05 August 2009

Exploding the Myth

by Joe Corso

EXPLODING THE MYTH

Sometimes a guru can lose his groove.

A dozen years ago, I planned a perfect party.

We had finally finished landscaping the back yard and we wanted to throw a grand Summer Solstice party in June, a real French Saint John’s day fête. I invited about 70 people—it’s a big yard. The menu was a fantasy of summer concoctions: aioli, tapenade, salmon rillettes, tomato tart and sorrel quiche; ratatouille, a multitude of salads and homebaked breads, zuppa inglese, truffles and biscotti,…what was I thinking?

Jacques spent days stringing the garden with twinkle lights and arranging sunflowers, while I concentrated on the bonfire. In France, a Saint John's day celebration involves jumping through a bonfire, and I wanted one. A huge fire was out of the question, but I figured the fire department would overlook a little boy scout-sized fire. I didn't want to ruin our new lawn, so I put down an old concrete stepping stone, surrounded it with dirt and rocks, and set the logs on it.

Several friends flew in from out of town and while they were a great help, houseguests have needs: rides from the airport, towels, breakfast, lunch; all these things take time. I fell way behind and by the time the party guests started arriving I was getting a little frantic. There was still so much cooking to do. While the party was warming up outside I was heating up in the kitchen, basting eggplant and cursing my quiches for not having defrosted.

When the party and the fire were both going strong, without me, I heard what sounded like fireworks. That stepping stone under my fire had exploded six feet into the air, sending hot coals and concrete shards everywhere. I ran outside and there were red embers all over the lawn. We hosed them down but then the water short-circuited all Jacques’ twinkle lights. The yard went dark. I was so mortified I wanted to leave, but I couldn't; it was my house.

Amazingly, no one was hurt. That was a miracle.

Another miracle happened too: that party really took off! Several of the guests rallied and got the lights back on to great applause. Others got to know each other having a shared disaster as a conversation starter. Someone made me a big plate of food, poured me a huge glass of wine, and forbade me to go back in the kitchen. Someone else turned up the Gypsy Kings and got people dancing—so much for my perfect lawn. I stayed outside and joined the fun. I don’t remember how the desserts made it out to the garden, but they did.

I learned something important that weekend, besides the obvious lessons of heeding fire regulations and planning realistic menus and that is perfect parties are not possible. They’re a myth. Just try to host one, and your décor blows up. But a disaster can be a real icebreaker, and an imperfect party can be a blast. Twelve years later, friends still talk about that fête as our best party ever.

I admit I was pretty shaken by the explosion, though. My friend Dennis teased me for weeks afterwards, calling in different voices pretending to be from the fire department. I fell for it every time.

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04 August 2009

PIZZA

We had pizza for dinner. It was good. I like pizza, do you? Pizza

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31 July 2009

The Story of the Apron

I don't think our kids know what an apron is.

The principal use of Grandma's apron was to protect the dress underneath. Because she only had a few, it was easier to wash aprons than dresses and they used less material, but along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

It was wonderful for drying children's tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears.

From the chicken coop the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.

When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids.

And when the weather was cold, Grandma wrapped it around her arms.

Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove.

Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.

From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls.

In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees.

When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.

When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.

It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that 'old-time apron' that served so many purposes.

Send this to those who would know, and love, the story about Grandma's aprons. Or it can be a good history lesson for those that have no idea how the apron played a part in our lives.

REMEMBER:

Grandma used to set her hot baked apple pies on the window sill to cool. Her granddaughters set theirs on the window sill to thaw.

They would go crazy now trying to figure out how many germs were on that apron....... I don't think I ever caught anything from an apron........but love!!

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30 July 2009

Playing with Food

Test posting

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29 July 2009

From My Brain to Yours

Today, we'll begin with my inspiration, my muse . . . none other than The Doctor of Gonzo Journalism hisownselves . . . give it up for Hunter! S! Thompson! And now, some thoughts:

The person who doesn't scatter the morning dew will not comb gray hairs.

The trouble with Nixon is that he's a serious politics junkie. He's totally hooked and like any other junkie, he's a bummer to have around, especially as President.

The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.

There is nothing more helpless and irresponsible than a man in the depths of an ether binge.

When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.

You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands.

You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially when its waving a razor sharp hunting knife in your eye.

A word to the wise is infuriating.

America... just a nation of two hundred million used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns and no qualms about killing anybody else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable.

Buy the ticket, take the ride.

Call on God, but row away from the rocks.

For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled.

Going to trial with a lawyer who considers your whole life-style a Crime in Progress is not a happy prospect.

I feel the same way about disco as I do about herpes.

I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.

I have a theory that the truth is never told during the nine-to-five hours.

I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me.

If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.

If you're going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you're going to be locked up.

In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.

It was the Law of the Sea, they said. Civilization ends at the waterline. Beyond that, we all enter the food chain, and not always right at the top.

No man is so foolish but he may sometimes give another good counsel, and no man so wise that he may not easily err if he takes no other counsel than his own. He that is taught only by himself has a fool for a master.

Of all the men that have run for president in the twentieth century, only George McGovern truly understood what a monument America could be to the human race.

Politics is the art of controlling your environment.

That was always the difference between Muhammad Ali and the rest of us. He came, he saw, and if he didn't entirely conquer - he came as close as anybody we are likely to see in the lifetime of this doomed generation.

Hunter S. Thompson

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27 July 2009