Yo Yo YO! It’s your boy Chef Boy AllDee, WhatUUUP?!

I’ll tell you what’s up. Everything. People are paying dumb money at this point for everything. It’s ridiculous.

7 grand for a 27 year-old rusted pickup with 160,000 on the clock? Yep.

$375 for a bottle of bourbon I used to routinely buy at Ray’s for $26? Yep.

500 grand for a disaster of a house? Check.

$2,000 for Jordans? Easy.

Don’t even get me started on food. Since when did it cost $80 for three people to eat tacos at a Mexican restaurant?

I’m here to save you. How about a relatively healthy vegetarian dinner for $3.69 per person? That’s right. $3.69. That includes pasta, vegetarian meatballs, pesto, and oven roasted carrots. All from Aldi. And it tastes great. The recipe serves 4.

Here’s the breakdown:

edamame pasta	$3.29
pesto	$2.55
meatballs	$4.95
carrots	$0.8
Tajin	$3.15
Per person cost	$3.69

If you already have Tajin you can throw that figure out to reduce your per-person cost to $2.89. For the meat lovers, Aldi offers Italian meatballs fresh in their refrigerated case for the same price as those vegetarian units.

I’ve even done you a favor and added an optional wedge of Parmesan to give it another level of sophistication. Yeah, I know. Fancy right?

BTW, that parm wedge I listed? I’m almost positive that’s Belgioioso parm. Is it like the real deal Parmigiano imported from Italy and aged for 24 months? No. But it’s aged at least 10 months, and at $4.95 it’s more than acceptable. In fact, for daily dinners it’s a damn steal, a fine, solid go-to wedge. The Asiago is also great. It adds another layer of complexity to the dish.

Here’s the recipe:

Edamame Pesto Pasta with Vegetarian Meatballs and Tajin Oven Roasted Carrots

Ingredients

Simply Nature Edamame or Soybean Spaghetti - 7 oz. - $3.29

Priano Genovese Pesto 6.7 oz. $2.55

Earth Grown Zesty Italian Meatless Meatballs - 16 oz. - $4.95

Baby Peeled Carrots - 1 lb. $0.79

Tajin - 5 oz. $3.15

Optional:

Emporium Selection Italian Parmesan Cheese Wedge - 8 oz. $4.95

Optional: fresh basil, chopped to a chiffonade.

Directions

Preheat your oven to 400.

Toss the carrots with olive oil. Spread the baby carrots on a baking sheet and shake Tajin and pepper over the top. Add to the oven and roast until carmelized.

Heat the meatballs on a baking sheet in the oven according to the directions.

Put a pot on to boil.

Add the edamame spaghetti to the pot and boil for 4 minutes. Drain, and return to the pot, add olive oil, and then add the pesto. Add the meatballs and stir in.

Optional: Grate Parmesan over the top and serve with basil chiffonade.

Serve with the carrots and enjoy your life, you beautiful creature.

Banana Scones

Ingredients

2 cups + 2 Tablespoons sifted all-purpose flour

2 ½ t. baking powder

½ t. salt

½ t. cardamom

½ t. Intrepid Bay ancient peppers and vanilla blend

¼ t. allspice

½ t. cinnamon

6 T. unsalted butter, cold, cut into cubes

2 medium ripe bananas

⅓ cup brown sugar

1 ½ teaspoons vanilla extract

1 large egg

Directions

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment.

In a large mixing bowl, mix the dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, salt, and spices) and fully incorporate. Chill in the refrigerator for 20 minutes, along with the cubed butter.

Pull out the dry ingredients and add the cubed butter. Use a pastry cutter to cut the butter into pea-sized crumbs. Work briskly so the butter doesn’t get warm, but also make sure the butter is finely cut into the mixture.

Place the bananas in a mixing glass and use a hand-blender to liquidize them thoroughly to a smooth liquid. Add the sugar, extract, and egg and blend further.

Make a well in the middle of the dry ingredients and pour the mixture into it. Stir with a fork until just combined. The mixture should be slightly sticky and a little crumbly but it should hold together. If it is too dry, add some milk, by the teaspoon. If it’s too wet, add a little flour. You don’t want too much. The dough needs to come together just enough. Not too dry, not too sticky. Be sure to NOT overwork the dough.

Transfer the mixture onto a lightly floured surface. Fold it or knead it once or twice if you need to, then form it into a ball and then flatten it into an 8 inch round with the open palm of your hand, working in a circular motion. The dough should be a half-inch inch or so thick.

Use a pastry scraper to cut the round disc into 8 pieces. Place the triangular pieces on the baking sheets and bake at 400°F for 12-15 minutes until slightly golden brown. Remove from the oven and place on a cooling rack for a few minutes before serving.

She was modern and boho and equal parts urban and green. Her fashion was a unique blend of streetwear and hemp. By all accounts, Susie was unapologetically weird and wonderful. The trouble was that you could not say the same thing for the guys in her town. They were either conservative, boring, or cardboard cutouts of whatever category you care to name. Preppy guy. Athleisure guy. Shlumpy guy. Hippy guy. Mountain Dew guy. Nerd guy. And she supposed that it was fine, but where were all the guys that really expressed themselves? Where could a person find the quirky ones? Date after date, she came home disappointed. She began lowering her standards, because maybe she was asking too much? Maybe there wasn’t an honest, quirky, sincere and fun guy out there who also did dishes. It seemed like she wasn’t asking for much, but over the course of three years she began to doubt such a creature existed.

But man problems were the least of her worries right now. Over the past two years she had been through a hellish breakup and the unexpected death of a close friend. The frame through which she viewed the world was permanently altered. Soon enough, her time on this planet would end, as would all the people she cared for. She spent her time trying to recover from the loss and grief, and more importantly, searching for a reason to continue. She would spend entire days in bed. She called in sick often, and her job was in jeopardy. She escaped by drinking alcohol and smoking up, and spent far too many nights falling asleep on her small couch. Her diet was terrible. Many days, she simply could not be motivated to care. She was mired in a pit of depressive emotional quicksand. The more she struggled, the more it pulled her in. Maybe she needed meaning. Maybe she needed to be left the hell alone. Maybe she needed her mom back. She knew one thing: she needed to find the way back. Occasionally she had just enough in the tank to pull it together and show up to work in a decent frame of mind, wearing something that didn’t have donut crumbs or toothpaste smeared on it.

She had friends that mostly talked about things they owned or people they got into an argument with on Twitter. She couldn’t help but think there were more interesting things to talk about instead of vapid consumerism and the ridiculous cacophonous string of headline drama that blasted through everyone’s screen. She felt she was drifting away from them, and from society. She was isolating and she knew it, but she was so goddamned tired of the shit show that she just couldn’t deal.

“Just come with me for a week! I rented this cute cabin in Tennessee,” chirped her friend Alyssa. Tennessee? What was in Tennessee? Alyssa gave her a flat look. “Nature!” With some cajoling, Susie reluctantly agreed. Maybe getting out of town would help. The next two weeks went by quickly, despite them being a carbon copy of the weeks before. The day before they were to leave, Alyssa called Susie. “I’m tho thorry Suuz. I think I got the ‘rona. I’m not going tomorrow. But you should go anyway because it’s stho beautiful dere…” Susie was at first completely perplexed. How much mucus did Alyssa have in her nasal passages? Then Susie thought about her options. She had already put in vacation. She was sick of her small apartment. She had to get out of her dull routine. “Fuck it.” She packed her bags.

Upon arriving in Benson’s Woods, Susie knew she had made the right decision. It was wild, beautiful, and wonderfully serene. At the end of a steep, winding wooded lane stood the cabin. It was as charming as the pictures in the listing. A wall of south facing windows framed the wondrous landscape of the Smoky Mountains. The bright cabin had a fully equipped kitchen, fireplace, and game room. The family room was cozy and tastefully decorated. Not too many bear skins. A complete absence of hotel art. Sturdy, well-constructed furniture that was neither cheap nor fussy. It was sensible and approachable. She found the whole cabin to be understated, well designed and comfortable. A balancing act of taste and restraint, which was something the country sorely needed, she thought. She finished unpacking in the master bedroom and took to scanning the bookshelves. The classics were there. Twain, Melville, Hemingway, Fitzgerald. Also Grisham and Clancy. Then she found A Good Man Is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor. “Now that’s interesting,” she thought. Her eyes fell upon a book she hadn’t seen before. The Art of Living Consciously. She took it off the shelf and opened it.

Today we are exposed to an unprecedented amount of information and an unprecedented number of opinions about every conceivable aspect of life. We are thrown on our own resources as never before -- and we have nothing to protect us but the clarity of our thinking. In The Art of Living Consciously, Branden gives us the tools with which to draw out the best within us.

“Bullshit.”

Susie flipped the book over her shoulder.

That evening she made pasta and ate alone, an opened bottle of cabernet her only companion. She sat on the front porch for a long time and listened to the birds and the sound of wind through the pines. She became aware of the pace of life, the perception that nothing was really happening when in fact a lot was happening. It was simply on a different scale. A long cycle. Susie thought about this dichotomy. People were now trained to operate on microcycles. Millions of people frantically switching their attention from one trivial thing to another. Their direction blown about carelessly by the trade winds of distraction and corporate “pivoting.” An entire society of people who might spend 50 years spinning in giant circles and illogical patterns, forming a web of life spun by an overcaffeinated and drunk spider with a VR headset.

As the evening cooled, she retired to the family room and watched 20th Century Women. After the movie she did the dishes and thought about what she had seen, the Jimmy Carter scene in particular. “Crisis of Confidence.”

She kept thinking about those phrases he used.

Growing doubt about the meaning of our lives…the loss of unity of purpose…

owning and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning…

piling up material goods cannot fill the emptiness of lives which have no confidence or purpose or dignity…

There are two paths:

The path that leads to fragmentation and self interest.

Down that road lies the mistaken idea of freedom. The right to grasp for ourselves some advantage over others.

That path would be of constant conflict between narrow interests, ending in chaos and immobility—

a certain route to failure…

All the lessons of the past point to another path,

the path of common interest…

Purpose. Meaning. Clarity of thinking. Consciousness.

Consciousness.

She walked back into the family room, picked up the book and scanned it. She read one page. Two. She finished the book that night. She had vivid dreams, of visiting bright warm places with strange and beautiful people. Modern and green buildings in unfamiliar landscapes, architecture that lived in accordance with the laws of nature, coexisting without conflict. Solarpunk. A resort with a large giant observation deck overlooking mountain vistas and the ocean beyond. Giant aqua waves crashing on white sands. A large storm moving in. A giant tornado sweeping away everything in its path, and they had the best seats in the theater to watch it. A woman wearing white approaches. “An auspicious renewal.”

Susie woke as if from a 30 year sleep. The heaviest sleep she had had since she was a kid. She sat up and thought about last night. The movie. The book.

Maybe this book solved part of her puzzle. To her, the book could have been edited down to less than 50 pages. Living consciously to her meant taking control. Grabbing the wheel and being intentional with her direction. It meant getting her shit together and committing to thinking clearly about things and giving them their proper due, even if it meant being “slow” by society’s standards.

Whatever the case, the book reframed her problem in a way she hadn’t thought of before, and maybe—just maybe—this was a valid path to attain some sort of stability. To become better. To consciously and intentionally create some damn meaning in her life. That was worth something right? What the hell else did she have better to do with her time? She pulled on her favorite ratty hoodie from college, a well-worn Beastie Boys Check Your Head pullover.

She drove down to the village and decided to walk the little downtown area. The ideas started to come hot and fast. She hated her job. Maybe she should pursue something that actually interested her. So yeah. Upgrade the job. Get a better apartment. Start hanging out with quality people. Find some people who love the things I love. A common interest.

She walked past a charming coffee shop. “Perfect timing,” she thought. She ducked in. She waited patiently for the couple in front of her to order. It must have been their first time because it was taking them a long time to figure out what they wanted. The paradox of choice. This gave Susie time to study the menu, and more importantly study the cute barista. He was cool. Tasteful forearm tats of culinary devices. Cool hair. Tasteful stache. The most attractive thing about him was his demeanor. Calm, happy, serene. Intentional. Quick with the humor. She stole casual glances when she could. She looked behind him and caught a dog-eared paperback perched on the counter near the bean grinder. Conscious Loving. That word again. Is this some sort of omen?

“Hi what can I get for you?” Susie looked up to see him staring at her. “Oh, London Fog please.” Their eyes met and they held a knowing gaze for just a second. He smiled. “Sure. Good choice. I love those. Would you like anything else? I just made some banana scones and they’re still warm…” Susie broke her gaze and looked at the scones. “Oh yeah. Sure! that sounds good.” The barista nodded. “Great. You won’t be disappointed.” He looked over his shoulder as he steamed the milk. “Cool hoodie by the way.” Susie looked down. “Oh yeah, I’ve had this thing a long time as you can tell.” He smiled as he brought the drink to her. “Yeah that’s a cool album. If you’re into 90s hip hop, my friend is DJing over at the Fitzgerald tonight, just down the street. I usually avoid the scene but I go whenever he’s playing, because he’s so good. I’ll probably be there around 9. If you’re interested, maybe I’ll see you there?” Susie smiled and tried to hide the fact that her face was growing hot. The hot guy is inviting me to a club. “Hey, that sounds awesome! Yeah, sure I’ll check it out.” The barista smiled wide and nodded in approval. “Great. I’ll see you at 9.” Hot coffee guy is genuinely happy to know I’ll be there! Susie tried to hide her excitement as she left the coffee shop, her smile as wide as her shoulders. What the fuck just happened? She got back to her car, sat back in her seat, and tried the scone. Spicy, sweet, crumbly and buttery. This guy’s a keeper.

Ingredients

Miso Sauce

• ⅓ cup miso

• 1 egg yolk

• 1 tbsp. sake

• 1 tbsp. mirin

• 1 tbsp. honey

• 3 tbsp. water or broth

Seasonings (choose one or more)

• Intrepid Bay Coffee BBQ blend

• Minced ginger

• Orange zest

For the tofu:

• ½ package tofu—7 ounces (packages are usually sold in 14 oz. size)

• Olive, vegetable, or sesame oil

Directions

1. Bring a double boiler (or a large pot of water) to a good simmer. Place a smaller saucepan inside the larger pot of water to form a double boiler if you don’t have one.

2. Combine miso egg, sake, mirin and honey. Add the water and stir until it is thick and glassy. Take off the heat. Add either the orange zest, or the ginger, or the BBQ blend, according to your taste. Or, get crazy and create two or three sauce options.

3. Place the tofu block on its long edge, then cut in half, so it is half the thickness. Gently press this block on a wad of paper towels to drain the water so they are fairly dry. Cut the block into 8 pieces.

4. Brush the pieces with oil and either fry them on cast iron or place them under an oven broiler. Brown both sides.

5. Remove from heat and garnish with the miso sauce.

The news reports had made it clear: the north side was a war zone. The news reporter was detailing the emergence of a gang leader and his takeover of the entire 8th voting ward. Passage into and out of this ward was now restricted. All roadways had been blocked. The police, facing a lack of funding—and a lack of candidates—had given up on the area. The neighborhood lawlessness had festered for more than a year, but was now reaching a crisis point. “As we all know the mayor had asked the governor to call in the national guard and cut power to the neighborhood. Surprisingly the national guard were immediately ambushed by the citizens of the ward in a surprise assault, many of them teens armed with fully automatic weapons like the Mac-10 you see here, as well as even rocket launchers such as this one, that brought down the Army helicopter we reported about on Tuesday. These bands of young militant teens have shown to be surprisingly reckless and moved about the ward going very fast in these improvised armored cars they call “battle whips.”

“As of now Shaun, I’m on the outskirts of the neighborhood, you can see the fires burning and the destruction, and we cannot get into the neighborhood safely so we’re on the outside looking in. As we talked about on Wednesday, these last few days of heated battle has been utterly inconceivable. It’s just unbelievable that this would happen here in the heart of America, and just as it seemed the national guard was gaining the upper hand, we saw that viral video of young 10 and 12 year old kids shooting down several of the soldiers before they themselves were shot and killed. Another video showed those explosions of cars and the gas station on 12th street that had killed several troops, as well as the improvised explosive devices created by the gang which have given the troops a lot of trouble. It wasn’t long after that the troops were ordered back by the governor after all of the backlash and outrage on social media after seeing videos of the soldiers killing those children. Even the president has gotten involved and after touring the outskirts called for peace and discussion. We heard on Thursday the offer from the mayor to completely dismantle policing in the city if the gang were to stop their siege. As far as we all know at this point in time, the offer still stands but we haven’t heard anything from the two leaders of the gang. And after a week without power the gang had ambushed the Lower Corridor power plant and had taken employees hostage, forcing them to restore power service to the neighborhood so now the ball is in the mayor’s court, as well as the governor on what to do next and how to proceed. It’s obviously a difficult situation here and we just unfortunately don’t see an end to this, in fact it seems that the gang—the whole neighborhood in this ward really—has gotten the upper hand as neighboring wards have joined in on the action and are continuing to provide them with aid.”

Jack shut off the television and finished packing. He didn’t need to hear any more news about what was going on in his city. He was going into the zone with Heidi to assess for themselves. They had finished their residencies at the medical college and had decided they could not stay on the sidelines. They were getting into the game. Whether or not the combatants were right in their siege, there were people who were getting caught in the crossfire, and they needed help.

They packed the car and drove through the back streets of the city, headed east down the industrial corridor which was still open to truck traffic. As they got close to the valley power plant they were in awe of the giant black clouds that were spewing out of the 400 ft. stacks. The upper part of the control building was on fire, and flames were rolling out of the top windows, which had been smashed out. Several blocks down, another large factory was on fire. The clouds of brown and black smoke were so thick they were blotting out the sun, plunging the entire east side into darkness.

They parked near 12th street and walked in. Jack had scouted the perimeter and had found an opening in the fence along a side street in the adjacent ward. Quickly peeling back the fence, Jack motioned for Heidi to pass through and then followed suit. From there they walked across a mile of back yards, slinking around fences and maneuvering through the landscape of wild bushes, abandoned cars, yards full of junk, toys, and neglected, broken swimming pools. They passed through a chain link fence at the far end of a school football field and made their way to the entrance, which was heavily guarded. Slinking through the maze of barbed wire, they found an open bay door at the back of the school where the auto shop was located. They moved through the barricade of old cars and junk parts to the entrance. There was nobody in the shop. They looked around and saw piles of steel and iron that were used to armor cars. What looked like bomb making materials were strewn across a workbench. A large station wagon sat in the bay. They heard people headed their way. They froze and looked at each other. Jack headed under the wagon and Heidi followed. A group of kids and young adults entered. They were busy talking about the recent events and recounting things they had witnessed. There was an excited buzz in the air. An instructor came in and started barking orders. Jack and Heidi looked at each other. Heidi was terrified. They only had this brief moment of exchange before the instructor knelt down beside the car, looked squarely at Jack, and said “How are things looking under there? You guys are the new assistants, right? Come out and put your name on the roster here.” The buzz of the class was still echoing against the walls of the shop, with many of the students oblivious to the scene.

Jack and Heidi nervously came out from under the wagon and faced the instructor. He gave them a serious look and held out a small printed shop receipt with a list of names. He ordered them in a brusque undertone. “Hurry up, put your names on the list, they’ll be here in a minute.” Jack and Heidi wrote their names down. The instructor told them to get back under the car. Just then 3 men dressed in battle gear with AR-15s walked into the shop. The instructor loudly announced, “OK, so we have Samuel and Stacy here, they’re originally from Tampa and they live over on Ohio street, and they are here to help us learn the basics of auto repair and armor configurations, they’re busy underneath prepping the anchor points for us.” And with that, the instructor handed the piece of paper containing the class roster to the leader of the armed men. Jack and Heidi kept quiet. The instructor continued as casually as if he were teaching AP Chemistry in the suburbs. “Now, yesterday we talked about anchor points of vehicles and how to attach these reinforced members to the body so that our armor plates can then be anchored with maximum strength and protection…” The soldiers paid Jack and Heidi no attention. They checked the perimeter and then disappeared through the darkened doorway. The instructor continued to lecture while Jack and Heidi did their best to look casually engaged. It probably wasn’t working. They were a sweaty mess. It hadn’t occurred to them that they may get hurt, or even lose their lives over a misunderstanding or stupid mistake.

After the lecture, the instructor came close to Heidi. “I don’t know what you are doing here, but if I were you, I’d find my way back out. These people are serious, and the longer you stay here, the more likely you will be found out. Now here, take this roster copy and use it anyway you can. If I had to guess, it’s probably the only legitimate claim you have to be here. But you need to leave.”

“But we’re here to help!” Heidi pleaded. “We’re medical doctors and these people need help!” The instructor looked at her incredulously. “Are you serious? How naive can you be? You think they don’t have doctors here?” The instructor shook his head. “Man, they have a whole damn staff over at McKinley. And you two have a big ass target on your backs. Two young white kids? You’re going to be lucky if you don’t get tortured. These guys are ruthless and they are paranoid. If they believe anyone is a snitch, or a spy, they will cut you up. Have you seen this neighborhood? The only white people in here are homeless people and anarchist hippies or whatever the hell they call them. Like wookies or crazy granola people. Anyway, if these guys see you two, you’ll be gang raped or something worse.” Jack shot him an incredulous look. “Are you serious? Have you seen that happen?” “Well, no. But I know how those people are!” the instructor hissed. “You two need to come with me.”

The instructor walked them down a long dark corridor to the boiler room. He led them to the back, which had two large overhead doors. “You need to wait here. If you hear anything, head to those tall cabinets over to the far side over there and pray they don’t see you.” Jack and Heidi were nervous. They hadn’t thought of the consequences at all. They hadn’t thought about how they might be perceived. They had assumed that there was no medical presence here. Could the instructor be right? Where did they get medical staff? They heard a screech and crash. They both jumped and headed towards the cabinets. One of the overhead doors was opening. Jack stuffed Heidi into a cabinet where she could crouch down, and he hid behind a tool cart in the corner. He watched as the door fully opened, and heard a vehicle running outside. “Hurry up!” the instructor hissed. Jack and Heidi emerged and followed him to the back of his car, a small station wagon. “Here, you guys get under this tarp and stay put. If we get stopped we’ll all die.” With that, the instructor helped Jack and Heidi into the back of the car and covered them with a tarp and a couple of duffel bags. He then closed the hatch, looked around the compound, and then motored through the perimeter security area. He took a casual right turn and headed down 12th street. “My name is Jesse by the way. I ran a tire shop on the west side. I was given a choice to pick up a gun or help teach auto shop.” Heidi spoke up nervously “I can’t believe this, how can this be so fucked up?” Jesse laughed. “Well, the time for resistance has passed. Just consider yourself lucky if they don’t take over the whole damn city in six months. SHIT!”

Jack and Heidi were slammed into the seat back as Jesse maneuvered over a curb and through a series of front yards. “We’ve got some trouble here. HANG ON! Hang on hang on hang on, SHIT! Hang onnn. We’ve got some guys on us. FUCk! Some gangbangers, not military but they’re gonna rip us off and I don’t want to get fucked up today. Just hold on I’m going through the park here it’s going to be a little rough…” Heidi and Jack bounced around in the back. Heidi tried desperately to hold on to something to keep herself from flying around the back, but there was nothing to hold on to. The back window exploded and Heidi screamed. The terror in her voice rang out against the sound of bullets ripping through sheetmetal. Is this what it was like to be in a war? Heidi and Jack were at the mercy of the car, which was blasting over curbs and holes, the car’s suspension exploding in a series of concussive high speed blows. She yelped as she slammed the side of the wheelhouse with her head. The high speed chase went on for what seemed like forever, and Heidi started crying. Was this going to end? Were they going to be brutalized? It was too much to think about. They leapt in the air and crashed violently down a steep grade. Tree branches and brush menacingly scraped the sides of the car as it careened down a wooded hill.

Jesse finally stopped the car. “Hold on for a minute, just wait. I think we made it.” He waited for a minute or two. “I think they gave up.” “Oh my God I think I have a concussion,” cried Heidi. Jesse helped both of them crawl out of the back. He motioned across the forest and the small creek at the bottom of the embankment. “Just across there. At the bottom you’ll see it’s fenced but there’s enough room to crawl through. Get out now, and hurry it up before someone sees you two. You will have to look out for those whips. If you see any car coming down the road you have GOT to run for cover.”

Heidi and Jack maneuvered their way through the dense underbrush and shimmied under the small opening under the chan link fence. They silently made their way across the creek, and then across the street through a series of backyards and alleys. They came out into a busy main thoroughfare and walked across an industrial corridor towards their car. On their way they passed a makeshift tent set up with a blue tarp and some scrap wood. An old Japanese woman was making dinner for an older man and his daughter. She was carefully turning tofu squares on an iron griddle positioned over the propane burner. The woman saw them and froze. After looking them over she motioned for them to join her in the tent. “Strangers in a strange land, eh?” She smiled. Jack spoke up. “We’re just on our way home, we were looking to help some of the captive people in the 8th Ward but it’s too dangerous.” Heidi looked across the valley at the burning factories and the power plant. The overwhelming destruction. She began sobbing. “This place is in ruins, it’s so bad right now I can’t believe this!” The old woman continued her careful preparation with perfect poise. She carefully spread a dollop of miso sauce on top of the tofu and then offered a plate to Heidi. “It’s o.k. Manure makes excellent fertilizer.”

These wings are a blend of Moroccan, Korean, Mexican and American seasonings. Each seasoning brings warmth, heat, salt, sweet, and spicy overtones. Try some with just the dry rub on them, and some with the sauce, or enjoy them with both, which is what I recommend.

Ingredients

Wings:

2 lbs. Chicken wings

2 tbsp. Baking powder

1 tbsp. Corn starch

Parchment paper

Dry rub:

2 tsp. Intrepid Bay Marrakesh seasoning blend

2 tsp. Intrepid Bay Honey BBQ blend

1 tsp. Tajin

Sauce:

1/4 c. Ketchup

2 tbsp. Heinz chili sauce

1 tbsp. Korean Gochujang paste

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 450F

2. Lay out some paper towels on a baking sheet and pat the chicken wings dry.

3. Blend the baking powder and cornstarch together. Sprinkle on top of the wings and lightly rub the mixture in so they are coated. Flip and do the same to the backside. Add parchment paper to the baking sheets and lay the wings out.

4. Roast at 450 for 32 minutes, be sure to turn them over halfway through roasting.

5. Blend the Marrakesh, Honey BBQ, and Tajin seasoning together in a large mixing bowl.

6. Mix the ketchup, chili sauce, and gochujang paste together.

7. Take the wings out of the oven and toss them with the dry rub in the large mixing bowl. Brush them with the sauce and serve.

Hee-Young opened the door and stepped out into the cold morning air. The calls of distant crows echoed off of the snow covered mountains. She paused, took several cleansing breaths of clear mountain air, and walked to her studio. She turned on two work lamps positioned over her wedging table, then made her way to the other side of the studio and turned on another set of lamps next to her throwing wheel. She turned on a small hotplate as well as an electronic radiator next to her work station. She opened the door to her small wood burning stove and started a fire. She then placed a small kettle of water on the top. The studio was now illuminated in golden light, which was a warm contrast against the blue darkness of the early winter morning. It was the only sign of life in the small mountain village. She made her way back to the house to pour another cup of tea have a small breakfast. She watched the sky transition from night into day and then made her way back to the now-warm studio. She uncovered a slab of clay and wedged it into several cone-shaped mounds, then brought it to her wheel. This was how she spent her days.

The first time Charlie saw her he was mesmerized by her skill and artistry. He watched her in her environment, fixated on how she had designed a beautiful world inside her studio. Her wheel had been built into a wood platform and recessed into it, providing a perfect ergonomic height. Her wooden pottery boards could be stacked on top of the series of dowel rods that were positioned overhead and alongside the south-facing bank of windows. Her environment was a blend of art and science, form and function. What was more fascinating to him was how beautiful she was. Her dark, lustrous hair, her piercing eyes, her smooth porcelain skin. He had been traveling through the remote regions of South Korea on a geology trip, and had stumbled upon this village while making his way back to Seoul. While Hee-Young did not conform to the beauty standards of Koreans, Charlie was nonetheless enamored with her. He immediately fell in love. She didn’t seem very interested. She had her studio and her clay and her tea. This was enough for her.

He asked her questions about her life there. She was shy and a little skeptical at first but she eventually opened up. “I’ve always lived in the village and I love the mountains here,” she said. “When I was young I spent a lot of time outside, playing in the mountain streams and out in the forest. I spent a lot of time near the temple. My mother had a camera and I used to take pictures of all the colorful things I would see. I would try to capture the texture of things and how they felt to me. I played in the snow and would break off icicles from the temple eaves. I had a game where I would try to break them free in one piece so I could play with them. My mom and I would bury oranges in the snow to cool them. They were a treat. Now I spend my days making pottery because I love it. It gives me time to feel the earth with my hands. I made a glaze that’s just like the melting snow in March. I use it on my pieces because it’s a reflection of the environment I love.”

He watched her expertly form small teacups and bowls. He watched her methodically trim the dry pieces, mesmerized by the shaved curls of clay that would lightly fall to the wheel. He loved listening to the hum of the wheel, the sounds of her trimming each piece, the light rain of small clay particles falling into the splash pan. He could spend a hundred years there and be happy. But Charlie had a life waiting for him in the states, and he had to leave. To her, he was an interesting and curious person. But that was that. She had a life here in the mountains and he was just passing through.

The next time Hee-Young saw Charlie she was in the Catskills. She was there as a visiting artist. She had fallen in love with the mountains and the kind people there. She was given an opportunity to stay longer and she had excitedly accepted the offer. She had been filled with a renewed energy while working and exploring the Hudson up to the Adirondacks and had found new friends along the way. She was attending a small party and found Charlie in the kitchen. He couldn’t believe his luck. As they stood in the kitchen, he saw her warm smile and was overcome with gratitude that he had another chance to be with her. He was cooking for the party. “I’m so glad to see you again! So you are the friend Allison was telling me about. I can’t believe this, isn’t it weird?” She laughed. “It is. It is so weird. It’s unbelievable!” Hee-Young watched Charlie prepare chicken wings. “I love chicken. There is a place in my small village that makes the best fried chicken and beer. I love going there!”

Charlie expertly tossed the wings in some kind of flour. “I use a little corn meal and baking powder on the wings instead of flour. I put a light coat on them and then bake them at high heat.” She watched him pull a tray of finished wings from the oven. “Then, I add my special secret blend of dry spices. Paprika, chilies, pepper, bay, ginger, garlic, cardamom, a little bit of everything. The key is to bake them at high heat and then use the spices after they have been in the oven. This brings out the warmth of the spices without destroying their flavor.”

Hee-Young noticed how his cooking related to her art, and she saw him in a different light that night. She saw his effort and care, his artistry, and his bright blue eyes. He looked up from his workstation and smiled. “Would you like to go to dinner with me? I know a great fried chicken place that serves beer.”
She leaned back against the refrigerator and smiled. Of course she would.

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Lonnie doesn’t follow convention. That’s why you’ll find Italian ingredients in a traditional Chinese dish. It’s unconventional and delicious. It’s also low carb if you’re into that. Lonnie is.

Ingredients

1 to 2 tbsp. Olive oil

1/2 Onion, diced

2 small Italian peppers, chopped

1 small Poblano, chopped

1/2 c. Frozen peas

1/2 c. Frozen shelled edamame

2 tsp. Ginger

Soy sauce, to taste

1–2 pinches of Intrepid Bay Italian Seasoning

1/2 tsp. Sesame oil, to taste (optional)

Sartori Grated Parmesan, to taste (optional)

3 oz. Dried Black Soybean Spaghetti

Directions

Heat the oil on medium high heat until shimmering.

Add onion, peppers, peas and edamame and fry on medium-high heat, 4 minutes. Add ginger and stir in. Add in splashes of soy sauce to taste. Start with 2-3 tablespoons, and test. Add more until you reach the desired sodium level. Take off the heat when the edamame and peas are done. Add sesame oil to the vegetables if desired. Total fry time may be 6-7 minutes.

While the vegetables are frying, bring a stock pot with water to boil and add the soybean spaghetti and cook for 4 minutes. Drain and dress with quality olive oil.

Add the vegetables to the noodles and stir to incorporate. Serve in bowls, and garnish with grated Parmigiano if desired.

Mark loved whiskey. He didn’t abuse it. He rarely had more than one glass. He savored it with his favorite cigar. Sometimes he would pair it with his favorite chocolate, or with a perfectly cooked steak. He was a fan. He became an aficionado. It was an expensive hobby, but he had a great paying job in IT. He also had the good fortune to meet a sales rep for a liquor distributor and forged a relationship with him. He would often buy cases of his favorites and rare, limited releases. He found them to be a form of investment when the market took off, so he rode the wave.

Unfortunately when the market took a turn and he lost his job, he drank more than one glass. He couldn’t tell exactly when the transition happened, but as the months of unemployment wore on, he took solace in his collection and his one or two glass-a-week habit became several glasses a day. He had managed to find a new job, but it paid significantly less. He didn’t like his ass of a boss; a petulant, ego-driven jock who seemed to be an expert at abdicating responsibility. His VP was even worse. A sidekick who had short man syndrome. He had earned the nickname of Mini Me by the crew. Long days of being chained to his desk in the middle of a cube farm was wearing down his soul. He felt trapped. Over the course of a year, he had tapped his savings and was unable to pay for his leaky roof. His clothes dryer had unceremoniously quit on him without warning. Things were getting hard and Mark felt like he was on the rollercoaster headed down after the peak. At the moment his future looked twisty and gravity defying.

He’d routinely have a celebratory drink at dusk after work, savoring the flavors as the sun sank brilliantly into the horizon. Fall was his favorite time of year. One particularly brilliant evening, Mark found two shadowy figures outside his garage. They looked like trouble.

His heart raced and his throat burned as it restricted his airway. He hurried to the kitchen. Peering through the window, he slowly opened the cabinet drawer that held his pistol. He checked the magazine, glanced once again out the window, and paused. It looked as though they were first having an argument, but as the minutes ticked by it seemed as though they had decided that his side yard was a place to hang out and discuss hood news. Both men wore baggy pants and hoodies. There was at least 7 cases of whiskey stored in the garage, and that was enough for Mark to determine that they were looking for a way into that garage to get their fix. He took several large, long breaths to calm himself, slowly tucked the pistol into the back of his pants, and calmly walked out into the backyard to greet them.

The taller of the two spoke up first. “Oh hey, what’s going on? I’m Lonnie, this is my man Herb over here. We’re just discussing what to do next, our car took a shit on the other block.” Mark gave them a smile but was sure to keep his distance. “Oh, ok. So I’m wondering why you are here in the yard, seems like a strange place to have a conference.” Lonnie looked up, sniffed, and looked behind him. “Well yeah, I hadn’t thought about that, I mean we don’t follow a lot of rules you know, which gets us into situations sometimes.” At that point Herb spoke up. “See I told you man, this shit is weird.” He started laughing.

It was a laugh that one would characterize as a druggie laugh, which was fitting. Mark noticed that Lonnie had dark circles around his eyes. He was skinny and jittery. Herb was missing a front tooth and had bad skin. They both looked like they were looking to score speed, or whatever the kids called it now. Either way, Mark was making a number of calculations and right now the situation did not look good. As he continued to make small talk, his brain was overclocking. Weighing his next course of action. Playing out scenarios.

Mark continued to press them. “You guys have to know that you’re in someone’s yard, beside a garage, with hoodies, looking the way you do. A reasonable person would be calling the cops right now.” Lonnie casually looked up from his shoe gazing and scanned the back yard. “Yeah, I hear you, I hear you. You know, this time of evening, this is when we come out. We go out, walk around, look at shit. Talk, hang out. We take drives. We stay up all night.” Herb broke in. “Yeah we do a lot of shit at night. Lonn has trouble sleeping and you know, we just don’t live the normal life and we don’t want it that way so you know we go out and try to have fun.”

The more Mark spoke to them, the more casual they became. After 5 minutes of conversation, Mark had determined that they were most likely not armed. He decided to check them on their story. “So where is this car of yours?” Lonnie extended his long lanky arm to the south. “Back that way. We’re just on the other side of this dude’s yard here.” Mark motioned for them to get going, as if they were dogs waiting to get into the car. He followed them to the next block and was surprised when they arrived at the car. A Mercedes E class. Mint condition. Lonnie had the remote. He unlocked the car and popped the hood. “I know it’s the battery man. We hooked it up to this big fuckin’ JBL powered sub at the party. I got a jump box back at the crib though.” He glanced back at Mark. “Hey I know what you’re thinking. Check this out though.” Lonnie motioned for Mark to follow him as he leaned into the passenger side of the car. He opened the glovebox and handed the registration to Mark. The two laughed when Mark confirmed Lonnie was the owner. “See? I told your ass,” Herb poked Lonnie.

“Lonnie’s got money. And he’s not a crackhead. His pops had a big ass ketchup company he sold years ago and set Lonn up after he passed.” Lonnie clicked his tongue. “Man you don’t need to go into that Herb, just let this dude help us and we’ll get on our way.” Mark looked at them both, scratched the back of his head, and paused. “Well, I can give you a ride. Where do you live?” Lonnie had his head buried under the hood of the car. “Oh, I’m up in Redwood Hills, up in one of those homes in the back.” “Well,” Mark replied, “let’s go.”

Mark pulled into the driveway of an enormous Tudor style home situated on a perfectly manicured lawn, decorated with two dirtbikes, a jetski, DJ booth, and a small kicker ramp. Lonnie found his jump box after spending 10 minutes giving Mark a tour. Lonnie and Herb apparently spent a lot of time riding motorcycles, skating, throwing parties, and mentoring youth over at the local community center. Mark spent some time telling stories of his own youth. Staying up all night, riding bikes through dark trails at night, setting off fireworks in the back of a car, throwing house parties, and racing boats on the local tributary. Lonnie and Mark had a good laugh. Lonnie looked at Herb. “Hey, go in the house and get the checkbook for Mark. Yo Mark, we appreciate the lift. We got it from here. We’ll take the Hellcat back to pick up the Merc.”

Herb came back with a leather bound folio. Lonnie pulled out a pen from his front pocket. “Yo Mark, you did us a solid man I appreciate it.” Mark held up his hands. “No no. I don’t want any money I was just helping you guys out.” Lonnie clicked his tongue. “Man, don’t be stupid. Nobody helps out dudes who look like us, and I'm gonna help you out. Looks like you need some work on your roof anyway. That’s what Herb and I were discussing before you came out the house looking all hot, packing that 9 in your pants.” Mark turned red. Lonnie continued. “I just had some work done on my roof. Got a name for you. Charley over at United Roofing Contractors. Good dude. You call him up and let him know I sent you. He’ll set you up straight.” Lonnie handed a check to Mark. $30,000. “Oh, by the way, you got a fuckload of whiskey up in that garage man, you need to look out. Shit’s unhealthy as fuck. I don’t do any of that anymore after my doctor told me about my condition. Got clean 4 years ago and now I get fucked up on sunshine, vegetables and meditation now. I’m trying to tell the kids but man they won’t listen. Oh—also—get an hour of exercise a day too. You’re pale as fuck man. No offense. Just lookin’ out, you know?”

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Learn More

Ingredients:

1 medium onion

1 C. chopped carrots

2 small Italian peppers, or one small bell pepper

3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, diced

1 clove garlic

1 Tbsp. ginger, finely chopped

1 cup coconut cream

1/2 cup chicken stock

2–4 Tbsp. Intrepid Bay Thai Green Curry (or more, to taste)

1/2 t. salt

1 lime, halved and juiced

1/2 c. cilantro, chopped, for garnish

Directions:

Sauté the onion, peppers, and carrots until softened.

Add the diced chicken to the skillet and cook until done.

Add the garlic & ginger. Cook until fragrant.

Add the coconut milk, chicken stock, Thai Green Curry, salt and reduce the heat.

Allow mixture to gently boil for about 5 minutes.

Squeeze the lime and add juice to the mixture. Serve in bowls over jasmine rice and garnish with cilantro.

Attis watched as the last passengers of LHS 1140b boarded the starship. The planet had been a reliable home for millennia, but the host star was slowly dying. The red dwarf had never been considered a powerful star, but the massive greenhouse effect of 1140b, coupled with the close distance to the star, had been enough to sustain life. The Crios had kept records of their stay, dating back 700,000 years. Initially the surface temperature had been an average of 73 degrees. As their activities on the planet grew, so did the degradation of the atmosphere. After millennia, the surface temperature now averaged -94 degrees. As temperatures plummeted they had built an extensive network of underground structures. They had plenty to work with. 1140b had a giant, dense rocky exterior that dwarfed other rocky habitable exoplanets. The Crios built structures that became massive underground cities, with abundant underground water sources and powered by the large rotating core of molten iron and nickel. A large and seemingly endless geothermal network kept the interior at a comfortable 72 degrees.

Over thousands of years, however, the Crios had grown past the ability of the planet to sustain them. The underground colony had expanded to over 60,000 miles of underground structures. The problem they now faced was oxygen, or lack of it. Despite their ability to engineer large surface air supply structures, they struggled with the technology to remove the increasing amounts of chlorine and bromine vapor from their systems. Their ability to work effectively was hampered, and mandatory curfews had been put into place. Work was limited to the bare maintenance of their environment. Shortages of air had brought about large societal upheaval. Entire cities had degraded and were closed off. Another concern was the poisonous gases which erupted with every shift of the continental plates. Over the past millennia, these natural disasters had killed millions and prompted officials to take action. The decision had been made to find another host planet.

The migration to Terra 56a began 22 years ago. The only inhabitants left at this point were essential staff and members of the guard. All citizens had been evacuated. Attis had Essential 1B status as an engineer, and his connections with government officials had proven to be valuable. Officially, Attis was to board the last ship and make the long journey. Unofficially, Attis was not boarding that vessel. At this stage of life, Attis was tired. He was entering his middle years, and he had built a life here. He had no intention of leaving the planet. The thought of dying on a galactic starship on a 400 year journey to the next planet held no appeal to him. His home was 1140b. The plan was simple. Convince one of his closest colleagues to strike him from the list, to declare his death an accident. Attis’s work was dangerous, involving the construction of underground structures, along with maintenance of the artificial pulsars that converted noxious gases to those necessary for life. It would be no surprise to officials that he had suffered an accident deep within the rocky layers of the Dinlas zone. The same wasn’t true for Gaea, his lover.

She was the recipient of another type of fortunate circumstance. She was a nobody. Born in poverty and without an implant, she lived her first 8 years without any formal documentation. Once she had been enrolled in school, the implant was required. The rest of her life was a series of aliases; hacks that were uploaded to her implant by her father, an anarchist and member of the liberation. His last gift to her was an upload and DNA data exchange with a young woman who was almost identical. She had disappeared from official records, thought to have been a stowaway on one of the mineral freighthaulers that provided essential material to feed the pulsars. Her father had found the young woman’s signature after seeing her on the outskirts, where she was planning her escape from the planet. With her cooperation, Gaea’s father had downloaded her implant data before she left the planet. From that point forward, as far as the Crios were concerned, Gaea was a galactic stowaway, light years from 1140b.

Gaea had managed to stay hidden miles below in a condemned corner of one of the outposts. The project began after she and Attis had met and fallen in love. To Gaea, Attis was handsome, noble looking, smart, and funny. He was an amazing caretaker and confidant. He accepted her completely, and his strength made her feel safe. To Attis, Gaea was a gem. Unlike almost every women on the planet, she never had money for facial reconstruction, smoothing, or aesthetic implants. To everyone, she was one of the polluted. A grimy and squalid untouchable. To Attis, she was imperfect in the most irresistible and beautiful way. He loved her sloped nose, her slightly crooked and protruded canines, and the small birthmark on her neck below her ear. He was mesmerized by her mismatched eye colors—one blue and one hazel. Most of all he loved her sheer willingness to wear her imperfections with pride. She exuded the sort of confidence reserved for soldiers or fighters. She was gentle and loving yet tough. She was both playful and serious. Strategic yet carefree. There was no way that Attis couldn’t fall madly in love with her.

Once they learned of the evacuation plan, they made the decision to stay behind. To find a safe, stable area hidden miles from the nearest active outpost. Attis had used his engineering knowledge—and help from the liberation—to build a hidden outpost that supplied them with everything they would need. Nutrient replicators, pulsar atmospheric devices, light, power. Geothermal heat. There was enough for seven generations. They had millions of petabytes of data from observational satellites, streaming the communication signals from all 2,400 exoplanet missions. There was life on other planets, and listening in on their communications provided the couple with endless fascination and entertainment. They had access to libraries, lounges, steam baths, mineral pools, and underground waterfalls. They would frequently hike the lava tubes that led to beautiful cavernous vistas. Over the past 20 years they had built a snug refuge, away from the conflicts and misery of the overcrowded Safe Zone. Their home spanned 6,000 square haplouns. It was a network of renovated rooms joined together by long corridors. Some corridors led to Parthenon-like subterranean temples, all brilliantly lit from above, as if they were bathed by sunlight. This was to be their refuge for the remainder of their lives.

As Attis watched the last guard ship leave the atmosphere, he engaged his speeder and glided towards the tunnel entrance, watching the fading red dwarf sun travel towards the horizon. As he sped past the rows of columns leading underground, the last flaming magenta rays of light blasted against the deep violet sky and lashed his face. It would be 130 days before the sun would rise again. He sped through the underground corridors that connected the vacant, empty libraries, amphitheaters and public squares. Attis was filled with a sense of excitement and optimism. Gaea would be waiting for him, lovely as ever, bathed in the warm glow of their deeply hidden home. She would celebrate their new chapter by actually cooking food, instead of programming their usual nutrient intake. They would drink wine, slow dance, and bathe in the warmth of the thermal pools. They would fall asleep in each other’s loving arms, warm, happy, and buried deep within a dying planet orbiting a dying star. All alone and yet together.

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The Sample

Ingredients

• 1 block tofu

• Olive oil

• 2 tsp. Intrepid Bay Marrakesh Blend

• Salt

• 6 oz. Edamame

• Bamboo or stainless steamer

• 1 tsp. Lao Gan Ma chili oil

• 2 tbsp. Soy sauce

• 1 t. Minced ginger

Directions

1. Bring a stock pot of water to boil and place the steamer basket on top.

2. Remove tofu from package and set the block on its long edge. Slice the block in half so it is now half the thickness.

3. Press the tofu on some paper towels to drain excess water from the block.

4. Drizzle olive oil on both sides of the block and apply the spice rub to both sides and add a pinch of salt to both sides.

5. Grill the tofu in an oiled cast iron skillet or griddle over medium heat, or use a George Foreman grill. Sear for about 5 minutes on each side.

6. Meanwhile, add the edamame to the steamer basket and steam until they are heated through and tender, 5-8 minutes.

7. Combine soy sauce, ginger, and chili oil in a small serving bowl.

8. Drizzle the soy chili sauce over the tofu blocks and serve with the steamed edamame.

The first time Quinn saw Alena she was blocking a round kick from an attacker and quickly forcing him into a chokehold. He submitted in under 4 seconds. She smiled and laughed as easily as a young women might if she were browsing handbags at a lively boutique with her friends. She had turned from fierce to demure in an instant. She faced her assailant and gave a bow. She moved lightly. Unburdened, but with intention. She was completely at ease as she walked off the sparring floor. She joked with a couple of students as she adjusted her black belt and put on her shoes. Then she waved cheerily at her sparring partner and strode out the door.

The next time Quinn saw Alena she was training one of her new employees on how to trim mounting board for signs. She owned the small sign shop in town and had become a local fixture over the past ten years. There wasn’t a downtown business that hadn’t used her services at some point. Her work was all over, and over that span of time she had had a large part in shaping the look of the charming shopping district that comprised most of Main Street. Quinn was looking for a part time job after school, and his mother had recommended Alena. Her staff was comprised mostly of high school kids. Young, energetic, and filled with life. High school kids were also known to be unreliable, moody, and mistake prone. Alena never seemed to have that problem though. Maybe she had a knack for hiring good kids. Maybe she whipped them into shape. She was intimidating. Nobody really gave Alena problems, mostly because of her martial arts reputation, but also because she did things that were considered abnormal and unconventional. People in smaller towns don’t know what to do with someone who turns out to be an unpredictable warrior.

It was with this knowledge that Quinn was understandably nervous about approaching her for a job. He carefully entered the sign shop and found Alena in the back with Madison, one of the girls from the high school, singing what sounded like an old folk tune. “Wow!” Madison exclaimed. “I want to have a voice like that. Maybe if I practice enough I can sound like that. How did you get such a beautiful voice?” Alena smiled. “I’ve witnessed a lot of trouble, I’ve felt a lot of joy, and I’ve had to bury loved ones and deal with the loss. That’s how I got my distinctive voice.” Just then she looked over and found Quinn. “HEY! You must be Quinn.” Quinn was caught off guard. “Uhh yeah. I am. Good to meet you.” Alena shook his hand. “You’re here for a job. How many hours do you want?” Quinn looked confused. “Your mother told me you would be stopping by and asking for a job. So how many hours do you need?” Quinn looked around. “Uh, well I think like 10?” “Sure. 10 is good to start. Stop by on Saturday and I’ll get you all set up. Welcome aboard!” Quinn felt a rush of relief. “Ok, great, thank you!” Alena nodded and went back to singing while shuffling paper board from one workstation to another.

The week flew by and Quinn got to learn many things at his new job. As the autumn chill took hold of the small town, Quinn fell in love with Stacy, a new girl at school. They spent their lunch together, and hung out downtown after school, sharing stories and laughing, watching movies and kissing. Then he got into a fight with Brian Smoltz, a jock who had a thing for Stacy. Quinn arrived at work one afternoon with a bruise near his eye and a cut on his cheek. Alena grinned. “Aye, had a bit of fun wrestling around, eh? Was that from your girl or was that because of her?” Quinn looked down at the ground. “Just some dumb jock. I hate how entitled those guys are.” Alena paused and looked at Quinn. “I have some advice that could change some things for you. Stop by my place after work and we’ll talk.” Quinn looked lost. “Well, I need to check with my mom she’s probably expec–”

“Your mom called me and asked that I help you so if you don’t have plans after work you should stop by. Dinner’s on me.” Alena gave him a serious look, then broke into a laugh. “Don’t worry, young cub. Training is fun. You’ll see.”

Quinn pulled up to Alena’s house and parked his bicycle in front of the garage. He followed the stone-lined pathway to a gate which led into a spacious back yard, ambled up the stairs of the deck and awkwardly knocked on the sliding glass door. “How do you knock on a sliding glass door?” thought Quinn. “It’s weird.”

“HI!” Quinn was startled by the loud and clear voice behind him. He turned to find Alena grinning. “Good to see you, young cub. Follow me.” Alena led Quinn to what looked like a small picnic shelter. As he got closer he saw that what he thought was a concrete pad was really some sort of mat on a slightly elevated platform. The small roof kept the mat from the elements. Quinn followed Alena onto the platform and watched her open a storage chest and pull out some pads and sparring gear. Alena walked over to Quinn and handed him a pair of padded sparring gloves. “Put these on.” Quinn nervously fumbled with the gloves. Alena sat patiently at the corner of the mat, quizzically watching Quinn struggle. After an eternity, Quinn had the gloves on. Alena quickly approached him. “Ok, now do your best to hit me. Start punching me in the face.” Quinn stood motionless. “Go AHEAD! You’re not going to really hit me no matter how hard you try.” Quinn took a slow, half-hearted swing at her and Alena caught his right hand and flipped him on his side. “You get punished for half-efforts. I said do your best.”

Quinn got up and started swinging. Alena expertly dodged his attempts. “Ok, good. More.” Quinn chased Alena around. Her smooth, evasive maneuvers easily dodged Quinn’s jabs and punches. “Keep going, as hard and fast as you can, COME ON!” Quinn continued to swing, getting more in sync and feeling stronger. But the faster and harder he swung, the easier Alena evaded his punches. Sometimes it seemed that she knew what he was going to do before he did it and was miles away by the time he extended his punch. It was obvious she was an expert. She ducked, swerved, bobbed and changed directions. Quinn didn’t even get close. He swung wildly and lunged at her and got close enough to land another punch and as he threw his left he caught a front kick to the chest that propelled him backward. Alena was controlling the distance. “Keep it up, come on, you can land at least one!” Quinn gave everything he had. He furiously unleashed a torrent of jabs and hooks and big swings. Nothing. His barrage lasted for what seemed like an eternity, and he paused for a split second to catch his breath, and found himself staring at the ceiling. Alena had caught him with a well-placed kick in the chest. Hard enough to knock him back, but soft enough to not harm him. “See that? What just happened there?” Quinn looked at her, gasping for air. “I stopped for a second to catch my breath.”

“Right. I let you swing for about 90 seconds. Most people don’t know how to fight, so they start off wild. They use all their energy in the first 2 minutes. So as long as you can withstand that flurry, you will find your opening. The key is to control the space between you and your attacker, and let them tire out. Few people have the conditioning to last more than a minute or two. At that point the real fight takes place. When people are tired they are slow. Their defense is weak. You only need a split second opening to disable them so you can run. The goal is to get away ultimately. The real world is not like the movies. The goal is to get out of there. In the next couple of weeks we’ll go through some simple drills that will help you dodge like a pro. Now, it’s chow time.”

Alena led Quinn into the small home. From the outside it didn’t look like much. It was small, unassuming, and situated in the working class part of town. People in the town saw her home and her twenty year-old car and assumed she was struggling. The exterior needed repainting, but the landscaping was nice and the front was kept clean. Inside, the home was surprisingly warm and colorful. Lighting fixtures from Turkey. Exotic looking plants perched on thrift store vintage tables and plant stands. Unique furniture. Decorative art from all over the world. A clash of colors and patterns. It was like walking through someone’s travel journal. He saw a framed picture of Alena with a man at the top of a mountain. Another picture of them in Spain. Another in Sweden. He remembered her talking about grief and loss and burying the people you love. “I hope you like dumplings,” shouted Alena as she placed the bamboo steamer over the pot of boiling water. Quinn watched her slice a block of tofu in half, then gently press the blocks between two towels to drain the water. She then moved them to the cutting board and added olive oil and a bright red spice rub on both sides. She placed the blocks on a grill where they sizzled loudly. “This is Moroccan tofu. West meets east. We’re also going to steam some edamame. We’re dining all over the world tonight.” She turned them over after a couple of minutes.

Quinn asked Alena about the pictures. “Oh yeah. that’s Ken. He died a few years ago. Cancer. But, we had some GREAT Times!” Alena then whistled a tune and expertly turned out the edamame and dumplings. Quinn felt bad that he brought it up. “I’m sorry about that.” “Oh don’t be!” Alena responded. “Dealing with death is an essential part of life. It’s learning to deal with loss. I’m happy, despite the fact that I lost someone I love. At least I got to experience that time with him.” Alena turned out the tofu blocks onto the plates and added the edamame.

“I also learned to stop seeing the world from my personal cravings and what I wanted to take from it. Instead I learned to settle into myself and just be present. To appreciate the things that come into my life—and most of all—to take these experiences and learn as much as I can from them. This is how a person becomes skillful and useful to others.” Alena then picked up an edamame shell and munched on the beans inside. “When you think about it, where would you rather be in the solar system? We were born here. That’s already a miracle. We’re lottery winners.”

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There are a thousand ways to make ramen. We could have given the recipe for homemade broth which requires oven roasting dark chicken parts with garlic, onion, celery and herbs and then slow simmering the pieces in dashi water (leaving kombu dashi in a pot of water overnight to impart the flavor of the sea) for several hours before making the ramen. But we’re going for a simplified version that doesn’t take two days to make.

Ingredients

Serves 2

• 2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil

• 4 garlic cloves, minced

• 1 2-inch piece of ginger, minced

• ¼ onion, minced

• ¼ cup miso paste

• 8 cups low-sodium chicken broth

• 1 tbsp baking soda (for the noodle boiling water)

• 2 - 5-ounce packages fresh ramen noodles (or fresh Korean noodles, or fresh Italian spaghetti noodles if you’re desperate)

• 2 soft-boiled eggs

• 2 cups bean sprouts, blanched (or substitute 2 baby bok choy)

• 1 bunch scallions, thinly sliced

• Japanese or Korean nori (seaweed sheets) - to serve (optional)

• Katsuobushi - to serve (dried bonito flakes - I would highly recommend using this, which gives a deep, rich, slightly smoky flavor to the ramen - you can find it on Amazon if you can’t find it at your local store)

• Chili oil - to serve (optional) (La-yu  = Japanese or Lao Gan Ma = Chinese (my preference is Lao Gan Ma because it’s very good and easier to find))

Directions

1. In a large pot over medium heat, add sesame oil and fully heat.

2. Add the minced garlic, ginger, and shallots. Stir-fry for a minute, then add the miso paste and stir.

3. Add the chicken broth and bring to a simmer. Taste and adjust seasoning with salt and/or soy, if needed.

4. While you’re doing that, bring a large pot of unsalted water to a boil over high heat and add the baking soda and stir. Add the ramen noodles and boil according to package directions. Fresh Italian pasta only needs to be cooked 30 seconds to 1 minute, you want the texture to be on the firm side.

5. Divide the noodles between 2 bowls. Ladle soup base over cooked noodles.

6. Cut the soft-boiled eggs in half and add to the bowls.

7. Garnish with bean sprouts, (or bok choy), sliced scallions, nori, katsuobushi and chili oil.

We are all food for the worms, and it will happen sooner than you think. Tell her you love her now, or you may never see her again. Carpe diem.

September 16
The helicopter rose above the horizon and headed straight towards them. A monstrous mechanical beast that ripped through the air and frightened every bird and squirrel within a 1 mile radius of its path. Neil and Will stopped in their tracks and watched as the Huey banked to the right overhead and headed out to the bay. They watched it disappear behind a wall of brilliantly colored maples, on fire with the onset of autumn. They continued their walk through the upper class neighborhood near the university. Their walk down Colchester revealed a life that had not changed much since the 50s. Young university students were playing a game of tag football. Esteemed fatherly figures dotted the landscape with rakes. Every corner held a Presbyterian or Episcopal church. School banners hung from the enormous front facades of the homes, proudly displaying the colleges that the children of the inhabitants were attending.

As they made their way past the stately Colonials and Tuscans, Will spoke freely of the new things that were happening in his life. New career. New home. Newborn. New job, new location. It was an exciting period for him. A real chance to establish himself and his new family. His parents lived in the very neighborhood they were walking through, the recipients of a sizable inheritance from one of the founding industrialists of Bridgeport. But he didn’t want any part of it. He found his purpose in earning his living through his acquisition of knowledge, discipline and skill. He strayed from his parents constant attempts to provide economic aid and other favors to him. He always felt that he was his own person, and he wanted to live without training wheels or cheat codes. This was probably the strongest motivator for him to accept the offer to join a distinguished accounting firm in Chicago. The wife and newborn daughter were already there. All that was left was a small moving truck filled with odds and ends.

They found their way to the bluff overlooking the lake and paused to take in the landscape. The tall buildings bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Will smiled. “Man, I am going to miss this place. But Chicago is going to be great. I love that city. We found a great little place that’s not too far from the lakefront. We’re going to be in the middle of the action. When we get settled in you’ve got to visit!” The enthusiasm in his voice bit hard and provided a stark contrast to Neil’s life. Unlike Will, Neil’s outlook was not nearly as rosy.

His relationship with people was acrimonious at best. He inherited a number of his father’s bad habits, even though his father left the household when he was 8. Now here he was, 15 years later, a newly minted graduate, separated from his girlfriend, earning just a little over minimum wage. He had every excuse for why he wasn’t doing well, and it all started with the idiots he was surrounded by. His caustic attitude burned bridges and eroded his ability to create good opportunities. Will had stuck with Neil through the rough times in college and domestic life, thinking he could help guide Neil. Now he was moving away.

They made their way back up Colchester and hugged at the back of the moving truck. Neil waved as Will pulled away. Neil had a burning pain in his lower stomach. He had to work tomorrow. He hated work. Now he was all alone. It was getting dark. As Neil made his way back to his flat, he thought about the lone bright spot in his life: Christine, his work mate. Seeing her was the only thing he looked forward to.

“HEY! What’s SHAKIN’?”

Christine had snuck up behind Neil while he was pouring his morning coffee. He wheeled around to see a beautiful, smiling face. Piercing green eyes. High cheekbones. She needed no makeup. The rays of the morning sun were bathing her in a golden glow. A smiling angel. He thought about how lucky he was to be in her presence. He tried playing it cool. “Oh hey, what’s going on? How was your weekend?” She stepped back and opened her arms wide. “PERFECT! I went camping with some friends, the weather was SO Gorgeous! It was SICK!”

Christine was the only person he knew that had earned a PhD and still talked like a surfer. She was also the opposite of Neil. She was happy all the time. Her nickname was Sunshine. It was fitting. Everyone noticed her brilliance. Neil hadn’t known anyone as adventurous, funny, and kind as her. Everyone loved her. Men fell over themselves to be within orbital range of her. She had a unique way of disarming their unwanted advances. For whatever reason, she spent her time at work hanging out with Neil. For Neil, she was a lifeline. A vision of what might be possible. He sat down at his cube and spent the morning thinking about what his life might be like if they were together.

“YO NEIL! We going to the noodle shop today for lunch?”

Neil swiveled slowly in his chair. “You know it. Love that place.” Christine smiled and raised her arms in victory. “YES! SCORE! Ha Haaaaaaaaaaaa.” Neil loved that laugh.

They hurried through the biting cold of late autumn towards the noodle shop. Christine labored to tell Neil a funny story. The bitter Vermont wind was lashing her hair in every direction. She would pause in between gusts, catching her breath. Neil smiled the whole time as she told him the story of how last week she was at a bar and forgot to pull down her tights when she went to the bathroom and found her right leg soaked in urine. She grabbed his hand and they both ran the last block to the entrance of the noodle shop. They rushed in and were greeted with the thick, humid warm air from the steaming dumplings and boiling noodles. They sat at their favorite spot near the window so they could watch the busy professionals go about their day. They ordered their favorites.

Christine dug into her ramen and slurped loudly. “Hey I’ve got some news for you. BIG news.” Neil looked up from his dumplings. “Oh yeah? What’s that?” “I’m going to Germany!” “Oh wow, that’s cool. How long will you be there?” Christine smiled. “I’ll be gone for at least a year but I might stay longer if the gig is good. I’m teaching conversational English there. Got a one year contract! I’m SO looking forward to this!” Neil hid his heartbreak the best he could. “Hey, that’s really awesome. Really great to hear. I bet you’ll have a great time there.” Christine excitedly told Neil about her itinerary but Neil couldn’t hear her. He thought only of how empty his life would be. How she would leave his life and most likely never return. How he would never see her again. And what’s worse, how she would never know how much he loved her.

October 20
Neil walked the lonely stretch of lakefront just a few blocks from work. He sat and looked out at the cold landscape and watched as airplanes taxied and took off into the open sky. He watched a large jet lumber down the runway and lift off. He looked at his watch. It was probably her flight. He silently bid her farewell and cried. How can life be so bitter and unfair?

Neil spent the rest of his time at work reminiscing about the great moments they had, her wise words, her kind heart. He left work and walked out into the cold autumn evening, slowly making his way back up the bluff to his flat. He mechanically checked his mailbox found a card. From Christine! With his heart pounding, he opened the envelope and slowly pulled out a blank card. What is this, some sort of joke? He smiled. Just like her. He opened the card.

Dude, I was thinking that you should visit if you get some vacation time. Or at least write once in a while so I know what’s going on with the crew. Miss you!

Günthersburgallee 93, 60389 Frankfurt am Main, Germany

Neil sat back in his chair. He smiled, pulled the phone from his pocket, and booked a flight to Frankfurt.

Hey if you like stories like this, check out The Sample, a cool way to get recommended Substacks in your inbox!

Hey Y’all, sorry to interrupt but Jeff couldn’t make it this week. This is Leroy. I’m not much for writin’, but he flew the coop and left me in charge so Imma keep it brief. He’ll get back to that mechanical bird story next week.

In the meantime I had something funny happen to me when I was working for a door and window outfit back in Memphis. Now my job was to go to these homes and sell them on some windows or doors. Maybe siding and roofin, but that wasn’t the main thing. It was the windows they were all about, probally because there easy to install. Just take the old one out and pop the new one in, and yer done. Money.

So I used to go all over the county. Fact is, I was all over three counties, I had some territory to cover. Man I seen it all. Benn in all kinds of homes. Big million dollar places on the lake, tiny houses in the ghetto with screamin kids. Actually you’d think the rich ones are the ones you want to sell to but that’s not the case. Those people are a hassle. Asking too many questions, can’t make up their mind, takin forever to sign the contract, chiseling you down on the price. They wear you down. The ghetto people? Money. I once sat down with a lady, told her the price, and she disappeared down the hallway. Came back with a big wad of cash. Like 8 grand talkin’ “is this enough to start?” “FUCK YEAH it’s enough to start!” Shiiiit. If I had customers like that all day long Id still be workin there. Anyway the ones you think is poor, some of them are big savers. Keep that shit stashed literally under a mattress or in a coffee can. I once had a old Chinese guy roll out into the kitchen and come back with a cereal box filled with hundreds. I was shakin my head like, this fucker’s got 50 grand in cash stuffed in his damn Fiber One boxes up in them cabinets. Those rich people out in the burbs? Probally broke. Always gettin financing.

Anyway that’s not the story I’m gonna tell you. So one night, I go out to this place. It’s not in a fancy part of town but it’s not trashy neither. Just ranches full of workin folks. But kind of professional, you know? So I pull up, and this place is nice. It’s probably 4,000–maybe 5,000 square feet, and for a ranch that’s big. It’s sprawlin all over. Got a nice entryway. Got an open concept kitchen, a walk out lanai (like a patio but covered and fancy.) It’s got 4 baths, 6 bedrooms, a family room, a living room, study, the works. And it’s nice in there they got art on the walls and everything. Got a stack of New York Times on the table in the reading room. Guy’s got a big leather chair and a pipe. Got a whole smoking station set up with a cigar box and one of those old school big glass ashtrays that’s a brown amber color that’s mounted in like a chrome floor stand. Like somethin you’d see Don Draper have in his crib. Not his house with Betty Draper but the place in the city he hangs with his side piece.

Anyway, it’s a nice place. And I go in there and first thing is this damn golden retriever comin’ at me. I don’t know why suburb people love these things so much, I don’t see the appeal. This thing stinks and is slobbery. All barkin and noisy. First thing happens the lady of the house tells him to sit down and tells him “no” but in this real weak way. Like she’s been tellin this dog that for ten years and the dog don’t pay her no attention, like he’s wore her down. It’s clear that they have no control over this thing, it’s got the run of the house. So I start in on my window business, measurin, makin small talk and what not. And the thing is all over. Just a damn hyper animal. I can tell they aint walked that thing in years, it’s just a beast. That makes me mad cause people get these dogs and then don’t put time in to train it or tell it who’s boss, so it’s rulin over them. And I don’t think they know it.

So I finish my measurin’, now I gotta work up the quote. I gotta put in all the numbers in the laptop and them give them the price. It takes about 20 minutes, so they invite me to the sittin room. And they are all in there, talkin to me, makin small conversation. I’m just doin my thing. And at some point when I start my pitch, tryin to get them to buy this package that I put together, the dog starts hunchin down. Like he’s hunkering down, and I know that look. He’s workin out a log. And sure enough, he starts shooting out these big man turds, and the lady gets shocked. They both start tellin it “no no no, rusty don’t do that,” like the damn dog’s got some reasoning. They get up to take him out, and it gets worse because the man logs were just a plug for the liquid that’s shooting out of it, all over this beige carpet. Smelled somethin fierce. You know that 80s movie about the giant alligator in the Chicago sewer? When I smelled that dog’s turds, made me think of that. Like green acid smoke in your nose, burnin the tissues. No way I was inhaling that, I won’t stand for it. I basically pack up and leave my quote on the table. I know when I’m leavin that I’m not gettin this job cause they are too embarrassed and they just want me out of there. When I left, I said to myself, “Yeah I thought so.” Knew those people couldn’t control that dog. Just rules the house. Weak sauce.

Well, I know Jeff usually adds a recipe to his stories, but this ain’t a good story to have with a meal if you ask me, so I’m not gonna include anything this week. Just a story that I thought was funny and just one of a bunch of crazy things I’ve seen in that line of work. Anyway y’all have a great weekend and Jeff will be back next week. I hope he brings me back to tell another story. I got a bunch.

Take care now,

Leroy Out.

April wiggled out of her heavy slumber and peered excitedly through the window into the darkness. It was 4:30 am, and she was excited to start her morning. This was her first day of vacation with grandpa Joe, and she wanted to go on a walk with him. His routine had been the same for nearly forty years. Up at 4. Walk for a half hour. Coffee and paper for an hour. Write for three hours. A long breakfast. Then a little gardening and another walk. Back to work for a bit, then lunch at 1. The afternoon was spend reading, running errands, and leisure activities. She loved spending time with him. He was wise and kind, and he did very funny things. She bounded downstairs and found him in his chair, putting on his walking shoes. “Hey kid! You ready for a walk?” April flashed a toothy grin. “Yeah! this is going to be ah-maazing!” Her grandpa smiled. “Well then, let’s go!”

The two walked through the darkened streets of their suburban neighborhood. The crescent moon was rising over the eastern horizon as a slight hue of magenta washed the lower sky. They followed her favorite route which took them by a row of beautifully restored homes. She was enthralled with the sheer variety and scale of them, all packed into several blocks of his neighborhood. They walked past Victorian and Craftsman, Colonial and Georgian, even a couple of log cabins. Her favorites were the Spanish Colonial and Tudors. They stopped and admired the beautiful landscape in front of a perfect Cottage style home, the exterior accents warmly lit with expertly placed lamps. They stopped at several others, pointing out the artful features of each home and admiring the work it took to make them so stately. Grandpa Joe loved the fact that April was so fascinated by architecture. He thought that few people even notice their environment anymore.

They rounded the last corner of their winding path and watched as the tree lined neighborhood gave way to the high bluffs overlooking the ocean. They stopped and watched the morning appear over the horizon, the dark sky imperceptibly giving way to bright washes of fiery orange and red. As they lingered they noticed more colors. Magenta and purple, yellow. Finally fading into blue. They basked in the first rays of the sun, and welcomed the heat it provided. Satisfied with the gift of the sunrise, it was time to head back. They made their way through the winding hills and listened silently to the birds and the late summer insects. At home, Grandpa made coffee for himself and made a special hot chocolate for April. He settled himself on the 3-season porch to read his paper. April brought her coloring book to the table and started working on her new jungle page. As time wore on, she felt sleepy. Without saying a word, she got up and made her way back to her bed, and promptly fell asleep. The constant whirring of the fan in her room provided a reassuring backdrop of white noise to her dreams.

Grandpa’s crashing of pans in the kitchen woke April out of her morning nap. She made her way into the kitchen to find nobody there. She heard the back patio screen door close. She found him busily gathering tomatoes and peppers. Grandpa Joe heard the screen door. “Hey you! Did you have a good nap?” “Yeaah. That was good.” He grinned. “Well, let’s pick some things for our breakfast here.” April paid close attention to the tomatoes, picking only the ones that were a particular shade of orange and red. The ones that Grandpa had pointed out to her. She also picked some peppers with grandpa’s help. “See, you just pull upward on the pepper. Pull straight up and you will hear the stem snap. Yeah, just like that.” They two finished their picking and brought a bowl filled with tomatoes and Italian peppers back to the kitchen.

“Ok, now we have to go to the store. We need one more important thing for our quiche.”

“What’s that?”

“Eggs!”

“Oh yeah, EGGS! OF course, silly!”

Grandpa laughed as he clasped the car keys in his hand. “Let’s go!”

They made their way through the small, family owned store down the street. They spent time meandering through the unique displays of artisan cheese, olives, and fresh seafood. They basked in the warm aroma of fresh baked bread, admired the baguettes, and used maximum willpower to walk past the doughnut case without stopping. They checked out and almost ran into a brusque pirate of a man, distracted with the weight and pressure of his internal thoughts.

Grandpa Joe stopped abruptly. “Oh, excuse us.”

“Go. Ahead,” The man barked without making eye contact.

As April and Grandpa Joe exited the store, the man brushed past them, walking quickly to his car, which was parked next to theirs. The man had an agitated manner about him, and his strangeness was accentuated by the blue jumpsuit he was wearing, a cross between hospital scrubs and a technician work suit. If Adam Savage had escaped county jail this morning, he was certainly in front of them in this parking lot. Grandpa Joe had to wait to get into his car, as the pirate was halfway inside the passenger side of his car, rummaging through the pile on his seat and mumbling to himself. As Grandpa Joe waited he winked at April and motioned with his eyes toward the pirate, as if to say “get a load of this guy.” April gave grandpa Joe a knowing look and rolled her eyes. Grandpa Joe expected the man to close his passenger door so he could get into his car, but instead the man left the door open as he exited and stood at the front of his car, placed his gallon of purchased distilled water on the hood, and opened a tub of chip dip. Grandpa Joe opened his door and maneuvered around the obstacle and shut the door. As they pulled out of the parking spot, they watched the man take spoonfuls of the chip dip and eat it as if it were yogurt. April giggled. “Gross! why is he doing that?” “Grandpa Joe gave the man an amused look. “I don’t know, it’s probably an internet diet!” “But grandpa why would someone eat that?” “April, you know how you keep hearing on the news about supply chain issues?” “Yeah.” “Well, this man might have a short supply of critical thinking.” “What’s critical thinking?” “You know how you were careful to pick only the red tomatoes?” “Yeaaah.” “Well, you were using critical thinking. You didn’t pick the green ones for us to eat. You used your critical thinking to pick the ones that were ripe.” “Ooooooh I get it! YEah, that man had no critic thinking.”

The two laughed as they made their way back home, excited about breakfast. Grandpa turned on the oven, put some music on, and helped April combine all the ingredients and bake the quiche. April loved his music, which was always crazy. “Grandpa, what is this music?”

“This is the Beastie Boys. Licensed to Ill. This came out when I was 25.”

April loved Brass Monkey. She thought the horn sounded like a goose. They sang and danced in the kitchen while the quiche baked.

That’s probably why Grandpa Joe loved being around April so much. She lived in the moment. It took him 30 years to learn how to get back to that place.

Tomato Basil Crustless Quiche

Ingredients

7 organic brown eggs

1/3 c. low fat Greek yogurt

1 t. salt

1 1/2 t. Intrepid Bay Ancient Peppers & Vanilla Mole seasoning

1 1/2 t. Intrepid Bay Italian Seasoning with Parmesan

1 c. cherry tomatoes, sliced in half

3 sweet mini red peppers

1/2 small onion

2 slices black forest ham (optional)

1/3 c. shaved Parmesan (Sartori or Grande is preferred)

1/3 c. smoked Gouda

1 T. melted butter

2 T. Aldi tomato basil feta (this is a mild (not stinky) feta cheese)

Directions

In a medium sized mixing bowl add eggs, yogurt, salt, ancient pepper mole and Italian seasoning. Whip with a fork until well blended. Add the rest of the ingredients and blend well. Slice the garlic clove in half and rub it over the surface of the pie plate to add a hint of garlic. Pour the mixture into an oiled 9 inch glass pie plate. Bake at 350F for 32 minutes.

Sandra carefully applied her lipstick in the rear view mirror, then took a moment to study her face. She was going to be 35 this year. The lines were starting to show, but she could still pass for 28. She had good genes. This was a gift that she was going to use to seduce the man she could not get enough of. It started over a year ago when she met him, …

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Ladies and gentleman we have a special guest this week. Our main man in the Windy City has has a new recipe to share and he's got some things to say about the north side. Enjoy. – Jeff

So back in June Janice and I made the move. She had been visiting with some of her girlfriends and they all lived on the north side now. Ever since the big name developers sunk hundreds of millions in cash to dress up the little area of North Avenue / Humboldt Park, people have flocked to this area with fistwads of cash in their hands. This area was once known as Little Puerto Rico and was sometimes a war zone back in the early aughts. Back in ’02 I distinctly remember cruising around there and having to maneuver my Buick around torched cars lying in the middle of the street. It looked like Baghdad or Northern Ireland there for awhile. And those cars? They would sit there for months, the cops didn’t even like going up there, and the towing guys certainly didn’t want any part of that. I used to stay with some friends in the heart of little Puerto Rico and the alarms and sirens wailed all night, along with gunshots. It was like a chorus of Metallica, Biggie and Gipsy Kings all blended together at full volume, filling the streets with the noise of crime and turmoil. It had its own charm you could say. Back then, I wasn't too keen on living there, and this is coming from a South Side guy, ok?

Now it’s loaded with craft distilleries, axe bars, and cupcake shops that sell their little gems with "Fuck You" spelled out in ganache and Swiss buttercream. The restaurants all seem to have "wolf" in the name and make artisanal poutine with ramps, served by flannel clad hipsters. Just take a walk along the 606 corridor and you'll find the neighborhood is filled with dreamcatchers, copper mugs, chillwave and succulents. There are fancy gourmet donut shops and even a bougie bakery that makes gourmet treats for dogs. I mean, what’s next? A gastropub that serves wood fired donuts and craft sake kombucha? “Yeah, I’ll take a wood fired cronut and a shot of artisanal activated charcoal wheat ginger kombucha juice for $26. Oh, I also really dig your letterpress menu.” The only smart person there is the one collecting all that cash.

One of the good things about being in that gentrified twee candyland is that I am surrounded by leggings and yoga pants. I probably shouldn’t confess that, Janice is going to get on my case but damn, how can I help it? It’s in my face constantly, and it’s a double standard if you ask me. It’s like, “I’m going to put on the most sexy stripper like thing that’s the embodiment of all male teenage fantasies, and wear it out in public with all my friends, and then get all shocked when someone is looking at me.” Back in the early 90s, we had to stay up late at night and watch Skinamax on cable in order to see a woman dressed like that. They existed only in Hustler, Playboy or VHS porn. Now, it's everywhere. And some women give you the stink eye if you are looking at them. Are you serious? It’s like, “LOOK AT ME DON’T LOOK AT ME.” Give me a break. We’re men. Try injecting yourself with testosterone for just one month and see what that does to you. I swear it’s a different world.

Whoa! I got off track there. Way off base. Sometimes I rant a little bit. Apologies. 

Anyway, Janice is up there with her friends, and they are all living near the 606, maybe a little closer to Logan Square, but they are all raving at the neighborhood and how cool it is. And I hear this from Janice over the past year. She tells me about her adventures up there, “oh we went to this cool restaurant, we found this great bar, oh this cute gallery just opened up,” on and on. It’s got her all excited to try something new because our little south side neighborhood is getting stale. I get it. But I’m kind of a guy who likes his routine. Work at the deli, get home and load the cooler, go to the ballpark and play some ball, grill some chops and brats, have some Old Style, Jay’s chips, and then chill at home with some old Pete Weller movies. 

So Janice got me up there and we toured around Logan Square, and ok, I get it. We found a place that wasn’t too expensive, and I could see it made Janice very happy. So I gave it the green light. And I’m not ashamed to say this: when Janice gets very happy, good things happen. Like good physical things. She’s what the Brits would call randy. And I love that about her because she’s crazy about me and I can’t figure out why but I’m running with it because she makes me feel great and we got a good thing going on. So I want to make her happy and that’s how this whole relationship works. And she’s acting like she’s 19 again. She won’t leave me alone.

Wow again too much information. I didn’t even get to the whole point of my article here, which is that the Cubs suck. Yeah, I’m in the middle of all these Cubs fans now and I have to admit they were annoying at first, but they’ve worn me down. They have this undying love for a team that just mostly terrible year in and year out. It’s the only game I see in the bars up here, so I started following them. Right now they are in the middle of a 5 game losing streak. They can’t buy a win, and they are getting blown out. Like B L O W N  O U T. How do you let a team score 17 runs on you? Or 12 or 14? I just keep seeing these scores and I’m thinking, is this the minor leagues? Is this the Durham Bulls? Do we have pitchers in pro baseball anymore? Where is the defense? And why can’t starting pitchers go for more than 4 innings now? Are you kidding me? Bob Gibson pitched 4 innings as a warmup for the real game. Then he’d go hurl a complete game, smoke a stogie and do a few shots of whiskey, eat a steak, and go out to the mound and put in another 8 innings of 1-hit ball in the second game of a doubleheader. SMH. So anyway these guys are stuck in a bad losing stretch, they don’t look good, they aren’t going to make the playoffs. The only thing you can hope for is that they continue to beat the hated Cards. Really my mind has turned away from baseball because it’s too painful to watch. 

I’ve been doing some more experimenting in the deli. Janice has her sister coming in next week. Now you may not know this about Jan’s sister, but she lives in SanFran now with some tech dude that really gets on my nerves. He’s got a big ego, he’s a hot shot, and he’s basically a collection of every cool fad out there right now on Instagram. The last time they stayed with us, he woke me up at 5 am with his Spotify playlist blaring as he left the house to go jogging, with these stupid huge sunglasses and WITH HIS SHIRT OFF of course, and he's wearing meggings. “HEY LOOK AT ME WITH MY RIPPED ABS. Can’t you tell I’m on the latest paleo/greegan diet? Yeah, I have about 72 supplements I take during the day, I don’t have time to place things in my mouth I just hook into an IV set up next to my Mac so I can have a constant drip of my supp stack.” He’s the guy that looks ridiculous jogging down the street, screaming for attention, but won’t acknowledge you when you look at him. Like an attention vampire. Anyway, as soon as I saw him leave, I locked the door. I locked him out until 9:30 that morning. Whoops.

So these two will be back this weekend, Jan’s sister and the vampire. And her sister has some gluten / carb allergy she picked up in SanFran, even though she used to throw down more Popeye’s biscuits and Old Style than any construction worker when she lived back here in Chicago. But I keep my mouth shut because I love Jan and she’s her sister. But it means I have to make dinner with these dietary restrictions. Last week I started to get my game on, and I made up this beefless taco salad using some Trader Joe’s beefless beef. I finally got the spice tweaked so it’s deeply rich, spicy, and a bit salty. Perfect on romaine lettuce with a little slab of Greek yogurt and black olives. It’s a killer taco salad, but the beauty is that for the dying breed of us who still eat grain, you can serve this bad boy on some corn tortillas and make a damn good taco.

The best part is, Jan will appreciate my effort to go out of my way for her sister, and that means she’ll snuggle me, and that means I’ll get lucky once again, which means we all end up happy. I don’t know what I did to deserve Janice, but I’m going to keep rolling with it because she’s the craziest woman and there’s nobody else like her. I saw her chase off some gangbanger last week with a metal trash can lid and the taser I got her for Christmas. Then she came back in, stripped, and put on her Optimus Prime helmet to get busy with me. I hope she never changes.

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Recipe: Beefless Tacos (or taco salad)

Ingredients

1 Tbsp. Olive Oil
1/2 Package Trader Joe’s Beefless Ground Beef
1/2 medium onion, chopped
1 small banana pepper or Italian pepper, diced
1-2 Tbsp. Chili powder
1/2 - 1 tsp. Cumin
salt, to taste
water, maybe
1/3 c. black olives, sliced
1-2 cups chopped romaine
Nonfat plain Greek Yogurt
Shredded cheese or cojita, or queso fresco (optional)
Cilantro, chopped, for garnish (optional)
lime, for garnish (optional)
corn tortillas (optional)
Tajin, for garnish (optional)
Herdez Guacamole Salsa (optional)

Directions

Prepare the ground beefless(?) the way you would taco meat. Heat up a skillet to medium, add the oil, then the ground soy plant stuff. Add the onion and pepper and stir to cook, 3-5 minutes. Tell Janice to watch the skillet and continue to stir. Add the chili powder, cumin and salt. The trick is to adjust the seasonings here. Add a little chili powder and cumin at first and continue to taste and add until you get the flavor profile you want. You may need to add a 1/4 cup of water to the skillet to keep the stuff from getting too dry. When the peppers have softened and you have your flavor right, shut off that heat, you’re ready to assemble.

For salad: Just add on top of your romaine and stack up your optional garnish ingredients.

For tacos: Just add what you want, this is America. Exercise your freedom to garnish.

"(The Shaman's) ancestors had been communicating through spirit sessions with mother Ayahuasca for over two thousand years. They drank ayahuasca, and they were given the power of prophesy, telepathy, and healing."
– Anthony Bourdain

--

The good doctor sat down beside the fire and lit his pipe. To us he was a doctor, a wise old man that had seen and lived through enough for two lifetimes, so we often said he earned his doctorate in life. He looked at us with a grin. For anyone who knew the good doctor, they knew that grin. It was the "I have a funny story" grin.

"How about ayahuasca? You know anything about that stuff? Some shaman, combining roots and leaves and vines, making you drink this stuff, you trip balls out in these huts. You know anything about that?" He smiled as he began his story, his eyes glinting as he pulled the Peruvian volume from his memory library.

"The first thing you need to know, is that this place is way out in the jungle. I mean, wayyyyy out there. I was in a canoe—you know—one of those long, skinny boats they have? Yeah, I was in that thing for 3 hours—wait—more than that. We actually stopped because the boat pilot, is that what you call them? Pilots? The pilot stopped to see his cousin. He dropped off supplies, we played soccer with his kids, we had this meal and he did some kind of shroom—I was like, 'is this safe? I mean you're gonna be piloting this hugely long boat through the Amazon man, I don't want to get lost out here,'" he roared with laughter. "Slow down on that weird root drink that's making you high man I don't want to die out here!"

–Commercial Break–

"So back in the boat we go. Another couple of hours! This is taking forever and I'm thinking we're not coming back. And just before panic sets in, we get there, and I'm with some friends who paid to do this thing, I'm just going along for the ride, I'm not doing it. But there are 4 or 5 of us, all from the university. Students, a couple of instructors, all going into this thing amped up, like YES! we're going to get answers to life." He takes another draw from his pipe, leans back and exhales a smooth cloud of smoke. His smile widens. "We're there for three days. It was like a circus. A carnival sideshow. I'm not kidding. They have these costumes, feathers, bells, drums, weird instruments, blow darts, all this stuff! I'm not in the huts, right? I'm just there observing, I'm not taking part in it. But I'm talking with the pilot about these shamans, the ritual, the moaning and chanting, the bells, all this noise and ritual right?"

"So I ask him, like, who are these shamans, how did they learn the ways? He says, 'oh, that guy over there? He's a mechanic. He came here to help his cousin out. And the woman shaman is his girl friend, she sold blankets in the market in Iquitos. And the other guy, the short one? He was a cab driver in Buenos Aires that used to tell his riders about the catacombs there that have some sort of portal inhabited by a “phantasmagoric entity” that guards the threshold into some parallel world. None of them grew up here, none of them learned the ways of the jungle and the wisdom of the plant, they just showed up and put on the robes man!'"

At that point the doctor leans in with a huge grin. "And I'm like, WHAT? They aren't real? I mean, the whole thing is a production. It's theatrics, the whole thing is a show. The chanting, the hocus-pocus, the entire thing is a sideshow man, I'm telling you!"

"And you know, Bourdain did it, right? In the same place! And he's like," the doctor deepened his voice, imitating Bourdain: "…IT CHANGED MY LIFE…"

"Really? All the shenanigans, the chanting, the smoke, the whole ceremony...I just sat in the camp with the boat pilot and laughed, you know? Some of these guys on the way back talked about it like it did changed them, but I'm thinking 'man, I'm glad I didn't pay all that money for that show!' But, who knows? Maybe if I had done it I would come back with a different viewpoint—but from where I was standing in that camp—the magic was ruined. Heh heh hah ha haaaaaiii!"

The doctor had a hearty and satisfying laugh, the sort of entertaining laugh filled with enthusiasm and understanding. "You know the best part about that trip? No joke, this place in Iquitos served these plant ribs. I don't know what sort of plant they used, maybe tapioca flour? Cassava? I don't know but man those things were so great. I love meat but these were so tasty!"

Vegetarian Ribzz

Ingredients

1 cup vital wheat gluten (commonly known as Seitan flour—Bob's Red Mill is great)

2 tsp Intrepid Bay Jalisco Dark Chili Powder

1 tbsp Intrepid Bay Ancient Peppers and Vanilla Mole Blend

2 tsp. Intrepid Bay Coffee BBQ blend

1 tsp salt

3/4 cup beef broth (Vegan option:  vegetable broth)

1.5 tsp liquid smoke

1 tbsp. Walnut/avocado/or olive oil

1/2 c. Barbeque sauce- your favorite brand will do (I like Lillie’s Carolina Barbeque  because it’s sugar free so the ribz are low carb)

For boiling liquid:

1 cup Beef broth (Vegan option:  vegetable broth)

1/3 cup wine or or beer

1 cup water

Directions

Combine all dry ingredients in a medium bowl.

In a separate bowl, mix broth/water,  liquid smoke and oil

Add wet mix to dry mix, stir until combined.

Using your hands, knead mixture for 2-3 min, until thick dough forms.

Shape seitan dough into a ball. Tear small pieces (the size of a quarter) off the big ball. The pieces will get bigger during boiling, so don't make them too big.

//

Process Note

You are going to first boil these (stovetop or Instant Pot), then you will finish them in the oven, braising them with BBQ sauce

//

Instant pot method:

Add broth

Turn on and set to pressure cook on high for 13 minutes

Add seitan dough balls, cover and seal

When finished, release steam and proceed with the oven roasting.

Stovetop method:

Mix together all broth ingredients.

Bring to a boil.

Add torn-up seitan, bring to a boil again. Reduce the boil to medium, simmer for 30 min, stirring a few times to prevent sticking. Preheat the oven to 375° F.

Oven roasting

Once the seitan is done boiling, drain the pieces. Put them into a mixing bowl, pour 3/4 of BBQ sauce over them, toss well to cover.

Cover a cookie sheet with parchment paper. Arrange BBQ-covered seitan on the sheet with about 1 inch between pieces. Bake for 30 min, turning pieces halfway through baking, and basting with the remaining BBQ sauce if they start looking dry.

Hey if you like stories like this, check out The Sample, a cool way to get recommended Substacks in your inbox!

The cruise was advertised as a once in a lifetime adventure. It left New York the first week of June and traveled across the Atlantic to the Azores, then would dock for two days in Lisbon. The cruise would then continue to the sunny Mediterranean, making stops at Gibralter, Valencia, Marseille, Nice, Genoa, Rome, Naples, Sicily, and Athens. The cruise would last two full months, with plenty of time exploring the famous Italian Alps, Venice, a wine tour of Tuscany, as well as the Middle Eastern jewels of Alexandria and Cairo. This voyage was incredibly priced at $1,250 per person. Even though the tour company was new and unheard of, the cruise nevertheless sold out in less than three days.

As Jake looked back on this deal, the warning signs were apparent from the beginning. The telephone-only booking process (they didn't have a web site), the disorganized booking stooge on the other end of the line. The repeated mistakes and apologies and lack of follow up. The Office Max style raffle tickets and typewritten confirmation letter (with errors) that arrived in the mail the day before the voyage. The 100 year old steamer vessel that would serve as their home and sole source of survival against the deep Atlantic. And most of all the dappled crew of flunkies, degenerates, library science majors and college interns who acted as if this was their first voyage. The only crew member that seemed to know the ways of the sea was drunk most of the time and looked like a half-brother of Telly Savalas.

/* Commercial Break */

It was day 14, and they hadn't seen the Azores yet, despite the fact that they should have reached the islands by day 10. They battled strong headwinds and weather the entire way. The boat spent half of the time with the bow pointing at 11 o'clock, the other half of the time pointing at the shipwrecks below. Jake had caught and held a dozen or more old people who had tumbled out of open doorways as the ship listed to and fro. He figured he had kept at least 7 octogenarians out of the ocean at this point. Many more were holding on to the railings while unceremoniously sharing their meals with the schools of fish that swam below.

The entire voyage was odd. The captain mostly sailed the ship only at night, which was the most dangerous time. Other times he would fire up the engines and plow ahead unexpectedly at odd hours, without rhyme or reason. Sometimes the ship would be silent for half a day, other times it would sail full chat for 50 hours straight. Also, they seemed to be the only vessel crossing the Atlantic headed east. Every other ship was headed west, taking advantage of the tailwinds. Instead, they were mired in the headwinds, blasting through swells and troughs, fighting mightily against nature. The timekeeper on the ship clearly had lost track of the proper time, a noon bell would ring when the sun was well on the way to three. The lack of a communication signal meant that the passengers could not get a read on the real time. Breakfast was served at 3. Dinner at 6 am. The cruise was stuck in Bizarro world. 

The captain was a stooge of the first order. A disheveled sack of potatoes that mostly communicated with himself in indecipherable mumbles and seemed to spend too much time with a look of confusion on his blotchy face. "This guy has his mouth wide open way too often." Jake thought. One early morning before dawn he heard screams and gunshots. He traced the noise up to the captain's quarters and rushed through the door only to find the captain in his stained Fruit of the Looms, washing dishes in a makeshift sink, with a black and white TV perched precariously over the sink on a pile of plates with a coffee can as a pedestal. Why was the captain's quarters decorated like an Italian restaurant? Fat chef figurines, framed photos of the Empire State building and Dean Martin. The Virgin Mary. Wicker chianti bottles strewn everywhere. A silver tray adorned with an obscene amount of meatballs and sausage were placed atop a mountain of spaghetti, no sauce. Like it was stolen half-prepared from a gala and brought to his quarters. The red and white checkered tablecloth provided a background accent for the spilled jar of capers, anchovy cans and—most inexplicably, chocolate chips. The place reeked of cigarette butts and pickle juice. The captain heard Jake enter. He wheeled around and shot glaring darts at him, his face red and tight like an angry fist. "YEAH. yeah. gottsa just doin it need to…" Jake left the scene with a newfound sense of panic. This guy is in charge of our voyage? Our lives?

Day 15 brought foul weather—and worse— the boat seemed to be on an aimless trajectory. Were they even headed east anymore? Jake sat and tried his best to push away the fear and the thoughts of disaster and concentrate on finding a solution. He spent the morning camped down the hallway from the helm, waiting and biding his time. He wanted to get as much information on the situation as possible. The ship was a roller coaster that day, and the passengers were largely below deck, with the balance rag-dolling across the promenade, clinging to railings and making feeble attempts to find a doorway to escape through. At midday a loud thud with an accompanying crack was heard, and in a split second the captain barreled through the door backwards, bowling his way through the hallway and smashing into the aft wall separating the helm from the deck. Jake had found his opportunity. With the captain moaning drunkenly and weaving, Jake pushed him out of the starboard entry with the next climb of the swell, ejecting the chubby Winnie-the-Pooh out onto the deck, whereupon he gathered enough velocity to pitch himself overboard.

Several crew members ambled to the stern to helplessly watch the manatee figure thrash about the ocean. One of the interns feebly tossed over a donut that would not save the life of a person in a suburban swimming pool, let alone the Atlantic. The drunken first mate cursed the intern and ran towards the bow, and released a proper survival dinghy, which got hung up in the rigging and took several minutes for the first mate to release. As it dropped into the ocean he had serious doubts as to whether or not Captain Feeble would find it.

Jake rushed to the helm and fumbled at the radio, flipping switches and pleading for help. As the minutes wore on he tried to remind himself to not panic, but it wasn't working. How the hell would he right this ship? What were all these controls? As the ship readied its next ascent up the big swell, the library science major stuck her head in through the open door. "I think I know how to navigate this, I’ve done some research!" A wave of relief came over Jake's face. "Yes! Please, help however you can." 

Over the course of the next few hours, the library science major had gained control of the ship and was on a new course. Over the next 24 hours the seas calmed and the passengers rejoiced. The kitchen staff brought out their best creations. Smoked Arctic char, radiatore with Genovese pesto, French cassoulet, lobster ceviche, Frutti di Mare with squid ink tonnarelli, and amazing blood orange pepper seared tuna steaks, served on a bed of Parmigiano-Reggiano quinoa with Holy Trinity cajun spiced baby potatoes, sweet peppers, and onions. There was dancing on the promenade at night under the stars, celebrating in the cocktail lounges and music parlors, carousing and reveling in makeshift games and feats of strength. At 1 am the news broke that an old research vessel had recovered the captain, who—incredibly in a brief fit of logic—had Gorilla taped a homing beacon to his forehead after finding the dinghy. 

The celebrations lasted through the night and into the next day. In the early afternoon of day 17, a crew member spotted the Azores. The celebration kicked into high gear once again, with the unmistakable feeling of kinship and gratitude for the ultimate gift: the gift of another day above ground, and above water. There were no more worries. They were in the capable hands of the library science major.

Blood Orange Pepper Tuna Steaks

Ingredients

Intrepid Bay Blood Orange Pepper blend

Tuna steaks (sushi grade)

Olive, walnut or avocado oil

Directions

Apply a light coating of oil to the tuna steaks

Season both sides of the steaks with the blood orange pepper blend

Refrigerate for 20 minutes

Build your fire, or warm up your gas grill

Lightly coat the grill rack with oil to prevent sticking.

Grill tuna over medium-high heat or broil 4 in. from the broiler unit for 3 minutes on each side for medium-rare or until slightly pink in the center. You can tell a tuna steak is done when the outside is firm to the touch, it can be easily flaked with a fork and the center is still pink. You can use a meat thermometer to test the center. It is done when the center reaches 90 degrees. I love you, you magnificent wild creature.

"See the thing about tempeh is, people complain sometimes that it's bitter. The key is to boil it for 8 to 10 minutes before you do anything with it." Randy was standing in the corner of the small kitchen, breaking in the new kid. Randy was only 24, but to the teenage kid, he might as well have been 50. Randy had been a chef at the co-op for 3 years, and he knew the menu well enough to come in half-baked and execute flawlessly. He looked like a throwback to the Van Halen days. Acid washed jeans, Jordans, a white t-shirt with an airbrushed lowrider on the front and "panty dropper" artfully scripted on the back. A skull earring and an MTV trucker cap that partially covered his mullet rounded out the ensemble.

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The Sun rose over Shafer Butte. Orange and yellow. Half of the valley was lit from stage right. A giant stage right. God's comic opera runs another day.

The small western town was busy following the script that small towns were given. Blue collar men were dining in the diner. Women at the bake shop grabbed pastries for the children. Coffee. Old men in tr…

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• A picture is worth a thousand words. A meme is worth a thousand V-Bucks.

• Words speak louder than actions. 

• Better never than late.

• Time flies when you're having meh.

• True friends are like diamonds. Diamonds spawn between block levels 8 and 16. You'll need to craft an iron pickaxe before you can mine diamond blocks.

• Give a man a fish and he'll throw it away. Teach a non-binary engineer to create plant-based alternatives and you'll be able to close a successful round of Series A funding.

• Don't count your chickens before they spawn. More can be generated by opening the chat window and typing:

/summon chicken

• Good things come to those who post.

• Every cloud has a silver tier backup package that you should buy.

• You can't judge a game by its cover art.

• Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seed round you closed on Indiegogo.

• The early bird catches the (SARS-CoV-2).

• An Apple a day keeps the charger plugged in, especially after the IOS 15 update.

• The more things change, the more they need patches.

• What's good for the Stacy is good for the Chad.

• All who wander probably didn't complete GTA's story mode.

Gen Z Pizza

Ingredients

1 - Red Baron Frozen Pizza

1 - Xbox 1S or Series S - or a gaming PC

1 - Sea of Thieves—or if using a PC—Team Fortress 2

10 - Pickles

Ranch dressing, for dipping

Directions

• Preheat oven to 400°F. Not 420. Not 415 like my dad likes to do. That’s too hot the edges of the pizza get too dark and the middle isn’t quite done yet - you need to give this thing some time to cook. Perfection can’t be rushed.

• A typical electric oven takes at least 11 minutes to preheat. Set the oven timer so you know when it’s ready. This is the perfect time to gather your homies and even maybe squeeze off a quick round of TF2 or stock up your ship, get your crew together and see how much of a jackass you can make your avatar look if you’re playing Sea of Thieves.

• Once the timer goes off, ignore it because you’re balls deep in a heated battle already, it will probably only take a minute to get through though, hold on…

• ..wow it’s been an hour ok mom shut off the oven. \gives us a chance to squeeze another round off here…

• …half an hour into this and these guys just mobbed us, I think Evan just swam under their boat with a powderkeg so I’m pretty sure he’s going to blow up their—yeah! oh…we sank with them. Ok we have time let’s get back to that pizza.

• Take the pizza out of the box, leave the plastic wrapper on the counter for mom to throw away later. Put the pizza directly on the rack, make sure to ignore the pepperoni that’s precariously balanced on the edge and all the cheese fuzzies that will fall into the burner while this heats. That’s a problem for someone else. Set the timer for exactly 21 minutes. That’s peak doneness.

• Use the harpoon (new feature in Sea of Thieves btw, what a great update) to smash through the opponent’s boat and board their vessel. It is best if you sail with a crew of 4 or more. Otherwise you’re at the mercy of bigger bands of pirates who will loot your vessel. We frequently will bury some of our cache on abandoned islands before we complete missions, especially if the servers have a lot of traffic on them.

• Put a fan into the kitchen window pointed outside and turn on to blow the smoke from the burning cheap pepperoni and cheese out of the house. Apologize half-assed to your mom why does she get upset, like this happens all the time.

• Pull out the pizza and cut it with the sharpest knife in the kitchen, your parent’s good chef’s knife. Make sure to cut it on a plate or other hard surface that dulls the shit out of the chef’s knife, rendering it completely useless the next time someone uses it. Make it so dull that when your dad uses it to cut tomatoes he has to put 54 lbs. of pressure on the tomato, smashing it into a melee of bits that make the tomato look like it was in a high speed impact with the front grille of a Peterbilt.

• Add some pickles to the side. People think this is gross but in Korea they eat pizza with pickles on the side. The briny acidity cuts through the fat. It’s awesome.

• Dab an insane amount of shitty ranch on the side of the plate for dipping.

• Leave all utensils out and cabinet doors open. Eat in front of your screen.

• Don’t forget to bring your plate out 6 days later to be chiseled and cleaned.

Even though it was late June, a cold front had moved over Jeju island and enveloped it in a damp, foggy mist that hung over the small town of Seongsan. Diego and Emma had planned to climb Sunrise Peak, an ancient volcanic cone that rose steeply from the ocean. It stood watch over the town like an ancient castle, rising far above the geography and anchor…

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By the time Susan walked into the cafe her head was pounding. Short excerpts of the previous night's events replayed in her brain as she waited in line for her coffee. The sun drenched road trip to Vegas, the shots at the bar 10 minutes after their arrival, the Manhattans at the Onyx, the fancy dinner at the Andiamo, then more shots at 107 Skylounge, the DJ, the dancing, the pills, the motorcycle racing through the desert, the stranger she brought to her room.

She was tired. Not physically. Mentally. She was exhausted from damn near 40 years of chasing the American Dream. Chasing some preordained vision of success dispensed by questionable hustlers, wannabe playboys, influencer models and success porn dealers who sold their snake oil in the blaring thunderdome of their Instagram bubbles. The glamour, the flash, the vanity. The endless need for MORE. More everything. The American way. Shortcuts, excess, distractions, and noise. But always more. More was the elixir that solved everything. Until it crashed and buried you underneath it.

She had spent so much of her time chasing success and to her own surprise she had achieved it. Wealth, career, looks, fitness, the condo in Monterey, the winter home in Miami, the tech entrepreneur boyfriend. All the boxes had been checked. Yet she felt completely empty. Every win, every success was met with a silent numbness that grew with every win. It felt to her like the greater the win, the greater the confirmation that it ultimately meant nothing. She couldn't shake that feeling. She had been wasting the better part of her life chasing something ephemeral, like her whole life led up to a few zeroes in the bank account, and numbers on a social media profile. 

She drank her coffee and slowly ate her scone. She felt like weeping. Her growing unease had come to a head, and she could no longer avoid the decision. She could not stay in Vegas. She could not face him. She could not continue down this path. Was this a panic attack? Her body told her to flee. She had to do something. Where to start? It didn't matter. She had to act. She texted her boyfriend and apologized for not being able to meet him, that something had come up at work, and she needed to return to California to clear things up.

She got in her car and left within 30 minutes of making her decision. As she left Vegas she cried, she shouted, she drove 130 down Interstate 15 and chastised herself for all the mistakes and stupidity. After raging for two hours straight, she made the decision to change it all. It all had to change.

/* Commercial Break */

She arrived in Long Beach that afternoon, and immediately found a small Turkish restaurant that looked inviting. After putting herself through the wringer on her 4-hour crisis drive, she was hungry. Her tank was empty.

This place looked inviting. The interior was bright and vibrant, the atmosphere charming. The staff was laughing and happy. She looked over the menu and ordered a coffee and what looked like eggs braised in a rich tomato sauce. She spent over an hour watching the staff joke with customers. The waitresses seemed to be filled with joy. The customers could feel the energy. They smiled and joked while they ate and thoroughly immersed themselves in the pleasant ambiance of this little cafe with vibrant colors and uplifting music. Susan waited until her server brought her a coffee refill and decided to strike up a conversation. 
"It looks like you are having a great time today."
"Oh yeah, we love working here. Everyone is so great to each other." 
"Wow that must be really nice. You guys look like you are close."
The server gave her a big smile. "That's the key. We all look out for each other."

The server returned to her duties, running orders and laughing as she briskly served her tables. "That was the key," Susan thought. They looked out for each other. Comfort in numbers. Friendship. Support. This gave them some peace, it allowed them to live in the present, with no thoughts or worries about what tomorrow may bring.

She decided that this was it. The last time she would chase empty pleasures and spend her time pursuing hollow attainment and vapid friends. She decided she was going to dedicate herself to pursue the things she loved instead of the things she thought others cared about. To do good work for others and fall in love with that work. To leave behind the negative people and the phonies. She would surround herself with joyful and caring people who supported each other, regardless of their career choice or the size of their bank account. Most of all she would choose to work with enthusiasm. To her, the world seemed to reward people who approach their work with enthusiasm.

She took a bite of her eggs. Maybe it was Susan's epiphanies in that cafe, maybe it was the calm after her storm, or maybe it was the enthusiasm and the love of the kitchen staff. Whatever it was, those braised eggs were amazing. 

Ingredients

2 tbsp. olive oil
1 or 2 sweet mini red peppers 
1 tsp. crushed red pepper
1 tsp. minced ginger
 ¼ cup chopped onions
1 tsp. ground coriander
½ tsp. ground cardamom
½ tsp. ground turmeric
1 tsp. Hungarian paprika
2 pints ripe cherry tomatoes
½ to 1 tsp. Kosher salt, to taste
¼ cup unsweetened coconut cream or heavy cream
4 large eggs
2 tbsp. chopped basil, for garnish 
Flatbreads, for serving

Directions

In a large skillet over medium heat, warm the oil. Add the peppers, ginger, and onions. Stir until everything in the pan starts to get soft, about 2 minutes. Add the coriander, cardamom, and turmeric and stir so the spices coat everything and become fragrant.

Drop the tomatoes into the pan, season with a bit of salt, and cook. After about 15 minutes, squash the tomatoes, so they burst and release their juices. You want the tomatoes to soften so the sauce will thicken. Stir in the cream and give the sauce a taste. It’ll probably need another pinch or two of salt. 

Using a ladle, make four little divots in the mixture. Crack an egg into each and season with salt. Cover the skillet with a lid and cook until the egg whites are set, but the yolks are still runny, about 3 minutes.

Remove the skillet from the heat, carefully removing the cover so the steam doesn’t drip on the eggs. Scatter the basil over everything. Serve the eggs and sauce straight from the skillet with the flatbread to scoop.

The evening was shaping up to be a banger. Glen and Jay had just finished up a day of enduro riding through the rugged terrain of Taylor Park and were now settling into a small Mexican restaurant in Crested Butte. The restaurant was a charming and lively place. It was a recent build-out that fused modern renovation with a Baja aesthetic. Surfboards ador…

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