I swore I’d stopped blogging about Mr. Corona.  After all, I’d written enough to fill a book (1) and even Uncle Joe said the thing was over (2).  But COVID lingers with us, alas, from ongoing calls for more vaxx and boosters, even of children, needed port-mortems about mitigation efforts, and mounting consequences of infection and “vaccination”.  But who isn’t tired about reading about this stuff?  Maybe because it’s all dry, sad, and infuriating, and our “give-a-damn’s busted” (3).   So I was pleasantly surprised yesterday when Dr. Pierre Kory sent me this extended bit. of verse by Jenna McCarthy, an internationally published writer, corporate speaker, screenwriter, podcaster, two-time TED presenter, former radio personality and the author of more than twenty books for kids and adults (4).  Like G.K. Chesterton once wrote “Humor can get under the door while seriousness is still fumbling at the knob.”  For those not on Dr. Kory’s mailing list, I paste it in below.  I think you’ll like it, especially those of you who, like me, grew up on Dr. Seuss.

“MORTON SUES THE WHO”

By Jenna McCarthy

The fifteenth of March seemed a nondescript day,

although something was festering far, far away.

It may or may not have escaped from a lab,

(but make no mistake; it would end in a jab).

Morton was working a job he could stand.

“That’s odd,” he said plainly. “My throat feels like sand.”

It was prickly and tickly and surely quite mild.

“It is the cold season,” Morton said, and he smiled.

Then he went back to doing the things you could do

before things were decided for you by the WHO.

But he made a mistake, and a grave one at that:

He turned on the telly. There was talk of a bat.

Lots of them! Dead ones! For sale on the street!

“They’re teeming with germs,” POTUS said in a tweet.

“Oh dear,” muttered Morton, clutching his neck.

All of a sudden, he was feeling a wreck.

The telly-man said he should not go outside,

he should not go to Target or get his hairs dyed.

‘Twould be good if he could shun the whole human race,

and he abso-must-lutely start covering his face.

He listened intently; did as he was told,

because Morton very much wanted to grow old.

That bat-bug was nasty, the whole world could see.

It was hell-bent on wiping out humanity!

So, Morton masked up and he cancelled his plans,

and got extra obsessive about washing his hands.

The telly-man told him that good things were coming;

around the whole world, you could hear a faint humming.

It rumbled and rattled, then turned to a roar;

why hadn’t somebody done this before? 

They’d made a vaccine, he could get it for free!

Now he would be protected from sure misery!

What’s more, with a shot, he could unwrap his face.

He could see other people, he could go anyplace!

He could have Christmas dinner with Bob and his wife

and visit with Grams without risking her life!

So, he covered his mug and he rolled up his sleeve,

for himself and his dog and his fat old Aunt Eve.

“Getting a jab is the right thing to do,”

he’d shout at his neighbors, his face turning blue.

When Morton heard folks were refusing the shot,

he basically told them he hoped they would rot.

“You’re mean and you’re selfish and dumb as a stump

and I know for a fact that you voted for Trump!”

One day, the telly-man had some bad news.

“One shot is as good as a badly-burnt fuse.

Without two, you’re risky; a threat to mankind.

We’ll give you a donut—or two—for your time!”

The orders came down from a doctor named Ouchie;

If anyone scorned his demands, he’d get grouchy.

Again, Morton did what he needed to do,

and his arm turned a perfectly purplish hue.

“I got it, you guys! I got number two!”

he boasted on Facebook. “And you all should, too!”

The next day, a freakishly weird thing occurred:

All Morton’s words began coming out slurred.

His face was half frozen, half all-falling-down;

his lips seemed to be stuck in a misshapen frown.

I certainly wonder what could be the cause?

he mused as he noticed the rash on his paws.

And his head—it was splitting, a deafening pain.

He felt quite as if he’d been hit by a train!

But Morton had no time to dwell on his ills;

the telly-man’s words had him covered in chills.

“Two shots, don’t you know, are as useless as one.

You must get a third; do not walk, soldiers. RUN!”

Some people were saying the shots might be bad—

might even be causing the symptoms he had!

Nonsense like that really made Morton crabby.

There was nothing but magic inside of that jabby!

He was positive, sure of it, down to his bones,

there was nothing in there messing with his hormones.

Sure, young kids were suddenly dropping from strokes.

But safe-and-effective! You can trust science, folks!

What else could he do? There was no other answer.

So what if it tripled his chances of cancer?

Morton was part of the poked-and-proud crowd.

Changing your mind simply wasn’t allowed.

Somewhere around jab four or jab six,

the telly-man dropped a new shit-ton of bricks.

“Whether sixteen-times-poked or not prodded at all,

you still need a mask to buy crap at the mall.

And maybe this holiday folks shouldn’t gather;

If you do, you could die. Is that what you’d rather?”

For a second year running, Morton holidayed alone.

He wished Merry Christmas to his family by phone.

He woke up one morning not feeling too well,

and realized he’d lost all his taste and his smell.

He’d gotten the virus! The deadly disease!

He crawled into bed with a feverish wheeze.

From there Morton fell into a pit of despair.

“I did all the things! This just isn’t fair!

They told me those jabs would keep everyone well.

And you, Dr. Ouchie? You can go straight to hell!”

It’s true that poor Morton was falling apart;

the slurring had turned to some pains in his heart.

“It’s just inflammation, no biggie,” Doc said.

“Now roll up your sleeve and lay down on this bed.

It’s booster day, son. It won’t cost you a dime!

It’s painless and safe, you’ll be done in no time.”

“You know what?” cried Morton, his voice fiery mad.

“I’m sick of this bullshit! The whole world’s gone mad!

These vaccines of yours, they simply don’t work.

I know ‘cuz I took them. I feel like a jerk!

You bribed and you lied. It was all a big scam!

You’ve raked in your billions. You don’t give a damn

that people are dying and getting quite sick

from your unconstitutionally mandated prick.

I’m not taking another! You hear me? Not one!

You couldn’t convince me if you pointed a gun

at the tip of my temple and threatened to shoot it.

You’re corrupt to the core and you cannot refute it!”

Some folks down the street couldn’t miss Morton’s shouting.

And most of them, frankly, had already been doubting

the lies that the telly and Ouchie had told

about a virus that for most was as mild as a cold.

They rushed to high-five their courageous new leader,

each promising to be Morton’s loudest cheerleader.

They made signs and t-shirts: “I call my own shots!”

“My body, my choice!” “They’re not ‘just’ blood clots!”

Morton was happy but still suffering a lot

of the horrible side-effects caused by that shot.

He heard of a lawyer who was suing the WHO

and he whipped off a two-worded letter: Me too!

“Not safe, not effective,” the court finally said.

“Quite frankly, you’re lucky that you aren’t dead!”

Morton went home with a big pile of cash, 

and waited for the rest of the narrative to crash.

It didn’t take long; that thing was quite frail.

Best of all, Ouchie was going to jail!

As the world bid adieu to the king of the liars,

people danced in the streets and burned masks in great fires.

The pandemic was over! They could live without fear!

They could go to a bar! They could order a beer!

They could do all the things that free people can do

when they’re no longer being controlled by the WHO. 

References

1. Ike R.  Musing through a Pandemic.  My year and a half with Mr. Corona.  Volume I.  about Mr. Corona.  Amazon (Kindle) 2021.  https://www.amazon.com/Musing-through-Pandemic-Year-Corona/dp/B098GV14KY/ref=sr_1_4?crid=174I0HYV5409&keywords=%22Robert+Ike%22&qid=1677420961&sprefix=robert+ike+%2Caps%2C103&sr=8-4 

2. President Biden: “The Pandemic is Over” | 60 Minutes. YouTube. 9/19/22. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIQz0fsX38U

3. Curb Records. Jo Dee Messina – My Give A Damn’s Busted (Official Music Video). YouTube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o40fwZgSFPI

4. You can follow her Substack or check out her books and her blog at www.jennamccarthy.com.

The first clue was when the internet went out.  About that same time, Kathy looked out the window and saw a green plume flash with flames from the side down in the valley by corner of Traver and Plymouth.   Something terrible had happened in our neighborhood, and firetrucks came by shortly.  Of course, our electricity was out, so we commenced on our pioneer evening. It wouldn’t be silent, as Spotify fed Oontz through my phone, which would own the day.  We were treated by streams from the Mary Chapin Carpenter channel.  Making dinner was a challenge, to be sure.  Thank God we got one o’ them gas stoves.  I’d had in mind something to use up the aging mushrooms perched on top of the garage refrigerator.   Kathy pitched in, grating “rice” from a cauliflower head by hand, just as her ancestors had done.  No Cuisinart tonight, sweetheart.   This “rice” cooks up in an iron skillet, no steam please.  It made a perfect bed for my mushroom gravy, and that bottle of 2019 Meerlust Red (South African!) washed everything down just fine.  With candles and a fire in the fireplace, we still had some light and even a little heat.  A couple extra layers and we had all the hygge we wanted.  Dino knows the score (1).

This would probably taste good even if you didn’t make it in a blackout:

Reference

1. Dean Martin.  I’ve got my love to keep me warm. (original) 1959. YouTube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuA_-aG4OXI

Coda: Earlier today, DTE informed us we were 2 of the 4,000 customers without power, which had a 95% chance of being restored by Sunday night (today’s Thursday).  We bundled up and hunkered down.  The evening’s basketball game was a chance to get out and get warm.  When we returned from the ballgame  – our girls won handily – we were surprised to see the streetlights and houselights all up Broadway shining brightly.  Left on Leaird and on to Harbal, they didn’t shut off.  Hooray!  A warm and bright house greeted us.  We restarted the fire and put the candlesticks back on the shelf.  They’ll live to light another day.

My wife and I have just returned from a 3-day Christmas party, held in the rustic Cowboy Creek Lodge in Onstead, on the edge of the Irish Hills (1).  Present were the spawn of my late birth father Dick Spei, who taught his kids to approach every meal as if it were their last.  There’s a picture and paragraph about them here (2). We’re out to great-grandchildren now and the crowd totaled about 40.  The family does this to avoid all the conflicts of Christmas season that might provide excuses not to attend.  The food is terrific, of course, driven by a bit of competition, and there are still presents, delivered mainly by sister Suzanne’s chimney (3).

They’re a varied bunch, with a couple of truck drivers, a retired telecommunications mogul couple, a nutraceutical entrepreneur, an artist/sculptor, an entertainment lawyer, some tech guys, and us.  There’s zero boasting or self-promotion, although all are welcome to specific queries that impinge on their areas.

This year, we welcomed a new doctor to our fold.  Ben, youngest son of my oldest brother Nick (by 10 months, Dick wasted no time), successfully defended his PhD thesis in Environmental Science at the University of Idaho last August, marrying his chef-girlfriend Liz shortly thereafter.  He took a post-doc at the same institution and is very happy.  He’d worked his way through Wayne State tending bar in Ferndale, and really enjoyed the teaching that came with his master’s program.

Nick fathered some great young men.  Jake followed in his dad’s footsteps, operates his own truck with time left for a complex garden and science fiction.  Alex became a helicopter mechanic in the military, returning after some civilian time to provide them with some pretty intricate services related to helicopters.  I’m sorry I couldn’t find a pic of the three together.  But I do have one of Ben, showing he got his share of his bon vivant grandad’s character:

Good lookin’ guy, eh? Family resemblence?

As Kathy and I sat with him and Liz to discuss his situation, he spoke of his respect and admiration for late University of Michigan botanist Burton Barnes, including how he was seeking to model his career along similar lines.  I vowed that once we got home, I’d look up the guy and see what he was all about.  One thing Ben was inspired to do was dig into some old stuff that he could apply to what he was doing now.  This resonated with me, as I used to do a lot of the same thing.  So, once I was done reading (4), I wrote Ben an e-mail.

Sure was great to see you, Dr. Spei, and your charming bride Liz.  I’ve been reading about this Professor Burton, the Michigan man you said you admired and wished to emulate.  You are surely on the right track, grasshopper.  I’ve just read through the attached and am both impressed and moved.  Too damned bad I never got to meet the guy.  Even if he hadn’t been a very accomplished botanist, he’d have had me for playing trombone under William D. Revelli!  I love his overarching philosophy, believing “that biota cannot live on their own but are conferred life from the Earth, such that Earth itself is Life. In terms of his research, this meant that ecological science should focus on the study of whole, volumetric, air-biota-land systems (ecosystems) rather than simply the species they contain.”  This reminded me so much of the concept in medicine we call the “whole patient”, in that a sick person is more than a collection of ailing organ systems and that docs overlook those interactions at their (and the patient’s) peril.  With reductionism fueled by advances in molecular biology that make no understanding respected unless it’s down to the atomic level, those taking the broader view can come up short on the respect front.  I suspect botany saw, and is still seeing, the same thing.  For all the accolades they garner, such discoveries are ultimately unsatisfying unless you can see how it all fits together.

And knowing some old things can help you advance in academia. Since most strivers don’t know much more than the last 5 years of the literature, wisdom from decades past can seem like a fresh revelation.  Of course, you just acknowledge the original source, but it will be from your lips everyone heard it.  I always enjoyed digging up old references that pertained to thorny clinical situations I was facing, then bringing those up in discussions of the patient in question.  It helped that two of my mentors – Bill Castor and Giles Bole – were already old guys with great memories when I first got there, and they showed me the way.

So, I must lean on others to sum up.

First, there’s ol’ George Santayana: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” 

To which I must add my corollary: “Those who don’t remember the past must hear about it from those who do.”

And on a lighter note, from Peter Allen’s “All That Jazz”(’74) (5).

And for all Professor Burton accomplished over his career, he only had 97 publications.  That might not even make fool professor in my department!

But keep writing!

Uncle Bob

References

1. Pure Michigan.  Cowboy Creek Lodge at Stagecoach Stop Western Resort.  Pure Michigan.  Cowboy Creek Lodge at Stagecoach Stop Western Resort.  https://www.michigan.org/property/cowboy-creek-lodge-stagecoach-stop-western-resort

2. Ike B. Fam.  WordPress 1/29/21. https://theviewfromharbal.com/2021/01/29/fam/

3. Ike B.  Chimney!  WordPress 3/8/22.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2022/03/08/chimney/

4. Kashian DM.  Burton V. Barnes (1930-2014).  The Michigan Botanist (2015) 54:2-19.  file:///Users/bob/Downloads/burton-v-barnes-19302014%20(7).pdf

5. MOR Music Clips.  Peter Allen “Everything Old is New Again” with Rocketts.  YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PkYtZ6fV2CU

One advantage of living in Tree Town, with all of its great University of Michigan sports, is the chance to come up in face and personal with the players and coaches.  That’s the appeal of the Coaches’ Luncheons put on every Monday at Weber’s Inn during football and basketball seasons.  Besides the “big players”, a coach from one of the “non-revenue” sports also shows up (1).  During basketball season, Brian Boesch, voice of Michigan basketball, broadcasts his radio show “Inside Michigan Basketball” Mondays from the back room of the Pretzel Bell on Main Street.  Usually there are head coaches Juwan Howard (men’s) and Kim Barnes Arico (women’s).  Brian’s assisted by Terry Mills, one of the key players on the 1989 National Championship team, also a big fellow.  When circumstances take head coaches away, Brian has to improvise, like tonight.  Maybe he couldn’t get Juwan, but he got his sons, Jace and Jett, both members of the current team.  Jace is a junior, born in Chicago and a member of the Florida state champion University School under former Wolverine Ron Oliver.  He made the Academic All-Big 10 team in 2022.  Jett is bigger and the better player.  He’s a freshman and has started every game at shooting guard, an all-around player who can shoot, defend, and score.  He also started in Chicago, had a stellar prep career first at University School with his brother then at IMG academy, emerging as a top 100 prospect.  He interviewed at 5 other schools, but his heart was  at Michigan.  The NBA is already salivating over him, with Michigan fans hoping he’ll stick around with Dad for awhile.

Brian let them talk through what it’s like to be a Big-10 basketball player and son of a famous head coach.  Each said their mom was their biggest influence and that they purposely did not go “home” on their days off!

I’d met them briefly as they walked in earlier.  As tall men tend to size up each other, I took satisfaction that I was looking down a bit at each.  That wasn’t the case when I met their dad a couple years ago, although the photo record suggests this retired doc may have a skosh on this one-time All American and NBA All-star (2).  But Jace and Jett were up for a pic with the tall old guy.  The U of M roster lists Jace at  6’7” and Jett 6’8”.  My doctor’s statiometer puts me at 6’5 ½”.  In my playing days, they listed me at 6’9”.  Without the thick double socks, it was probably 6’8.  Regardless, I’m not getting on a court with those kids, unlike their 50 year old dad whom I’m told still suits up and mixes it up with his players.

References

1. Ike B.  row row row.  WordPress 2/6/23.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2023/02/06/row-row-row/
2. Ike B.  Juwan and us.  WordPress 2/9/20.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2020/02/09/juwan-and-us/

I love sharing sunsets.  Started doing it during my La Jolla sabbatical in the winter of 2017.  Kathy and I would end each day walking the 4 blocks to Windnsea Beach carrying a bag with some bread and cheese plus a bottle of wine (or 2) to wash it all down.  We’d sit on a rock, mingle with the revelers and watch the waves, listening to them crash on the rocks.  This being California, ol’ Sol was almost always up there, and we’d watch him take his dip for the day.  No two sunsets were the same, with a few clouds here and there changing the palette.  How can you not take a picture of something like that? I had a wide-angle lens I could clip to my phone, making each pic a little more spectacular.  I didn’t take long to figure out what I could do with the pictures.  It felt like a wonderful tease to email those California sunsets to all my shivering friends back in Michigan.  Once I found out how easy it was to populate that “to” e-mail line, more and more folks ended up on the receiving end.  It was nice to get some responses, usually just a single word comment, but sometimes a little more.  As I was out there for 3 months and seldom missed a night at the beach, perhaps a little boredom set in for some.  But I never got tired of it.  And I’ve kept doing it.  Whenever Kathy and I find ourselves by a body of water facing westward, I reach for my phone come sunset time. 

We’ve been back to Windnsea many times and are getting to make a habit of the Gulf, watching the day-ending event from the porch of our Madeira Beach house.  Then there’s Lake Michigan, and our Harbal aerie has a nice northwest view from our deck, even if the only water in the distance is in the Huron River and Traver Creek.  Here’s some examples:

The latest one (Madiera 1/18/23) brought a response from a friend I hadn’t seen for years.  Vanika was a fellow in my Division back in the 90s.  As smart as she was pretty, she had a quiet impish wit that made her a delight on rounds and in clinic.  I was pleased when they hired her on faculty then shocked and saddened when she left to help in her husband’s business (1).

Vanika’s husband Ahbi’s an architect and designer and had a hot product, something that can bring sunlight into a room through the roof without having to cut a whole skylight.  In the few times I’d talked to her since, she seemed happy with her decision.  So, it might have been a week after that last Gulf sunset that I got an e-mail from her, commenting how beautiful it was then asking into my wellbeing and doings.  Our back and forth turned into a notion we should get together.  Although going to her place, just a few miles away, would have meant some interesting surroundings and a fine home-cooked Indian meal, I offered up our surroundings and my cooking, which she thought was a great idea.  I immediately set my mind on a menu, but had to change course after her next e-mail. Seeking some details, she mentioned in passing that she and her husband were vegetarians.  I guess I’ll leave that lovely rack of lamb in the freezer, a whole half of the rib cage of some cute creature who just last year frolicked on EMMA Acres (2).  I love to cook ‘em up in my Pit Barrel smoker (3).  They taste as great as they look.  But no easy carnivore out for me this time.  I do know how to make some things that don’t have meat in them, and I’m pretty happy with the menus I’ve come up with.

But my first stab was a false start.  A soup course is always nice, and I had 2 monster butternut squashes I’d bought at the farmers’ market a couple months back.  So “explodey soup” it would be, a delightful squash soup that got its name from a kitchen incident the first time I made it, now a timeless family Thanksgiving tale (4). 

Here’s the recipe:

It went from oven to pot to Cuisinart to jar without incident.  Then I realized the morning of the dinner that I’d made the soup with chicken stock, as I always do.   That’s o.k.  Kathy and I will snarf up that squash soup in no time.

Of course, tales of these failures and missteps peppered our pre-dinner conversation.  Our guests’ enthusiasm seemed in no way diminished as we gathered for the for the feast.

I have enough curried parsnip soup in the fridge to provide a soup course.  No animal products were used in its manufacture.  I had vowed to shy away from any Indian recipes, but this was an English recipe.

The English appropriated “curry” early in their subjugation of the subcontinent, even though there’s no such spice in an Indian kitchen (5).

But before the soup, there’s the appetizer!  Not that I want to fill up my guests too quickly.  Maybe they’ll not get any of that squash soup, but they can eat the seeds!  Kathy toasted those up with a little oil and garlic, trying out a twist by first boiling the seeds in water salted with Jorge’s habanero salt (6). 

Then there’s the marinated mushrooms, so easy and good and always a winner (7).

After the soup come the rest of the vegetable dishes.

Simplest is my peppers and onions dish.  I dressed ‘em up with a little hoisin/basil glaze.  Recipe first, then picture.

The recipe for the next course calls it a “salad”, but it’s warm and pretty hearty.  Had to learn how to shred Brussels sprouts with my Cuisinart.  The morning after I made it, it looked kinda dull, so I chopped a red pepper.  Color and crunch.

One staple whenever my vegetarian brother-in-law and family come for Thanksgiving is mujadara, a Middle eastern dish to which we were introduced at the nearby Syrian Bakery (8) .  Lentils, rice, carmelized onions, cumin, garlic with maybe some yogurt on top.  Who needs meat?  But one of my other diners is presenting me with some dietary restrictions that have me modifying this recipe.  Kathy has signed on to this coached nutritional program.  What they offer sounds pretty keto to me, though they claim that’s not their focus.  Anyway, she doesn’t want to eat all that rice.  One of my first benefits of her plunge was an introduction to cauliflower rice (9).  Buzz a headful of florets in the Cuisinart – sure looks like rice – then throw it in a hot skillet with a little oil.  Very tasty.  That little nuttiness makes it more flavorful than regular rice.  Making this dish, I followed my on-line recipe’s suggestion to slice the onions with a mandoline (10). Kathy bought me this super-sharp finger-slicing precision chef’s tool a couple years ago and I’ve used it with trepidation.  It’s gleaming chrome blades always look hungry for a body part.  But I’ve always been pleased at the precision sliced products it produces, like its potato sticks for French fries (11).  But I bit the bullet and put each peeled onion into its holder – with its own sharp protuberances to hold the object to be sliced.  What emerged were things of beauty: perfect 1/8 inch thick rounds of onions.  Satisfaction to anal-retentive chefs everywhere (12). 

 

Now I’m trying to think of some compliment-fishing question to ask my guests: “Did you notice how all the onions in the mudjarrah were uniformly thick?”.  Now, if either of them was an engineer, I’d get an “amen”.  For now, I’m happy I didn’t have to reach for the band-aids.

Here’s what emerged, for this and the rest:

\

Here’s the recipe:

And here’s my original recipe, if you’re still a real rice afficionado:

I could stop here, as I didn’t serve any more vegetables.  Vanika brought some food over as she had threatened, so I should probably include those dishes.  We never touched them, and they sit in our fridge for another day.  There was no room at the table.  But my own last entry was to be a fruit based dessert!  Little peach cobblers I spiced up with some blueberries I had laying around.  As we got on, the remnants of the parsnip soup seemed dessert enough.  It is kinda sweet.  The cobblers will await another day.

Call it feng shui or hygge, with a fire roaring in the fireplace, and friends  (Ray (13), Paul (14), and Jon-Erik (15)) spinning us some good-ol-jazz on the stereo, the winter evening vibe was sublime.

While I hope that many of you will enjoy this lengthy treatise, it goes out especially to one of my most loyal readers, my African-American friend Rajiv.  Born and raised in Kenya of Indian parents, Rajiv clawed his way to Barnes Hospital where we met and both survived the ordeal.  Rajiv, as he will tell you without being asked, is a strict vegetarian.  He seldom misses a chance to chide me about eating the flesh of sentient beings, suggesting I consider doing otherwise.  With this post, I hope he’ll realize I can indeed do such a thing, if pressed.  But don’t look for me to cross over any time soon.

References

1. Sensitile.  https://www.sensitile.com/

2. Local Harvest.  EMMA Acres Farm.  9/21/21. https://www.localharvest.org/emma-acres-farm-M51437

3. Pit Barrel Cooker Co.  RACK OF LAMB.  8/24/20.  https://pitbarrelcooker.com/blogs/food/rack-of-lamb

4. Ike B.  explodey!  WordPress 2/6/22.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2022/02/06/explodey/

5. Uyehara M.  The real story of curry.  Food & Wine 9/14/22.  https://www.foodandwine.com/cooking-techniques/real-story-of-curry

6. Jorge’shabit.  http://jorgeshabit.com/

7. Ike B.  ‘shrooms!.  WordPress 3/15/21. https://theviewfromharbal.com/2021/03/15/shrooms/

8. https://www.exoticbakeries.com/

9. Love and Lemons.  How to Make Cauliflower Rice.  https://www.loveandlemons.com/how-to-make-cauliflower-rice/

10. Wahn M and Chung Fegan M.  A Mandoline Does Things No Knife Can Do Knife Can Do.  bon appétit 6/1/22.  https://www.bonappetit.com/story/best-mandoline-slicer

11. Ike B.  want fries with that?  WordPress 7/15/21 https://theviewfromharbal.com/2021/07/15/want-fries-with-that/

12. Saturday Night Live.  Anal Retentive Chef – Saturday Night Live.  YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oDGTCULn6P0

13. Ray Kamalay http://www.raykamalay.com/

14. LeLievre R.  Paul Klinger’s Easy Street Jazz Band marks 40 years of Dixieland.  The Ann Arbor News 7/11/10.  https://www.annarbor.com/entertainment/easy-street-jazz-band/

15. Jon-Erik Kelso. https://www.facebook.com/JEKellso/

When Kathy and I joined the U of M Club of Ann Arbor several years ago, I’m sure we brought down the average age.  With their flagship event being the weekly Coaches’ Luncheon, a nice wholesome Weber’s lunch followed by a talk by a football or basketball coach followed by one from a coach of one of the “Olympic” sports teams (the disparaging might employ the adjective “non-revenue”), to attend requires a couple hours of free time around Monday lunch.  A friend of ours already in that crowd had been entertaining us for years with stuff he heard at the Coaches’ Luncheon.  Press are not allowed and attendants are sworn to secrecy, so the coaches tend to speak freely.  A great thing. So once my schedule freed up Mondays, I signed right up.  Even while teaching, Kathy would sometimes be free to join me.  It quickly became evident why this club has been a going concern since starting up in 1957.  Jimmy and Juwan both kick off their respective seasons with rousing talks, and the rest of the time we’re entertained by their assistants, impressive to a man, even if some look like they’d just gotten out of high school.  The others often talked about sports with which we weren’t always familiar, even firing us up enough to go see their team play.  There are a lot of spontaneous rousing choruses of “The Victors”.

Today was one of those days.  I wasn’t even going to go.  The same time I might leave the house to get to Weber’s, she was boarding the limo to catch a plane to Houston for her week-long space medicine meeting in Galveston, joined by 4,000 other similarly interested.  I had a two-sided to do list and was looking forward to some uninterrupted time.

Once there, we heard as we finished eating that Phil was running late.  Mark Rothstein, women’s rowing coach here for the past 32 years, was there with two female guests and willingly got things rolling.

Mark was kind to our cross-state rivals.  Asked early to size up the Big 10 in rowing, he said that U of M and OSU have shared the top spot for the past several years.  On the tier below us, he placed Wisconsin, Rutgers, Iowa, and MSU.

The U has built lavish facilities for its Olympic sports teams.  Mark said we have “the best rowing training facility in the whole world”.   The rowing team already had some nice digs with their very own boathouse on Belleville Lake, about 16 miles east of main campus, where they have their meets.  Occupied since 2000, with 6,000 square feet, it was pretty cramped for workouts, as so much of that space was taken up by – well – boats!  

But Stephen Ross’s $100 million check in 2017 went a long way to solving that problem (2).  The U shook down $68 mill from other sources and now there’s 280,000 square feet of new space.  I couldn’t exactly tell here they put the rowers, but Mark describes a palace.  On one floor are 80 conventional rowing machines.  Below that is their RP3, a state-of-the-art machine that modulates and records multiple aspects of rowing, including cameras from every angle.  The rower even gets to feel what the paddles act like hitting water moving at different speeds.

The black “T” is the newer model and can be had for about 3200 bucks.   The silver “S” runs a little less.

Then below that are the two rowing tanks, big enough to accept a real boat placed into water stirred by blades into any characteristics the coach desires.

Who signs up for this sport?  Mark says he has around 100 on his roster, in two tiers.  40-50 are on the varsity roster while 30-40 are freshman or “novices”.  Quite a bit of training is often in store for those freshman.  Many have never rowed before.  Mark recruits many “out-of-sport” girls, seeking athletes who are tall and have good endurance.   Strength is nice, too, but endurance tops strength.   Hence, a lot of his recruits have excelled at basketball, volleyball, track, and swimming.  However, he says his best rower on the current team played soccer.  He has 21 full scholarships to parse out (NCAA guidelines), and some of his players are swinging NIL (Name Image Likeness) deals.  But he turns out champions, finishing first or second in 11 of the past 12 seasons, with 3 Big 10 championships.  The last 2 Olympics have seen 2 U of M alums rowing.

Mark said about women’s rowing “it’s a beautiful sport”.  Although I’ve never seen a rowing meet, I can imagine it is.  All that rhythmic, coordinated movement by the lithe, long female bodies, all to propel that slender bullet in which they sit smoothly and swiftly through the water.  He got into the weeds about meets, saying 7 boats go out, carrying either 4 or 7 rowers (he didn’t mention cockswains, except to say early on that in the NCAA women’s rowing they must be female).  And I don’t know how long they’re rowing.  Mark averred that rowing may be one of those sports more exciting on TV as in person you can only see the first and last 500 meters of the race.  But I’m going to go watch sometime, as admission is free, and I imagine the meets don’t feature any obnoxious piped in music like the “revenue” sports do.  It’s a Spring sport, and first meet is coming right up: March 4^th (my friend Eric’s favorite calendar day).  You can check out their doings here (3).  But as with other UofM spring sports, rowing must work its way up the temperature isobars.  So, this first one’s in Caryville, Tennessee, where they’ll take on Louisville.  They’ll hit Charlottesville, Sarasota and Austin before their home opener April 30, with Louisville.  I’ll have to get some side bets going with my friend Deb in StL, a Cardinal girl.  I’ve probably cast enough Rick Pitino shade her way by now.  I don’t see Michigan State on their schedule, although I’m sure they’ll encounter them in the Big 10s.  This team rowed a bit last fall, and concluded their schedule with MSU October 30^th.  But that was a “novice” meet (freshman) and they didn’t keep score.  But no doubt the Spartoon faithful are claiming victory.  So go check out those lady rowers sometime!  And if you’ve got a tall athletic daughter, consider sticking a paddle in her hand!

References

1. Shepard C.  Rothstein Adds Schmetterling to Full-time Rowing Staff.  MGoBlue.com, 8/19/22.  https://mgoblue.com/news/2022/8/19/rothstein-adds-schmetterling-to-full-time-rowing-staff.asp
2. Stephen M. Ross Athletic Campus – South Complex.  MGoBlue.com. https://mgoblue.com/sports/2017/6/16/facilities-south-complex.aspx
3. Rowing – University of Michigan Athletics.  MGoBlue.  https://mgoblue.com/sports/womens-rowing

For the joys of travel many obstacles must be endured.  Most are trivial and the overcoming of them contributes to the satisfaction of a good trip.  One that looms large over most voyages is finding a way to get around in one’s destination.  Unless that spot is discreetly walkable or served by excellent public transportation (think Chicago, NYC, Paris, London), that means renting a car.  While purveyors are numerous and the booking easily completed on line, finding  the car you actually want and securing it once you get there, standing in for an extended grilling at the counter worthy of the stasi, make the whole thing a less than pleasant experience.  For the Florida trip I’m currently completing, I stumbled into another way to do this thatI heartily recommend.   As an owner of Jeeps since 1990, I love it when I can happen upon one for a rental.  Few companies even offer them at all, and for those that do they’re often out of stock for the destination sought.  We love a big Jeep Wrangler 4 door whenever we hit Tampa Bay.  Popping those roof panels to let in the Florida sunshine and hitting the causeway is a joy.  It was actually an experience with one of those rental Wranglers a few years back that convinced us that’s what we wanted for our next car.  But trying to make arrangements earlier this month found that the usual suspects didn’t have any Jeeps.  It might have been a Google search, but I found a company – Turo (1) – that had plenty of Jeeps around TPA.  Turo is what they call a “ride sharing service”, sort of an AirBnB for cars.  The website coordinates your interactions, but you make your deals with the actual owners of the vehicles.  There were at least 5 Jeep Wranglers displayed on their page that would be available in the time I specified.  One was a gen-you-wine soft top, just like the one we own.  I clicked that and entered the same sort of queries that any rent-a-car site would ask.  Completing them, my car was secured.  I received a confirmatory e-mail from the owner with instructions of how to meet up once I hit TPA.  It cost a little extra to hook up at the airport.  For free I could find my way to the owner’s house.  The overall cost was about 20% less than what I’d been paying for similar cars from the big guys.  As we touched down, I had some trepidation how’d we complete the exchange.  The owner texted me to meet him in the parking garage, and as we walked in, there was our big yellow taxi looking for us.  He walked over, shook my hand, pointed out some features on the vehicle, and handed me the keys.  No questions, no 20 minute reiteration of everything I’d provided already to some agent behind a screen, no nothing.  Yeah, I liked this.   Our Wrangler was a beast.  The “Hella Yella” paint job would make it easy to find in a parking lot. 

The 35X12.50R20 LT tires set it several inches higher above the ground than what we were used to (ours are P225/75R16; R is diameter of wheel, so there’s 4”).  It was an automatic, and Kathy loves to grind through the gears on ours, but she adjusted.  There were some personal touches, like a collection of little plastic animals on the dashboard, like you just don’t see in rentals from the big guys.  It performed flawlessly, not moving much from our driveway as we sat on the porch of our Madeira Beach house until we took it up to Crystal River and the manitees then Ocala for my high school buddy and finally back to TPA.  The handoff there was as smooth as the pickup, with me texting the owner on the way and meeting him in the departure zone.  It was this exchange that had me most concerned.  One thing the big boys do o.k. is the dropoff, usually a painless pull up.  Any hitch here and you start to get antsy about missing your flight.  Facing our departure from TPA, our owner offered meeting us at departure to minimize our haulage.  So here, looks like no problem.

Even before we assured ourselves that start-to-finish Turo was a good deal, we booked another car through them for our California trip in April.  Snagged another Jeep Wrangler from several available around San Jose Mineta, the dinkiest airport in the Bay Area.  As Bogie says to Claude Rains at the end of Casablanca “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” (2)

References

1. Turo.  https://turo.com/
2. Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship- Casablanca.  YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DDybg9CNXcM

So, it seems I’m on that path again.  It doesn’t always go to addiction, cancer, and death, but can lead to pleasure and camaraderie.   How I got here is a long story, but let’s start at the beginning.  Now I’d classify myself as a lifetime non-smoker, but that’s not entirely correct, especially if you include non-tobacco products.  The summer after I graduated high school, knowing my fate as a future University of Michigan student, I decided to prepare myself for the insults my lungs would face once on campus.  Cannabis had not yet permeated Vicksburg, so I started buying Pall Malls (unfiltered) and sucking those back. The experiment worked, as once in the dorms I held my own at every dope fest, coughing only sporadically.   I left the Pall Malls aside and didn’t pick up legal cigarettes again till midway through my senior year.  I don’t know why I started, but I pissed off my music major roommate at Zapata House, eventually laying them aside after a month or two when I began to recognize cravings.   I married a smoker, although she’d been ex for a couple years when I met her after she’d chain-smoked her way through College of Wooster swimming and playing basketball, field hockey, lacrosse, and softball, lettering X 14 plus All-America in backstroke.

Tobacco continued to have an allure, and when I travelled, I’d always pick up some Cubans in the duty free.  I’d fire one up from time to time but began to realize all they did was nauseate me and make me spit a lot.  I finally gave them all to the very appreciative husband of a nurse friend.

Which brings us to the near present.  The building housing the AirBnB in the Loop where we stayed during our Christmas jaunt housed on its second floor Iwan Rees & Company (1), the oldest tobacconist in America.  The pleasant aroma of that shop greeted us whenever we entered or left the building.  I do like the smell of tobacco, so long as somebody isn’t blowing it in my face.  We finally took the venture up to explore, and oh my.   All that paraphernalia made me want to take up smoking again.  I bought a couple tins of little cigars.  All with a purpose.  Whenever we go to northern California, I make it a point to attend the “Safety Meetings” my friend Dave holds with his like-minded buddies in the back room of Maselli’s hardware store in Petaluma, which one of them owns.  The typical male shots of booze, dope, and, yes, cigars are trotted out.  Given my previous experience with cigars, I’ve been a less than enthusiastic participant in that component of the ritual.  During my time out here on the Gulf beach, I booked an April trip to California that would include these guys.  Recalling my Pall Mall experiment, I wondered what a gradual reintroduction to cigars might do.

Into my Florida packings went, or so I thought, those two little tins of cigars.   For sure, I thought, I could fire one up while sitting on the porch watching the waves come in.  If an old man can’t sit in his rocker on his porch in a free state and smoke a cigar overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, what was all that fighting 1775-1783 about?  But when the time came and I went rounging for those tins, I couldn’t find them anywhere.  Kathy denied hiding them.  But plan B was easy.  All those Cuban refugees made sure the area was well populated with cigar stores.  Yelp told me there was one nearby, Mad Beach Cigar and Smoke Shop.   Alas, it was not where Yelp put it and had gone out of business at the location the guy at the nearby Daquiri Shack told me it had moved.  But a cigar bar had opened right next to Lucky Lizard, where Kathy and I had a beer during our explorations.  Goombahs Cigar Lounge was clearly a serious place, with a big humidor room full of their selections.  I picked 4 of his smallest, an “A Fuente Gran Reserva”, and reading about it later I understand better why they cost so much (2).  I bought a Bic lighter at Winn-Dixie and was ready.

As the clouds that would shape the sunset began to gather, I took my position at the other end of the porch.  The breeze wouldn’t let the Bic do its job, so I moved inside for the fire up.  The tokes were pleasantly familiar, and the nicotine quickly took hold.  Now nicotine is a wonderful drug, and I can see why its wildly addictive.  It both calms and concentrates the mind.  Oh, how I’d like to reach into that while writing.  With each pleasant puff the feeling spread, and soon my legs and torso were tingling.  Finally, as I got down to the butt, it was all over, and I had to drag myself off to bed in hopes it would all pass in time for me to make dinner.  The sun hadn’t set by then, but the cloud accumulation made it clear it wasn’t going to be a Kodak moment when it did.  About 2 hours later, I woke up thinking it might be the next morning, foul taste in my mouth and coughing profusely.   Indeed, the clock said 7:22, but Kathy was saying “where’s dinner?”.  I was able to set myself to the task and execute it competently.  But I had no desire for a second cigar.

Which is not to say I won’t tomorrow.  My brother John is coming over, and he’s a big-time cigar aficionado.  Yes, it’s a huge male bonding thing, and what man doesn’t look bolder with a cigar jutting out of his mouth? As cigar aficionados, I think my brother and me are in pretty good company.

I’m sure you want to hear that tune (3).  And I’m sure there’s probably almost as many smoking songs as there are drinking songs, but you can’t beat this one, sung here by the ol’ Commander, complete with his own videography (4).

References

1, Iwan Rees & Co. https://www.iwanries.com/

2. Arturo Fuente.  The Arturo Fuente  Gran Reserva®.  https://arturofuente.com/our-cigars/gran2/

3. Tobacco Road-The Nashville Teens-1964.  YouTube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGuZY6NVXqU

4. Smoke Smoke Smoke (That Cigarette) by Commander Cody. YouTube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyYLrVNKE68

If you’ve been following along, you’ll know that my wife and I are very fond of those little Amtrak trips to the Windy City. Chicago was a place for me to grind it out for my trade for 5 years, but now is a fabulous adult amusement park, complete with rides (what do you think the El is?). I’ve not gone all encyclopedic on the great things you can find here, except maybe for that compendium of jazz clubs (1). Today, I’ve come up with something similar, if not nearly as lengthy. Our recent Christmas trip was so much fun, we decided we needed to come back for St.Patrick’s day and actually be there when they make the Chicago River flow green. We’re trying to get our single friend from the Rockies to join us, and she mentioned how she’d like to see a Shakepeare play. Theaters are all around us in the loop, but we’ve never stepped into any of them in all our times there. We were taken by an ad for “Drunk Shakespeare” on our last trip (2). Taking place a block north of where we were staying in the loop, the plot is that one of a group of actors downs several shots before trying to read some lines, and the rest adapt. Sounded like fun, but they had an archaic COVID policy: proof of vaxx required! Nuts to that, so we enjoyed the extra sleep, hard to come by when you’re whirling through Chi-town!

So in order to provide our friend, and us, a logical compendium of the choices available should we decide to step out to the theater, I came up with this list. To note is that so many of the really great theaters are right in the loop. These were several thousand seat ornate palaces built in the Roaring Twenties and have been restored to their glory. There’s also history in places outside the loop, like the Biograph (now Victory Gardens Theater) in Lincoln Park where John Dillinger was gunned down and the Merle Raskin Theater of DePaul U where the famous Goodman School started in the mid 20s. Note that not all these theaters feature plays. The old Chicago Theater in the loop features mainly musical acts and some places are just very comfortable movie houses with great bars.

Because of our run-up with COVID regulations last December, I’ve sought out policies for each of these theaters. It looks like nearly all have gotten with the program, although many would still like you to wear those silly masks. (The column seems not to survive the transfer). Two venues had a seemingly strict policy, the Lion Theater roaring yes indeed and the First Folio Theater in Oak Brook, stating proof of vaxx is required, then goes onto say it no longer checks! Don’t ask, don’t tell! Still wise to keep a mask in your pocket. If it’s an UnMask (3), you’ll be able to breathe through it.

So here are your many many choices. I’ve left out the few far flung venues in the ‘burbs. You may end up sitting among huge crowds in the baroque palaces of the loop all the way down to a few new close friends in the 45 seat converted garage of the Trap Door Theater out west in Bucktown/Wicker Park or the 2nd floor of a church City Lit occupies in Edgewater. But you sure don’t want to pay full price for those tix! Not here in the city of the Deal! After all, whose hotel spire lords it over the skyline, name proudly emblazoned at the base? It ain’t the Sears Tower (which is what the locals still call it. Willis?). As you practice your own art, you can get half price tickets on line through Theater in Chicago (4). An outfit called HotTix has two storefront operations in the Loop from which they deal, and they also work online (5).

theater	address (* in the Loop)	web site	COVID policy  (as of 1/10/23)
Annoyance Theater & Bar (comedy)	851 W. Belmont Ave	https://www.theannoyance.com/
Apollo Theater Chicago	2550 N. Lincoln	https://www.apollochicago.com/	vaxx (not updated since 5/22/22)
Auditorium Theater	*50 E. Ida B. Wells Dr	https://auditoriumtheatre.org/	masks rec’d
BoHo Theater at the Edge Theater	5451 N. Broadway	https://bohotheatre.com/	masks req’d
Briar Street Theater	3133 N. Halstead	https://www.briarstreetbroadway.com/
Broadway Playhouse at Water Tower Place	175 E. Chestnut	https://www.broadwayinchicago.com/theatre/broadway-playhouse/	masks rec’d
Cabaret ZaZou (Cambria Hotel)	*32 W.Randolph	https://cabaretzazou.com/
Cadillac Palace Theater (Palace Theater-1926)	*151 W. Randolph St	https://www.broadwayinchicago.com/theatre/cadillac-palace-theatre/	masks rec’d
Chicago Dramatists	798 N. Aberdeen	https://chicagodramatists.org/
Chicago Shakespeare Theater	800 E. Grand Ave (Navy Pier)	https://www.chicagoshakes.com/	masks rec’d
Chicago Theater (1921)	*175 N. State St	https://www.msg.com/the-chicago-theatre	depends on event
CIBC Theater (Majestic -1906)	*18 W. Monroe	https://www.broadwayinchicago.com/theatre/cibc-theatre/	masks rec’d
City Lit Theater	1020 W. Bryn Mawr Ave	https://www.citylit.org/
Davis Theater (Pershing -1918)	4614 N. Lincoln Ave.	https://davistheater.com/
The Edge Theater	5451 N. Broadway	https://www.edgetheater.com/
The Edge Off Broadway	1133 W. Catalpa	https://www.edgetheater.com/
First Folio Theater	4614 N. Lincoln	https://firstfolio.org/	vaxx, but won’t check masks req’d
Free Street Theater	1717 31st St, Oak Brook	https://freestreet.org/	(guideline link won’t open)
Greenhouse Theater Center	1419 W. Blackhawk St	https://www.greenhousetheater.org/
Harris Theater for Music and Dance	2257 N. Lincoln	https://www.harristheaterchicago.org/	masks rec’d
iO Theater	*205 E. Randolph	https://ioimprov.com/
The Jarvis Square Theater	1501 N.Kingsbury St	https://www.nealshowproductions.website/
The Lion Theater	1439 W. Jarvis	https://www.theatreinchicago.com/theatre/the-lion-theatre/369/	vaxx req’d
James M. Nederlander Theater (Oriental – 1926)	*182 N. Wabash	https://www.broadwayinchicago.com/theatre/chicagos-james-m-nederlander-theatre/	masks rec’d
Mercury Theater Chicago	*24 W. Randolph	https://www.mercurytheaterchicago.com/
Music Box Theater (1929 – movies)	3745 N. Southport	https://musicboxtheatre.com/
Raven Theater	6157 N. Clark	https://www.raventheatre.com/
Reginald Vaughan Theater (Invictus)	3733 N. Southport	https://www.invictustheatreco.com/	vaxx req’d
Steppenwolf Theater	1106 W. Thronadale	https://www.steppenwolf.org/
The Theater School at DePaul University (Merle Reskin Theater) (Goodman School – 1925)	1650 N. Halstead	https://theatre.depaul.edu/Pages/default.aspx
Theo Ubique Cabaret Theater	60 E. Balbo Ave	https://theo-u.com/
The Virginia Wadsworth Wirtz Center (Northwestern)	721 Howard St, Evanston	https://wirtz.northwestern.edu/
Theater Wit	1229 W. Belmont	https://www.theaterwit.org/	masks req’d
TimeLine Theater Company	615 W. Wellington	https://timelinetheatre.com/	masks req’d
Trap Door Theater	1665 W. Cortland	https://trapdoortheatre.com/
Victory Gardens Theater (Biograph – 1911, where they gunned down John Dillinger)	2433 N. Lincoln Avenue	https://www.facebook.com/victorygardens/

References

1. Ike B.  Chi Jazz.  WordPress 5/23/21.  https://theviewfromharbal.com/2021/05/23/chi-jazz/

2. The Drunk Shakespeare Society. https://www.drunkshakespeare.com/welcome

3. The UnMask breathe with us.  https://getunmask.com/

4. Theater in Chicago.  Half Price Ticket Deals. https://www.theatreinchicago.com/tictix.php

5. HotTix.  https://hottix.org/locations/

Our travels have introduced us to the wonders of foods of the world.  While the wonders are on most prominent display at dinner, we can’t forget that most important meal of the day: breakfast.  We’ve touched down in the UK twice, and for the bad rap their supposedly tasteless, boring, overcooked food gets, they sure can do breakfast!

Our first morning in Dingle (Ireland), we sat down to a “full Irish breakfast”.  Full it was, as were we after consuming it.  Two poached eggs, 2 plump sausage links, two patties of blood sausage, a chunk of fried potatoes, grilled mushrooms, soda bread, and a little cup of baked beans.   Sometimes, there’s a couple of grilled tomato slices.  Of course, it’s all washed down well with a pint of Guinness. Such is how we started our day on our Irish trip, which would also take us to Kilkenny and Cork.

It all harkened back to memories of my youth, where I first encountered the “full” breakfast, in Jolly Old.   The first English breakfasts I encountered were called just that – no “full” – if maybe “proper”.  I was not used to seeing that much food, or that variety, for breakfast: two eggs, two slices of grilled tomato, two big slabs of bacon (their thick non-crispy kind), grilled mushrooms, toast, and of course that little cup of baked beans.  Tea was the accompanying beverage, another reason I’m glad I’m part Irish.

Finally, up early enough for breakfast in South Queensberry (north of Edinburgh) this morning, we encountered the full Scotch breakfast (of course) on the menu.  Components looked about the same, with the addition of haggis, a deal killer.   Not sure what the Scots wash this one down with, but for me it would have taken several drams of uisce bethea  to get that taste out of my mouth.  Or so I thought till I actually took advantage a couple mornings later. The menu entry looked plenty tasty (except for that haggis).

And on the plate, it lived up to its billing.

The little wedge in the middle is a “potato scone”, a tasty little pocket bread number I must learn to make.  The speckled patty at 4 o’clock is the haggis.   I’ve never before been able to stand this stuff, which is basically offal and oatmeal cooked in a sheep’s stomach, a mushy mess (1,2). There were some whole grains in this preparation to give it some texture, and the meaty flavor from the lamb parts, however disgusting their origins, was pretty good.  Not saying I’ll try to make it back home, but I won’t be turning my nose up on it on the menu.

Others have made the effort to analyze and describe the differences between the “full” breakfasts of the UK (3).  Note there’s also a “full Welsh”

So, on the bus home from town later the same day, Kathy and I decided to come up with our “full” breakfast.  So, here’s the “full Harbal”, first draft

• 2 eggs, poached
• 2 strips bacon (thin, crisp)
• chunked mushrooms, ½ C sautéed
• hash browns or tater tots
• Hatch green chile sauce
• baked beans
• ketchup
• sliced half avocado or grilled tomato wedges (in season)
• sourdough toast and butter

Poached eggs have a rep of being kind of fussy to make, and/or require a special cooker. While there’s more to making one than laying it out on the hot bacon grease, it’s really not that difficult:

And a note on one of the ingredients: Hatch green chile sauce (4).   In Santa Fe they slather this on everything, and we understand why.  You can make it up yourself if you can get your hands on the chiles, grown in the Hatch valley of New Mexico (natch).  Our Santa Fe friends bought it in jars put there by the Zia Green Chile Company.  Fortunately, they sell on Amazon.

Finally, the mundane spud.  I’d about given up making decent fried potatoes, be they American, hash brown, or whatever.   The inside always seemed to get mushy before the outside got brown let alone crisp. I seem to have figured out French fries, but that requires tallow and I need to make up a new batch. Tater tots fill the bill: brown, crispy, and tasty, right out of the oven.  But our old friends from the ‘burg, Dan, and Jill, the Shutesies, showed us another way. We tried it for the maiden voyage of the full Harbal, and waddyaknow.

And how did it all look on the plate?

Pretty tasty.  No special beverage this time, as we’d already killed some mimosas and the better part of a bottle of chardonnay.  But if starting from scratch, I’d recommend some vampire Marys , that garlicy version of a bloody Mary out of The Stinking Rose,  San Francisco (5).

For those of you who like 3X5 cards:

References

1. Traditional Scottish Haggis.  tasteatlas. https://www.tasteatlas.com/haggis/recipe

2. Haggis. VisitScotland https://www.visitscotland.com/see-do/food-drink/haggis/

3. Massoud J.  What’s the difference between and English, Scottish, Welsh, and Irish breakfast?  DishCult  8/26/21.  https://dishcult.com/articles/england/whats-the-difference-between-an-english-scottish-welsh-and-irish-breakfast

4. Original New Mexico Hatch Green Chile By Zia Green Chile Company – Delicious Flame-Roasted, Peeled & Diced Southwestern Certified Green Peppers For Salsas, Stews & More, Vegan & Gluten-Free – 16oz.  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074SYZ24Y?ref=nb_sb_ss_w_as-reorder-t1_ypp_rep_k0_1_11&amp=&crid=VRAXEZF9EUZL&amp=&sprefix=hatch+green

5. Ike B.  Vampire Marys.  WordPress 2/6/20. https://theviewfromharbal.com/2020/02/06/vampire-marys/