The Menace, Part 2

Posted on May 22, 2007 by Jim

The border between the United States and Canada is commonly referred to as the world’s longest undefended border.  The border between the United states and Mexico is a third as long and is not only regularly patrolled; but there are plans afoot to build a fence to eliminate (maybe reduce is a better word) illegal immigration.

Some would consider the flood of illegal immigrants as a menace to our country… and a drain on our resources.  On this I would agree.  But rather than look south, I think we should turn 180 degrees and direct our attention to the north… to Canada.

Our concern should not be Mexican farmers who can add to the work force and contribute to our society, rather it should be to the most hideous of creatures: the Canada Goose.

You leave the border undefended and look what happens.  You get invaded by… well, by… things that treat every piece of land as their toilet.

There are those that think that Canada Geese are charming.  They look beautiful and stately.  They’re cooperative… look at whole bunch of them as they are working their way thru the lawn… eating to their heart’s content; but one goose remains on guard, head errect, surveying the scene… looking this way and that while his buddies dine… then after a brief time on “duty”, the sentinel dips his/her head to grab a meal and another raises its head to assume guard duty responsibility.  See what I mean? Co-operation.

Terrific.  Pretty birds.  But they crap everywhere.  Not just on our windshields like other birds.  No.  But where we walk.  On our beaches, on our golf courses… on our property!  And to make matters worse, their nicely formed turds are a shade of green that blend them to the shade of your grass… so that you may not realize on a beautiful summer’s day that you have just walked into the “outhouse” ‘til you feel the turd squishing up between your toes!

Or, you take a gander at your ball placement… a mere 20 feet from the pin on the 2nd  green; but nestled next to a nefarious deep olive green turd left by some Canada Goose who thought that the sand trap was its litter box.

Menace!  That’s what they are.  Subverting our way of life.

What to do?  Well, I think a good place to start is to follow the lead of the Greenwich Town Committee on Health, Beauty & the Environment. They have generated a series of creative responses to the Canadian Geese Menace.

The Hot Foot  Geese thrive in cool, damp environments.  Using an underground wire grid installed by the “Geese Be-Gone Co.” that converts your lawn into a “hot plate” when a surge of heat is transmitted with a flick of a switch raising the ground tempeture to an uncomfortable 185 degrees within 45 seconds… Also good for keeping pesky teenagers off your land.

Shame, Shame, Shame From the Disney Technologies a lifesized animotronic of a grandmother, hair pulled back into a tight bun,  in a rocking chair with a Sharps Buffalo rifle across her lap and repeats in a craggy voice, “You should be ashamed of yourself!!” “Now gawan git!” “I ain’t kidding! Take that bathroom behavior elsewhere before I put a bullet up your fanny!”  There is also a grandfather version, unshaven with a jug of moonshine on his lap and a Portuguese Water Spaniel wagging its tail at his feet, “By God if you take a shit within hunnert yard of me I’ll chase you down and crush your head with this here jug!”  During winter months you can bring grandfather or grandmother in the home, add them to your dinning room.  Great for keeping order during dinner.

Take a Hint From Martha Stewart Enterprises a five eighths scale of a Christmas Celebration table.  Includes a table for twelve, twelve chairs, complete setting for table service and matching stemware impecably set on fine Irish linen.  Platters of side dishes, vegetables, potatoes, Parker House rolls, condiments and an larger empty platter at the head of the table with a card in plain sight: “This could be for you!”  Place this highly detailed mock up on your lawn with the accompanying decorated Christmas Tree, and no goose would dare set foot on your lawn!

Concern for God’s Creatures A program for diapering geese has been used for years in Carmel, CA.  Mothers of the Earth has developed a lightweight absorbant diaper that fits comfortably on most geese.  Sturdy, yet light enough so that wearing the diaper will not hinder flight (unless the bird is suffering from diarhea), Meg Tobachnik has been using them for near a decade.  She reports, “they train quite well.  In the morning after their swim in the pond they walk up to my porch… I slip them on, and they are off an scampering about in no time.  When they’re done eating I wait for an hour, and they go an change them.  And then I change them again just before the sun goes down.”

Bonjour! The Beaupre Language Institute specializes in French and near-French… “good enough to fool your friends and neighbors.”  The idea is to speak enough French to trick the Canadian Geese into thinking that they are still in Canada and have to travel further to the South.

Yes!  I think we are equipped to handle the menace!

Posted in The Ash Creek Bourbon & Conversation Corner | Leave a comment

The Day Ivory Snow Was Late to the Wine Tasting

Posted on May 15, 2007 by Jim

Our ancestors would say that the “time before time, vines covered the land for as far as the eye could see.  From The Great Sea to The Far Great Sea“.  And then came the Time of Troubles…we can leave that story for another day.

It’s good to be passed the darker time and to see a patchwork quilt of vineyards returning to Venderbee.

Forgive me.  I should have introduced myself.  My name is Santie Mayfare, and I live in a small place near the Feathered Lagoon.  I make tierboxes and my cottage is home to both me and my craft.  I also have a small parcel of land planted to Finomencia… a noble red varietal that produces wine that is abundant in flavour and rich in texture… perfect to enjoy with a tasty roasted pouflon.

I should point out that just about everyone in Venderbee has at least a small vineyard that is growing this or that.  We even have one great landowner, Gweeto of Venderbee, whose vineyards stretch from Gafter Zee to Steep Rock.  Besides being our biggest landowner, Gweeto is also the Chief Magistrate and High Official of the Harvest Celebration.  And as it turns out… today I happen to be putting the final touches to Gweeto’s personal tierbox that he will use for reviewing the Harvest Parade.

Gweeto’s tierbox is by far the most important commission of my year.  Satisfying Gweeto is not hard.  But pleasing the present “love-of-his-life”, the Ivory Snow… well, that’s a different matter.  And if I appear anxious to you, it’s because I am presently expecting a visit from Ivory to check on my progress.

Ivory Snow and I go back some… oh, not the way you think.  We all grew up together… and when we were younger, my cousins Barl Whighorn and Larb Hornwig took a powerful shine to her… and they would get into bloody fights to win her attention and affection.  I’ll be honest… I never knew whether she favoured Barl or Larb.  Not that it mattered in the end.

Barl certainly has done very well with Golden Trane.  Larb?  Well… he tends his vines.  No one makes better Grey Zabia.  And his Wren Hoolish took the prize at the Harvest Grandee.  Still I suspect that a day doesn’t go by when Larb is not aware of his hurt or of the vacancy in his life.

Just the way it is… I guess.

Other folks would say that Gweeto was mighty lucky to have someone as special as Ivory Snow to spend his years with.  And maybe that’s so.  But I think it’s Snow who’s lucky!

It was a sad day when Lady Wisteria was brought down in a savage attack by a Ridged Zelbax… or that’s what was said.  It happened on her travels beyond Steep Rock, to the land of Far Steep Rock.  Gweeto would never forgive himself for approving the expedition.

In her absence there followed many seasons when he could no longer tend his precious vineyards.  There were those who feared for the well being of Venderbee.

Maybe that’s why so many folks breathed a sigh of relief when Ivory entered into Gweeto’s life.

Me?  I kept my distance.  And so did Barl… and Larb, too!  We all knew that there was charm… and then there was dangerous charm.  Our Miss Ivory Snow packed plenty of the latter.

***

“May I enter?” she asked.

“Ivory… you’re always welcome to my cottage.  Can I offer you a small cup of my Finomencia?”

“Why yes Santie… you make an extraordinary Finomencia… full of depth, richness and lasting flavour.  It chills me to think of its soft caress… its silk like feel.  Very sensuous.  Can I see Gweeto’s tierbox?”

I pour a small amount into a cup… which she consumes in a single down-the shaft.

“Let me pour you another portion…”

“You are so kind.  You have always been kind.  Ah, yes… slightly chilled the way I prefer it.  The box?”

“Oh yes… but it’s not finished yet.  Small touches I assure you… crown molding no quite there… a touch of paint here, a rough edge there… you know.”

“I understand.  Now… which box is it?  I hope it’s not the hideous one over there.”

“Hideous?  Well, no… that one is for Mave Fabish.  It’s an older design, I grant you… But Ivory… let me pour you a small taste of Larb’s Wren Hoolish… he only makes a small amount and I have to beg for every drop.”

“His Wren?  Yes, that would be nice.  Now Santie… the box?”

I know what you’re thinking.  This is just one more episode of my insecurity showing itself… and rather than confronting Ivory Snow head on… I prefer to “duck and dive.”  And perhaps get Snow a bit tipsy.

OK.  Big deal.  So I am trying to distract her… but it’s with some of the finest wines in our parts… not some dumb Telmein or Brauver (heaven forbid)! 

And I know Ivory Snow and you don’t.

“I saw the tierbox you made for Gweeto a few seasons ago.  I used it for kindling last winter.  There was no style… but it burned well.”

“No style?  Hold it there, Ivory.  I chose those columns from Hadrian’s Temple… they haven’t been used in 10,000 years!  That was a unique treatment in a tierbox, no one else has even attempted to replicate it.  Here… let me pour you some lighter Hoolish… it’s not as robust has Wren; but it has exquisite charm and balance… like you.“

“You are so kind.  It is tasty.  Santie… I hope you intend on using a different stain this year.  Now point me to Gweeto’s box, I must see it…”

“Yes, yes… I know.  But surely you will want to have a careful study.  And look… the sun will soon set and Gweeto will expect the both of us to be at the pre-tasting of the Celebration wines.  And surely we don’t want to disappoint him…”

“True. But please… dear, dear Santie, tell me that the box in the corner is not Gweeto’s.  Because if that ugly thing is to be his, then I think we have a problem.  And tasting or no… I will have to suggest to Gweeto that he give the commission to a different carver.”

“Ivory… I’m sure anything can be corrected to your approval… I look forward to your careful impression and impeccable taste.  And while we consider improvements and corrections… let me serve you some of my most treasured vintage of Finomencia.”

“So kind of you Santie… but do you have any more of that breathtaking Wren Hoolish?  And how is your cousin these days?”

“I will open a new bottle just for you, Ivory.  Larb?  Well… I should think he is well.  And I am sure that your image beats a path in his mind every day.”

This is true.  I’m not making it up.  And it’s easy to see how anyone… Gweeto, Larb, Barl… and even Mave Fabish would be taken in by Ivory Snow’s beauty and charm.

Of course, the fact that she is mentioning the possibility of me losing my commission… I don’t find that charming.  It doesn’t take much to put me on edge… being the nervous fellow that I am. 

I glance at the window to the setting sun.  Gweeto would be starting the tasting soon, and I couldn’t risk being late.  I prayed that the second Wren that I had opened on the sideboard would begin to work its narcotic effect.

***

When I knocked on Gweeto’s door and entered, I saw everyone at the tasting table.  Larb, Sanje Lem, Lahka Feis… even Mave Fabish.

Gweeto greeted me, “My good Santie we’ve been waiting for you!!  I see you brought your Finomencia!  Splendid!!”  Then he paused, “But where is Ivory Snow?”

“Gweeto, I think she maybe late for the tasting…”

Ivory’s absence was noted; but we proceeded with the matter at hand and tasted thru the wines… and my… the wines were all marvelous… and all were agreed that we had the finest selection ever assembled for the Harvest Grandee. 

***

I will admit that a melancholy has returned once again to Venderbee as it did when the equally charming Lady Wisteria was lost in the supposed Ridged Zelbax attack. 

And sometime later, on an evening when Larb and Mave Fabish came over to share in a cup or two of Finomencia, Mave commented, “You are a true artisan Santie, maybe the best in all of Venderbee… I can remember the time, just before Wisteria’s untimely passing, when she had advised Gweeto to appoint Lahka Feis Master Carver…  And now, another time of sadness for Gweeto — Ivory Snow, gone.  What a coincidence…”

“Yes Mave… that is quite a coincidence.  Can I pour you some more of my Finomencia?  I think it’s my finest vintage…” 

Posted in The Venderbee Tapestry | Leave a comment

The Bombshell and the Hassid

Posted on May 10, 2007 by Jim

It has been a stretch between jokes.  I hold members of the humor patrol responsible for this shortcoming.  Perhaps we should be thankful… maybe the “recycled joke movement” has crested and we can have some fresh material to chortle over.  Which brings me to the little gem noted below… talk about recycled!  This one has to be about 70 years old if it’s a day!  But, what can I say?  It’s a slow day…

A Hassidic man from Williamsburg finds himself sitting next to this young and extremely attractive woman on the subway.  The poor man stares out the window, uncomfortable with his proximity to this woman who is clearly a “bombshell”.  She is also feeling some discomfort… but for different reasons.

“Excuse me, Sir… for being so forward.  But I have to admit that I find you men so fascinating and so incredibly sexy.  Every night I go to sleep fantasizing being with you.  All I can think about is taking off your black hat, slowly taking off your long black frock coat, removing your prayer shawl with the fringe… taking the fringe and softly tickling your brow… then rubbing your forehead and gently twirling your gorgeous sidelocks and stroking your beard… and massaging your back, your tummy and every part of your body.  I find you such an incredible turn on. I can barely contain myself.  Is there a place where we can go?”

“That’s fine.  But what’s in it for me?”

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It’s in the Texture…

Posted on May 7, 2007 by Jim

“First look at the colour.  The outer rim, slightly raised should be a golden tan.  Then as we move to the center it fades to a soft uniform cream or ecru tone…”

It felt like we were in an operating theatre… and the learned Professor was instructing a young student in the basics.

“Look at the top surface.  Perfectly even.  Undisturbed by a single imperfection.  Study it.  Its secrets lie below…”

I met Abel when I was just a kid.  He was a friend of my parents’ and he and his wife Merle were occasional weekend guests.  Even to a kid it was easy to see that Abel didn’t talk. He expounded.  But it wasn’t in a bumptious or braggy way.  The key was his voice.  Rich, low and slightly scratchy… a tell tale of years of cigarettes and good whisky.  You wanted to listen to that voice.  Somewhat patrician; but at the same time endearing and enveloping.

I think I was all of 12 when he elaborated at length on the attributes of Single Malt Scotch Whisky.  I listened mesmerized.  Booze meant nothing to me (then); but he made it sound as if every other beverage was completely unnecessary.

“Now a slow pivot.  Let’s look at the exposed cut.  It’s important.  This will be the first confirmation of the texture.  Be alert.  A pure smoothness here is a fault.  We want to see tiny nooks and crannies in what appears a smooth surface to a less discerning eye.  It’s the nooks and crannies that are the repositories of flavour & it is an indication of the rich texture we seek.”

I must have been 18 or 19 at this time, and this was not the first time I was going to eat a piece of cheesecake.  But it was the first time when I had its qualities fully explained.  You know… I liked cheesecake before Abel broke it down for me.  He just took me to a different level of appreciation.

“You need a good fork. Silver, of course.  Long tines.  Thank God your Mother has good silverware.”

He inspected the fork with the same respect that a Samurai shows a sword.  He felt the fork’s heft, its balance and then brought his plate closer and had me do the same.  It was mid-afternoon and we were the only ones sitting in our breakfast room.  Mommie Soph had put a slice before each of us, and then retired to attend to other matters.

“Using the side of your fork cut directly down a half inch off the apex of the slice… don’t hurry here… look for a firmness & a small amount of resistance.  That is our second indication of its texture.  If the fork cuts thru too quickly it will mean a softer consistency and the texture will be lacking.”

I ask my first impertinent question, “Should we be having this with a glass of milk or something?”

He paused from his procedure and looked at me thru his tinted glasses that he always wore, day or night… “I was going to address that later; but since you ask.  Tea.  A cup of tea would be fine.”

He continued.  “You see these tiny crumbs that my cut has produced?  This is the third indication that we have good texture.  And now comes the best part…”

He carefully placed a forkful of cheesecake into his mouth and slowly chewed, pausing to focus his senses… he was on the verge of saying something; but raised a finger… a sign that I would have to wait a moment longer while he considered the results of the tasting.  He nodded his head.  What I took to be an endorsement of the quality.

He smiled.

“Yes.  I would say that was good.  Very, very good.  As I expected, the texture is near perfect.  Rich, moist with a modest dryness that causes it to cling lightly to the roof of the mouth… but without the sensation that a finger is needed to scrape off a remaining morsel the way you would with peanut butter.  Perfect density.  Not so dense as to feel like a piece of fudge, but properly rich with hidden molecules of air that resonate the flavour.”

Having evaluated the texture, he cut himself another piece, somewhat bigger than the first… “now it’s time to examine the taste…“

This was chewed even more slowly… I couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed behind his tinted lenses; but I suspected that they were.  I instinctively knew that when it comes to taste; vision acts as an anchor… it stops the movement of our senses.

“Oh my… cheesy, vanilla, a hint of lemon peel.  Classically done.  Simple. Delicious.  I would say that your Mother has picked this up at Juniors, maybe Lindy’s or The Eclair in Grand Central.”

He has another forkful.  “Eclair… definitely it’s Eclair’s cheesecake.”

Pretty impressive.  I am thinking that he had to see the box from The Eclair sitting on the kitchen counter. 18 year olds are always suspicious… it’s our nature.

I ask impertinent question number 2.  “I bet this would be great with strawberries.  Mr. Greenburg, do you like strawberry cheesecake?”

He put his fork down.  You would have thought that I had asked him if cheesecake would be good topped with chicken gizzards.  He took off his glasses, breathed a layer of fog on each lense, took out his handkerchief and polished his lenses.  Satisfied that they were clean.  He took another small portion of cheesecake.

“That would be gilding a lilly.”  He savoured a mouthful.  “Jimmy, that would be a distraction from the essence of the cheescake… it obscures both the flavour and the texture. It would be like putting a hat on the Mona Lisa.“

Well… I’m not sure what that had to do with eating cheesecake.  But even I could see that if Da Vinci had wanted Mona Lisa to be wearing a hat, he would have painted her wearing one.

Try as I might, there was no way that I was going to eat my slice of cheesecake with the patient care that Abel employed.  After giving thought to the very intitial taste and examination… I scarfed down the rest, hopeful that if I ate it quickly I would have time and room for an additional slice before “class let out”.  When you’re 18 or 19 you can do these things.

I was set to ask him another impertinent question.  He must of sensed it coming… or he was a mind reader. 

“You’re still thinking about other styles of cheesecake?  Well… let’s make this easy.  This is the ‘Real McCoy’.  Everything else is a ‘pretender’.  This is New York Cheesecake… and its single most important ingredient is Philadelphia brand cream cheese.  Italian Cheesecake is also quite good… it uses riocotta cheese which gives it a ‘drier’ finish and texture.  And I’ve had some excellent Italian Cheesecake.  But it’s just not the same.  New York Cheesecake, plain and unadorned reigns supreme.”

He cleans the crumbs from his plate collecting them in the tines of the fork and presses them together before dispatching them in a quick bite.

“My, that was good.  Jimmy, it’s all about the texture…”

It was a lucky day.  I was able to enjoy a second slice before we left the table.  And also a third for a pre-bedtime snack.  And I learned the hidden secret of Cheesecake… it’s in the texture…

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