Split P/ea

Last night I made split pea soup for the first time in a year. It went pretty well. I may have used too much dill, however.

Dill is like parsley. You get so much in a bunch, and you probably only need it for one thing. Last time I had dill, I wound up making all these cheddar cheese and dill sandwiches. They were fantastic, so fuck you.

Anyways, you’re probably wondering, what is a split pea? Is it a pea split in half, or is it a smaller pea that they call a split pea because it looks like a half a pea?

The peas are round when harvested and dried. Once dry, the skin is removed and the natural split in the seed’s cotyledon can be mechanically separated, in part to encourage faster cooking.

I wrote that sentence. It is not from anywhere else. Please believe me. If you do not, I shall surely perish.

Attempted Robbery

People tend to do stupid things when they get drunk. Last night I attempted to steal an ice cream sandwich from a gas station.

I feel kind of bad about it now. Mike paid for whatever he got, and I walked out with the sandwich, showing it to the clerk as I left.

The clerk chased me out of the store and demanded I give it back to him. I mumbled something about how I meant to pay for it, which makes no sense, since I walked right out with it.

I said I’d pay for it, and the clerk said, No. He snatched it from me. I said, “You’re not gonna let me buy the sandwich?” He refused to let me buy it.

I wound up going to a different gas station and buying one.

Nothing like drinking at the beach and then hitting up some gas stations. I wonder if I’m too old to get drunk and chow down.

And this is the second ice cream sandwich I’ve eaten in as many nights. I’m not sure why. Apparently I’ve got ice cream sandwiches on the mind.

Then I dreamed that J-Rose, Benjamin, Dan, Yoel and Avi went to London and videotaped the whole thing and I was watching the videotape.

Times Are Tough, And That Includes Parsley

Parsley is the “times are tough” garnish, if you will.

Oh, you will.

Avid readers/stalkers may recall my essay on the unnecessary amount of parsley in a bunch. While everyone else was sitting on the couch twiddling their thumbs, I stepped up and called for parsley portion control.

How much parsley does one need? I asked. I pleaded with parsley bunchers to show some restraint.

Okay, so today I went to the farmer’s market and got supplies with which to make my famous gazpacho.

I bought some tomatoes and asked the guy to grab me some parsley. When he handed it to me, I was struck by its size.

No, it wasn’t an enormous bunch. It was a small one. Actually, it was the exact amount I needed.

And yet, I felt cheated, wondering why parsley bunches are half as big as they used to be. I felt like a chump for paying a dollar for an amount of parsley previously valued at fifty cents.

Of course, I sucked it up. I said, The recession is hitting everybody. And at least now parsley portions are under control.

Tomatoes

I have a knife made specifically for chopping tomatoes, and yet this afternoon when I chopped eight tomatoes, I did not use that knife.

Don’t ask me why.

Gazpacho is a beautiful soup. All you do is chop tomatoes, cucumbers, green pepper, onion, garlic and parsley, add olive oil and salt, and throw it in a blender, and it becomes an entirely different thing.

The flavor has to be subtle enough to be eaten in bowl-fulls, while being tasty enough to want to eat bowl-fulls.

It requires the right bread for dipping. These days I prefer sourdough, high quality, of course. Packaged bread from a grocery store should never be purchased, not under any conditions.

I enjoy chopping parsley. I like the crunching sound it makes.

I also enjoy the crunching sound my feet make when I walk down a gravel road.

God’s Away on Business

My drinking habit is suffering due to a lack of funds.

Please send money.

Send via PayPal. My email is hornyteen1229@aol.com.

Oh, I miss my whiskey friend.

La di dum da da.

How I yearn for a fifth of Johnny Blaaaaaaaaaaaaack-ack-ack.

La di diddly dum da da.

Lord, have mercy!

Pizza

What do you do when you wake up from a raucous night of drinking, and there is a whole pizza sitting on your kitchen counter?

Throw it back in the oven and eat it for breakfast.

YES!

Expresso

I am into espresso these days.

Coffee upsets my stomach. Coffee is too much liquid. Coffee is too much. Who wants to drink that much hot liquid at once? Unless we’re talking tea or hot chocolate. Coffee is better in concentrated form. The same way as I prefer whiskey to beer.

Espresso is so delicious. I get a double shot of espresso and add nothing. Adding milk or sugar to espresso is lame. People here in this country are always adding, adding, adding. Just fucking eat or drink what you ordered.

Unless we’re talking salt and pepper.

Or red pepper on pizza. Garlic powder is not bad either.

Basically, whatever I do is right and everyone else is obvious and stupid.

I took this picture when I was in Kenya. The sky was the babiest baby blue that day, and the grass soft and golden. I had one picture left, saving it for the perfect moment. This was that moment, or so I thought.

Little did I know I would later see a hippo with an eyepatch.