Thursday, February 11


i think vermicelli might just be anorexic spaghetti,
it sure tastes good.
with a little marinara?
i mean, for real,
marinara is the business, and if you eff it up,
you're probably an A*hole.
that's a thing.
i like my sauce extra oniony,
and very garlicky, and pretty thick.
i do.
so that's what i do.
the real big action, however, isn't the noodoos,
and it isn't the powerful sauce action, either.
the big burly barbarian business rests solely on the shoulders of a
few epic vegan boulders.
a.k.a. meat(less)balls.
check the teleport:

mama mia!
a huge portion of pasta,
a big dollop of sauce,
a little spranky-sprankle of fresh parsley,
and three, count 'em out- 1-2-3 special spicy meat-a-balls.
that's what's good in the woods, kids.
minced onion and three of four cloves of garlic, ground tempeh,
petite cut diced then macerated tomatoes, bouillon, oregano, basil,
parsley, g.p.o.p., nootch, red wine vinegar, a splash of soy, a little h2o,
(with nothing to prove) and crushed red pepper flakes, slow simmered
until thick as heck, and the tempeh absorbs all that wetness.
when it cooled enough not to burn my hands,
i blended it all into a batch of spiced up wheat gluten and ground oats,
and the results were molto molto expert.
real talk,
steaming those roly-poly balls of hearty hottness in a little foil-covered pan
of olive oil and tomato, in the oven, for thirty-something minutes,
and leaving them in there uncovered while the 'celli boiled?
dopeness, al dente, and delightful.
if you aren't getting fresh on wednesdays,
you must not only have just one day to do what you wanna.
in which case, maybe it's sunday or something.
i just hope you're making good food.
that's important.
sesame semolina bread, sliced and broiled, then olive oiled is good for you.
even more than just that bread, when the bread serves as a plate for even more stuff?
that's a-more amore!
oh, and also,
it's called crostone.
wilted arugula, sauteed mushrooms, browned and non-slimy,
grilled shallots, and fried chunky garlic sprankles?!?!?
i ate so much, i felt terrible, and then?
i ate some more.
too much of a good thing is not a thing.
because too much is the right amount.
that's a fact.
i've got a lot of work to do this weekend,
before valentine's day happens,
and the big lovey-dovey doo-doo doings get underway.
there's more than i ca reasonably be expected to complete,
but then,
when have i ever been reasonable?
it all really needs to bne done,
and so it will be;
never quiet, never soft.....


the thing is, neighbors,
i really like to make collages.
hey man, don't judge me.
just because i'm a grown-A* man,
that doesn't exclude me from cutting up and pasting print-media pictures,
and frankensteining my scraps into new life.
that's right. i can, and i will, and i do, and i did.
check it-
ampy d and i had a craft night,
that's right.
and what's more?
it was fun.
the only real detraction from all that family-style interaction?
i have terribly obsessive mania about minutiae,
and i'll pore over piles of papers, meticulously snipping and clipping away
at snipped-off scraps of color-coordinated pictures.
i doo-doo that micronavigatory mapping of nooks and crannies,
while my scissors are performing surgery,
and my gluey fingers stay crossed, which makes me cross,
since they need to be flexible and delicate
so i don't tear the whole dang thing to pieces.
dexterity doesn't allow for adhesives, kids.
that's my tip of the day.
i made some things,
and i think i'd like to show you.
check the conglomerate-collection-type teleport:

lucha lucha,
el jaguar gets that corn right outta your face!!
and then:

the alchemists' apothecary of fuego.
i like how these dudes look so bummed out to be handling pickles
and peppers and sh!t.
it makes sense, since they were previously working on a tundra coal mine,
before i relocated them to this serbian bridge.
i made a few more:

death and the maiden and her manservant.
the thing about collages is,
if the background sucks balls, then the flippin' whole thing does,
and that's weak babysauce, which isn't invited to my craft party.
and then this one:

things started getting weirder as the photos revealed more and better opportunities.
chicken headed voodoo fish priest, leading his troops against the oppressors?
i dunno.
could just be a monster surfing on a big fish, too.
and lastly:

i think i had mythology on my mind, guys.
i'll let you create your own story about it,
but i will say i like that there are dumplings and moon cakes along the path.
i mean, c'mon.
that looks like a perilous journey,
and a few snacks would be so nice to have on our travels.
word up.
when the moment takes me,
it really carries me off.
it doesn't matter that it's just a bunch of gluesticks and magazines.
in fact, i almost like that better.
i do what i do,
as hard as i can, regardless of what the ingredients are.
that's the path i'm on,
and i'll make sure to keep a dumpling or two around for the trip;
never quiet, never soft.....

the race

it's kind of a good thing that crabtree hates it when i'm asleep.
i mean,
who needs an alarm clock when you've got a battle-beast wake-up call
with (sharp!) teeth and predatory eyes, glaring and staring, and hogging all blankets,
in the bed right there next to your unprotected face?
no way is anybody sleeping soundly across from THAT.
really, that justmeans more hours to do more things before work,
and also, more hours to more things before bed.
of course, there's an added degree of difficulty,
because he's all fired up, revved, and redlining,
trying to derail all my endeavors with more chewing and chomping,
and sneaky-petey hide-and-seeky freaky sh!t,
throughout, and especially in the shut-away spots of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
you know what the worst sound to hear is, when you have a puppy?
...........NO sound.
silence means he's eating the holy sh!t out of something important, deadly,
expensive, or some combination of two or even all three.
good thing he's so handsome.
i mean it.
check the teleport:

the thing is-
getting anything done
he rests while i'm at work, and i work while i'm at work,
and therefore,
the only mutha-F*er catching any zzz's around here is him,
and then,
only because nobody is around to harass, harry, worry, harangue, or beleaguer.
the thing is, neighbors,
when he s asleep,
he's not just handsome,
he's totally adorable.
and that makes me stay the hand of the executioner,
or at least, it staunches the flow of the tears of frustration.
take a look for yourself:

we're a perfectly paired adventuring party,
a tandem twosome of gruesome warband warg warriors,
and we roll and rove and reave across the countryside surrounding my borders.
the woodsly goodness is ours for the discovering,
and our own worthy walls in our own hallowed halls are ours for the savaging.
it's like i've got my own personal valhalla,
AND my own personal fenrir,
and together,
we're feasting and beasting every damned morning,
and deep into each evening, as well.
i may only be half as busy as i think,
and twice as preoccupied with my dog as i would like,
that doesn't mean i'm wasting time like i've got more than enough of it to go around.
no way.
i'm constantly making moves,
and making things,
and making dinner.
on national pizza day,
i was treated to a tasty night out.
word up.
i'm just sayin',
you didn't really think for a single second that i'd miss out on a slice of pizza, did you?
...on pizza day, no less?
don't be dumb.
rules is rules.
check the teleport:

our local hippie 'za establishment, aptly named flatbread, gets it IN.
and i put it all in my mutha-'ucking mouth.
artichoke hearts and daiya chee' just go so well together.
that's that heavy-handed white people sh!t.
arugula and yellow bells, red and caramelized onions,
and crushed red pepper!
i know about pizza.
i think it's in my DNA.
from pizza pie to perilous pet ownership,
i've been busy busy.
i did take an hour for myself,
to do very little,
and instead of that being relaxing,
it twisted and turned into a late night, and an early morning
of action, distraction, and collated collections.
it turns out i have a lot of stuff,
and whenever i need to use a little bit, i've gotta go and find it first.
that's harder than it sounds-
finding one bauble in a sea of somethings can be all-consuming,
and waylay even the most determined of doings.
we scavenged and scrapped some books,
and we spanned some quality time.
a bellyful of pizza,
a homey houseful of flashing teeth and flying fur,
and a companionable keeper of my company.
that's What Is,
and i am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, February 9

taking dumps to the bowl.

pan-asian noodoos?!
i doo-doo that noodoo sh!t, neighbors,
because i'm all about doubling down on the carbs,
and the tofu, at almost any time, in almost any meal,
but especially if i'm celebrating something special.
like, say, for example,
a new moon for a new year of new hottness!
it's no secret that i love to celebrate sh!t.
not with parties where there are people all doing the same thing at the same time.
i mean,
i'm just not that guy.
fresh to death flavorful form, function, and finesse,
with good fortune falling down, and favorable conditions looking up,
for myself and maybe one or two others in an intimate environment?
that's my jammie-jam.
i like to have a very limitedly accessible elite fete for myself and my few friends,
separate and simultaneous to the bigger and butterier festivities occurring elsewhere.
i love all the parts of a party except the partygoers.
don't get me wrong, y'all-
i don't have a problem with people,
i just can't always feel close to a double dozen of dudes i have little compatibility to.
that does't mean i'm gonna be a weak little babyb!tch for lunar new year, though,
now does it?
no flippin' way.
i got busy,
and i ate big,
and it was all pretty g-damned expert, if i say so myself.
...and i do.
check the tet-type teleport:

dumps for my face,
udons for my mouth,
tofu for my tummy,
broth for my belly,
and all of it all at once,
really poppin' off,
just so i can stuff myself silly and overdo the initial effort of another 'nother late supper.
tofu, sesame oil, shredded brussels, garlic, onion, celery, carrot, ginger,
black pepper, g.p.o.p., tamari, and rice wine vinegar,
fried, chilled, and folded into those auspicious pouches of flour-powered pure-being!
y'gotta fry one side, then flash the pan with water, and steam 'em all the way through,
before the second side flipover fully freshens the whole F*ing thing up a level or two.
that's real.
i had my homemade dumps ready to go,
and i had some of those super thick udons waiting for some love,
i fried up the remainder of the tofu-
and i boiled up some veggies to give everything a chance to hang out together.
carrots, onions, sliced garlic, celery, scallions, and spinach,
simmered in a chili-garlic-bouillon  base, with ricey-rice wine,
and soy sauce, and a splash of sesame oil,
plus a dash of agave, and some cilantro.
a little garnish,
and a bit more of that auspicious red backdrop?
c'mon, man. that's the sweetness.
there's no way to know for sure if the good fortune is here or not.
i mean,
if this is the good-fortunate future i've been cultivating,
the that's great, i guess,
because i can only imagine the sh!t-salad sinkhole that would've been sucking me under
had i not continued to pursue the path of active participation.
this might be it, friends.
the juicy rewards of mindful situational awareness, self-awareness, and hard work.
i'm not saying it's bad.
i'm just saying that those dumplings were the TRUTH,
and if that's as good as it's gonna get?
i can live with that.
warrior poetry isn't a quest for inner peace,
it's a losing battle to the death, against death,
in increments that allow for a drawn-out all-out war until the end.
the bright spots light the way to the next uphill conflict, kids,
and the moments in between are for composing new tactics,
and improved recipes for success.
we live by the feud, but it's not because we're holding grudges.
it's because we hold out hope that we'll win more than we lose until the grand finale.
nobody leaves with the title,
but we sure as sh!t can leave behind a legacy;
never quiet, never soft.....


i just don't get it.
i can't say i like painting more than drawing,
in fact,
i won't say that.
just because illustration is the pejoratively descriptive term
for clearly non-fine, cute, diminutive, or otherwise lessened pretend artists,
after graphic designers, anyway-
those duders are, in point of fact, the pretendiest ones in the studio...
just because illustration means you're probably using markers and sh!t,
it's still pretty expert, to me.
because you've made a picture of something.
and i like to see that stuff,
way more than the abstract expressions of global conflicts and social ills,
or whatever the F* else those real paintings are supposed to be of.
oh, yeah, and also,
i haaaaaate landscapes.
no, for really real.
i cannot hang out with panoramic rolling fields.
not even a little bit.
i mean,
what the actual effing heck is that all about??
a painting of just background?
that's my least favorite thing ever when there is a lot of FOREground.
oh, man, trees on trees on mountains on hills on clouds,
and NO bobotrons?
that is so dumb.
stop it.
i'm just messing around.
i don't know about real painting.
i'm still sneaking in some slaps and dribbles whenever i have a second-
i just can't say it's doing what i imagine it should be, though.
i've got my seltzer can canvas, (i also enjoyed the seltzer),
and i've got my truly lacking tools,
and i'm cavemanning my best shot at real-ish painting.
even so,
that's really just another way of saying i didn't draw a picture with markers first.
check the art-type teleport:

a hyena ghost!
with flowers, a la dramatic anime interludes,
and some unattached floating rope,
and an oily djinni lamp. (bro, that's the D&D spelling)
i think i've been facetiously faking far too much interest in disney paraphernalia.
for serious.
i can't stand that sort of saccharine stoopidhead stuff,
but, i secretly sort of think jaffar was the big business,
and i may have accidentally allowed that to leak out onto the cardstock.
talk about something enough, and you cultivate it into creation.
(it's the same reason i rabbit, rabbit, guys. i'm perfunctorily superstitious)
at any rate,
that nose is pure crap, or a least,
it's a whole lot longer in the nostril than any animal i've ever heard of.
i hate pointing out the one flaw that might've escaped notice,
real life documentarianism relies heavily on truth-telling,
and once that starts,
forget about it- it's infectious, contagious, and all-consuming.
i s'pose i should admit that i did add some background
to the space zombie-vampitron from a week ago:

a little biker sparkle space light,
that's all.
i limit my spatial relationships to circles and stars and squares.
i'm not an artist, i guess.
i just draw a lot.
there's more coming.
valentine art is mandatory in my world.
you make a picture, or you're a jerk.
rules is rules.
it's all really happening,
squeezing in some time to squeeze out some marky marks,
and an optimistic application in the depths of a discouraging development of skill.
i'll get better,
or i'll have a ton of bad stuff.
lessening the quantity or quitting because of a lack of quality
are choices for lesser men, and non-men.
quitters are the worst of the worst, kids.
if it sucks, but you care about it, try harder.
that's all there is;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, February 8


the superbowl.
i still didn't watch it.
i still don't care about clever commercials.
it's not my thing.
i mean,
sports are obviously the very best thing that ever happened ever....
.....if you're the most boring person in the world.
there's too much to do,
and not enough time to do it,
which means that watching that stuff, instead of doing more stuff,
is kind of like throwing away a big ol' span of time.
...and i can't hang out with that,
i CAN hang out with the team spirit i associate with fat american sports 'tards
when i comes to getting fatter and even more gluttonous than ever before.
i mean it.
i don't care about super sunday,
but i sure as heckfire give a holy sh!t about eating site-specific
situationally-appropriate holiday-themed overdoses of dopeness.
rules is rules,
and i'll eat my way through almost any occasion.
i always bet on chili chee' to win the trophy,
and i fix the game, and bribe the officials,
so that it always does.
check the sports-and-fans-and-sports-and-sports-type teleport:

double bean burgers.
small red beans, and pink beans.
why the similarly shaded set of protein farterizers?
i mean,
i was already making two-bean chili, in a hurry,
after a crazy long, super-sh!tty sunday at the tatzap shack,
so i held half back for burgers,
and that burly blend,
in cooperative tandem attack with the chili,
made for contextual continuity across my palette
in a way i wouldn't have imagined was possible when i left for work in the morning.
that's the truth.
i've been feeling run-down and achy, ague-afflicted and stuffed up,
only weak-sauce diaperbabies call the game because of illness,
and i'm not about to b!tch out on movie checks when there's work to do.
do you know about that?
or are you reppin' sick days like a health-conscious hypochondriac?
i muscled through the messy mountain of tattoo time,
and raced home,
to boil up some chili,
stir up some chee' sauce,
and mash some mutha-'ucking beans into burgers.
what's in the chili?
beans, duh.
and onions, and bell and chili peppers, a ton of garlic,
too damned many spices, broth, diced tomatoes, and a blast of nootch.
what about the chee'?
soymilk, butters, flour, nootch, salt, turmeric, g.p.o.p,, paprika, a little mustard,
and apple cider vinegar for the extra point.
the chili was great, and spicy;
the chee' was thick, and a ton of turmeric turned it appropriately garish in color,
the caramelized onions were all sorts of sweet and limp and brown and perfect,
and underneath?
word up-
the secret purple cabbage and cilantro slaw, with it's hint of shredded carrot,
and the pat of vegenaise that smoothed it out,
just happend to pair up in precise balance with the firm, flax-seeded, cashew-pulpy,
twin-bean, garlicy, oniony, spicy burger patty-boombattie big action on top.
and not for nothin',
but chili chee' burgers need to rest heavy on some serious bun action.
that's why,
before i even started the prep for all the simmering sexXxiness,
i also, kneaded a batch of homemade triple-rise buns from scratch.
that's F*ing right.
y'know why?
because expert recognize expert,
and doing vegan sports foods, without ruining it with sports,
is pretty flippin' expert, for certain.
are you wondering what's up with that cauliflower?
ampy-d made buffs. b!tches.
y'GOTTA crush some buffs on super sunday.
i'm almost positive that's a thing.
those buffalo baked florets were hot!
twice dipped, and fired up, with so much ho' sauce my lips are still tingling.
....and that guacamole?
it was realllllllly dang good.
y'gotta rep the guac, too.
for serious, it's not an all-ammerican pro-sports spread without guac!!
we're just doing our part to participate,
and contribute to the 8 million pounds produced yesterday.
that's a fact.
and what's more-
that stuff was already ready when i arrived,
which made a good thing even better!
chee' doused wafflers?
you won't find me hanging about with people.
but you might find me doing my own version of a thing.
i prefer it, and it's usually more meaningful, and tastier,
and totally removed a ways away from regular.
that's the way wlorthy warrior poets compose their paeans.
like pros,
like prose,
like posing for pictures of food...
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....


this is it!
another 'nother chance at new new do-overy dopeness for everybody.
the big black absence in the sky above signifies a fresh start for our faces.
what i mean is,
with this new moon and it's darklight nighttime passage from horizon to horizon,
it's lunar new year, neighbors,
and that's expert.
did i say it?
did i say it?
of course i said it.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
even when it's pan-asian alternate historical calendar flips,
i still know the F*ing rules, kids-
and i spit out a sh!t-hot rabbit! rabbit!
....just in case.
i want all that good fortune,
and that's no joke.
it's the year of the fire monkey,
and honestly, that feels a little bit bittersweet to your boy-
one the one hand-i LOVE fire,
on the other- i HATE monkeys.
i s'pose i'll just have to make do with some treats.
i ca handle that, with or without a monkeyshining influence.
check the teleport:

i'm on that gok jai jauns.
that's what's up.
i gok they, and i'll share they, if you'd like one.
are they dumplings?
are they empanadas?
are they both, and neither, but actually cookies?
they most certainly are,
and they are delicious, to boot.
we've got browned up flavor-activated sesame seeds lacing up the layers
of that buttery sugary pastry dough.
i splished a splat of vanilla in there, because i'm a non-traditionalist,
by virtue of veganism in the first place, and contrarian tendencies in the second.
it tastes great, and it doesn't detract from the sweet sesame sexxxiness at all.
i chilled that out for half an hour,
and preheated the oven to 350 F.
i used a cup and a half of flour, a quarter cup of sugar, two tablespoons of sesame seeds,
a pinch of salt, a stick's worth of butterishness,
and an egg's worth of replacer, plus a tablespoon of coooold water,
all together in the food processor, to pulp that dough into what's really 'hood.
it's almost a recipe, check that out.
i cut circles from the thinly rolled aftermath with a crinkle-edged ravioli cutter,
and filled each with a tablespoon of secret sauce, son!
it's not actually a secret.
i took a big ol' handful of roasted peanuts,
a generous punch of toasted coconut, two more tablespoons of toasted sesame seeds,
some powdered sugar, and a dribble of vanilla,
and pureed it into buttery ball of smoosh.
(i even added a little peanut butter, and a bit more sugar after that, spoonie-stir style)
the rest seems evident, right?
fold, crimp, glaze with cornstarch and soymilk and powdered sugar,
for a crispy coat on the outside of each little plumpy dumpler....
and then, when they cooled off from being super hot, after like twenty minutes in the oven?
crema de coco, and confectioners sugar, to further glaze 'em,
before a bnlast of toasted sesame seed sprankles took 'em up to eleven.
i got that lucky cat in there,
i got that bright red background business poppin' off.
i'm lookin' for goodie goodness wherever i can garner it.
that's for serious.
and i'm tellin' you guys,
my chinese new year's resolution.,
my tet offensive,
my eumnyeok seollal of super soulful sincerity,
is to find way to fold more fulfilling non-food magic into my life.
it's harder than it sounds,
but since my preferred method of interacting with the world is mortal combat,
i think i'm prepared to pursue my goals in the grisly, ghoulish grind i'm accustomed to.
it's that new new.
it's today/tonight.
it's  ugly.
it's gonna snow.
it's dope anyway.
am i making dumplings?
am i psyched even if i just have toast for dinner?
it's all really happening,
and it's new hottness as far as my senses can detect in every direction;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, February 6


once in a while i make some seriously expert sh!t.
even more so than usual,
by virtue of it being bigger and better than my everyday doings.
it's kitchen wizardry, and we all can assume that not every spell is a world-shaker;
that just accentuates the activated excellence of the ones that are.
for real.
some flavors just lend themselves to supreme dopeness.
that's the truth.
chocolate and peanut butter were made to touch each others' parts,
and when they do?'s F*ing beautiful.
word up.
check the big-action-type teleport:

cocoa-laced oatmeal graham cracker crust.
crumbly, but thick, and firm, but not too crawnchy.
it's got the texture spectrum covered, kids,
because there's smooth jauns everywhere else.
chocolate peanut butter creme?!
half a package of vegan creamchee',
some drained firm tofu, a whole lotta scoops of peanut butter,
ka-powdered sugar, cocoa, vanilla, a pinch of salt, a slap of tapioca,
and so many melted chocolate chips.......
it's dense, duders. don't even think it's light and fluffy.
no way.
it's got the thickness, and that's precisely what makes it so good.
chocolate peanut butteriness should be burly,
because it's a mutha-flippin' man's treat.
i put some unchocolatized peanut butter creme on top,
because variety is kinda nice,
and then i activated that with a shiny skin of dark chocolate ganache.
i mean it, the flavors and the textures and the tastes and the looks are all poppin',
and an all-synced-up sexy dessert does something special to my senses.
uh-huh.....i feel good.
and i feel better and better the more i eat.
there's some of that super smooth chocolate frosting,
AND then more of the same,
but with peanut butter blended in, encircling the edges,
for even MORE flavor and fun for our flappin' jacks!
you know the drill, don'tcha?
too much is the right amount.
that's the only way to get fresh in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
rules is (still) rules, after all.
every day is full.
i don't think i realized the full and lasting implications of my huggable troublemaker.,
constable crabtree coming to crash at my place
for the next foreseeable decade and a half.
the thing is,
he keeps me busy,
in all the empty spaces where real life friends are supposed to be,
unlike my imaginary friends,
he also keeps me from accomplishing anything at all.
he's got a system,
and it involves F*ing with sh!t he shouldn't,
and literally doing nothing else BUT that.
ummmmm. mmhmm.
it's a lot of fun,
but only if your idea of fun is chasing a chewing chump through
all the nooks, crannies, closets, and cabinets of a big old house.
then again,
if that's not your thing,
you'll be having a terrible night, every night.
trust me on that.
i could be doing something other than wrestling a wriggling warrior dog,
but i s'pose i got what i deserved.
i mean,
he's not a stoopid goldendoodle.
i would never,
because doodle-dogs are pure bullsh!t, and that's a fact.
terrible terrorist terriers are my jammie jam.
everything else is easy,
and easy isn't allowed on the premises.
be smart, but work smarter, and way harder,
because the harder way IS the smarter way,
even if your dog is a little bit intentionally dumb.
it's all really happening,
at 3:30a.m., in this case.
sleep is the cousin of death,
and i'm fixin' to make like kissing cousins with both if this keeps up;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, February 5

chocolate cake.

chocolate is probably good for you?
i'd like to think so.
not because of some secret nutrients or whatever,
just because it's pretty flippin' dope, and it tastes really great,
so it's got to be doing something good,
because every time i put it in my face, i feel better.
no science, duders,
just tastebuds.
that's what i'm basing my hypothesis on.
i'm always down to run a few tests.
i mean,
information is one of my favorite things.
and collecting firsthand info is the very best way to learn.
right now, i'm learning a lot about eating a bunch of chocolate.
is it good?
....for me?
i'm gonna be busy collecting a whole lot more data for a while longer,
for sure.
when i'm baking up some treats, y'know what i'm thinking about?
nothing at all,
i'm just letting my scoops spoons and spatulas span time,
in the interest of creative meditation.
it doesn't work when i'm cooking.
probably because i've got too many pots going at once,
or possibly because open flames lure in my barbarian inner self,
and my infinite nature is incited by the ignition of inflammable intuition?
that's be cool.
i just want a chocolate cake.
the thing is,
i can do that,
and i do that.
this is what happens when i make that happen:

i'll tell you, friends-
there is not all that much cocoa in the batter,
there IS a whole bunch of shaved chocolate.
it makes it much much lighter,
in color and texture,
and that was a nice little surprise.
the chocolate is extra melty,
so the inside had little banana bread specks,
only, it's chocolate, not fruit, and that's expert!
so, i had a light, tight, crumb,
which is usually pretty good news.
and on top of that, i whipped up an insanely light, soft chocolate frosting.
it's times like these that i wish i measured the proportions just a little bit better.
that frosting is crazy soft, and just this side of airy.
it melts as soon as it hits your tongue.
i love that.
i'm sure i'll be making batches of brown blops, just to attempt to recreate this topping.
it's good.
but i couldn't it alone.
i never can.
too much is the right amount,
and if i wasn't overdoing it,
i think i'd feel like a lazy little wimp-A* baby.
and i can't have that here in the muy fuerte and molto hot fuego of my undoubtably dope
redoubt of really real rural (self)righteousness.
y'feel me?
we do MORE, no matter what.
rules is rules,
and the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress has a pretty firm code of conduct for the kitchen.
word up.
there's cocoa dust all over the top,
for a little bit of exxxtra chocolaty hottness,
and cookie crumbly sprankles,
for a little toothsome touch of crawnch in every bite.
if i can't leave well enough alone, does that make me unwell?
well, here's to hoping chocolate really IS good for me, then.
i'm not a writer, i just type a lot.
i'm not a baker, i just make treats.
i'm sayin'-
if you don't get paid, then it's not what you are, it's just what you DO.
and i do what i do, only, it doesn't get me anywhere.
i'm certain the name for that is hobbies, kids.
that's what i've got.
a hobby habit.
i take it all too seriously, because that's my way,
but if it ain't about those movie checks, it's a little less real.
besides, i thought hobbies were supposed to be fun?
this compulsion to create, this revulsion at resting,
this burning fiery furnace of driving forces keeps me up at night,
and wakes me up with go-go juiciness before everybody else.
you'd think i'd be getting ahead,
but i'm just getting fat.
it's all really happening.
i'm going to need more chocolate;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, February 4

no green olives.

a meatless moroccan munch-up?
i don't mind if i do.
we couldn't b!tch out on world cuisine wednesday,
especially not on a snowy/rainy wintry mix-up of a doo-doo buttery day.
no way.
those kinds of days are the ones when we need something hearty, and spicy,
and stick-to-the-ribbling starchy to warm our hungry little hearts
and our chilly fingers up a whole lot.
i decided on moroccan.
because i really wanted little flatbreads.
and that's no joke.
i love a complicated spice blend,
i adore an excess of techniques,
i thrive on an overabundance of pots and pans to wash up afterwards,
and i like variations on a theme.
thus, i got expert on a burly feast, with more of everything,
and everything fully activated with some new new hottness.
check the marrakesh-express-type teleport:

roasted potatoes, with coriander and shredded onion, and minced garlic,
and g.p.o.p., and chick peas, because baked chick peas are F*ing dope.
that's the truth.
who cares if the 'tatoes are blue?
i freaked it off with what i had,
and whenever there's fanciness afoot, you'd better believe i'm gonna get on it.
...what about that salad?
well, for starters, it's flippin' delicious.
but, as for what's in it-
there's two types of sweet tomatoes, cucumbers, scallions, finely slivered onion,
parsley and cilantro, tarted up with lemon juice, and mellowed out with olive oil.
those were little treats for our faces,
but the big action was even more expert, and even more delicious.
i mean it.
check the teleport:

red lentils, coriander, cilantro, carrots, celery, onions and more onions,
and garlic for days, black pepper, whole cumin seeds, paprika, cardamom, cayenne,
leftover hot chilis from my crucial afternoon guac session,
bay leaves for balance, chick peas for manliness, and sweet potatoes for body.
that's a lotta flavor, and whole lotta fiber, and a big ol' mess, to boot.
all that,
plus stewed tomatoes, and broth, and time, garnished with celery leaves,
and sitting on couscous!!!\
that's what you want if you're smart and cool.
otherwise, you might just be a boring A*-hole,
and that's not invited to sit and sup with warrior poetry in motion.
if you're still aboard the hot moroccan mealtime train?
oh MAN.
have i got a treat for your face!

strips of onions, red ones and sweet ones, a little diced pepper,
butterish and olive oil,
big slices of garlic by the whole bulbful,
black pepper, and toasted turmeric and toasted cumin,
ginger and more ginger, coriander,
and a whole lot of lemon juice to join all that into a pasty caramelized mass.
add in cilantro and parsley,
and seared seasoned superfirm tofu,
tossed and embellished with slices of fresh lemon,
all in one cast iron cauldron?
wordimus prime.
that cast iron, and a convection oven coupled up to carry the day.
real talk, right there.
i baked it, and it all married and marinated and melded,
and what came out was some new new hottness,
even with my makeshift tagine doing doubletime to make sure we got the big action,
and not the diaper-baby butt-sauce.
i made those mini flatbread, because i want to enjoy myself,
and really all the rest was just gilding the lily.
i'm here for the bread, bro.
that's what's up.
that'd get green olives, if my memory serves, which it usually does,
and the internet confirms that's true.
i don't normally have green olives hanging around the house.
i'll eat 'em, i guess,
but i'm not losing my mind without 'em.
i don't think the dish lost a single thing without those foily spoilers in it either.
and really, after all,
i DID have that bread to make up the difference.
i love food.
i'll keep saying it.
i repeat myself because true stories don't get old.
i made a whole lot of stuff yesterday,
and all of it will be converted back into energy sooner than later.
if you ain't eatin', you ain't livin', kids.
i'm devouring,
so if we adjust our view proportionatelyu-
i'm not just livin', i'm livin' LARGE;
never quiet, never soft.....


whenever i get up early,
which is always,
i feel like i should be using those wee small hours,
the ones when nobody else is around,
to get especially busy doing things that nobody else is doing.
baking scones.
that's not something everybody does.
i do it,
because i like 'em,
and because that's about the only way i'm gonna get a vegan breakfast treat
into my facehole first thing in the a.m.
that's for sure, and that's for really real.
i took a bunch of butterish,
like, a stick and some change,
and a quarter cup of vegan creamchee',
and a punch of sugar,
a blast of tapioca,
and three cups of whole wheat flour,
and i creamed it all together into a crumbly chunky mess.
then i fired in some cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and allspice,
three quarters of a cup of vanilla soy yogurt,
three quarters of a cup of vanilla almond milk,
a dash of vanilla extract, salt, baking pow-pow and baking soda,
and had myself some dough.
the thing is,
i also added a cup of chopped dried cranberrries,
and a cup of big fat raisins,
and a cup of sliced almonds,
because anybody can have a plain ol' scone,
but experts want the deluxxxurious jauns.
i mean, if i'm already doing it,
i should probably take it to eleven, right?
you know this, man.
and i folded it,
and i turned it,
and i folded it,
time after time after time times ten or more times after that,
and i had the makings of a flaky, firm, burly, hearty hottness for a cool winter morning.
check the teleport:

i rolled it out,
 and cut circles from the pressed and compressed cakiness i'd cultivated.
that's what's up.
breakfast biscuits.
because the scone zone wasn't quite fancy enough.
it's never enough, though, is it?
no way,
and because too much is the right amount,
i beat 'em up with two kinds of nicey-nicely-done icing.
cinnamon ginger circles,
and almond stripes.
how good are they?
they look amazing,
at least, they do in my informed and experienced opinion,
they taste megatons more rad than that!
how many did i munch up?
too many.
which is to say,
precisely as many as i could fit, somewhat uncomfortably, down the hatch,
as quickly as possible.
that's my problem, kids-
i want MORE, always,
but there isn't enough room.
i start my days off super-full,
and try to fit everything else in edgewise.
spare time is something i have only the very fuzziest, foggiest recollection of.
there's too much to do, at all times,
and only half of it ever gets done.
at least i've got fruit and nuts and cakey, flaky breads to munch on
while i run around all day.
cooking and baking and making stuff up.
that's my favorite part.
listing things.
i really like doing that, too.
and adjectives.
i F*ing love those.
and eating.
eating copious quantities of indulgent and delicious delicacies.
that's my perfect day,
add in some art, some music, some reading, some dog walking,
and maybe some actual exercise?
just give me a few more hours.
like, a 27 hour day,
and i'll be in good stead-
until then,
it's more, and more, and more,
but not quite enough,
not yet;
never quiet, never soft.....