Thursday, February 22, 2018


Dinner tonight consisted of a slice of apple pie, weirdly flavoured biscuits and wine-country chicken salad, and, finally, a grilled Andouille Sausage with Sriracha hot sauce. Not French Andouille, which smells like crap, but good American Andouille from Louisiana, double smoked.
The piece of apple pie was an hors d'oeuvre.
Can't get more American than that.

Shan't mention what I had for lunch while in Marin, but to my surprise it contained American cheese. Not real cheese, factory processed cheese. There ought to be a brand of lunchables called 'Microwave Abortion'.
It might not sell, but it would at least be honest.
Truth in advertising and all that jazz.

The Andouille was delicious.

Life is too short to eat processed cheese except accidentally. I am actually surprised that there is processed cheese anywhere in Marin, which is the wine and cheese asshole capital of the universe, but they have a love-hate relationship with the poor there, and probably don't want those folks to develop a taste for the good stuff, as it might make it hard to find.

There is always some decent real cheese in this household. My Chinese American apartment mate loves the stuff, couldn't live without it, and makes sure there is at least one hunk in the refrigerator.

Part of the lunch I bought in Marin is still in my backpack. It is the banana, for which I had no appetite after encountering that processed crap. Even with the hot sauce I keep at work, the chemical glue taste came through.
No wonder American kids are so twisted.
Milk protein concentrates.

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