Amber Waves of Median Grass

On a recent road trip halfway across this vast nation, I was struck, as I always am, by the sheer emptiness of much of the country. We have huge uninhabited forests and expansive meadows; miles of desert and endless mountain ranges.

I understand that much of it is privately owned. Much of it, however, is owned by the federal government.

 

Now of course all I'm seeing on my road trip is the Interstate and the mostly private lands that border it. Here is the Interstate system:

 

It covers 47,856 miles. Most of those miles have a grassy, very pretty median in the middle, all of it federally owned. (By the way, that "fact" about every fifth mile of the Interstate needing to be flat and straight so as to be used as an airstrip in times of war? False. I was guilty of spreading that one for years.)

All of that was a set-up for a very simple (stupid) solution to the world's refugee problem. We could fit every single refugee - from every single country - into our medians. Give them tents from Walmart or affordable storage sheds from Lowe's. Power and water exist along most of the routes. Little refugee villages all across the nation, reminding us of where we all came from and how we all got here.

What would we feed them? Oh, I dunno...how about the leftovers from the countless Cracker Barrel restaurants scattered along the Interstates? Or the 40% of the food we waste in this country. 

Of course it'll never happen. But next time I'm watching hoards of beleaguered families wandering down dusty paths toward the hope of a better life, I'm remembering those vast swaths of emptiness, those dumpsters full of food and my own good life.   

 

No Longer a Secret: My Trail Mix Recipe

The Asterisk is Your Friend

Years ago, in a meeting between representatives from the legal, sales and marketing departments, someone suggested, "Really, we can pretty much say anything we want if we put an asterisk next to it, and then explain the overstatement or blatant lie on the back or the bottom in very small print."

In this case, that fine print would read: You can't really COUNT the peanuts and measure that count against the number of all the other nuts combined. When we say, "Less than 50%," we mean by weight. So, if you want, you can weigh all the peanuts and compare that result against the weight of all the other nuts combined and you'll find that it probably comes in at around 49.99999%. But don't you think it's cool how we managed to hide all the peanuts under a layer of the better nuts carefully placed on the top of the can? Do you know how long it took us to accomplish that feat of packaging? It's like automated food styling!"

It's Magically Delicious

So it's that mystical day on the calendar when we honor some guy who taught the druids to stop building stupid stone monuments to pagan idols. And how do we honor this man? With boiled cabbage and meat so salty you could leave it on the counter and come back and eat it in a week and suffer no ill effects.

Nonsense.

Here, for the first time ever, I will share a recipe that I'm about to create in my head. It's called Shepherd's Pie, American Style.

Ingredients

2 cans corned beef hash
1 onion chopped
1 can cheap green beans
1 bag frozen hash browned potatoes
16 tablespoons butter (8 sticks)
1/2 cup beef broth
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 graham cracker crust
1 cup Lucky Charms cereal, crushed

Method

1. Dump bag of hash browns into pan, salt them until all you see is salt. Throw some butter in there.
2. While the potatoes are cooking, melt 12 Tablespoons butter (1 + 1/2 sticks) in large frying pan.
3. Sauté onions in butter until tender over medium heat (10 mins). Dump the can of green beans in this.
4. Add two cans of corned beef hash and sauté. Add tons more salt and a shitload of pepper. Add worcesterchire sauce. Add half a cup of beef broth and cook, uncovered, over low heat for 10 minutes, adding more butter as necessary to keep moist.
5. Dump hash browns in bowl with remainder of butter, season to taste.
6. Place corned beef hash and onions in graham cracker crust. Distribute hash browns on top.
7. Cook in 400 degree oven until bubbling and brown (about 30 minutes). Broil for last few minutes if necessary to brown.

Sprinkle with crushed Lucky Charms cereal and serve with side of strawberry jam.

Serves four.

If It's Pain They Want

As an unemployed writer, I am considering all my career options, including becoming the host of my own show on the Food Network. It will be about making food in a kitchen, or something. But if I'm going to do that, I'd better have a line of overpriced products ready to ship to my legions of devoted viewers.

I note that hot sauce manufacturers are increasingly naming their products things like "Death," "Misery," "Anguish," "Pain," "Torture," and other words that dare the modern foodie with a penchant for hot stuff to douse their dishes with a splash of masochism. I like spicy food, but I draw the line at hurting myself to eat it. But if that's how the game is played, I will beat them at it.

UPDATE: I'm late to the game, as Chris notes in the comments, linking us to "Screaming Sphincter" and "Anal Angst."

Meat-Eaters Are People Too

If you don't eat meat, please skip this post, as I know how you vegans and vegetarians get when we primitive people talk about grilling the flesh of animals over open fires, blood dripping onto the coals, creating a sizzling sound that emits a puff of smoke so aromatic as to cause those who smell it to rip their clothes from their bodies and engage in marauding, raping and other expressions of gratitude to the gods of plumped heifers and gorged pigs.

Omaha Steaks. I encountered them for the first time last year, when a brother-in-law sent me some steaks for Christmas, as he knows I like to grill. He was in Iraq at the time, so preparing the steaks was done with some sense of patriotic duty. Coincidentally, I too had sent a similar package of Omaha Steaks to another brother-in-law for Christmas, he being of that age when you just don't know what to get the guy anymore, and you know he likes meat, so you give him dead steer. The steaks I received were beyond excellent, perfectly packaged in dry ice, obviously good and bloody in their plastic vacuum-sealed containers - and when they hit the grill, I watched as birds stopped chirping, cocking their heads toward the sizzling sound. A group of deer paused in their tracks, staring my way with hungry eyes, seriously contemplating abandoning their herbivore nature. Dogs all over the neighborhood stuck their noses high in the air and twitched their ears, whimpering, while squirrels bowed on high branches, telling their little squirrel children to stop, watch and learn. The sky directly overhead was suddenly darkened by clouds of eagles, falcons and hawks, circling in a mad frenzy, screeching in lust.

And the eating that night! Oh, it was grand! All hail the sacrificed beast of burden! Raise a toast in honor of his noble death, which has provided us with a carnal and primitive feast, the memory of which shall live forever! Omaha had delivered a most wonderful steak, and we were well pleased. Our dog, Roman, still recounts that evening to whatever other dog will listen, and the other dog will drool and chase its tail and finally slump to the floor in resignation, realizing that to hear the tale of the Steak from Omaha is nothing at all like eating it. And Roman will slump with the other dog, and say, "It was the emails and phone calls that put a stop to the Steak from Omaha. And they only let me have one tiny bite." He then sighs loudly and closes his eyes.

All it took was one order, sent to a brother-in-law in St. Louis, and Omaha Steaks has since hounded me daily by email and phone, trying to get me to take the next step on the road to becoming a 33rd Degree Omahan. I politely tell the phone solicitors, "No thanks," and hang up before they can say the next line in their script. The emails go to the SPAM folder and get deleted without opening. I finally found the "stop sending me emails" link and unsubscribed. Not that I ever did "subscribe," but an email address was required for online ordering, naturally. Of course then I got an email telling me how sorry they were that I unsubscribed and "Won't you please take one final look at these great offers on juicy meats for the holidays?"

Omaha Steaks, you have a great product. I know where to find you if and when I decide to buy more of your steaks. But the "if" part of that equation grows iffier every day, as you have gone from a place to get good steaks to an annoying and constant presence in my life. That won't win you any friends around here. It might even make you an enemy.

Grilling Law #44

"If after you light the coals you hear distant thunder, the chance of rain during your grilling session is 90%."

A Decadent Dump

Dump Dinner

Directions:

1. Boil lobster, crab legs, shrimp, clams, red potatoes and corn on the cob
2. Cover table in newspaper
3. Prepare cocktail sauce and melted butter
4. Dump boiled contents on table
5. Serve with cheap Australian merlot

CLEAN-UP: Remove non-disposable items from table. Roll up newspaper with shells and spent cobs and deposit in trash. Keep trash out of reach of bears.

God Uses This Sauce

Again, here's an unpaid, unsolicited endorsement of a product from this highly cynical blogger. Mae Ploy Sweet Chili Sauce from Thailand. Tonight at Casa de Jetpacks, as evidenced by this picture, we dined on barbecued shrimp (charcoal is the only way to go, gas is just a stove outdoors) doused in Mae Ploy, available by typing "Mae Ploy Sauce" in your favorite search engine. I recommend it to anyone and would bet that it is served in Heaven, regardless of your religious persuasion.

Read my fake Pay Per Post about Mae Ploy Sauce