Treats, Culinary and Otherwise

I read this headline and took it literally…at first, with a HUGE amount of glee, as well: “Hillary Slaps Iowa Voter.” Obviously, I was thinking this was the moment we’ve all been waiting for: Hill finally loses it and thus begins her decline. Alas…too good to be true.

"Why should I support your candidacy if you haven't learned from the past?" Rolph asked, referring to her 2002 vote to authorize the use of military force in Iraq.

Clinton first thanked him and then countered that, "the premise of the question is wrong." So far, so good. But after offering a description of what was in the resolution, Clinton smugly and dismissively accused him of having been fed the information, saying "obviously somebody sent [it] to you."

Rolph didn't let it pass. "I take exception, this is my own research..."

"Well, then let me finish telling you..." Clinton screamed.

"Nobody sent that, and I am offended that you would suggest it," Rolph snapped at her.

[…]

"It was an insult," he fumed following the event. "It was basically calling me stupid. That I can't think on my own. That I don't have the ability to research or come up with a coherent or concrete thought on my own. How dare she!"

He continued, "She never did answer the question. She just, what I say is, bitch-slapped me." (emphasis mine)

What an appropriate turn-of-a-phrase, eh? (Another take on the story here.)

Dang! I’d love to be in attendance at this: “Chopsticks at dawn for a sushi showdown; Seven chefs will compete in London for the highest honour of Japanese cuisine.”

Of all the mysteries of Japanese culture, the art of how to make perfect sushi is the most cherished. Master chefs jealously conceal the secrets of their craft from all but the most faithful of acolytes, and then only spill the beans after years of patient apprenticeship.

But with every other master chef publicly receiving adulation for their culinary skills, from Gordon Ramsay and Marco Pierre White to Nigella Lawson, it was only a matter of time before the hitherto retiring connoisseurs of sushi began to desire their 15 minutes of fame.

Next week they will have just that at the grand finale of a four-month, nationwide celebration of Japanese food, drink and culture, when top Japanese chefs will put their reputations and honour at stake at the world's only sushi Oscars.

In what is being billed as the ultimate battle between the Seven Sushi Samurai, chefs from across the globe will converge at the Eat-Japan Sushi Awards in London to offer their trademark dish to diners and judges.

The event has generated huge excitement: all 300 tickets, costing £60 each, sold out within two weeks of going on sale, leaving a long waiting list.

One assumes ticket holders will get to sample the wares, but that may or may not be true. Two things here: First, the quality of British food has improved dramatically since I lived in London during the early 80s, when “English Cuisine” was the ultimate oxymoron. At that point in time the only decent meals one could get when eating out were in the numerous, and excellent, Indian and Chinese restaurants…and the fish ‘n’ chips stands, of course. I think there were only two Japanese restaurants in all of London at the time, if memory serves. I know The Second Mrs. Pennington and I had a helluva time finding even one sushi bar to satisfy our cravings. Which leads me to point two: I loves me some sushi!

TSMP and I had our favorite sushi bars when we lived in Tokyo in the mid-70s…two of which were within walking distance of our house. And we patronized them SO often (at least twice a week) that we were on a first-name basis with the chefs. At some point in time I absolutely must retrieve the family photo archive and scan the pics…this being the perfect illustrative point, as there are many more than a few “candid” shots of TSMP and I stuffing our mouths with raw tuna (mmmm!) and washing it down with (lots of…) excellent Sapporo beer. Former Happy Days, those were.

But…Oh! To be in London and at the World Series of Sushi…

In other British Culinary News…this lil article is guaranteed to invoke your “Eww!” response: “I’m not eating that!...Actually, you will. Not only are you all very well travelled, you’re extremely well fed, too.” Case in point:

Some years ago, I regularly travelled to West Africa. The French manager I used to meet in Côte d’Ivoire was always amused by my Anglo-Saxon disgust at some of the things eaten locally. On one occasion he took me to a restaurant that, he claimed, did a very good stew. He was right, it was delicious. Halfway through, however, I got a fright: my fork dredged from the bottom of the bowl what appeared to be a small, pink and perfectly formed baby’s hand. I pushed the plate away and turned white, which amused my companion no end. It transpired that the stew was made with a local delicacy – porcupine. And I can attest that, yes, their feet really do resemble small human... eurgh.

Nick Woodgates, Buckinghamshire

And you know there’s more…

The strangest (or weirdest) thing I’ve ever eaten is “dog on a log” from a street vendor in the Philippines. Which is exactly what it sounds like: bar-b-qued Fido, cooked shish-ke-bob style on a charcoal brazier. It wan’t all that bad, either, if memory serves. But I was two, or perhaps three, sheets in the wind at the time. The strangest thing I’ve refused to eat is rice bugs. You can only imagine, Gentle Reader. Or read about it.

Today’s Pic: Something rarely seen: YrHmblScrb on a Hardly-Ableson, this particular version being SN1’s Night Train on the day he took delivery. I never could get used to the Barca-Liner riding position. You know…feet out front (note the position of the pegs and shifter), lounging rearward, and all that. That’s simply UN-natural…on a mo’sickle. OK for watching football in your den, but not while riding a bike. Your Mileage Most CERTAINLY May Vary.

Valentines Day, 2003.