Yes Here We Go Again, Give You More, Nothing Lesser, Back on the Stove is the Anti-Depressor.

If menudo had a cute younger brother it would be pork posole. If pork posole had a smokin' hot girlfriend it would be chicken posole. Chicken posole made with chicken thighs. But this time made with no ham hocks or smoked turkey necks. This time made to be much lighter. By using the fresh cooking broth from boiling the chicken and flavoring it with celery, onion, garlic and peppercorns and also a good fragrant chili powder, this soup can be much lighter and just as flavorful.

But just like the other soups, chicken posole still cures what ails you (hangover), soothes the soul, and calms the nerves. Its like when someone is gorgeous and they're also super nice and comforting.


Be sure to have plenty of condiments on hand because this little gal likes to be topped with sliced radishes, cilantro, Mexican oregano, chopped onions and a big squeeze of lime. You can also throw on some cubed avocado. Kick it!!!

Yeah B, I'ma Pick the World Up and I'ma Drop It On Your Fuckin' Head

Do you ever eat out and seem to be enjoying it but then by the time you're midway through you're rethinking the whole experience? When you start out hungry you appreciate any hot dish that comes your way right? But then after you get a little satiated, you can get a bit more thoughtful about your swallows.
I start eating with my eyes like most people. The plate comes. The food looks purdy. Then I add salt (I know, major bad habit - drives P nuts) and dive right in. The first bites I'm still very hopeful that I will love it because as I've said before, I was raised Catholic so basically I start out super grateful that I'm able to even eat out at all, period. I certainly don't deserve it and to then be critical at all is not cool. But I'm human right? Also I watch all these shows where everyone is judged on everything they create. And I work hard for the pleasure of dining out. I do want it to taste good. That seems reasonable. Right?

We ordered and ate lunch at one of our fun spots. Afterwards talking with P I realized his dish wasn't spiced either and he was kinda disappointed with it. But his looked great too. Bummer. But you just have to swallow it and move on. I guess if there was a big piece of glass in it, you would say something. Otherwise, you gotta swallow it, pay for it and then decide if you wanna gamble again at that spot. At least you have choices.

It's not the end of the world. People are losing their houses in floods, real problems. This is not important stuff.

Today I had a bad experience with a coworker. This same little bitch has tormented me for three years. Let's call her Brendy since that's the little bitch's real name. You have to understand that she has worked my last nerve for way too long and I'm so tired of tolerating her particular bullshit. And because we had an altercation today, now I gotta carry all this negative mojo in my head all night going over every detail to see what I could have or should have done or said differently. That's what happens to me. I have these bad scenes go down and then all night they torture my psyche. And what do I do with it? Do I report it? Do I bring in higher authorities - the 23 year-old managers? Does it help anything?

Is this important stuff??

I say it all the time but even the bullshit adds up though. Not the bad food story, that was just my way of tying in so I could go off on my angst rant. But are you just supposed to swallow all these bad shit experiences? Is this what happens to all those reportedly 'nice quiet next door' types before they haul off and wipe out everyone in their office? Is that what happens when you swallow too much? Does this monkey go primal?

Stand By Your Clan

We love Brooklyn in the spring. Problem is that by spring you wanna get outta town so badly that you'd be willing to gnaw off your own arm.

The way I figure it, we've lived here for over 15 years so we can speak openly of its flaws and perks. I love New York kinda like I love my Uncle R. He's probably a bit of a turd. Didn't treat his wife or kids very well, as a matter of fact, I know that he didn't. And that's an understatement of the grand kind. He was the type of drunk that would start a fight if you looked at him cross ways or at all. He had a mean streak and was never kind to me as a kid or an adult. I always resented having to put up with any of his ignorance even as a small child. But he was my dad's brother and in a way, he was a part of me, so I loved him. I sometimes pitied him, sometimes hated, sometimes felt so much frustration over his behavior. But I loved him. That's how I figure I love New York.

We went to see our godson play guitar at Blueberry Hill, Chuck Berry's club in St. Louis as a surprise. Afterwards we thought it might be cool to drive to Nashville, mainly to get some good BBQ. We musta really wanted it bad because we had to drive through five straight hours of torrential rain to get there. It was so cold and gloomy that we didn't stick around to check out much. Driving in, there were tornado warning bulletins on the radio from the nineteen fifties, almost inaudible, telling us to 'take shelter' and with some urgency. Some system was seen 10 miles out of who knows where and heading straight for us. The rivers and lakes were bursting at the seams so basically we checked off our to do's and headed out the next day with some urgency.

Having not seen much of it at all, I'm going to say Nashville is like my uncle J. I didn't really know him very well. I could see he was kinda interesting just by looking at him and studying him a spell. He could have played the villain in a good western, always wore black and pointy toed cowboy boots. He'd lost a son when the boy was quite young and I could see my uncle had been through it, to it and back again. He'd lost that sparkle in his eyes even though he'd dress up for the occasions when we'd all get together. He drank a ton too but it seemed only to forget. They were working on Nashville but it seemed a bit of a mish-mash. There was that tiny strip of Broadway where something once happened. The whole town felt like they were celebrating something that happened there a long time ago.

It probably couldn't be farther from the truth. Nashville maybe has a thriving music scene and is right now creating the next Tammy Wynette. I hope so. Just like I hope I got my uncle all wrong and he wasn't empty inside or broken.

The barbecue was descent. The sauces were all super tasty and the cornbread was some of the best simple cornbread I've ever had. We spent time honoring all our heroes at the Country Music Hall of Fame Museum.


My dad was cooler than any of his brothers come to think of it.