relbbaddoof

Fatherhood? As in, Wilfrid: "I am your father Darth."

I had the same experience and simply sidled in ass-first. Your "shooting of the deer" account was the single best thing I'd read on MF1.0. I'm eager to read about what you've been hunting lately.

Should I eat at Foxface (the horror -- from your pov) or not eat there (the sorrow -- from my pov) to get you started? I've a res in the coming weeks and our happiness hangs on your answer.

I miss most of all being referred to as Herr Professor Doctor Relbbaddoof. The titles ring so beautifully off the oafish name.

I take your $0.56 and $0.73 and raise them to $74.90, with no results in sight. Strolling through Harvard Square my wife and I popped into the Cambridge Artists Cooperative on Church Street. Seeing scarves we liked, my wife said that they would be perfect for S, S and S (their real initials), close relatives in Birmingham. We bought them and walked through the nearby alleyway, stopping only for ice cream at the oddly hidden cart from the terrific restaurant Harvest (where I once had lunch courtesy of Rupert Murdoch -- but that's another story), to the Post Office. I paid the amount mentioned above for this 8oz package, for what their marketeers have told them to call "Express Mail". 5:42 hours later Boston "accepted" the package. The next day it was at the "Jamaica International Distribution Center". That sounded promising. Jamaica is a hop, skip & jump from JFK (not that those are any of my moves). 4:08 hours later it had been "processed" by that facility. It took another 18:35 hours for it to get to JFK. .... You get the drift. Things were no better at the UK end. At this point the package is being "held" at some local Birmingham office. "Held" because they want to charge the recipients export tax. When I called the USPS today to complain and got through after two hours I was told "It's up to you to know the rules of the country you are shipping to."

I refer in particular to that trinity, M-Day, J4, and L-Day. This site is either determinedly internationalist in its approach, or determinedly provincial (with threads on some backwater called "Boston"). As a proud American, I want to make a stand. To my L-Day bbq today I took my All-American Special K:

Wait till you hear what my friends had to say about the plausibility of "Steve R" as a name.

You've got me there -- making things up again.

I first went to Kabab Cafe with friends who'd started eating there soon after it opened (35ish years ago). This couple eats at very good places, but without thinking too much about food, and often without knowing that these places have a reputation. They stumbled on KC early, liked the food, liked Ali, and became regulars. Once, when the parents of one half of the couple were visiting, Ali opened early for them and treated them to lunch. They had no idea that Kabab Cafe was "hot". I've known them for 35 years in New York (longer going back to Bombay), and we'd eaten together many times in Queens but they didn't think to suggest KC. To them it was just a greasy, local joint that they liked, not a place to go to with friends. When they did happen to mention it in passing 12 or so years ago they were taken aback and amused that (a) it had a following, and (b) that there existed discussion groups where people talked about food and went by names such as omnivorette (those were the drama-a-day days), sneakeater and fooddabbler. I've been there a few times with them since, always sticking to the offal and always ending up a bit queasy after. Partly it's that my insides, deprived as they are of a steady flow of innards, rebel at the sudden infusion. But, to be honest, I also think that in a society where there isn't a huge demand for this stuff it can perhaps sit around past its short peak.

@small h would be too obvious. Was it @Sneakeater? Was it I? Or would we have to kill you if you told?* * Tragic, but more importantly would Foxface keep on? It's your legacy, remember, that's more important than your life.

And, purely as a point of etiquette, is that the approved way of sticking your fingers into the bloodied mouth of a dead bear? Not since I mistook the fish-knife for the butter- has such a faux pas 'appened.

To straighten the record on this issue of vital importance, the New Yorker did break the story, but Kennedy pre-broke it with an attached, triumphant boast: "Looking forward to seeing how you spin this one, @NewYorker". Can't think when I've disliked a two-legged creature more (apart from a certain (1 + 0.5) pair; to which you extend your full digit, and to which only half is up to your hands). I stress that none of these are political statements. I know nothing of whether or not Kennedy is running to be our prime minister (or is it "no-more-elections" king? -- you must forgive my ignorance: I was born in a foreign land). I just hate his guts. As I understand the rules here, politics, no; passionate hatred, ok-ish.

Read that as "got stewed..." and thought we'd lost you.

Living within walking distance of spice shops is not the blessing it may seem, speaking as one who can walk to the excellent Curio Spices from his cosmopolitan Cambridge pad, and to La Boîte from his country pad in Hell's Kitchen. You may walk to these shops and sniff, but every sniff leads to a buy. Quickly reaching into my cabinets (and not even their innermost recesses) I find the never-opened: among others. Then the opened once or twice for a pinch: and then the more-often used: The Lucknow Fennel, as you can see, has flown too close to the sun of my gas flame.

I? But a warning: "Cashew tree, very pretty, and the cashew nut is sweet But the fruit of the poor cashew is impossible to eat" Truly. It's good only as feni.