Mac n' Gizz

This dish was part of my daily strife while cooking professionally over the past couple years. And yes, that's what the kitchen staff called out as the order came out of the printer. Apparently it doesn't matter how old you are, you are still going to order the mac and cheese. Maybe your coloring has improved a bit, but your palate obviously hasn't. At my last restaurant we had a simply queer amount of variations on this childhood favorite. We did everything from peas and olive oil infused with white truffles, to bacon and chipotle peppers sauteed in adobo sauce.

Mac n' Gizz

Ingredients:

- pasta
- various cheeses grated
- White wine
- Olive oil
- Cream
- Garlic
- S&P

- anything else you would like in your dish... sausage.. peas.. bacon.. spinach.. toms... sardines... midgets... literally anything you can think of. Or just go for the classic commando. One of my favorites is sage and white truffle. The picture I stole looks like it is topped with some sage. Yum.

The recipe is simple. Boil some pasta. Meanwhile take some olive oil and begin to lightly saute a little bit of minced garlic along with whatever ingredients you would like (if they require a quick saute). Don't be an asshole and saute the pasta in the oil. Blanche it like a normal person. If it helps feel free to make grimacing faces and swear like Anthony Bourdain enjoys doing. Apparently it makes his dishes taste better. Add some white whine while the pan is hot and dump in some cream. Don't forget to season your sauce as it simmers away. I like to season here rather than after adding the pasta. It's also time to add in your grated cheese. As the sauce begins to reduce and thicken toss in your pasta, which should be on the al dente to a bit raw side by this point. Keep flipping the pasta to coat it as the sauce thickens. If you are a pussy use utensils to avoid making a mess. Or make a mess, but watch your step as the floor may be quite slippery.

Okay! Now plate that shit. Crumble some crackers over top of the pasta, sprinkle a little cheese over top and throw the whole damn thing in the oven at 400 degrees f. It only takes a minute to brown the crackers, but it's worth it. Pull that shit out while its bubbling hot and sprinkle with some fresh parsley. Now eat that shit fast while it is still scalding hot, and be sure to handle the plate with your bare hands.

Hobo Stackers

I started this post hours ago, then drunkenly lost the draft. Brava me.

It stopped raining, four days later, so I have one less excuse for my misery. Apparently it was sunny for a few hours today which would be exciting if I hadn't been sleeping.

As it turns out nobody likes to socialize with someone who is sad, lonesome, and in a piss poor state of consciousness. Talk about a rock and a hard place. Try being completely heartbroken and yearning for affection. I guess in the scheme of things I have learned that even those you hold dearest wont tolerate you for very long if you are in dire emotional stress. Yet even now I am being negative, so who can blame them? Perhaps hobos have it down pat, riding the rails, campfires and beans etc., maybe that is the life for me. They even have their own language written out in graffiti, and I do enjoy trains and whiskey, and I have always wanted to learn the banjo. Then again, what would happen to all of my recipes? I'd have to convert them into hobo language.

I did play online poker tonight for the first time. I won six dollars, horray me. If I mix in a little bingo and maybe some cribbage perhaps I'll hit the big time.

Here is one for the books, wholeheartedly by a series I would like to deem "Ingredients: With Thomas." Like many of my recipes, this was inspired by the most heartfelt and depressed of the American frontiersmen.. the Hobo.


Hobo Stackers

Ingredients:
sardines in mustard sauce
cherry pepper relish
provolone cheese
saltines

Assemble in whatever order you like. There is really no way to make this snack look appetizing.

Just Some Fucking Pasta

I didn't get my nap today. I went to the bar and got drunk with a guy who works there, name'a Kenny. I played Louis Armstrong, Neil Young and others on the juke and bullshitted about good bartenders, daughters and God. Todd hasn't posted anything in a few days. Am I at this alone? Drafts don't count. It has been many an hour since I have slept. I wanted to tear up or bust up or smash up the bar and tell everyone in there that I am the second or sixth coming of Jesus Christ and they're not following protocol. Instead, I drove home and made hamburger infused pasta. I miss you. I smoked a lot of cigarettes today. I am going to watch Revolutionary Road now. I hope I fall asleep before it is over.

L.V. Ceviche

It seems it's easier to embrace a new day if I do not leave the last. It will be easy to take an afternoon nap. I am currently out of cigarettes. I know there has to be a few stale butts lying around here somewhere, I just don't want to go to the trouble of scrounging them up. I'd end up with half of a gnawed at cigar from last summer and all of my furniture upside down.
The cat has been staring at me for most of the night. I don't know what she wants. I fed her and even drizzled tuna water on her food. I scooped her shit-box. I folded her blanket... I am at a loss.
I may attempt cleaning my car this morning. It's really packed with junk and has an odor.


Lehigh Valley Ceviche

Ingredients:

One can of tuna
Hot sauce
Two eggs

Open the can of tuna and empty its contents into a bowl. Toss tuna in hot sauce, set aside. Fill the bottom of a pan with water(about an inch deep) and bring it to a boil. Place the empty tuna can into the pan. Crack an egg into the can and let it cook. Remove the cooked egg. Repeat. You should now have two egg patties. Sandwich the tuna between the two eggs. Pepper?

Klonopin Chicken

I woke up with a rotisserie chicken carcass in my bed.

Peanuts

Apparently Thomas is as apathetic as me today, or so I assume since I haven't heard from him. Sometimes when I am alone and miserable I like to pretend that the rest of the world is shitting on itself too.

It has been raining for about 24 hours now, and "hulu" has been my only friend for the evening. I am going to recycle this recipe since I feel it best describes my sullen mood as well as my diet for the day, and perhaps even my psychiatric condition . I can only hope that other humans experience this condition of wallowing in self pity, but feel free to look down on me in disgust if you see fit. You certainly disgust me.

Eat them. If they have shells, take the shells off. Then eat them. This also applies to other various nuts.

Homeless Knots

It's still raining, and at this point I have given up hope of ever seeing the sun again. I have pretty much been reduced to a routine of hulu, snacks, reading, and tinkering around with some songs I have been working on. It has been pretty depressing spending all of this time indoors. It's getting lonely here.

At least if it were sunny I could go down to the bodega and strike up a conversation with some bum, maybe even get into a pissing contest. There would probably even be some girls out walking their dogs. I don't even bother talking to them if they aren't with a dog. I'd just end up making myself out to be a creeper. The dog saves me from this, at least for a few moments/ it's more of a game of how many pets I can get in before I say something awkward and receive the 'get away from me creeper' signal. It might be the bum she sees me hanging out with too, who knows. What's so bad about bums? They really are just regular alcoholics with TB who haven't showered in god knows how long. So what if they don't live in a trailer park? Just imagine how many pints of vodka you could get for a trailer! Is it really that far of a step down to go from living in a trailer to under a bridge?

I have been getting back to my normal dreams about gypsy attacks and carnival oddities, which has also been making sleep less than comfortable. Perhaps I need to get out of my own head and pull myself together... I wonder what happened to my Irish dream-girl. I bet she has a dog.

I didn't actually make pretzels today, but it is a good activity if its too rainy and cold to go catch TB from a bum, or scare some girl and her dog.


Pretzels:

Ingredients:
16 c flour
6 water
1 c brown sugar
4 T yeast
1 T kosher salt
melted butter

Combine yeast, salt and brown sugar in 6 c warm water. Combine with flour and knead about 10 min adding water and flour as needed. Throw in a greased trash bag and tie it up. Leave it in your baby's carriage until the dough doubles in size, or engulfs the child. Roll the dough into about 30 reg sized pretzels or 1 large pretzel.

Blanche the pretzels in water until they float. Then, move them to a greased baking sheet and brush with butter. Sprinkle with sea salt and bake at 350F. Check at 15 min and continue to cook until done.

Bachensteinerwhich

I didn't sleep again last night, although I woke up lost in a dream. For a change though, I didn't wake up in sweats looking for tattoos and razor scars left by gypsies. It was actually quite sexy, mostly sensual but altogether uplifting. What a nice change of pace!

It was warm, yet dreary, the kind of day that reminds me of the way spring smells in the city. The smell reminds me of a high school locker room. Dirty gym socks and rank ass teenagers. The build up of frozen city sludge beginning to thaw and rot might as well be equally pleasant. Couple it with bum piss and the wafting raw sewage from some exposed pipes at a nearby construction site and you have something to look forward to.

I ended up at a local cheese shop looking for something that might compliment the sensuality of my morning fantasy, yet might also be threateningly reminiscent of the smell that greeted me as I stepped off the bus downtown.

I found what I was looking for rather quickly. I could see the orange rind through the window, and the clerk's grin let me know that she was looking for a distasteful reaction as I brought the sample that she sliced for me to my nose.

The cutie in my fantasy was undoubtedly Irish, although I have never been with an Irish woman. I unfortunately don't smell in my dreams, but I am sure I would have never slept with her if her scent even remotely resembled the odor coming from this cheese. The cheese itself was Austrian, aparently from an atrisan dairy in Sibratsgfäll, and smelled almost identical to fermenting gym socks. The texture however was delightfully creamy in an almost sensual way. I embraced it and let it melt, much like my Irish dream girl. I don't taste in my dreams either, but I am going to assume that she spent some time roaming with dairy cows in an Austrian forest.



Bachensteinerwhich:

Stinky German style soft cheese
Sliced sweet onions
Grain mustard
Jew bread (rye, not matzo)

Thomas toast

I was out of insulin for a few days. The doctor, upon my having enough cash to see him, lectured me on the importance of seeing a specialist and not procrastinating with diabetic related issues. Kidney failure and all of this...


Thomas Toast

Ingredients:

Two slices of cold white bread
One slice of bologna
One slice of provolone cheese
One egg

Over-microwave the egg sunny side up (about 2 mins.)
Peice together just as you would any other sandwich.
Enjoy with malt liquor.