Happy birthday to me. Oh, wait, nevermind

Happy Birthday to me! Or, not.
So, in school, I had one or two friends each year that I hung out with, but it never seemed to extend into the next year for one reason or another that I simply can’t remember. Probably due to something with my family drama, etc. This particular year I was friends with Matt. Matt was the coolest kid I knew. He didn’t get free school lunch, but still hung out with me, even though I did. He was the tallest kid in class, and was the first kid I knew that had to start wearing deodorant, at his mom’s request. We hung out nearly every day and it was awesome. Matt and I originated some things that at the time seemed pretty epic. Such as, turning an english muffin half into a microwaved personal pizza, and microwaving Lebanon bologna to make it taste sort of like really good pepperoni. We shared a lot of awesome stuff too. He was Smart, like Really smart, possibly smarter than me, and I don’t say those words lightly. He had a computer from the 80s, probably a TSR80 that took a modem inserted into the side for speech out of a Star Trek game. We would also do some beginner programming on it, basically making the modem call his little sister names. He could touch type where as I at the time was only a hunt and peck typist.

He was also into model rockets, which for me, while cool were no where near as cool as crushing all of the engine modules for the fuel and then lighting that entire pile on fire in one big conflagration. I lost my eyebrows and severely burned my hand that day. We’d run around trying to be ninjas and all kinds of stuff. We even shared the misfortune of seeing a live on TV suicide by then State Treasurer Budd Dwyer. Imagine this scenario: you and your best friend are eating microwaved Lebanon bologna sandwiches in front of the 12 o’clock news, your friends grandma is in the background “overseeing”, as grandmas do. News comes on, blah blah, we both liked news, then this guy comes out to a podium to give some sort of speech, but he’s carrying a smallish manilla envelope. Cameras are rolling, people are talking then Blam, person on tv pulls out a revolver, stuffs it in their mouth and blows  out the back of their head. Yep, there’s a memory shared.

So, after this we sort of didn’t hang out much, as we were both pretty traumatized, but we still hung out around school. So, my birthday rolls around, I’m likely 15 by this point, simply based on the suicide record date via the news station.

My birthday rolled around, and against better judgement I allowed myself to get excited. This year, I was not only promised a store cake, I was also allowed to invite a friend, in addition to the normal obligatory brothers/cousins/neighbors. I of course chose Matt, because he was awesome, and if worse came to worse, we could spend time destroying my younger brother’s G.I. Joe figures. Birthday party gets here and lo and behold I Do have a store cake! I was so excited, it was one of the “fancy sheet cakes” the kind that actually has your name written on it in icing and the odd white frosting that is supposed to be buttercream but it’s made with some sort of off-brand shortening stuff that always leaves an oily film on your tongue, but it didn’t matter, I had a cake!. So Matt shows up and presents me with the usual birthday card, picked out by parental figure, dollar or two stuffed in it, forced to be signed by him, to make it “thoughtful”. I smile, happily rip open the envelope toss the card aside and begin to survey my newfound wealth. Holy Shit! it’s 52 dollars! I think I literally squealed, danced around, possibly wet myself a little and Almost (but not quite) hugged my friend. I look at him, just completely overwhelmed and he just plays it off like “Yeah, my nan really likes you”. At this point, we haul ass. We ditch my birthday party and we head into town to spend my money. I totally roll deep the toy section and I just start grabbing shit. Being me, I don’t play with toys, like at all, but my younger brother does. So, I get him a G.I. Joe vehicle of some odd sort. I also got him this cool color changing G.I. Joe bad guy (Hell Yeah Zartan). Needless to say, I blew 50 bucks pretty fast.
Well, we roll back to the house, and I see his nan sitting there with my parents and I just know that shit is going to go downhill from here. As it turned out, Nan had intended on giving me 3 dollars, Not 52, and had grabbed the 50 by mistake and now wanted it back. My parents, being my parents, simply aren’t going to give anyone 50 bucks, whether they actually had it or not. So, I’m of course expected to return all of the stuff I’d bought and get the money back. Only thing is, I’d happily ripped Every last toy open. I may not play with toys, but I sure do love opening up the packages. So, with no toys to be returned, no money to be reimbursed, and no real way of fixing this situation, there ended my birthday (and all future birthdays), as well as my friendship with Matt. So, yeah, I can’t even have a birthday success it seems.

Casual racism. In food and cultures

This is a food post, of sorts. It’s also so much more. I won’t be reviewing food per se in this one, but instead discussing food, food perceptions and “acceptable racism”. 
To start with, there is absolutely no such thing as “Acceptable Racism”. This pertains to people, culture, food, food cultures, etc. Time and again, I’ve had racial slurs slung at food. The fucked up part is, I was the one making the food. I’ve had everything from “Why are you making that “Chinky Shit”, to “How was the cat?”. I mean Really. It’s two thousand fucking thirteen. Are we Really this ass backwards?

I spent 18 months serving in Korea. While there, I went just about everywhere an American soldier is allowed to go, and a few places that American soldiers don’t often go. I experimented with foods, both buying, cooking, eating, not eating and just plain being curious about. This is ats it should be. I did not however proceed as this one dumb motherfucker when he went in to a tailor shop to try to buy something and state “Why can’t you people just learn English?”. This blew my mind. Motherfucker’s in Korea, and he expects Them to learn His language? Dumbshit says what?
There was a lot of racism even in Korea. I happened to be a cook, and Always a food head, so I was always out trying new and odd things. The first thing folks asked me upon my return to the states was “How was the dog?” Okay, here’s a fact. Yes, dog meat is eaten in Korea. no, I didn’t try it. That shit is Waaaaaay outside my price range. Now, any “average American” will be Why are they eating my dog, dogs are pets, not food, blah blah blah. Okay, now, step back and look at “America” and it’s “Burger Joints” monstrously slaughtering cow after cow from a Hindu point of view. Oh, wait, that doesn’t count because they’re “Non-Christian heathens and don’t know any better”. Bullshit. So anyway, there was always a whispered rumor of eating “kagogi”. I have honestly never tried it. Partially because my brain is dumb American, and partially because to have it as it’s intended, it was Expensive. It’s an “occasion food”, celebratory and stuff like that. Even though I personally never tried it does not mean I condemn an entire nation just because they do.
I did make one major mistake in my food travels in Korea. I broke the unwritten rule of world travel. Never go to a foreign country, enter a restaurant of a different country and order a dish from yet a third country. I was in Seoul and I found a German restaurant. This blew my mind so I went in. At this point, I didn’t know much about German food, or how Koreans would prepare it, so I stuck to what I knew, the spaghetti and meat sauce. Yeah, don’t do that. I was presented with a plate of perfectly cooked pasta, however, it was covered in ketchup instead of marinara and dressed with tuna sashimi and carrot slices. That was it. It was also one of the most expensive meals that I had coming in at around $22 American, in 1992 Korea.
If you’re thinking that “casual, or acceptable racism” just applies to undereducated people, that’s also not true. I had occasion to visit a friend who lived in a large metroplex. Getting up to his floor I was so pleasantly assaulted with the smells of about 5 different cultures. Unfortunately, my friend didn’t agree and proceeded to apologize for all of the towel heads and other racist terms that I won’t list, because if it “makes him sick, it must be really bad for me”.

Now, here goes the biggest “downside of the post”. I have eaten a non-standard food consumption animal. I’ve honestly eaten cat meat, in the U.S. but not as so many food bigots would assume.The initial thought of most anyone would be “oh, haha herp derp he ate cat at some Chinese buffet”. Sorry, no, it was Actually a small barbeque shack in Oklahoma, right outside of Fort Sill.
Yep, American people, served me cat. in BBQ sauce. They were eventually shut down by food safety inspectors, but I unfortunately ate there all too often.

No Witty Title Today

Today's post is kind of messed up. I'm not going to bother trying to fluff it.

My first blackout drunk: Also known as “The Tools of a Pedophile”.

It’s rather funny, to me at least, having been where I’ve been, that I only know (as in this moment) realize the tools of a pedophile. Allow me to elaborate. I was at “some guy’s house” and that’s about as clearly as I remember it. I know the building, I remember the apartment floor, I remember the guy’s first name, I even remember the Turkey Hill Iced Tea tasting funny. After that, it gets hazy. I think the person in reference may have been a friend or acquaintance of my oldest brother, but I’m certainly not laying any blame at his feet. I, as most younger brothers do, (even warring ones) always tried to horn in on any fun and friendships that my older brothers had. Even if I didn’t know a lick about the person, they were instantly cooler as they were friends with older brothers.
This person should have set off flags right away, but meh, as a kid, what do you know. I remember feeling uneasy around them, which was unusual, as I was such a beggar urchin that I’d latch on to anyone who’d spare a quarter or a slice of bread. I remember being alone at the apartment that day, I was 7, they were somewhere between 16 and 19. Essentially, what I remember was drinking the hell out of some iced tea and then feeling dizzy. Fortunately, I had the wherewithal to get out of the situation (a drunk 7 year old can actually make decisions, who knew). I remember getting on my (stolen) bike and riding 4 or 5 blocks before the “tea” overcame me. I’d arrived at one of the local parks that held summertime activities for kids and just puking my guts out into the 55 gallon metal trash can that the park had. I don’t know how long I was sick, but it seemed to go on for ever. Once I was done, I simply collapsed, and passed out.

The next thing I remember, I’m waking up in a basement, on wrestling mats and this super adorable chubby guy with serious facial scruff is leaning over me checking to make sure that i’m A: still breathing, and B: who my parents are. This basement turned out to be the Columbia Community Center which would later go on to become the Columbia Boys and Girls Club, and I would in my teen years spend a Lot of time here. Also, the actual concern that I felt radiating from my wooly saviour that day would go on to influence many of my likes in guys for years to come, though, not necessarily for the right reasons. I don’t even recall if the police got involved with a drunk seven year old riding a stolen bike or not. Columbia at that time certainly wasn’t known for the efficiency of it’s law enforcement, especially where my family was concerned.

So, that in a nutshell was my first (but not last) encounter with being black out drunk, my first, but not last encounter with a (potential) pedophile and certainly not my last encounter with “Columbia’s Finest”.

Three D: Drop Ins, Daughters and Dog Food.

On Drop Ins, Daughters, and Dog Food.

So, yesterday, my oldest brother dropped in, with his daughter in tow. Her birthday’s coming up, she’s getting her own personal Android tablet (Yes!) and we’d agreed to give her money and digital comics for her birthday. Now transferring large amounts of digital data across a wireless network, then via USB 2.0 to a storage device takes some time. Time that has to be filled with chatter. Ugh.
So we make the small talk and then my brother bombshells me. “So, Aunt Jo mentioned your blog thingy, and I borrowed my wife’s tablet to read it”. Okay, no big deal right? Wrong. My mind is just “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit”. I of course, feel that if Anyone is going to try to censor me, it’d be him. He’s the oldest, first out of the house, first into the military, first to really set up shop. Once before I really got back into the whole “family is family” thing I’d visited him and his wife. They had just a smallish apartment, no kids and a dog. It was also a fucking disaster. We as a clan, don’t seem to be able to meet, face to face without judgement. So, upon hearing that he’s “caught up” on my writing, I’m just waiting for the bombshell. Shockingly neither shoe drops.
He was pretty much. Yeah, that’s pretty accurate. It’s cool to see where you are/were coming from. The “Warring Nations” was spot on. “I also remember “Bullet Man,  though I don’t remember your Spider Man watch”. Needless to say several things happened in my brain at once. First, it’s like “Ding! Level Up! +1 cool brother. Also: Achievement Unlocked: Vindication.”
Then he Really drops the shit, and tells me “yeah, I still can’t get my daughter to believe that we used to eat dogfood.”

Yes, well, that’s pretty damned accurate. Though, I can’t imagine for any logical reason he’d be trying to assure his very well adjusted, catholic school, clarinet playing, super polite and fun to be around daughter that we, as kids ate dog food. I’d say “before you freak out, we didn’t do the canned stuff, it was gross” but yeah, go ahead and freak out. We, and by we, I can account for at least three out of the four of us, if not all four, have at one point in time of our childhood, if not multiple times, eaten dog food. What sucked was, it wasn't even some “Kibbles and Bits” shit that’d have like, I don’t know, tasty bits? We had dry ass, bad smelling, hard as rocks chunky shit kibble. Oh, and “Doggy Donuts”. Now,why the fuck would Any kid want to eat dog food? They don’t. They choose to, because you know what? When you’re fucking hungry, and I mean, hungry enough to stab someone, just to make more food for yourself, at 7, maybe 8 years old? Dog food is totally a viable option. The Really fucked up part was, we had to sneak it in no less. Once we were sent to bed, you didn’t get outta bed. Shit had better fucking be on fire, or you just reincarnated as the next coming of Jesus, or if you were caught out of bed, it was your ass.So, we learned childhood ninja skills, and what do we apply them to? Fucking eating dog food.



Now that I’ve shone light on that particular shame, I feel that I must address my brother’s daughter, and my only niece on his side. If I had to pick any child, from all three brothers to be anything Not like me, it’s her. She’s super polite (Where as I was Eddie Haskel), She will go out of her way Not to take an offer of food or drink or anything else that might make her seem a burden. She’s super frugal, I mean, at this point in time, she has over $100 in iTunes cash stored up, because she got it as gifts but simply didn’t see a “need for it”.  She also up until, apparently recently did not eat jelly. At All. Do you know what you call a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without jelly? Well, we call it a “choke sandwich” because you’re going to be choking that shit down. The jelly’s there for a reason. I try to be a good host when friends and family visit. Admittedly, I probably go overboard/overbearing, but I mean well. She just wasn’t having it. Two hour visit, no drink, no snack, just avoiding my dog and getting comics and hearing weird stories from her dad and I.  What a girl =)

"Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Clause: But he hates you."

“Never Had the Joy of a Welfare Christmas”
Everclear has a song, “I will buy you a new life”, with the lyrical line “They have never had the joy of a welfare Christmas”. Well, I have, and I consider that to be my last Christmas.
But, before we go there, and look at the world through shit colored glasses, yet again, allow me to share with you the best Christmas. Like, Ever.

As a kid, like most kids, I was just beyond enamored with super heros. Or, heros in general. My favorite though, was Spider Man. He came on I Think three times a day. Twice with the show “Electric Company” and once, later in the day as a live action show. The live action was without a doubt my favorite. To say that I loved this show is to say something like “China grows rice” No shit. Anyway, on what to me, was the single best childhood moment of All Time, I got my first watch. I Think I was maybe in the first grade, second at the latest. We lived on South 3rd Street, pretty “downtrodden” part of town, but we had nice neighbors, my mom always had someone to share coffee with and to talk to. All in all not bad. But, this one year, this one year was golden. I got not just my own, first watch ever. I got a Spider Man watch! This shit was for real! This was the single greatest, most shining moment of my entire pre-adulthood. I remember every single detail of it, even now, today at 40. It had a soft plastic band, that was really wide for my scrawny arms. I had to buckle it to the last most notch, and even then it was loose. The face was about 1.5 to 2 inches in diameter, it had a spread web as the backdrop of the face, with the standard analog numbers, but the single best point. It had cut outs, on either side at about the 4 and 8 o’clock positions that showed smaller webs that moved up and down with each tick of the watch. To this day, I don’t think I will ever receive a gift that will blow my mind quite as much as this did. I went absolutely apeshit. I swore that this watch, This bit of wind ups and plastic gave me my own spider powers. There was no way to convince me otherwise. I ran all over the place, living room, kitchen, bathroom, hallways, just jumping at stuff, feet and hands extended, just knowing that this was the time that I’d stick. Of course, reality doesn’t always obey the laws of a child’s mind. I remember I got all kinds of ass beatings for all the shit I broke. I know I broke the backing of my mom’s favorite chair by flipping it over too many times. I think I remember at least one foot going through the plaster of at least one wall, but it didn’t matter. You can beat an ass, but you can’t beat an imagination. This, this was the greatest Christmas ever.

The last Christmas ever...
Obviously, I didn’t cease to exist after my spider man watch, or any day after that, as I’m here today to write this. However, the following Christmas was my last. Now, there were many other December 25ths, and many other Christmas celebrations held, but none of them were for me. Ever again. My dad had lost his job, again. Couldn't’ tell you why, doesn’t really matter. This was our first “Welfare Christmas”. Now, as a kid, you have no idea what the hell a welfare Christmas is. You just know that you’re cold, you’re hungry, you have no toys or anything new. You’re nothing short of pissed off at the whole world and then someone knows on your door at like 6 or 8 pm.

I can’t remember today, if it was a Marine doing Toys for Tots, or if it was a fireman or what the hell, but I just know that some guy showed up with a box of used toys, and I got to pick one. Now, he also gave my mom a big ass box of food, which made her really really happy (us too, as we got to eat). I’m not sure why, but I seem to remember that the gentleman gave me first pick. Or at least to my childhood brain he did. I looked in this box, and I saw this one toy, and knew that if I didn’t get it right away, that I’d never have another opportunity to get it or have fun. This special toy was a “Bullet Man” toy. It was also Awesome. Red, soft cloth and stuffed body with a hard plastic head and hands, but the single most important part was, it still had the shiny silver plastic helmet that gave Bullet Man his name. Additionally, it Also still had the slider bar, aka a plastic straw type device glued to the back that you ran a string thru so that he could “Fly through the air”.
I’d have other Christmases, I’d get other presents, like shoes once in awhile, or a pack of stripe topped socks that went past my knees, or even some underwear that weren’t tighty whiteys (but not often) but Bullet Man, he signaled the end of an era.

Tokyo Diner. Darned Good Sushi.

I love sushi. Go figure, a guy who’s all about food, in just about every waking hour, loves something that is a “boutique food”. I had my first “sushi” in 1992 flying to Korea for the Army. What I was Actually served was “kimbap” a Korean variant of a sushi roll but not containing any fish at all.
Kimbap(Gimbap) is a Korean variant that includes pickled daikon radish, carrot, cooked egg (like an omlette) and sometimes marinated and cooked beef. This is then wrapped in seasoned rice and rolled in seasoned seaweed sheets (Nori). As I’d said, this was my first exposure to “sushi” and also my first exposure to Korean food and I hated them both.
The texture was soft and mushy, it was very fishy tasting (actually it was the seaweed) and I was Not happy (14 hour flights will do that to you).

Fast forward to 1996, I’m now living in Hendersonville, TN a suburb of sorts to Nashville, and I’m working as a dietary manager at a retirement home. The owner/manager took me with him on a conference to Knoxville and the closest restaurant nearby was a sushi joint. Being like most white kids with no exposure, I ordered the California Roll (the whitest sushi known to man) and it was actually pretty good. I loaded it up with wasabi paste and pickled ginger and went to town.

So, there’s the background, now, on with the review.
Tokyo Diner is not the only sushi spot in Lancaster or York, but in my opinion, it’s one of the best. I can often be heard complaining that they don’t use “sushi rice” (yes, there IS a difference), however, I feel that they happen to have some of the freshest fish in both Lancaster and York.
You will note that this is an opinion, and not a statement of fact. I am not a food safety inspector, just a guy who loves food, so take it with a shot of soy sauce as you will. Anyway, this most recent visit to Tokyo Diner sees us at the location on 462 in York, behind the way too large sign for Fuddruckers. It’s thursday, right at about 6:30 pm and there is 1 waitress, 1 sushi chef and about 40 people in the restaurant. To say that the waitress was breaking her back is to do her disservice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a single waiter/waitress really push as hard as she did.
Sorry, back to the food. The party tonight was Eric, Kelby and me. Kelby, being our vegetarian friend, often gets the short end of the stick when going for sushi. He likes Inari rolls (sushi skin roll) but there’s so much beyond that. This time, he ordered the “Green Roll” in addition to his standard and what a fantastic choice that was. The green roll is one of the specialty rolls so it’s a bit more expensive at 6$ for the roll, but according to Kelby it was worth it. The presentation and content were really well done. This roll featured approximately 6 oz of seasoned spinach, wrapped in rice and then covered in what appeared to be about half of an avocado, and then slathered in a sweet and savory sauce. Kelby explained that this was a Very good roll for him.

My dinner was the semi-standardized “Sushi Deluxe”. At about 19 dollars, this was 10 pieces of sushi and a tuna roll. In my experience, this sushi combo plate features both eel and mackerel, neither of which I like, so I always ask them to leave those out, which generally gets me better fish. I was presented with 2x each of Tuna, Salmon, Red Snapper, “White Tuna” and Yellowtail. This presentation has become pretty standard when ever I ask to omit the fish that I hate. You’ll notice that white tuna is in quotes up above. The reasoning is, what American sushi places label and serve as white tuna is actually not tuna at all, but Escolar, mislabeled under several different names, but regardless of naming, is actually banned in Japan as a “toxic fish” since 1977. I honestly only learned of this misnaming practice today, and I’m disappointed, as this was one of my favorites. Here goes the breakdown of the nigiri sushi bites. Yellowtail: somewhat thickly cut, but happily so for me, and topped with scallions. Semi-strong in flavor, I’d give it a 7. Standard Tuna nigiri: Very firm flesh, smooth texture, not that strong in fish taste, a solid 8. Red Snapper nigiri: Very solid almost dense flesh feel, slightly stronger in taste than the tuna. Overall enjoyable, another 7. Fresh Salmon (instead of smoked): One of my favorites. Not as thickly sliced as the yellowtail or snapper, but still good. Great flavor, great texture, a solid 8.5. Finally we get to the “white tuna”: Up until this morning, after I did a web search for just what type of fish this came from, this was my #1 favorite, ranking a solid 9 on the love sushi scale. The texture was soft and smooth, the flavor literally tasted like it was dipped in butter, and it had a semi-sweet finish that I’ve really grown fond of. Now, I as well as many others have gotten “intestinal distress” after consuming a large sushi deluxe type combo, and almost always blamed it on “bad sushi” or “unclean hands”, etc. Well, it’s Actually the Escolar. This fish is considered toxic in Japan, banned in several other countries, but we serve it up here and I loved it. Well, never again. Please note: I do Not hold ill will to Tokyo Diner. They’re great, the food that I get there is always top notch. However, they Do serve this fish, whether or not they know of it’s problems, I simply won’t be ordering it again.