Thursday, June 15, 2023


One of the most precious American traditions is when we go into the backyard and do a controlled burn on animal protein, Basically from Father's Day (which is coming up, fabulous shopping!) through the first half of October (my birthday, and again fabulous shopping!). This coincides with what has in the last decade turned into the Burning Season, when large parts of the hinterland go up in flames taking trailer parks and rancho-developments with them.

This year, the East Coast had a head start. Everything there smells like singed weenies. The Canadians should probably have raked their forests, eh? And there is NO global warming! That's just a conspiracy by "misfits, mutants, Marxists, and communists".
And, of course, windmill manufacturers.
The Dutch.

Here on the West Coast there is no trace of smoke in the sky. We're sitting in the cat-bird seat. So, as you would expect, were getting set to burn all animal protein in sight.
A grand conflagration! Burgers, weenies, fish, cans of tuna, tofu.
Oh, it will be such a feast!

What with living in the city, and being a childless bachelor, as well as somewhat Aspy and anti-social, I have no backyard in which to incinerate edibles, no kids who will treat me to carbonized fatty meats, nor anyone who will invite me for to any witchburnings, bonfires, or "barbecues" on Father's Day or later on July Fourth. The best I can do is roast duck, roast pork, charsiu, white poached chicken, and orange-hued octopus from one of the excellent nearby Cantonese siu-mei establishments.

You know, I think I'll manage.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

No comments:

Search This Blog


Having forgotten to pack the pillbox, instead of afternoon tea and a yummy biscuit at the bakery, I hurried home. I am rigid about schedulin...