Gosh, hate mail!

I got hate mail on my blog today. Some guy commented, “I hope you fucking die the most horrible death.” That’s not very nice. And strange.

When someone comments, I get an immediate e-mail with the comment. But it doesn't say where it was posted. So I went through my blog and found it. Right by the picture of the poor deer getting its throat slit.

Me and Pim Fortuyn, victims of animal-rights kooks. Of course, unlike Pim, I’m still alive, which is reassuring. But it did make me notice how much of my blog is devoted to killing and eating animals. But the caeser salad I made for lunch just isn’t nearly as interesting or photogenic (but it was delicious). And even that’s got a cute little anchovy packed in salt and then rinsed and filleted and chopped and mashed in a mortar and pestle. Talk about brutal.

I kind of understand being a vegetarian. Sort of. I mean, it is bad to kill animals. It wouldn’t surprise me if in many many years the idea of eating meat will be considered barbaric. It is. But it tastes good. And if they don’t eat meat many years from now, they’ll eat a lot worse. Their loss.

But if you’re willing to eat meat, you should be willing to kill the animal you eat. That doesn’t mean you have to kill every animal you eat. That’s what butchers are for. But understand that an animal is dying for you. Closing your eyes to the slaughtering process doesn’t make it less gruesome. In fact, it usually makes it worse. It’s better to be closer to the killing. That shrink-wrapped Purdue chicken had a horrible life in Delaware. That chicken at the live-poultry store around the corner from me is at least a real chicken. And it’s killed by person with a knife and not on some horrible assembly line that succeeds in a clean killing most of the time.

I don’t like killing animals. I’ve actually killed very few, if you don’t count all those ants in the driveway I smooshed with my thumb when I was a kid. I don’t even go fishing. Nor do I hunt. I’m a city boy (though I have thought about catching squirrels in clean parks or nabbing a few geese from the Western Islands in Amsterdam, but that’s another story).

I do eat animals. And I wear leather. Most people do. But unlike most people, I’ve actually thought about this. I think it’s OK. I don’t want animals to have a bad life for me as well. That’s why I prefer to buy live or free-range animals. I’ll even pay more for it (not that that makes it better). And I’m all for halal butchering (except for the blood draining part. Blood is flavor!). If you can’t handle an animal dying, you shouldn’t eat meat.

To me, it’s far more disgusting to buy cleaned and shrink-wrapped meat in the super market than go out hunting and kill and clean your dinner. The whole shrink-wrapped meat thing really bothers me. It’s too much like Soylent Green (“it’s PEOPLE!”).

And I’m off to eat some Korean BBQ right now. Mmmmm, Pulgogi.

It beats a frozen pizza any day

My landlord knocked on my door today. He never does that. He's big into fishing. And he gave me a bag of his catch. A fish, I thought, how nice. I thanking him and sent him on his way.

Then I got into my attempt at bread braking. I even bought a kitchen scale just for that. I bought the measuring spoons, too. And Walt from Walt's Hardware even gave me a free screwdriver set. It's actually of good quality. I guess that's what you get for spending $100 at the neighborhood hardware store (and I think he liked that I bought two fire extinguishers, "one for a friend.")

scale


bread baking


bread done


The bread was good. Not great. But a good start. But I'm not into that whole waiting hours for it to rise. Nor am I too into following directions when I cook. But I like good bread. So around 10PM to time it with the bread I opened the bag to discover not fish, but four beautiful squid! "Great!", I said. And then it occurred to me that I've never cooked a squid before, much less cleaned them. But the Joy of Cooking came through like it usually does. They're actually quite fun to clean. And they were scrumptious when cooked.

To clean them, first you pull off their head, hopefully taking all the innards with it. At some point the ink sack will break. It's really amazing how much black comes out of them. It might even be blacker than the blackest substance in the world: used motor oil. And the squid ink seems much cleaner and less toxic.

Then you take out the long cartilage. I didn't know they had such a thing. Then you cut above the eyes and take out the beak. You're left with the tentacles and the body piece. Rinse and dry. Cut the body into slices.

Squid, according the Joy of Cooking, can either be cooked for 2 minutes or about an hour, but nothing in between. Since I can't grill them here, and didn’t want to braise them, I opted for deep fry.

I battered them in semolina plus flour and spices. Dipped in milk first. If anything, they were over battered. I didn't know I could do that. Maybe, given the quality of the squid, just a light flour batter would have been better.

I also called Tamara who was getting off work around 12:30 and could come over and help me eat them. What else would I have done with four squid?

I also had one potato. And since I had the hot pumice olive oil going, some deep fried potatoes were the perfect way to start.

I tried to make a dipping sauce which was a combo of too many good things (ketchup, BBQ sauce, tomato paste, Vietnamese red sauce, and mayonnaise. Actually all that was OK, but then I put in some fried garlic. But they were rancid and that made it all no good. But simple salt and lime did the squid justice.

And we ate some dandelions and feta too, as Tamara so eloquently put it, push things through.

whole squid


cartilage


cleaning


skinning


extras


ready to fry


frying


after

More chicken

Meanwhile, a 90 minute train ride and a subway ride later, we're back in Astoria eating fried chicken. While we were out, Tamara sliced off part of her finger on a mandolin. Those things are dangerous. I would have more sympathy if the bit of her finger didn't land right by the nearby safety holding-part that wasn't being used.

But she was fine, kind of. And any weight loss was quickly made up by eating too much chicken. I'm a bit ashamed to admit that a fair chunk of the chicken wasn't cooked through. That would be my fault. But we all have off days.

The chicken is Edna Louis's recipe. It's now almost our signature dish. Well that and rotating roasting animals. But here are the basics for the chicken: Brine chicken in buttermilk. Dredge. Deepfry in (get this...!) a mixture of lard, butter, and fried pork. ...because sometimes lard just isn't enough.

mandolin of death, notice the safety part below that wasn't being used.


tamara and the missing finger


frying ham


cutting chicken


frying chicken


Golden brown. It looks cooked. But it's not.


eating


Nicole's pie

Upstate

Katie and I went upstate to visit friends. Two projectionists in the house means movies. We watched Chaplin's Easy Street, which features lots of cop stuff I can show in my class. And we watched a great documentary about the World's Fair in Queens.

The picture below? Kelly drinking. Randy drinking. Katie tinkering. Me riding a riding mower (my first time, I might add). Randy falling of his skateboard in their unfilled swimming pool (sic). And Randy and Kelly sporting the latest upstate fashion. Missing are pictures of the BBQ, the films, the train ride, the garage sales, and me grading papers.

Talk of poison ivy, mosquitoes, Lyme disease, and Wallmart made me feel strangely happy to get back to the city safe and sound.

Kelly


Randy


Katie


Peter riding


Randy falling


randy and kelly