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Archives for August 2016

Seahorse

seahorse

                                                               I think you can do a thing like that best
                                                                              from a detached position. – Nelson Algren

I catch a glimpse of you: your nightshades are galaxies that burn
The core brown light of an urban dawn. Receding with the sea,

The city streets replay their chord progressions with tenacity:
The story of a sea, of a city by the sea. Within my skin, beneath

My flesh, a hundred horses gallop fast as steam trains out of breath,
A thousand offspring drifting around in me. The darkest enemy

Of light, the city traffic moving past with gentle tendrils — anemone
With venom blue as the bluest sea, and flowing all over me. The sky

Has veins of marbled blue. My veins do too. I am a seahorse and I try
To cling to coral, caught in tiny monster currents. The fathoms bloom

With pain and flower nightmare petals. The breaching symbols loom
And yet the waves outlaw the moon reflected in a spoon, and you

Were there too, upside down as the moon was and needle-blue,
A marlin hooked and running deep. I lost my view of you, your little blacks

And blues absorbed by a hundred suns, the manic bloody tracks
My eyeballs knew. I was ready for a drink and ready to drink

The sea, the moon, the glimpse I caught of you. I could not think.
And you slip away but first you cast a glance my way, a mermaid

Parade of glances, virulent with smiles, and your smallest smile said
I was there and you were there for me but time was there to drink

The blood away. The Milky Way rides it out on the back of a skunk;
A violet in the alleyway is singing poison, opening its petals to burn

The scaly mane of a sea that washes over me like we were never born.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

Two pounds of grapes eaten daily causes organ failure in dogs, study shows.

(Posted by Jack)

Live-blogging the Brisket: Hour 9

We come now to that part in the show where we flip the script…

Ready?

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Set.

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GO!

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Then a final mopping…

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And 30 minutes from lift-off…

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Live-blogging the Brisket: Hour 8

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Live-blogging the Brisket: Hour 7

We’re currently sitting in the “stall” – a mysterious time in brisket smoking when the temperature sits pat (and during which time patience ought to trump panic). I believe we’re at that point right now. Waiting for the magic 185 degrees to call it “good.”

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Live-blogging the Brisket: Hour 6

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In the parlance of beef barbecue, the black crust that forms around the brisket in a slow smoke is known as the “bark.”

The purpose of the bark is to seal in the moisture so that – yes, I am going there – the bark is at least as good as the bite.

“The bark, you say?”

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Affirmative. The bark.

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“The bark.”

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The Bark!

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Live-blogging the Brisket – Hour 4 & 5

Perhaps to temper the fire of my hubris with a little smoke of humility, in today’s Gospel reading (Rite of ’62) our Lord’s words were a fitting reminder of priorities, even as my Weber was attending to its business, I should be minding my own:

“Therefore I say to you, be not solicitous for your life, what you shall eat, nor for your body, what you shall put on. Is not the life more than the meat: and the body more than the raiment? Behold the birds of the air, for they neither sow, nor do they reap, nor gather into barns: and your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are not you of much more value than they?” (Matthew 6:24-26)

But then after returning home from Mass, I wondered if our Lord also considered cats in these calculations…

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Alas, they seemed undeterred by maledictions and threats of malefactions, should they even be considering carnoklepty…

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Of course, I should have trusted n the Lord (and it being a Sunday too!)…

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Live-blogging the Brisket: Hour 3

…and the crowd grows in number and anticipation.

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Live-blogging the Brisket: Hour 2

A smoking crucible of muscle, tendon, flesh and fat amid the bucolic landscape of Wisconsin…

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Water for the pan, beer for the cook, a mop and mop for the meat…

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In which the first mop is applied…

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The expert hand of a pit-master…

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Behold the astonishment of the crowd*!…

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Those pictured: besides three of my seven daughters, our new French daughter, straight from Territoir de Belfort (in grey sweatshirt) in whose honor (and apparently it is her first sight of bbq brisket)and by way of official welcome, we are “doing it up,” as we Americans say, with a Sunday brisket.

Live-blogging the Brisket

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So I’m doing this for a Sunday repast… Started at 6 this a.m. and won’t quit until sometime this evening, around 5:30ish or so. That will be ten (it is hoped, successful) hours of smoking with my kettle.

Updates every hour.

Stay tuned…