it to myself, but last night's chicken cacciatore was the worst dinner of recent memory. The recipe is for a whole chicken cut in pieces. I was cooking just three little thighs. Now I like salt as much as anyone, even 23andMe informs that I like salt. Before dinner I was even eating salt from the empty peanut bowl. However to the chicken I added the specified amount of salt, neglecting I had scaled down the quantity of chicken. Also neglecting to remember I had heavily salted the chicken pieces previously. I think you can see where this is going.

As one of my gardening neighbors said, she lives in a town called Rocky Hill. Dutch explorers named our area "Devil's Featherbed". Technically the geology is a Jurassic lava intrusion. Construction here requires dynamite.