The laptop is dead. Long live the desktop!

Oh Hells Mutha-Shagging Bells!

Well Kids, a girl will try her damndest to keep this blog a rolling; but postings may get to be once or twice a week.

( Oh shut up! I know it’s like that already).

 

All of my photo software is on that damn thing, and my desktop “Mable” is too full of other stuff for me to chance loading other stuff on it.

I’ll figure something out; hang in there with me!

My laptop died ( off topic)

I hate techology.

I’m now sitting at my desktop posting this message, because my FARKING laptop died on me last Wednesday. UUUUGGGGGHHHHH!!!

In case you are new to this blog, I am disabled.  I’m not confined to a wheelchair, but my knees are so bad that it is a major effort to get around my house. I walk with a cane and pain is a part of my life now.  My laptop provided me with the convinience of blogging from my cucina with ease. Once I was planted in “Culinary Central”, I was cool.

Life had become a bit easier for me. Now, I have to do all my posting from upstairs. Bummer.

photo courtesy of absoluteraleigh.com

This photo sums up what I feel like right now. Do I have the money to replace the offensive beast. Yes. Will I spend the money? I don’t know.  All of my blog files are inside that asshat of a computer.  Damn Dell Inspiron 6400. I’m going to buy a powercord to see if that is the issue. If it is; then great. If not; oh well. I’ll hit a sale whenver that happens.

Wish a chick luck.

Atlantic Rockfish and Bluefish Advisory

If you are a fan of rockfish or bluefish ( as I am), then you will be dissapointed and alarmed at the lastest in a string of food contamination news that is prevalent in our pollution-riddled society.

The Maryland Department of the Environment said in a June 3 press released a consumption advisory for striped bass and bluefish caught off the coast  of Maryland and other mid-Atlantic states. MDE said these fish contain harmful PCB levels, and should not be consumed by sensitive populations (pregnant women, children, the elderly and those with compromised immune systems), and the general populus should limit their consumption of rockfish to one serving a month. Consumers of bluefish should limit their consumption to one serving every other month.

The striped bass, or rockfish

This is the eponymous rockfish, the stuff that dreams are made of. Sturdy enough to take a topping of crab imperial, and flavorful and tender enough to stand on its own pan seared or broiled with lemon, garlic, salt, pepper and a bit of white wine.

photo courtesy of National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration/Department of Commerce

This is bluefish. This fish is graduate-level fish eating. If you are scared of bones, don’t eat bluefish. It also has a meaty texture and a very assertive flavor (also not for everyone). This oily fish is best prepared baked, although I’ve eated it fried as a kid and it was really good, but heavy.

I swear, one day I’m going to rant about how we need to really take care of our food supply

Bread, can we still be friends?

Dear Bread,

How have you been? I’m hoping you  are well.  I know I’ve been distant lately, and after reading this letter, I hope you understand why.  I hope it won’t upset you, I’ve realized over our break these past two week s that I can no longer see you.

Our relationship over the 15 months or so have frankly been rough for me; you were there, so you already know what I’m talking about.  I’ve tried you whole-grain and no-grain, french and Italian-style, tandoori and tortilla, and even pitas and it’s all come down to the same sad conclusion: I cannot digest you, and you know it.

Is this some post-Atkins craze excuse? No, and you know this. You know I defended you against all these low-carb freaks that insisted I use lettuce instead of you to make wraps, while all the while those fake protests against eating french fries dissipated into the ether as plate after Atkins-friendly plate came back void of all french fries I placed next to those sandwiches.  I just smirked to myself and knew that like all diet crazes, that this too shall pass.

Had I known that my enjoyment of you would turn into a Faustian nightmare, I would’ve made the transition earlier.

Am I allergic to gluten? No, I don’t have Celiac disease. What is or has happened to us is simple. I eat too much of you; and, let’s just say I , oh fuck it: Bread, I can’t poop after eating you!

There, I’ve said it.

I just can’t go to the bathroom after eating you in any form. And frankly, I’d rather poop than have a sandwich. I just want to know if we can still be friends. Well, can we?

I want to know if I can still touch you ( through the plastic wrapper, of course). Do I have permission smell the  heady aroma of a properly baked loaf of rye as it comes out the oven. Can I  vicariously enjoy the sweet, earthy scent of cinnamon when you appear as raisin bread. Or, when you show up as one of those artisinal types, can I still marvel at the visual richness of your crumb or smile when I see you as a chewy, crater filled ciabatta?

Will you let me love you from afar? I hope so, because this is the only way we can continue.  I hope you understand. Can we still be friends? Let me know.

xxoo,

Culinary Chick