DESPERATE MEASURES

After a full day slaving at the salt mines a man requires sustenance. This blogger is all about sustenance, provided it's not something cooked by anyone from the core Midwestern states. Boiled corn, and potato slurry ("mashed", no butter, salt, pepper, bacon, or cayenne) only count as 'sustenance' if one is desperate.

One should never be that desperate.

And please remember that I grew up on a lot of Dutch-Indonesian food (except for my mother's neurodivergent culinary practices) and I know how to cook.
And, living in San Francisco, I have access.

Both means, and motive.


Plus I work in Marin County, so I'm damned well desperate. Suburbia is a blasted wasteland gustatorily, where a lack of imagination, and bland cheese flavoured chips are king.
Possibly the totally perfect snack for all suburban coke fiends.

As I suspect a large residential percentage there are.
Men, women, children. And Tesla owners.
The chosen masses.

Perhaps I shouldn't have steamed the salt fish but used it to chase away the skeevies out on the street just down the block. It's a guarantee that young white office slackers haven't seen anything of such robust flavour, and would quail in fear.


I am reminded that bowling trophies would be perfect blunt objects.
Or maybe Junior Chamber of Commerce golf trophies.
Anything charity tournament related.
All for a good cause.



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