Boulders and lakes and forests, oh my. Långsjön calls me each morning to circle its depth of sky and water and trees. A walk of ritual and greeting with the light ever pouring out green and blue into the air. And in the middle, slowly turns a white platform from which you may dive into the … Continue reading “Ay, There’s The Rub” Or Hamlet Dreams Of Pork Belly, Marinade, Northern Forests And Charles Mingus.
Drinking Houston means great beer, spirits and wine procured at Premium Draught and Spec’s. And the great Islay pour I first experienced at Warren’s Inn in Old Market Square downtown, remains the great dram I pour in my library. Ah, Laphroaig! Especially the Cask Strength. Drinking Houston with books has been a mainstay for me … Continue reading Drinking Houston
Another Eduard von Grützner painting and another pour of beer. He’s a happy looking monk isn’t he, well so am I, and so are bishops, monks don’t just have all the fun. And yet when it comes to reaching the Lord, of course, he, she, it, them remain forever out of reach despite voices in our … Continue reading Bishop’s Barrel #21 Lifts Me To Heaven, While God Remains Ever Out Of Reach. Part Two:Wings.
Somewhere in Memphis, I had my back to a very large river and my friend said, “Let’s eat some BBQ Spaghetti.” I like my friend. I like his ideas. So I said to myself, Okay Harvey, You’re a tough guy. You’ve been sapped twice, choked, beaten silly with a gun, shot in the arm until you’re crazy … Continue reading A Film Noir Weekend In Memphis With Friends And Peter Lorre, BBQ Spaghetti, Mezcal And Rye, And The Lorraine Hotel, Followed By My Own Memphis BBQ Fettuccine While Listening To Little Junior’s Blue Flames.
As I write this, I am drinking Laphroaig, Jefferson’s, Glendronach, Yellow Rose, and more. All the whiskey that has filled my nasal passages, passed my lips and burned my throat swirls here tonight in my glass. Well, it’s a glass of WoodFord Reserve that I’m tipping back, but one whiskey references them all. Whiskey and … Continue reading Whiskey, Borges, And The Incredible Good Fortune To Wander Into A Labyrinth And Age With Astor Piazzolla’s Finale for The Rough Dancer And The Cyclical Night
The day begins with bourbon. Well, actually the day began with the removal of the pork belly from its brine, lighting of hickory wood, and now since my only duty today calls for a careful watching of the smoker, I feel morally sound in tipping a glass . . . or two. Three pounds of … Continue reading Smoking Pork Belly, Making Black Truffle Butter, Drinking Some More Woodford Reserve And Talking To The Dead, While I Listen To Barbara Dane And Uncle Tupelo. (Part 3)
Look at it. Three pounds of Mangalitsa/Berkshire goodness. Oh, the marble-like fat, smooth and wet to the touch. The Mangalitsa certainly has its share of attention these days, with an appearance recently in the Slow Food 2014 Almanac, which highlights its taste profile, “the fat of Mangalica pigs has been shown to be better for … Continue reading Another Day With The Appalachian Book Of The Dead, While Brining Pork Belly And Pouring Woodford Reserve Double Oaked With Johnny Cash And The Civil Wars. (Part Two)