A friend, of much the same age as myself, is neither married nor seeing someone. He is not immune to feminine charms, however, and has robust and healthy tastes.
I have told him several times what he needs in his life.
He needs someone like the heroine of this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpvvFn54hRs
She's dreamy, as I'm sure you'll agree.
And she knows her way around a kitchen. A very capable girl.
With a bit of luck, this conversation will be part of the programme:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VY8L_apFieE
If he takes my advice, and finds somebody exactly like her, I expect to be invited to the chasunah.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
TRANSVESTITE NIGHTMARE
Yesterday evening I had a drink at an establishment which has a smokers' patio behind the building. While sitting there I had a view of the pool tables. One of the individuals playing pool was a very tall middle aged gentleman with a paunch, wearing bold fishnets, a short ruffly skirt, black panties, and an upper garment that left nothing to the imagination. Lipstick, eye shadow, and a blonde sheitel. I am not sure what his upper garment would be called. It exposed both his generous abdomen, and broad liver-spotted shoulders.
It covered only the falsies.
This morning, Thomas at the tobacco store happily kvelled that the blend he put together as a replacement of the cherry Cavendish was well received. The cherry Cavendish needs to be replaced because the constituent tobaccos are no longer available. The habitual smokers of the cherry Cavendish would otherwise be bereft.
I may have mentioned in the past that I smoke mixtures composed of Latakia, Turkish, and Virginia. These have a natural tobacco taste, there is naught added to pongify or whore-up the smell. They are not aromatics.
Many of us who smoke such tobaccos look down our long and aristocratic noses at smokers of aromatics. Perfume, faugh, we are purists.
Even Virginia smokers tend to be such. Natural tobaccos are clean and proper. Well-bred. Our kind of leaf, dontcha know.
Aromatics are like cross-dressers. You know how uncomfortable you feel when a person turns out to be the wrong gender for your perversion. If you're that drunk that you don't notice at first, it is all the more disturbing.
[Or so I've heard.]
Once in a blue moon, though, some of us head into the sleazy part of town for some rough trade - a furtive indiscretion with a perfumed tart. Sometimes it's an aromatic we smoked as a child, or a flavoured Cavendish that reminds us of a long summer. A vanilla cake, or a heather-honey Dutchman. Something soapy, or oily, or old-lady and tea cosy by the fire.
So do not be too surprised when I say that I have a sample of Thomas' most recent blend. It actually smells good - I'll probably stuff it into one of my pipes this evening.
Having already committed to a dalliance with fruity trollops, I decided to open up a tin of flavoured leaf I had on my desk.
Treasures of Ireland: SHANNON Sweet & Mellow
...Sweet Clyster-mighty!!!
What is that smell?!? I think it's supposed to be melon, but if it is, that is the nastiest meanest melon ever. A severe and murderous bitch-superior at a reformatory among the melons. Do they actually grow melons in Ireland? They shouldn't.
The tobacco looks very nice. A ribbon-cut compound of brights and darks, some black Cavendish evident, though probably not a dark-pressed flake - more likely stoved. The texture is very similar to some of the blends I smoked in the Netherlands, and the appearance and feel of the leaves do actually remind me of a few Niemeyer mixtures that came in tins, plus some German blends of the seventies.
As does the smell - as long as I keep my nose at least a full yard or more away. Maybe more than two yards. Good barf almighty. Pee-hoo. Turkish cat-house. Buckets.
That smell is phenomenal. It does not smell in any way like tobacco. Pungently fruity.
A fragrance that is ready for combat. An aroma that carries nunchucks and a shiv. Not so much a sweet young thing as a clapped-out old syphilitic, diseased and mean.
This is not a delicate little lady among the tobaccos, this is the brassy-voiced transvestite from hell.
I am scared to smoke it.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It covered only the falsies.
This morning, Thomas at the tobacco store happily kvelled that the blend he put together as a replacement of the cherry Cavendish was well received. The cherry Cavendish needs to be replaced because the constituent tobaccos are no longer available. The habitual smokers of the cherry Cavendish would otherwise be bereft.
I may have mentioned in the past that I smoke mixtures composed of Latakia, Turkish, and Virginia. These have a natural tobacco taste, there is naught added to pongify or whore-up the smell. They are not aromatics.
Many of us who smoke such tobaccos look down our long and aristocratic noses at smokers of aromatics. Perfume, faugh, we are purists.
Even Virginia smokers tend to be such. Natural tobaccos are clean and proper. Well-bred. Our kind of leaf, dontcha know.
Aromatics are like cross-dressers. You know how uncomfortable you feel when a person turns out to be the wrong gender for your perversion. If you're that drunk that you don't notice at first, it is all the more disturbing.
[Or so I've heard.]
Once in a blue moon, though, some of us head into the sleazy part of town for some rough trade - a furtive indiscretion with a perfumed tart. Sometimes it's an aromatic we smoked as a child, or a flavoured Cavendish that reminds us of a long summer. A vanilla cake, or a heather-honey Dutchman. Something soapy, or oily, or old-lady and tea cosy by the fire.
So do not be too surprised when I say that I have a sample of Thomas' most recent blend. It actually smells good - I'll probably stuff it into one of my pipes this evening.
Having already committed to a dalliance with fruity trollops, I decided to open up a tin of flavoured leaf I had on my desk.
Treasures of Ireland: SHANNON Sweet & Mellow
...Sweet Clyster-mighty!!!
What is that smell?!? I think it's supposed to be melon, but if it is, that is the nastiest meanest melon ever. A severe and murderous bitch-superior at a reformatory among the melons. Do they actually grow melons in Ireland? They shouldn't.
The tobacco looks very nice. A ribbon-cut compound of brights and darks, some black Cavendish evident, though probably not a dark-pressed flake - more likely stoved. The texture is very similar to some of the blends I smoked in the Netherlands, and the appearance and feel of the leaves do actually remind me of a few Niemeyer mixtures that came in tins, plus some German blends of the seventies.
As does the smell - as long as I keep my nose at least a full yard or more away. Maybe more than two yards. Good barf almighty. Pee-hoo. Turkish cat-house. Buckets.
That smell is phenomenal. It does not smell in any way like tobacco. Pungently fruity.
A fragrance that is ready for combat. An aroma that carries nunchucks and a shiv. Not so much a sweet young thing as a clapped-out old syphilitic, diseased and mean.
This is not a delicate little lady among the tobaccos, this is the brassy-voiced transvestite from hell.
I am scared to smoke it.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
DO NOT PAVE LEBANON
Yesterday I was rather intemperate in my posting. I wrote: "I am sorry that Sharon did not pave over all of Southern Lebanon in 1982. He should have driven the population northwards and salted the earth. "
This was not the most sane and rational thing I have ever written.
As reader Charles Malik subsequently pointed out.
Charles Malik wrote:
"Come, now.
You don't truly want to turn pristine villages into parking lots. Why let your emotions go to such extremes?
Obviously, you need to show your anger to Lebanese extremists, but as your blog shows, your media is not the way to go about doing that.
You attract Lebanese moderates, who will undoubtedly be upset by your rhetoric.
You can make the weak Western/ Israeli accusation that Arab moderates merely apologize for extremism, but there is a reason why we liberal bloggers attract attention, and it is not for our pro-regime agenda.
The Arab world is not diverse. You are right to be skeptical of your Egyptian and Saudi readers. However, Lebanon is relatively free, and Lebanese abroad (the majority of Lebanese citizens) participate in the discussion.
We don't take kindly to being stereotyped, and we enjoy being ourselves without others telling us what we should be doing.
Your politics may correspond with ours, but make sure that you are truly online to make friend not debating partners before you begin advocating specific platforms.
I will gladly debate you, but only after you indicate you are worthy of such an exchange. If we even disagree... ;)
"
He is right. Yesterday's text was not exactly geared towards a rational discussion of issues.
I will freely admit, despite my sense that all the Arab opinions regarding the United States and Israel are wrong, some bone-headedly so, that there are grey zones, and areas where discussion can begin. And that there is much we have in common.
And there most certainly are Arabs with whom one can actually get along, whom one can even admire. In that vein I should point out that Saudi King Abdullah yesterday argued in favour of tolerance and reconciliation.
A cynic might say that if this is believable, it's about time. A skeptic would dismiss it as merely an obfuscatory trick, part of the strategy for softening up the future dhimmis, and not nearly a bold enough statement.
Perhaps it did not go as far as could be desired. Indeed, given the audience at that conference, it may have been little more than a diplomatic politeness. A courtesy suited to the crowd.
Let us instead admire him for having the courage to say it. The opinion he ventured will win him no friends among the extremists, and will not affect the hard-core on our side who have already rigidified into anti-Islamists. It was not pandering to powerblocks or threats. It was a rational observation in an age which is not entirely welcoming of such things.
There are others in the Arab and in the Muslim world who are worthy of respect. We should not be blind to that fact, or deaf to their voices. And in castigating them all for the unseemly and obscene triumphalist Hezbollah orgy yesterday, I was incorrect.
So, other than keenly desiring that all members of Hezbollah and their pals in Hamas, and much of the Syrian and Iranian leadership, plus their sympathizers in Europe and the Arab world, should die horrible deaths, soon and in our days, and that their names be forgotten, their heirs be outcastes and paupers, and their graves by plowed under and used for dung heaps, I do not wish all of Southern Lebanon to be paved over. It is a beautiful place, I've been told, and I've known some very nice Lebanese. I wish them well. And I wish them to be rid of their yokes.
We've got a couple of our own yokes that we too need to be rid of.
This was not the most sane and rational thing I have ever written.
As reader Charles Malik subsequently pointed out.
Charles Malik wrote:
"Come, now.
You don't truly want to turn pristine villages into parking lots. Why let your emotions go to such extremes?
Obviously, you need to show your anger to Lebanese extremists, but as your blog shows, your media is not the way to go about doing that.
You attract Lebanese moderates, who will undoubtedly be upset by your rhetoric.
You can make the weak Western/ Israeli accusation that Arab moderates merely apologize for extremism, but there is a reason why we liberal bloggers attract attention, and it is not for our pro-regime agenda.
The Arab world is not diverse. You are right to be skeptical of your Egyptian and Saudi readers. However, Lebanon is relatively free, and Lebanese abroad (the majority of Lebanese citizens) participate in the discussion.
We don't take kindly to being stereotyped, and we enjoy being ourselves without others telling us what we should be doing.
Your politics may correspond with ours, but make sure that you are truly online to make friend not debating partners before you begin advocating specific platforms.
I will gladly debate you, but only after you indicate you are worthy of such an exchange. If we even disagree... ;)
"
He is right. Yesterday's text was not exactly geared towards a rational discussion of issues.
I will freely admit, despite my sense that all the Arab opinions regarding the United States and Israel are wrong, some bone-headedly so, that there are grey zones, and areas where discussion can begin. And that there is much we have in common.
And there most certainly are Arabs with whom one can actually get along, whom one can even admire. In that vein I should point out that Saudi King Abdullah yesterday argued in favour of tolerance and reconciliation.
A cynic might say that if this is believable, it's about time. A skeptic would dismiss it as merely an obfuscatory trick, part of the strategy for softening up the future dhimmis, and not nearly a bold enough statement.
Perhaps it did not go as far as could be desired. Indeed, given the audience at that conference, it may have been little more than a diplomatic politeness. A courtesy suited to the crowd.
Let us instead admire him for having the courage to say it. The opinion he ventured will win him no friends among the extremists, and will not affect the hard-core on our side who have already rigidified into anti-Islamists. It was not pandering to powerblocks or threats. It was a rational observation in an age which is not entirely welcoming of such things.
There are others in the Arab and in the Muslim world who are worthy of respect. We should not be blind to that fact, or deaf to their voices. And in castigating them all for the unseemly and obscene triumphalist Hezbollah orgy yesterday, I was incorrect.
So, other than keenly desiring that all members of Hezbollah and their pals in Hamas, and much of the Syrian and Iranian leadership, plus their sympathizers in Europe and the Arab world, should die horrible deaths, soon and in our days, and that their names be forgotten, their heirs be outcastes and paupers, and their graves by plowed under and used for dung heaps, I do not wish all of Southern Lebanon to be paved over. It is a beautiful place, I've been told, and I've known some very nice Lebanese. I wish them well. And I wish them to be rid of their yokes.
We've got a couple of our own yokes that we too need to be rid of.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
LEBANON DEMONSTRATES FINE ARAB VALUES
The Lebanese have festively welcomed back Samir Kuntar and four other stalwarts. Roads were festooned with banners, Sheikh Nasrallah made a triumphant speech, and the national government have declared a national holiday. Today is a day of pride and joy for all Lebanese, and the entire Arab nation celebrates with them.
It would be a mistake to think that peace is possible with people such as these.
Here is what Shlomo Goldwasser, father of Ehud Goldwasser (one of the two dead Israelis traded by the Levantine merchants for their five heroes) had to say:
"I cannot understand what the Lebanese are so glad about and happy about. They sacrificed over 700 of their best warriors and all their economy, and what they get for what they did is a murderer, a bloody murderer of a three-and-a-half-year-old girl and her father - and for this they are making all this glory, for this they sacrificed so much. So I feel only pity for them."
He's a better man than I am. He feels pity for them.
I am sorry that Sharon did not pave over all of Southern Lebanon in 1982. He should have driven the population northwards and salted the earth. Lebanese values, Arab values, are not values. They are incapable of human feeling, they are not civilized. They are barbaric tribals who only understand force, whose ideals represent savagery and bloodshed, who are proud of their history of violence and primitivism.
Theirs is a culture of rapine and slaveraiding, from the shores of the Atlantic to the edges of the Hindu Kush. There is naught there to be proud of, there is little there that is exemplary.
The day that Islam came out of the wastelands of the peninsula was a day of disaster, a curse for every generation since.
When the British took in the sons of Sharif Hussein ibn Ali in the nineteen-twenties, they should have slit their throats. Instead they gave them kingdoms.
It would be a mistake to think that peace is possible with people such as these.
Here is what Shlomo Goldwasser, father of Ehud Goldwasser (one of the two dead Israelis traded by the Levantine merchants for their five heroes) had to say:
"I cannot understand what the Lebanese are so glad about and happy about. They sacrificed over 700 of their best warriors and all their economy, and what they get for what they did is a murderer, a bloody murderer of a three-and-a-half-year-old girl and her father - and for this they are making all this glory, for this they sacrificed so much. So I feel only pity for them."
He's a better man than I am. He feels pity for them.
I am sorry that Sharon did not pave over all of Southern Lebanon in 1982. He should have driven the population northwards and salted the earth. Lebanese values, Arab values, are not values. They are incapable of human feeling, they are not civilized. They are barbaric tribals who only understand force, whose ideals represent savagery and bloodshed, who are proud of their history of violence and primitivism.
Theirs is a culture of rapine and slaveraiding, from the shores of the Atlantic to the edges of the Hindu Kush. There is naught there to be proud of, there is little there that is exemplary.
The day that Islam came out of the wastelands of the peninsula was a day of disaster, a curse for every generation since.
When the British took in the sons of Sharif Hussein ibn Ali in the nineteen-twenties, they should have slit their throats. Instead they gave them kingdoms.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
SMELLS LIKE SCHOOL GIRL, SMELLS LIKE PENGUIN
Or at least, I would imagine that is what it smells like. It depends on your imagination, as I cannot identify the aroma, and refuse to speculate.
This is in partial response to two readers and their meshune queries.
--------------------------------------------
Spiros asked:
"Speaking as one who doesn't indulge in pipe tobacco, and isn't really that interested, a question presents itself: are there any tobaccos out there that smell like penguins?"
--------------------------------------------
Whereupon Grant Patel asked:
"Smells like penguins? Freshly laundered penguins, penguins after a herring-gut orgy, or rancid drunken penguins? In the pouch, or after lighting?"
Grant Patel further opined:
"This is a question for a rabbi. Or it is a question for a rabbit. Your choice. Not mine. I don't listen from bird-burning rabbits either."
--------------------------------------------
And a while later, someone who signs himself 'Eric the rabid tobacconist' chimed in with:
"The penguin is neither a bird nor an incendiaristic rabbit.
The penguin is a quadruped which lives in big rivers like the Amazon. It has two ears, a heart, a forehead, and a beak for eating honey. But it is provided with fins for swimming.
Penguins are larger than frogs.
Penguins are dangerous! If you see one where people are swimming, you should shout: 'Look out! There are penguins!'
Cuidado, cuidado, cuidado, cuidado, los pingüinos! "
Within mere minutes, the mad tobacconist found another post under which to scribble:
"Speaking as one who doesn't indulge in pipe tobacco, and isn't really that interested, a question presents itself: are there any tobaccos out there that smell like schoolgirls?"
--------------------------------------------
Therewith the comment slew came full circle. I mention all of this as an explanation of the title of this post, and will now propose ATBOTH's law:
As a comment string grows longer, the probability of a Monty Python reference cropping up approaches one.
It is a variation on Godwin's Law. If you are Bray in between frocking, you recognized that immediately.
The exception to Quirk's exception, as it applies to ATBOTH's law, is that the discussion will most likely continue until the audience's capacity for Monty Python references naturally exhausts itself.
For those who are interested, the Pythonesque bits above are the mention of penguins, the name Eric, the term tobacconist, and the odd monologue about penguins that finished with a warning in Spanish.
I will not buy this tobacconist, it is scratched.
All of this serves to introduce a mention of a pipe tobacco that I haven't smoked in well over thirty years. I was not particularly fond of it, by any stretch of the imagination, at that time. And I did not imagine I would actually enjoy smoking it now. But it is surprisingly good. A pleasant smoke, with an interesting friendly-ghost familiarity to the fragrance.
SAIL Natural
Smooth Dutch Cavendish
Manufactured by Royal Theodorus Niemeyer B.V.
Groningen - Holland.
From the package description:
Sail Natural is a sophisticated blend of easy burning rich Burley and mellow Virginia to which smooth tobaccos from Latakia, India and Indonesia are added.
I think it is lightly top-cased, but that could just be the reek of Kentucky. It smokes clean and evenly. If you treat it like a Virginia flake, despite the lack of a characteristic Virginia taste, and smoke it slowly, it will not bite. The room aroma is pleasant, and does indeed suggest the presence of Latakia - only just barely noticeable in the mouth. The pouch price says that this is a drug-store tobacco, but this pouch at least shows a quality that suggests it would be better branded in a flat tin, like many of the fancier mixtures. It is pleasant late at night, when Savage Kitten is asleep and cannot yowl furiously at my fuming, and it is also a good first pipe of the day - not too laden with nicotine and strong flavours. It reminds me of some of the Scandinavian oddments that were once so common.
I would buy it again.
ROYAL THEODORUS NIEMEYER
The concern was founded back in 1848 by general merchant and tobacconist Theodorus Niemeyer, whose father Meindert Niemeyer had been selling tobacco and other tropical products since 1819. The company was allowed to append 'royal' (koninklijke) to its name in 1969, a century and a half after the founder's father started his business. It was sold in 1990 to Rothman's, which acquired it from Gallaghers - I have not been able to find out when Gallaghers purchased it from the heirs to Theodorus Niemeyer.
In addition to Sail, the company is/was also know for Samson Shag and Javaanse Jongens (both are cigarette rolling tobaccos), Clan (the most rancidly nasty fruit-toffee-sugar flavoured so-called pipe tobacco in existence, banned on several planets as human perversion at its most extreme - but permitted in the inferno, in case you were wondering), and several other tobaccos, including Vier Heeren Baai (Four Gentlemen Bay tobacco), which I remember as a very decent thin ribbon cut Maryland, pleasant, mild, and nutty. Vier Heeren Baai was probably the best of the Baai tobaccos (so called because they were exported from the Chesapeake), all of which were plain unsauced ribbon cuts.
It is questionable whether the brand will continue to exist. British American Tobacco (holders of the Rothmans portfolio of products and brands since 1999), sold all pipe blends (excepting only Dunhill and Captain Black - the high end and the biggest selling low end respectively) to Orlik in February 2007.
Orlik, subsidiary of Skandinavisk Tobakskompagni A/S, transferred Niemeyer pipe tobacco production from Groningen to Holstebro in Denmark in February 2007.
[In addition to several well-known pipe tobaccos, Rothmans portfolio also included cigarette brands such as Dunhill, Peter Stuyvesant, Caballero, Benson and Hedges, State Express, plus Schimmelpenninck cigarillos. And many more.]
You will note that the pouch I am currently smoking states that it is from Niemeyer in Groningen. It probably predates the transfer. If so, that would explain it's mellowness.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
This is in partial response to two readers and their meshune queries.
--------------------------------------------
Spiros asked:
"Speaking as one who doesn't indulge in pipe tobacco, and isn't really that interested, a question presents itself: are there any tobaccos out there that smell like penguins?"
--------------------------------------------
Whereupon Grant Patel asked:
"Smells like penguins? Freshly laundered penguins, penguins after a herring-gut orgy, or rancid drunken penguins? In the pouch, or after lighting?"
Grant Patel further opined:
"This is a question for a rabbi. Or it is a question for a rabbit. Your choice. Not mine. I don't listen from bird-burning rabbits either."
--------------------------------------------
And a while later, someone who signs himself 'Eric the rabid tobacconist' chimed in with:
"The penguin is neither a bird nor an incendiaristic rabbit.
The penguin is a quadruped which lives in big rivers like the Amazon. It has two ears, a heart, a forehead, and a beak for eating honey. But it is provided with fins for swimming.
Penguins are larger than frogs.
Penguins are dangerous! If you see one where people are swimming, you should shout: 'Look out! There are penguins!'
Cuidado, cuidado, cuidado, cuidado, los pingüinos! "
Within mere minutes, the mad tobacconist found another post under which to scribble:
"Speaking as one who doesn't indulge in pipe tobacco, and isn't really that interested, a question presents itself: are there any tobaccos out there that smell like schoolgirls?"
--------------------------------------------
Therewith the comment slew came full circle. I mention all of this as an explanation of the title of this post, and will now propose ATBOTH's law:
As a comment string grows longer, the probability of a Monty Python reference cropping up approaches one.
It is a variation on Godwin's Law. If you are Bray in between frocking, you recognized that immediately.
The exception to Quirk's exception, as it applies to ATBOTH's law, is that the discussion will most likely continue until the audience's capacity for Monty Python references naturally exhausts itself.
For those who are interested, the Pythonesque bits above are the mention of penguins, the name Eric, the term tobacconist, and the odd monologue about penguins that finished with a warning in Spanish.
I will not buy this tobacconist, it is scratched.
All of this serves to introduce a mention of a pipe tobacco that I haven't smoked in well over thirty years. I was not particularly fond of it, by any stretch of the imagination, at that time. And I did not imagine I would actually enjoy smoking it now. But it is surprisingly good. A pleasant smoke, with an interesting friendly-ghost familiarity to the fragrance.
SAIL Natural
Smooth Dutch Cavendish
Manufactured by Royal Theodorus Niemeyer B.V.
Groningen - Holland.
From the package description:
Sail Natural is a sophisticated blend of easy burning rich Burley and mellow Virginia to which smooth tobaccos from Latakia, India and Indonesia are added.
I think it is lightly top-cased, but that could just be the reek of Kentucky. It smokes clean and evenly. If you treat it like a Virginia flake, despite the lack of a characteristic Virginia taste, and smoke it slowly, it will not bite. The room aroma is pleasant, and does indeed suggest the presence of Latakia - only just barely noticeable in the mouth. The pouch price says that this is a drug-store tobacco, but this pouch at least shows a quality that suggests it would be better branded in a flat tin, like many of the fancier mixtures. It is pleasant late at night, when Savage Kitten is asleep and cannot yowl furiously at my fuming, and it is also a good first pipe of the day - not too laden with nicotine and strong flavours. It reminds me of some of the Scandinavian oddments that were once so common.
I would buy it again.
ROYAL THEODORUS NIEMEYER
The concern was founded back in 1848 by general merchant and tobacconist Theodorus Niemeyer, whose father Meindert Niemeyer had been selling tobacco and other tropical products since 1819. The company was allowed to append 'royal' (koninklijke) to its name in 1969, a century and a half after the founder's father started his business. It was sold in 1990 to Rothman's, which acquired it from Gallaghers - I have not been able to find out when Gallaghers purchased it from the heirs to Theodorus Niemeyer.
In addition to Sail, the company is/was also know for Samson Shag and Javaanse Jongens (both are cigarette rolling tobaccos), Clan (the most rancidly nasty fruit-toffee-sugar flavoured so-called pipe tobacco in existence, banned on several planets as human perversion at its most extreme - but permitted in the inferno, in case you were wondering), and several other tobaccos, including Vier Heeren Baai (Four Gentlemen Bay tobacco), which I remember as a very decent thin ribbon cut Maryland, pleasant, mild, and nutty. Vier Heeren Baai was probably the best of the Baai tobaccos (so called because they were exported from the Chesapeake), all of which were plain unsauced ribbon cuts.
It is questionable whether the brand will continue to exist. British American Tobacco (holders of the Rothmans portfolio of products and brands since 1999), sold all pipe blends (excepting only Dunhill and Captain Black - the high end and the biggest selling low end respectively) to Orlik in February 2007.
Orlik, subsidiary of Skandinavisk Tobakskompagni A/S, transferred Niemeyer pipe tobacco production from Groningen to Holstebro in Denmark in February 2007.
[In addition to several well-known pipe tobaccos, Rothmans portfolio also included cigarette brands such as Dunhill, Peter Stuyvesant, Caballero, Benson and Hedges, State Express, plus Schimmelpenninck cigarillos. And many more.]
You will note that the pouch I am currently smoking states that it is from Niemeyer in Groningen. It probably predates the transfer. If so, that would explain it's mellowness.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Monday, July 14, 2008
POTTY? MUCH!
Every year there is a glass and ceramic fair down in Palo Alto in mid-summer. And every year, Savage Kitten drives me down there, because I collect ceramics.
Savage Kitten only collects period costume jewelry, and so of course there is naught at the glass and ceramics fair to hold her attention. Zip. And diddly.
The Toad, on the other hand, made out like a bandit. Came back with a dozen pieces.
[I was still happily gloating after midnight. Caressing rims and glaze-surfaces. Pinging the porcelain for bell-like tones, holding up pieces to admire the symmetry versus textural effect. Proportion, shape, skin.]
It takes an hour to get down to Palo Alto, and an hour to get back. In mad traffic, on a hot day, with several people on the freeway who really should've been on valium instead.
Savage Kitten hates driving, and does not thrill at ceramics, or glass.
Eishes chayil mi yimtsa, v'rachok mipninim michra....
A woman of valour, who can find? Her price is beyond rubies.
Savage Kitten only collects period costume jewelry, and so of course there is naught at the glass and ceramics fair to hold her attention. Zip. And diddly.
The Toad, on the other hand, made out like a bandit. Came back with a dozen pieces.
[I was still happily gloating after midnight. Caressing rims and glaze-surfaces. Pinging the porcelain for bell-like tones, holding up pieces to admire the symmetry versus textural effect. Proportion, shape, skin.]
It takes an hour to get down to Palo Alto, and an hour to get back. In mad traffic, on a hot day, with several people on the freeway who really should've been on valium instead.
Savage Kitten hates driving, and does not thrill at ceramics, or glass.
Eishes chayil mi yimtsa, v'rachok mipninim michra....
A woman of valour, who can find? Her price is beyond rubies.
Friday, July 11, 2008
HELLO KITTY IS LOST
and wants to be reunited with the owner.
If you own a red water bottle with Hello Kitty on it, she spent the night in the lonely ops department in my cube.
I think I see tears, but cannot be sure….
She is waiting to be rescued.
------A.V.
---------------------------------
The above was an e-mail that our customer service person sent out. Proving, conclusively, that she is the right person for the job. Notice that she is not talking down to the person who owns a red Hello Kitty water bottle, but is sympathizing sincerely with their loss, and feels their deep angst and pain. She wants the two of them to be re-united.
Whether she wants anything else for those two and their misguided pairing is a question best left unanswered.
If you own a red water bottle with Hello Kitty on it, she spent the night in the lonely ops department in my cube.
I think I see tears, but cannot be sure….
She is waiting to be rescued.
------A.V.
---------------------------------
The above was an e-mail that our customer service person sent out. Proving, conclusively, that she is the right person for the job. Notice that she is not talking down to the person who owns a red Hello Kitty water bottle, but is sympathizing sincerely with their loss, and feels their deep angst and pain. She wants the two of them to be re-united.
Whether she wants anything else for those two and their misguided pairing is a question best left unanswered.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
SMELLS LIKE OLD LADY!
I mean that in a good way. It's a very positive statement. Imagine a little old person, steel-rimmed spectacles, kindly eyes, lace; someone who danced with too many fly-boys during WWII, when she was still a young girl in Somerset. And married the only one who came back in 1945. A spirited old gal. Spunky. Witty, too.
She still has all her faculties.
Except for her sense of smell.
Smell is one of the things that goes downhill fast. Just ask the manufacturers of Limburger cheese, they can't smell (or they would NOT be committing their horrid crime against humanity).
In consequence of her nose weakening so, she now wears a perfume that is, well, shall we say, somewhat... unsuitable (though it is very old-fashioned).
A bit soapy. A bit too sweet and floral. A bit like how a root-beer float tastes.
A perfume made with Tonquin oil.
Tonquin oil comes from a tropical tree with sweet pungent seeds that are used for adding scent or flavour to pomades, candies, and tobacco.
[Is the light going off in your head now? Do you see where this is leading? I lured you in with the provocative title, and now, having got you where I want you, I am going to gibber on at length about pipe tobacco.]
1792 FLAKE
Manufactured in Kendall, Cumbria, England, by Samuel Gawith & Co. Ltd.
Yes, it really does smell like a sweet little old lady. But it smokes much better than she would, even if desiccated, de-veined, fermented, cured, pressed, steamed, and sliced into dark fibrous sheets. It is a full flavoured yet relatively smooth smoke, that finishes surprisingly fast for a matured Virginia. Not too sweet. Tangy and complex to the tongue, round and pleasant to the nose.
Despite the pleasing aroma, Savage Kitten still forces me to smoke it in the kitchen near the open window with the door closed - she does not appreciate old women.
I expect that in another thirty years she won't mind my smoking it in the parlor - she may smell like that herself then.
Oddly, the fragrance does not particularly adhere to the pipe, as subsequent bowls of McClellands flake tobacco are scarcely influenced. Bowls of Dunhill's Durbar mixture, or Standard Mixture Medium, a few days later, will taste no different than usual. In this it is entirely dissimilar to such rancid abortions as Troost, Clan, Cherry-Vanilla Hodgepodge, or any other dreck-muck-sludge compounds much recommended by idiots and misguided sweet funk aficionados.
It is far better tobacco than anything the Dutch or Danes produce, a truly excellent compound, and well worth experiencing. It takes me about a year to go through a tin, and if it dries out during that time I remoisten it with a little whiskey. The liquor sparks up the fragrance and melds the flavour-components. At times I will hold the tin up to my nose merely to inhale deeply. Sheer heaven.
You might not like it; not everyone does.
MCCLELLANDS
[Dark, pressed, and dizzy.]
I've also been smoking McClellands Blackwoods Flake, Dark Star, and Virginia No. 24 of an evening. All are up to the usual high standards of McClellands, and being Virginias, they often do not alert Savage Kitten to their smoke until I've nearly finished the bowl. Unlike Oriental mixtures, Virginias are stealth tobaccos. The Blackwoods Flake is easier to smoke than the Dark Star, which pretty much knocks me sideways. A fine product.
DUNHILL
[Beware of bears.]
The Dunhill Durbar Mixture and the Standard Mixture Medium have too much Turkish and Latakia to pass unnoticed. I seldom smoke them in the house, even near the open window. Savage Kitten, who does not drink or smoke, describes them as noxious death-weed, and has threatened to emasculate me if her teddy-bear ends up smelling like barbecue because of them.
The bear is the oldest roomy, and apparently outranks me. Flaming Hell will burst forth on earth if the bear should smell of smoke.
I am far too fond of the bear to even think of causing that eventuality.
The bear at present smells warm and fuzzy, and very comforting.
Rather like a sweet little old lady.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
She still has all her faculties.
Except for her sense of smell.
Smell is one of the things that goes downhill fast. Just ask the manufacturers of Limburger cheese, they can't smell (or they would NOT be committing their horrid crime against humanity).
In consequence of her nose weakening so, she now wears a perfume that is, well, shall we say, somewhat... unsuitable (though it is very old-fashioned).
A bit soapy. A bit too sweet and floral. A bit like how a root-beer float tastes.
A perfume made with Tonquin oil.
Tonquin oil comes from a tropical tree with sweet pungent seeds that are used for adding scent or flavour to pomades, candies, and tobacco.
[Is the light going off in your head now? Do you see where this is leading? I lured you in with the provocative title, and now, having got you where I want you, I am going to gibber on at length about pipe tobacco.]
1792 FLAKE
Manufactured in Kendall, Cumbria, England, by Samuel Gawith & Co. Ltd.
Yes, it really does smell like a sweet little old lady. But it smokes much better than she would, even if desiccated, de-veined, fermented, cured, pressed, steamed, and sliced into dark fibrous sheets. It is a full flavoured yet relatively smooth smoke, that finishes surprisingly fast for a matured Virginia. Not too sweet. Tangy and complex to the tongue, round and pleasant to the nose.
Despite the pleasing aroma, Savage Kitten still forces me to smoke it in the kitchen near the open window with the door closed - she does not appreciate old women.
I expect that in another thirty years she won't mind my smoking it in the parlor - she may smell like that herself then.
Oddly, the fragrance does not particularly adhere to the pipe, as subsequent bowls of McClellands flake tobacco are scarcely influenced. Bowls of Dunhill's Durbar mixture, or Standard Mixture Medium, a few days later, will taste no different than usual. In this it is entirely dissimilar to such rancid abortions as Troost, Clan, Cherry-Vanilla Hodgepodge, or any other dreck-muck-sludge compounds much recommended by idiots and misguided sweet funk aficionados.
It is far better tobacco than anything the Dutch or Danes produce, a truly excellent compound, and well worth experiencing. It takes me about a year to go through a tin, and if it dries out during that time I remoisten it with a little whiskey. The liquor sparks up the fragrance and melds the flavour-components. At times I will hold the tin up to my nose merely to inhale deeply. Sheer heaven.
You might not like it; not everyone does.
MCCLELLANDS
[Dark, pressed, and dizzy.]
I've also been smoking McClellands Blackwoods Flake, Dark Star, and Virginia No. 24 of an evening. All are up to the usual high standards of McClellands, and being Virginias, they often do not alert Savage Kitten to their smoke until I've nearly finished the bowl. Unlike Oriental mixtures, Virginias are stealth tobaccos. The Blackwoods Flake is easier to smoke than the Dark Star, which pretty much knocks me sideways. A fine product.
DUNHILL
[Beware of bears.]
The Dunhill Durbar Mixture and the Standard Mixture Medium have too much Turkish and Latakia to pass unnoticed. I seldom smoke them in the house, even near the open window. Savage Kitten, who does not drink or smoke, describes them as noxious death-weed, and has threatened to emasculate me if her teddy-bear ends up smelling like barbecue because of them.
The bear is the oldest roomy, and apparently outranks me. Flaming Hell will burst forth on earth if the bear should smell of smoke.
I am far too fond of the bear to even think of causing that eventuality.
The bear at present smells warm and fuzzy, and very comforting.
Rather like a sweet little old lady.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
AMERICANA BY CORNELL & DIEHL
Sometimes the English blend smoker needs to rediscover what his parents' generation liked. My father's pipes all had a scent to them which I know now was Burley with condimentals added, a very old-fashioned smoke. My father wasn't an over-the-top Latakia and Turkish kind of guy. I think everything he really liked was good solid American-style pipe-tobacco, Virginias and Burleys in concert, and made exciting with Latakia and touches of unflavoured Cavendish, and Perique.
In other words, no degenerate Balkans, nor effete VaPers.
I am not quite such a well-balanced individual.
Sometimes I tend toward perversion.
Heck, very often.
My favourite weeds are redolent of Turkish and Syrian brutalists, as well as sweaty camelteers and scimitar-wielding brigands. My father must have thought me a queer sort, once my regrettable tendencies became known. But he never-the-less encouraged them, because he liked the reek of quality tobacco.
He would probably have prefered that I smoke something like C&D's Americana, and he would have got along well with Bob Runowksi, who is the consulting Burley maven on a multitude of products, and responsible for the re-creation of many old favourites.
AMERICANA
By Cornell & Diehl
Black Cavendish, Burley, Latakia, Virginia
This is a very decent smoke, an all-round reliable blend. At the beginning, the Latakia is forward, though soon it settles down and lets the Cavendish and Burley play most of the melody. The Virginia is noticeable, but not in any way dominant, just there to provide a good light all the way through to the bottom. The black Cavendish would otherwise go slightly astray toward the end.
Dry, mild, easy. It leaves a fine ash.
The name is aptly chosen; neither the British nor the Continentals would really appreciate this, and I rather suspect that it was the complete absence of good Burley mixtures in Holland that made my father give up the pipe. I remain grateful that he kept them, as they were wonderful to borrow when he wasn't looking.
I rather wish that products of this type had been available in Valkenswaard, instead of the ribbony Maryland leaf favoured by students, the drenched aromatics that the local pederasts and puppy-torturers smoked, or the rancid tinned savagery beloved by snobs and dilletantes.
People who were there remember Niemeyer, Douwe Egberts, Van Nelle, Van Rossem, Lieftinck, and Taconis. Not necessarily fondly, perhaps because they never made anything like this.
It would have been very good for students.
Satisfying, and not depraved.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
In other words, no degenerate Balkans, nor effete VaPers.
I am not quite such a well-balanced individual.
Sometimes I tend toward perversion.
Heck, very often.
My favourite weeds are redolent of Turkish and Syrian brutalists, as well as sweaty camelteers and scimitar-wielding brigands. My father must have thought me a queer sort, once my regrettable tendencies became known. But he never-the-less encouraged them, because he liked the reek of quality tobacco.
He would probably have prefered that I smoke something like C&D's Americana, and he would have got along well with Bob Runowksi, who is the consulting Burley maven on a multitude of products, and responsible for the re-creation of many old favourites.
AMERICANA
By Cornell & Diehl
Black Cavendish, Burley, Latakia, Virginia
This is a very decent smoke, an all-round reliable blend. At the beginning, the Latakia is forward, though soon it settles down and lets the Cavendish and Burley play most of the melody. The Virginia is noticeable, but not in any way dominant, just there to provide a good light all the way through to the bottom. The black Cavendish would otherwise go slightly astray toward the end.
Dry, mild, easy. It leaves a fine ash.
The name is aptly chosen; neither the British nor the Continentals would really appreciate this, and I rather suspect that it was the complete absence of good Burley mixtures in Holland that made my father give up the pipe. I remain grateful that he kept them, as they were wonderful to borrow when he wasn't looking.
I rather wish that products of this type had been available in Valkenswaard, instead of the ribbony Maryland leaf favoured by students, the drenched aromatics that the local pederasts and puppy-torturers smoked, or the rancid tinned savagery beloved by snobs and dilletantes.
People who were there remember Niemeyer, Douwe Egberts, Van Nelle, Van Rossem, Lieftinck, and Taconis. Not necessarily fondly, perhaps because they never made anything like this.
It would have been very good for students.
Satisfying, and not depraved.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
ABOUT YOUR PERVERSE FANTASIES
The semi-refrocked defrocked (i.e. partially clothed) Bray guest-posted about adultery on Dovbear's site today, and one of our mutual readers begs me to indulge his nurse fetish.
I actually have TWO readers who are desperate that I cater to their nurse fetish.
Sweet Jesus, as they say. Sweet Jesus!
[In point of fact, I have just as little invested in Jesus sweet or otherwise as I do in the nurse fetish.]
Rabbosai, I refuse to go into any detail whatsoever about comely wenches with tight cotton panties wearing nurses' uniforms. The entire subject of shapely young ladies in short white dresses and modest little hair-caps, whether or not they are wearing thigh-high stockings, or dark hose that delineate their meaty little thighs, is not a concern to this blog, and the zesty mental image of a petite shapely Filippina perched perkily upon an operating table, naughtily smoking a cigarette in a long ivory holder, will not be mentioned here at all. Crimson pouty lips or not.
Nor will we discuss the tightness of certain uniforms over the upper torso, or the pale golden skin temptingly visible in the vee of the open collar. Small slightly plump hands at the ends of curvy arms coming out of short-sleeved tunics? Not to be spoken of.
You are reading too much into this blog. And other blogs. The Sheitel thing is not a fetish either - no matter the delicate fragrance that a well-washed sheitel may have. Please ignore the frisson some yeshiva-bocherim experience walking past the tastefull photographs of female faces in the wigshop window near Chaim Berlin. There are NO barely bar-mitzvah age males who shiver and sink to the floor of a New York city bus at the sight of a young mother pink and glowing under her Indian-hair peruque.
We are not a fetish blog. That is why we never mention Jesus either.
Odd idolatry, superstition and ignorance, and addictive fantasies are not on the menu. We are a serious blog, and discuss shwerre subjects. Yes indeed.
If you wish to talk about the shidduch crisis, Yeshivishe shprach & verter, the Mid-East, or Dutch degeneracy, this is the place. Please go ahead. Discuss. Otherwise, no im gonzen.
Mir seinen farklempt.
I actually have TWO readers who are desperate that I cater to their nurse fetish.
Sweet Jesus, as they say. Sweet Jesus!
[In point of fact, I have just as little invested in Jesus sweet or otherwise as I do in the nurse fetish.]
Rabbosai, I refuse to go into any detail whatsoever about comely wenches with tight cotton panties wearing nurses' uniforms. The entire subject of shapely young ladies in short white dresses and modest little hair-caps, whether or not they are wearing thigh-high stockings, or dark hose that delineate their meaty little thighs, is not a concern to this blog, and the zesty mental image of a petite shapely Filippina perched perkily upon an operating table, naughtily smoking a cigarette in a long ivory holder, will not be mentioned here at all. Crimson pouty lips or not.
Nor will we discuss the tightness of certain uniforms over the upper torso, or the pale golden skin temptingly visible in the vee of the open collar. Small slightly plump hands at the ends of curvy arms coming out of short-sleeved tunics? Not to be spoken of.
You are reading too much into this blog. And other blogs. The Sheitel thing is not a fetish either - no matter the delicate fragrance that a well-washed sheitel may have. Please ignore the frisson some yeshiva-bocherim experience walking past the tastefull photographs of female faces in the wigshop window near Chaim Berlin. There are NO barely bar-mitzvah age males who shiver and sink to the floor of a New York city bus at the sight of a young mother pink and glowing under her Indian-hair peruque.
We are not a fetish blog. That is why we never mention Jesus either.
Odd idolatry, superstition and ignorance, and addictive fantasies are not on the menu. We are a serious blog, and discuss shwerre subjects. Yes indeed.
If you wish to talk about the shidduch crisis, Yeshivishe shprach & verter, the Mid-East, or Dutch degeneracy, this is the place. Please go ahead. Discuss. Otherwise, no im gonzen.
Mir seinen farklempt.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
RESEARCH SHOWS SMOKING GOOD FOR NURSES' HEALTH
You have never heard of the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital located in Spijkenisse. Neither had I, till I looked at an article in the Algemeen Dagblad (my favourite reprehensible yellow-journalism Dutch language internet news-rag).
[This article: http://www.ad.nl/diagnose/stoppenmetroken/2428385/Met_dood_bedreigd_om_rookverbod.html ]
As of July 1st, 2008, it is forbidden to smoke anywhere in the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital.
Not an issue.
One cannot smoke anywhere in the parking lot of the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital either.
Hmmm?
Or in one's own vehicle if on the hospital grounds.
Hmmm!!!
Or while wearing hospital clothing.
If you are a nurse at the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital, you are only allowed to smoke during your break, off the hospital grounds entirely, and not while wearing your nurse's uniform, per the mandate of Ruwaard van Putten Hospital director Ms. Letti van Atteveld. Who has a reputation among the staff of being an all-round xxxxxxx person.
Now, I can understand rules against public drunkenness or blatant drug use while wearing the nurses' uniform - despite a long culturally supported history of inappropriate behaviour in public, even in the Netherlands such things might cause a raised eyebrow. And it would be unseemly for an identifiable hospital staff-member to be seen disporting herself with sailors while under the influence. By any standard, it is a reasonable request that she take off her garments when zotsed.
But a hurried cigarette is by no means comparable to an orgy. And I resent the equivalency which is implied by Ruwaard van Putten Hospital director Ms. Letti van Atteveld's despotic dictat. The dear lady needs to chill out, get a life, find a lover, or take a pill. Anything to get her busy nose out of the lives of the poor long-suffering nurses who work at the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital. Certainly, if they are anywhere within ten miles (sixteen kilometers) of Ms. Letti van Atteveld (or the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital), and her rigidly constipated attitude, they will need a smoke. It is far better for them to have a cigarette now and then than to develop ulcers and a medication problem. As Ms. Letti van Atteveld would surely understand, if the inserted broomstick did not interfere with her cognitive processes.
We pray for her recovery from the broomstick, and the nurses relief from her.
Oh, as a minor matter, Ms. Letti van Atteveld (director of the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital) has allegedly received a death threat, allegedly because of the rules against smoking anywhere in the hospital grounds or in hospital clothing. Allegedly. It is not known if it was a nurse who made the alleged threat, or a patient. Or even someone from her past. As she has not involved the police, and merely alleges this on her own blog, it cannot be determined how much of this allegation is factual, and how much merely a Jesus complex.
It is quite possible that the inserted broomstick is interfering with more than cognitive processes. It is probably exerting pressure on the cerebral cortex, and angrifying the emotional centres besides. Bluntly put, she's full of it.
-------------------------------------------
Note: I have no idea who Ruwaard van Putten is (or was). His name sounds impressive - deftig and statig even. Enough so that in addition to naming a hospital after him, they named several other things in his honour in the town of Spijkenisse.
[This article: http://www.ad.nl/diagnose/stoppenmetroken/2428385/Met_dood_bedreigd_om_rookverbod.html ]
As of July 1st, 2008, it is forbidden to smoke anywhere in the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital.
Not an issue.
One cannot smoke anywhere in the parking lot of the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital either.
Hmmm?
Or in one's own vehicle if on the hospital grounds.
Hmmm!!!
Or while wearing hospital clothing.
If you are a nurse at the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital, you are only allowed to smoke during your break, off the hospital grounds entirely, and not while wearing your nurse's uniform, per the mandate of Ruwaard van Putten Hospital director Ms. Letti van Atteveld. Who has a reputation among the staff of being an all-round xxxxxxx person.
Now, I can understand rules against public drunkenness or blatant drug use while wearing the nurses' uniform - despite a long culturally supported history of inappropriate behaviour in public, even in the Netherlands such things might cause a raised eyebrow. And it would be unseemly for an identifiable hospital staff-member to be seen disporting herself with sailors while under the influence. By any standard, it is a reasonable request that she take off her garments when zotsed.
But a hurried cigarette is by no means comparable to an orgy. And I resent the equivalency which is implied by Ruwaard van Putten Hospital director Ms. Letti van Atteveld's despotic dictat. The dear lady needs to chill out, get a life, find a lover, or take a pill. Anything to get her busy nose out of the lives of the poor long-suffering nurses who work at the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital. Certainly, if they are anywhere within ten miles (sixteen kilometers) of Ms. Letti van Atteveld (or the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital), and her rigidly constipated attitude, they will need a smoke. It is far better for them to have a cigarette now and then than to develop ulcers and a medication problem. As Ms. Letti van Atteveld would surely understand, if the inserted broomstick did not interfere with her cognitive processes.
We pray for her recovery from the broomstick, and the nurses relief from her.
Oh, as a minor matter, Ms. Letti van Atteveld (director of the Ruwaard van Putten Hospital) has allegedly received a death threat, allegedly because of the rules against smoking anywhere in the hospital grounds or in hospital clothing. Allegedly. It is not known if it was a nurse who made the alleged threat, or a patient. Or even someone from her past. As she has not involved the police, and merely alleges this on her own blog, it cannot be determined how much of this allegation is factual, and how much merely a Jesus complex.
It is quite possible that the inserted broomstick is interfering with more than cognitive processes. It is probably exerting pressure on the cerebral cortex, and angrifying the emotional centres besides. Bluntly put, she's full of it.
-------------------------------------------
Note: I have no idea who Ruwaard van Putten is (or was). His name sounds impressive - deftig and statig even. Enough so that in addition to naming a hospital after him, they named several other things in his honour in the town of Spijkenisse.
Monday, July 07, 2008
RANCID CHEESE AND DEGENERATE PIMPS
As usual, the first thing I did during lunch was go to the Dutch newspapers on the internet.
That was a mistake, also as usual.
While we were celebrating our independence, the Dutch, not so blessed, were happily making sour remarks about America and Americans in their own language underneath articles and blogposts. Three days worth of rancid comments.
Apparently they don't like us for several reasons: we're white, we're Jewish, we're Nazis, we're dumb, and we're "American". That last is the most egregious.
The majority of the Dutch despise us, hate everything we stand for, support vicious terrorist groups like FARC, Hamas, Hezbollah, and will praise every despot or tyranny that opposes us.
The top levels of Dutch society realize that such loathsome attitudes would work against their profiteering, parasite-like, from our involvements, misadventures, and investment opportunities, and will consequently cultivate a placid veneer of cooperative attitudes and commonality. But the average factory worker, shop assistant, low-level bureaucrat, or Amsterdam drug-dealer? Not so.
As their internet texts make clear. If only you know Dutch, of course.
I LIKE THE DUTCH
Did I ever mention that I do indeed like the Dutch? I should - because normally I when I speak of them at all, I am casting back their bile in bucket loads.
I like the Dutch. Despite their venomous anti-Americanism, I like the Dutch. Despite their arrogance, sneering superiority, and virulent anti-Semitism, I like the Dutch.
No matter that they refuse to ever admit that they were wrong, cannot conceive of Americans as being anything other than inbred ignorant gun-toting syphilitic savages, or think that Jews are nothing more than perverse religious deviants who do not belong in the civilized world. Regardless their outright hatred of the third-worlders who have the temerity to live among them, their loathsome attitude towards the Turks and Moroccans who actually do the work that Dutchmen are too good and too picky to perform themselves, the crass treatment of asylum seekers who have neither the English nor Dutch linguistic capabilities to fight back, or the well-known Dutch penchant for brutal sexual exploitation of foreign females. I like the Dutch.
Even though the Netherlands is ground-zero for the trade in women-flesh, sexual slavery, bondage rapes, and bestiality, as well as a magnet for every drug-addled deviant this side of Pluto or Saturn, I like the Dutch.
Though not as much as the French, and by no means all of them.
ROTTEKAAS
I mention all this as a preamble to alerting you to one of the clickable tags on this blog: Rottekaas.
The term 'rottekaas' means rotten cheese. Kaaskoppen ('cheese heads') is the less-than-affectionate Flemish nickname for Dutchmen. Singular: kaaskop - a cheesehead.
The term Yankee was originally the English pronunciation of Jan Kaes - John Cheese. Because many of us colonials at that time were devolved Dutchmen.
Cheese is the dominant Dutch characteristic. Might have something to do with hygiene.
I invite you to click on Rottekaas. Doing so will pull up all my affectionate writings about the Dutch, and my abiding admiration for their subtlety and broad-mindedness.
I appreciate their point of view. Keenly and truly I do. And so will you.
Once you click on Rottekaas.
This post is a love letter. Today is Valentine's Day in July. Feel the fondness.
That was a mistake, also as usual.
While we were celebrating our independence, the Dutch, not so blessed, were happily making sour remarks about America and Americans in their own language underneath articles and blogposts. Three days worth of rancid comments.
Apparently they don't like us for several reasons: we're white, we're Jewish, we're Nazis, we're dumb, and we're "American". That last is the most egregious.
The majority of the Dutch despise us, hate everything we stand for, support vicious terrorist groups like FARC, Hamas, Hezbollah, and will praise every despot or tyranny that opposes us.
The top levels of Dutch society realize that such loathsome attitudes would work against their profiteering, parasite-like, from our involvements, misadventures, and investment opportunities, and will consequently cultivate a placid veneer of cooperative attitudes and commonality. But the average factory worker, shop assistant, low-level bureaucrat, or Amsterdam drug-dealer? Not so.
As their internet texts make clear. If only you know Dutch, of course.
I LIKE THE DUTCH
Did I ever mention that I do indeed like the Dutch? I should - because normally I when I speak of them at all, I am casting back their bile in bucket loads.
I like the Dutch. Despite their venomous anti-Americanism, I like the Dutch. Despite their arrogance, sneering superiority, and virulent anti-Semitism, I like the Dutch.
No matter that they refuse to ever admit that they were wrong, cannot conceive of Americans as being anything other than inbred ignorant gun-toting syphilitic savages, or think that Jews are nothing more than perverse religious deviants who do not belong in the civilized world. Regardless their outright hatred of the third-worlders who have the temerity to live among them, their loathsome attitude towards the Turks and Moroccans who actually do the work that Dutchmen are too good and too picky to perform themselves, the crass treatment of asylum seekers who have neither the English nor Dutch linguistic capabilities to fight back, or the well-known Dutch penchant for brutal sexual exploitation of foreign females. I like the Dutch.
Even though the Netherlands is ground-zero for the trade in women-flesh, sexual slavery, bondage rapes, and bestiality, as well as a magnet for every drug-addled deviant this side of Pluto or Saturn, I like the Dutch.
Though not as much as the French, and by no means all of them.
ROTTEKAAS
I mention all this as a preamble to alerting you to one of the clickable tags on this blog: Rottekaas.
The term 'rottekaas' means rotten cheese. Kaaskoppen ('cheese heads') is the less-than-affectionate Flemish nickname for Dutchmen. Singular: kaaskop - a cheesehead.
The term Yankee was originally the English pronunciation of Jan Kaes - John Cheese. Because many of us colonials at that time were devolved Dutchmen.
Cheese is the dominant Dutch characteristic. Might have something to do with hygiene.
I invite you to click on Rottekaas. Doing so will pull up all my affectionate writings about the Dutch, and my abiding admiration for their subtlety and broad-mindedness.
I appreciate their point of view. Keenly and truly I do. And so will you.
Once you click on Rottekaas.
This post is a love letter. Today is Valentine's Day in July. Feel the fondness.
Friday, July 04, 2008
KVETCHING MEANS FOOD - WHO KNEW?
In 1978, when I returned to the US after sixteen years in the Netherlands, I felt lost. I had left the US as a two-year old, and was not so much coming back, as coming for the first time as a sentient being. There was consequently almost nothing familiar about this country to me at that time.
An infant does not remember much, and, particularly, does not remember food.
An eighteen year old, on the other hand, is keenly food-conscious, and will agonize over civilized edibles not being readily available. The absence of familiar food makes the sense of exile so much more plangent.
I had not developed a taste for American food while living in the Netherlands - My mother's cooking was based on student boardinghouse and military styles of food, my dad and I hid jars of Indonesian hot sauce and spicy condiments to jazz up dinner (read here: "make dinner palatable"), and all three of us males (my father, my brother, and myself) would smuggle raw herring and smoked eel into the house when she was not looking.
There is no raw herring or smoked eel in this country. Have you noticed?
I kvetched about food in letters to many people that first year - and at one point received a snarky response from Levi K.. He wrote that he could well understand my despair, surely I pined for the dishes I was accustomed to, he sympathized, and hoped that the enclosed recipes for home-cooking would make my life easier.
His cooking was by no means native Dutch, and not entirely familiar.
D'JAJ YAHUDI, D'JAJ M'ZBIB
[Poulet a la Juif; stewed chicken with raisins.]
One pullet of about two pounds, skinned and cut up into large pieces.
Two large onions.
Half a cup raisins, rinsed.
Half a TBS ground coriander.
Quarter Tsp. each: ground pepper, cinnamon powder, dry ginger.
Generous pinches mace, cayenne, turmeric, salt, and sugar.
Smaller pinches oregano, thyme, rosemary.
Two cups chicken stock.
The juice of one lemon.
Sherry.
Bay leaves.
Olive oil.
Chop the onions, fry golden them in a little olive oil, and remove to a plate.
Fry the chicken pieces till gilded, add the coriander, cayenne, and turmeric. Continue frying while stirring till material starts sticking to the bottom of the pan. Add onions and raisins, stir briefly, and deglaze with a splash sherry. Now add all else, and simmer for half an hour, stirring occasionally.
SALATAT M'KHUDRA
[Green salad.]
Two cucumbers, three or four Roma tomatoes, and a scallion or two.
One bunch of parsley.
One clove garlic.
Some basil leaves.
Six TBS olive oil, One and half TBS vinegar, One and a half TBS lemon juice.
Pinches salt, pepper, cumin, crumbled oregano, thyme, rosemary, sugar.
Peel and chop the cucumber, chunk the tomatoes. Mince the scallion and basil leaves, chop the parsley semi-fine.
Mash the garlic clove with the various pinches. Add the oil, vinegar, and lemon juice. Whisk briskly to combine and emulsify. Let it stand till needed, whereupon re-whisk, and toss the dressing and salad ingredients all together to serve.
SALATAT BANEDURA
[Tomato salad.]
Half a dozen Roma tomatoes, chunk cut.
Half a cup coarsely crumbled feta cheese.
Four TBS chopped parsley.
A minced scallion.
Some minced basil leaves.
Pinches salt, pepper, cumin, crumbled oregano, thyme, rosemary, sugar.
A squeeze of lemon, a sploodge of olive oil.
Toss everything together to serve.
TURSHI KARNABIT
[Cauliflower brine-pickles.]
One large cauliflower, broken into florets.
Four or five carrots, scraped and coined.
Four cups water.
One cup vinegar.
Quarter cup salt.
One tsp sugar.
One tsp coriander seeds.
Half a tsp peppercorns.
Quarter tsp cumin seeds.
A few dry chilies, some bay leaves, two or three cloves garlic.
Shake water, vinegar, salt, sugar, and spices together till the salt and sugar are dissolved.
Blanch the cauliflower in boiling salt water into which you have squeezed a lemon. Remove and drain, do not allow to cook.
Whack the garlic with the flat of a cleaver, put in a roomy sterilized jar along with the chilies and bay leaves. Place the cauliflower and carrot on top of this, and pour the brine over. Let stand a few days, agitating occasionally, before serving the pickle.
Note that the same brine recipe also works for roasted peppers (filfil), chopped string beans (fasuliya), or chunked zucchini (kusa).
SHURBAT BATATA
[Potato soup.]
Two potatoes, peeled and cut into small chunks.
Half a dozen Roma tomatoes, peeled and seeded, chopped.
Four shallots, minced.
Two cloves garlic, minced.
A generous handful of chopped parsley.
A few minced basil leaves.
Generous pinches of ground coriander, paprika, salt, and pepper.
Miserly pinches cumin, turmeric, cayenne, dry ginger.
A little crumbled oregano, thyme, rosemary.
Four cups chicken stock.
A splash of sherry.
Juice of one lemon.
Olive oil.
Sauté the shallots till softened in plenty of olive oil. Add the garlic, gild lightly, add the tomatoes and stir to break up. Add all liquids and spices (but not the fresh herbs), bring to a boil, simmer a few minutes. Add the potato chunks, and simmer for twelve to fifteen minutes more. Put the fresh herbs into the soup a few minutes before serving.
MUHALLABIYA
[Pudding.]
Two cups milk.
Quarter cup sugar.
Two TBS cornstarch.
Two Tsp. rice flour.
Dash of rosewater.
Drop or two of almond essence.
Carefully blend the cornstarch and rice flour with a little of the milk, rendering a smooth pourable sludge.
Heat the rest of the milk with the sugar, stirring till the sugar is dissolved. Add some of the warm milk to the starch sludge, then add the sludge to the warm milk. Cook, stirring, till the pudding thickens. Now add the rosewater and the almond essence. Chill ere serving. Garnish with plenty of crumbled pistachio.
More to follow in another post - it is almost Friday evening, and I must get home.
An infant does not remember much, and, particularly, does not remember food.
An eighteen year old, on the other hand, is keenly food-conscious, and will agonize over civilized edibles not being readily available. The absence of familiar food makes the sense of exile so much more plangent.
I had not developed a taste for American food while living in the Netherlands - My mother's cooking was based on student boardinghouse and military styles of food, my dad and I hid jars of Indonesian hot sauce and spicy condiments to jazz up dinner (read here: "make dinner palatable"), and all three of us males (my father, my brother, and myself) would smuggle raw herring and smoked eel into the house when she was not looking.
There is no raw herring or smoked eel in this country. Have you noticed?
I kvetched about food in letters to many people that first year - and at one point received a snarky response from Levi K.. He wrote that he could well understand my despair, surely I pined for the dishes I was accustomed to, he sympathized, and hoped that the enclosed recipes for home-cooking would make my life easier.
His cooking was by no means native Dutch, and not entirely familiar.
D'JAJ YAHUDI, D'JAJ M'ZBIB
[Poulet a la Juif; stewed chicken with raisins.]
One pullet of about two pounds, skinned and cut up into large pieces.
Two large onions.
Half a cup raisins, rinsed.
Half a TBS ground coriander.
Quarter Tsp. each: ground pepper, cinnamon powder, dry ginger.
Generous pinches mace, cayenne, turmeric, salt, and sugar.
Smaller pinches oregano, thyme, rosemary.
Two cups chicken stock.
The juice of one lemon.
Sherry.
Bay leaves.
Olive oil.
Chop the onions, fry golden them in a little olive oil, and remove to a plate.
Fry the chicken pieces till gilded, add the coriander, cayenne, and turmeric. Continue frying while stirring till material starts sticking to the bottom of the pan. Add onions and raisins, stir briefly, and deglaze with a splash sherry. Now add all else, and simmer for half an hour, stirring occasionally.
SALATAT M'KHUDRA
[Green salad.]
Two cucumbers, three or four Roma tomatoes, and a scallion or two.
One bunch of parsley.
One clove garlic.
Some basil leaves.
Six TBS olive oil, One and half TBS vinegar, One and a half TBS lemon juice.
Pinches salt, pepper, cumin, crumbled oregano, thyme, rosemary, sugar.
Peel and chop the cucumber, chunk the tomatoes. Mince the scallion and basil leaves, chop the parsley semi-fine.
Mash the garlic clove with the various pinches. Add the oil, vinegar, and lemon juice. Whisk briskly to combine and emulsify. Let it stand till needed, whereupon re-whisk, and toss the dressing and salad ingredients all together to serve.
SALATAT BANEDURA
[Tomato salad.]
Half a dozen Roma tomatoes, chunk cut.
Half a cup coarsely crumbled feta cheese.
Four TBS chopped parsley.
A minced scallion.
Some minced basil leaves.
Pinches salt, pepper, cumin, crumbled oregano, thyme, rosemary, sugar.
A squeeze of lemon, a sploodge of olive oil.
Toss everything together to serve.
TURSHI KARNABIT
[Cauliflower brine-pickles.]
One large cauliflower, broken into florets.
Four or five carrots, scraped and coined.
Four cups water.
One cup vinegar.
Quarter cup salt.
One tsp sugar.
One tsp coriander seeds.
Half a tsp peppercorns.
Quarter tsp cumin seeds.
A few dry chilies, some bay leaves, two or three cloves garlic.
Shake water, vinegar, salt, sugar, and spices together till the salt and sugar are dissolved.
Blanch the cauliflower in boiling salt water into which you have squeezed a lemon. Remove and drain, do not allow to cook.
Whack the garlic with the flat of a cleaver, put in a roomy sterilized jar along with the chilies and bay leaves. Place the cauliflower and carrot on top of this, and pour the brine over. Let stand a few days, agitating occasionally, before serving the pickle.
Note that the same brine recipe also works for roasted peppers (filfil), chopped string beans (fasuliya), or chunked zucchini (kusa).
SHURBAT BATATA
[Potato soup.]
Two potatoes, peeled and cut into small chunks.
Half a dozen Roma tomatoes, peeled and seeded, chopped.
Four shallots, minced.
Two cloves garlic, minced.
A generous handful of chopped parsley.
A few minced basil leaves.
Generous pinches of ground coriander, paprika, salt, and pepper.
Miserly pinches cumin, turmeric, cayenne, dry ginger.
A little crumbled oregano, thyme, rosemary.
Four cups chicken stock.
A splash of sherry.
Juice of one lemon.
Olive oil.
Sauté the shallots till softened in plenty of olive oil. Add the garlic, gild lightly, add the tomatoes and stir to break up. Add all liquids and spices (but not the fresh herbs), bring to a boil, simmer a few minutes. Add the potato chunks, and simmer for twelve to fifteen minutes more. Put the fresh herbs into the soup a few minutes before serving.
MUHALLABIYA
[Pudding.]
Two cups milk.
Quarter cup sugar.
Two TBS cornstarch.
Two Tsp. rice flour.
Dash of rosewater.
Drop or two of almond essence.
Carefully blend the cornstarch and rice flour with a little of the milk, rendering a smooth pourable sludge.
Heat the rest of the milk with the sugar, stirring till the sugar is dissolved. Add some of the warm milk to the starch sludge, then add the sludge to the warm milk. Cook, stirring, till the pudding thickens. Now add the rosewater and the almond essence. Chill ere serving. Garnish with plenty of crumbled pistachio.
More to follow in another post - it is almost Friday evening, and I must get home.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
UPDATED LIZARD - NOW BETTER THAN EVER
Please note that there are now even more recipes on the cooking page.
See here:
http://cookingwithalizard.blogspot.com/
Comments and suggestions welcome.
List of recipes as of July 3rd, 2008:
APPLE SAUCE NOODLE KUGEL, BOTERKOEK, SAMOR LIDA, ZWARTZUUR, ADOBO, PAKSIW, DINUGUAN, SOP DUONG, ATJAR TIMON, BEBEK ASEM - SOUR COOKED DUCK, KETJAP MANIS, SARUNDENG KADJO, SAMOSA, BHEJA FRY - FRIED BRAINS, MIRCHI KA SALAN, HYDERABADI MIRCHI KA SALAN, ANANAS KA MUZAFFAR, MUTANJAN, KABILI PILAW, SAKASAKA, ZEBRA MYEMBWE, ZEBRA STAMPOT, MABOKAY, BRAISED ZEBRA, ALU MAKHNI - HEART ATTACK ON A PLATE, DHANSAK MASALA - 2007 VERSION, PAYA NAHARI - SHEEP TROTTER STEW, KHEER - INDIAN RICE PUDDING, CHOLENT, AMBAKALIO - MANGO RELISH, HALEEM, DHANSAK MASALA - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION, DHANSAK - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION, SHIR BERINJ - AFGHANI RICE PUDDING, DHANSAK MASALA - MY RECIPE, KOLMI NO PATIO.
See here:
http://cookingwithalizard.blogspot.com/
Comments and suggestions welcome.
List of recipes as of July 3rd, 2008:
APPLE SAUCE NOODLE KUGEL, BOTERKOEK, SAMOR LIDA, ZWARTZUUR, ADOBO, PAKSIW, DINUGUAN, SOP DUONG, ATJAR TIMON, BEBEK ASEM - SOUR COOKED DUCK, KETJAP MANIS, SARUNDENG KADJO, SAMOSA, BHEJA FRY - FRIED BRAINS, MIRCHI KA SALAN, HYDERABADI MIRCHI KA SALAN, ANANAS KA MUZAFFAR, MUTANJAN, KABILI PILAW, SAKASAKA, ZEBRA MYEMBWE, ZEBRA STAMPOT, MABOKAY, BRAISED ZEBRA, ALU MAKHNI - HEART ATTACK ON A PLATE, DHANSAK MASALA - 2007 VERSION, PAYA NAHARI - SHEEP TROTTER STEW, KHEER - INDIAN RICE PUDDING, CHOLENT, AMBAKALIO - MANGO RELISH, HALEEM, DHANSAK MASALA - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION, DHANSAK - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION, SHIR BERINJ - AFGHANI RICE PUDDING, DHANSAK MASALA - MY RECIPE, KOLMI NO PATIO.
ANAL-RETENTIVE TEENAGERS ARE A BLESSING!
If you've read me at all in the last week, you may have come to the conclusion that I am full of bile, a bad-tempered old git.
Not in the slightest! I am one of the sunniest people I know!
For one thing, I take joy in life. I appreciate the finer things. In no particular order, these are Scotch whisky, pipe-tobacco, and anal-retentive teenagers.
You might have thought, based on my eloquent disquisitions about manga, pantsu, and schoolgirls, that I would love ALL teenagers, or leastways the women among them. That would have been utterly incorrect. Most teenagers, an overwhelming majority, are flawed.
They overlook details that aren't important to themselves, can't seem to do basic math, say stupid things, and generally act like idiots. These are behavioural patterns that they don't start losing until they are in jail or their early thirties. They are very irritating, meod.
Anal-retentive teenagers are quite different. They do not offend. They have a praiseworthy attention to detail. They understand math. They remember exactly who ordered precisely what at the lunch counter.
Anal-retentive teenagers are so different from others of their age that they look absolutely, stunningly, dazzlingly, hot. A miracle.
That shy mousy little thing with the coke-bottle bottom spectacles, pimply forehead, and ill-fitting blouse? She remembered that I wanted only three slices of pickle and no onion. She spotted me waiting for my food across a crowded room.
She is a veritable Dorothy Dandridge!
That gangly geek with the pursed lips, blinking eyes, and blotchy skin? When I said I wanted my wiener slightly burnt, she asked if I meant just a bit blackened, or actually caramelized and slightly crusty?
Truly, a radiant and zesty Josephine Baker among the sausage handlers!
The short plump girl-child with the jagged bangs and pudgy fingers? Dark toasted sourdough, fresh Jalapenos (instead of pickled), and round cheese instead of Kraft slices. Not so much avocado. Cut straight across rather than diagonal - she understood that it made the sandwich easier to hold with less chance of stuff falling out, without my having to explain it. The result wrapped in a very precise and neat manner.
Sweetie, you are Clara Bow, your eyes are sultry and haunting!
It goes almost without saying that these little ladies are all utterly, utterly desirable. Luscious, juicy, fresh, cheesecake, pie, peaches, cream, and caviar. Ideal women in the making.
Or am I just associating them with food?
Not in the slightest! I am one of the sunniest people I know!
For one thing, I take joy in life. I appreciate the finer things. In no particular order, these are Scotch whisky, pipe-tobacco, and anal-retentive teenagers.
You might have thought, based on my eloquent disquisitions about manga, pantsu, and schoolgirls, that I would love ALL teenagers, or leastways the women among them. That would have been utterly incorrect. Most teenagers, an overwhelming majority, are flawed.
They overlook details that aren't important to themselves, can't seem to do basic math, say stupid things, and generally act like idiots. These are behavioural patterns that they don't start losing until they are in jail or their early thirties. They are very irritating, meod.
Anal-retentive teenagers are quite different. They do not offend. They have a praiseworthy attention to detail. They understand math. They remember exactly who ordered precisely what at the lunch counter.
Anal-retentive teenagers are so different from others of their age that they look absolutely, stunningly, dazzlingly, hot. A miracle.
That shy mousy little thing with the coke-bottle bottom spectacles, pimply forehead, and ill-fitting blouse? She remembered that I wanted only three slices of pickle and no onion. She spotted me waiting for my food across a crowded room.
She is a veritable Dorothy Dandridge!
That gangly geek with the pursed lips, blinking eyes, and blotchy skin? When I said I wanted my wiener slightly burnt, she asked if I meant just a bit blackened, or actually caramelized and slightly crusty?
Truly, a radiant and zesty Josephine Baker among the sausage handlers!
The short plump girl-child with the jagged bangs and pudgy fingers? Dark toasted sourdough, fresh Jalapenos (instead of pickled), and round cheese instead of Kraft slices. Not so much avocado. Cut straight across rather than diagonal - she understood that it made the sandwich easier to hold with less chance of stuff falling out, without my having to explain it. The result wrapped in a very precise and neat manner.
Sweetie, you are Clara Bow, your eyes are sultry and haunting!
It goes almost without saying that these little ladies are all utterly, utterly desirable. Luscious, juicy, fresh, cheesecake, pie, peaches, cream, and caviar. Ideal women in the making.
Or am I just associating them with food?
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE ...
The Dutch never disappoint me. I had predicted yesterday that they would make stupid anti-Semitic comments underneath a newspaper article about Vishnitzer Chossids fighting over shtreimlech in Bnei Brak..... And indeed they did.
Relevant post here:http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/07/comments-will-be-anti-semitic.html
Article (in Dutch) here:http://www.ad.nl/buitenland/2412888/Hoed_inzet_van_straatoorlog.html
These are a people who proudly assert that they, unlike the other Europeans, welcomed Jews, protected them during the war (since proven a lie, but never mind), and support Israel. They boast of equitability, liberal values, and common sense.
What, one wonders, would their comments be under an article about fur-fighting Chossidim in Bnei Brak?
Herewith a sampling of the deep thoughts of your average cheese:
"Wat een achterlijk cultuur. En dit zijn nu de idoten die de vrede buiten de deur houden in Palestina. Ik zeg.....oppakken en een flinke muur omheen bouwen."Translation:
...What a backwards culture. And these are the idiots who obstruct peace in Palestine. I say take them prisoner and build a big wall around them.
[commenter 5, blaming Jews for the lack of peace, and advocating more or less a final solution.]
"30 marter- of vossenhuiden voor 1 hoed. Jeeeezus..., welk geloof praat dit soort materialistische dingen goed?"
Translation:...Thirty sable or fox furs for one hat. Jayzus, what (kind of) creed approves of such materialistic things.
[commenter 6 - because their religion is wrong.]
"Daarin verschillen ze dus niets van straatbendes in Chicago. Net zo ongeciviliceerd als 'wilden' in de diepe bush van Afrika. De 'heren' zouden zich de ogen uit hun hoofd moeten schamen."Translation:
...In that they aren't any different than street gangs in Chicago. Just as uncivilized as savages in the deep bush of Africa.
[commenter 8 - who may know of just one city in the US, and that only from the comics, and who seems to despise Jews, America, and Africa.]
"Al het leed in de wereld en dan gepeupel om een dood beest op je hoofd. Dit is de bakermat van de beschaving zeggen ze dan. Het zal wel."
Translation:
...All the suffering in the world, and they're fighting over a dead animal on your head. And they assert that this is the womb of civilization. Yeah, right.
[Commenter 11 - who has a chip on her shoulder and a judgemental streak that is typically Dutch.]
"Feit is dat veel van deze mensen, qua gedachtengoed zo ver gaan, dat een Duitse leider 70jr terug zich zou afvragen of het allemaal eff wat minder kan;Arabieren zijn lager dan straathonden en Palestina kennen ze niet"Translation:
...Fact is that as regards their thinking, many of these people go to such extremes, that a German leader seventy years ago wondered if it wasn't a bit much; Arabs are lower than street dogs and they deny Palestine.
[Commenter 14 - a simplifier, a bigot, and an ignoramous. A typical Dutchman.]
"Heb je enig idee wat de positie van de vrouw bij deze orthodoxse joden is? Tja, deze lieden zijn altijd uitermate vriendelijk en schieten zelfs hun eigen premier neer als die vrede dreigt te sluiten.... "Translation:
...Do you have any idea what the position is of women by these orthodox Jews? Yep, they're truly nice and even shoot down their own prime-minister when he threatens to make peace...
[Commenter 15 - who confuses several separate issues, and clearly despises Jews.]
"Als er een club is die het vredesproces systematisch blokkeert dan zijn het wel deze orthodoxse joden, die steevast ieder compromis afwijzen."
Translation:
...If there's one bunch that systematically blocks the peace process, it's these orthodox Jews, who persistently refuse all compromise.
[Commenter 16 - A writer unencumbered by any factual knowledge, who blames the (Orthodox) Jews for the lack of peace.]
You get the picture. There was more of the same under the article about the bulldozer attack.
[Dodelijke aanslag met bulldozer http://www.ad.nl/buitenland/2414039/Dodelijke_aanslag_met_bulldozer.html ]
Examples:
"Kunnen jullie een keer alle jodenstreken op een rij zetten waarbij er onschuldige kinderen omgekomen zijn door israelisch geweld? [cut] Wanneer ben je als israelier nou onschuldig als je op gestolen land gaat wonen? "
Translation:
...Could you for once list all the jew-knavery in which innocent children died by Israeli violence? Are you (even) innocent if as an Israeli you live on stolen land?
[Groen Rechts - middenstip]
"Valt nog steeds volledig in het niet bij de misdaad begaan tegen de inwoners van Beit Hanoun"
Translation:
...Still doesn't even compare with the crime committed against the residents of Beit Hanoun
[Jan - Spijkenisse]
"Herinner jij je de liquidatie van het 8 jarige Palestijnse jongetje Mohammed Douri die door Joodse kindermoordenaars met kogels doorzeefd werd? "Translation:
...Do you remember the liquidation of the little eight-year old boy Mohammed Douri, who was sieved through with bullets by Jewish child-murderers?
[Sandokan007 - Rotterdam]
And of course someone (HenkRdam - Rotterdam) mentioned Rachel Corrie, though what that had to do with anything is beyond me.
Truly, the Dutch are exemplars. Over a quarter of a million of them are (or will be) visiting the US for summer vacation this year. Oh boy, I can't wait. Welcome to civilization, boys.
Relevant post here:http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/07/comments-will-be-anti-semitic.html
Article (in Dutch) here:http://www.ad.nl/buitenland/2412888/Hoed_inzet_van_straatoorlog.html
These are a people who proudly assert that they, unlike the other Europeans, welcomed Jews, protected them during the war (since proven a lie, but never mind), and support Israel. They boast of equitability, liberal values, and common sense.
What, one wonders, would their comments be under an article about fur-fighting Chossidim in Bnei Brak?
Herewith a sampling of the deep thoughts of your average cheese:
"Wat een achterlijk cultuur. En dit zijn nu de idoten die de vrede buiten de deur houden in Palestina. Ik zeg.....oppakken en een flinke muur omheen bouwen."Translation:
...What a backwards culture. And these are the idiots who obstruct peace in Palestine. I say take them prisoner and build a big wall around them.
[commenter 5, blaming Jews for the lack of peace, and advocating more or less a final solution.]
"30 marter- of vossenhuiden voor 1 hoed. Jeeeezus..., welk geloof praat dit soort materialistische dingen goed?"
Translation:...Thirty sable or fox furs for one hat. Jayzus, what (kind of) creed approves of such materialistic things.
[commenter 6 - because their religion is wrong.]
"Daarin verschillen ze dus niets van straatbendes in Chicago. Net zo ongeciviliceerd als 'wilden' in de diepe bush van Afrika. De 'heren' zouden zich de ogen uit hun hoofd moeten schamen."Translation:
...In that they aren't any different than street gangs in Chicago. Just as uncivilized as savages in the deep bush of Africa.
[commenter 8 - who may know of just one city in the US, and that only from the comics, and who seems to despise Jews, America, and Africa.]
"Al het leed in de wereld en dan gepeupel om een dood beest op je hoofd. Dit is de bakermat van de beschaving zeggen ze dan. Het zal wel."
Translation:
...All the suffering in the world, and they're fighting over a dead animal on your head. And they assert that this is the womb of civilization. Yeah, right.
[Commenter 11 - who has a chip on her shoulder and a judgemental streak that is typically Dutch.]
"Feit is dat veel van deze mensen, qua gedachtengoed zo ver gaan, dat een Duitse leider 70jr terug zich zou afvragen of het allemaal eff wat minder kan;Arabieren zijn lager dan straathonden en Palestina kennen ze niet"Translation:
...Fact is that as regards their thinking, many of these people go to such extremes, that a German leader seventy years ago wondered if it wasn't a bit much; Arabs are lower than street dogs and they deny Palestine.
[Commenter 14 - a simplifier, a bigot, and an ignoramous. A typical Dutchman.]
"Heb je enig idee wat de positie van de vrouw bij deze orthodoxse joden is? Tja, deze lieden zijn altijd uitermate vriendelijk en schieten zelfs hun eigen premier neer als die vrede dreigt te sluiten.... "Translation:
...Do you have any idea what the position is of women by these orthodox Jews? Yep, they're truly nice and even shoot down their own prime-minister when he threatens to make peace...
[Commenter 15 - who confuses several separate issues, and clearly despises Jews.]
"Als er een club is die het vredesproces systematisch blokkeert dan zijn het wel deze orthodoxse joden, die steevast ieder compromis afwijzen."
Translation:
...If there's one bunch that systematically blocks the peace process, it's these orthodox Jews, who persistently refuse all compromise.
[Commenter 16 - A writer unencumbered by any factual knowledge, who blames the (Orthodox) Jews for the lack of peace.]
You get the picture. There was more of the same under the article about the bulldozer attack.
[Dodelijke aanslag met bulldozer http://www.ad.nl/buitenland/2414039/Dodelijke_aanslag_met_bulldozer.html ]
Examples:
"Kunnen jullie een keer alle jodenstreken op een rij zetten waarbij er onschuldige kinderen omgekomen zijn door israelisch geweld? [cut] Wanneer ben je als israelier nou onschuldig als je op gestolen land gaat wonen? "
Translation:
...Could you for once list all the jew-knavery in which innocent children died by Israeli violence? Are you (even) innocent if as an Israeli you live on stolen land?
[Groen Rechts - middenstip]
"Valt nog steeds volledig in het niet bij de misdaad begaan tegen de inwoners van Beit Hanoun"
Translation:
...Still doesn't even compare with the crime committed against the residents of Beit Hanoun
[Jan - Spijkenisse]
"Herinner jij je de liquidatie van het 8 jarige Palestijnse jongetje Mohammed Douri die door Joodse kindermoordenaars met kogels doorzeefd werd? "Translation:
...Do you remember the liquidation of the little eight-year old boy Mohammed Douri, who was sieved through with bullets by Jewish child-murderers?
[Sandokan007 - Rotterdam]
And of course someone (HenkRdam - Rotterdam) mentioned Rachel Corrie, though what that had to do with anything is beyond me.
Truly, the Dutch are exemplars. Over a quarter of a million of them are (or will be) visiting the US for summer vacation this year. Oh boy, I can't wait. Welcome to civilization, boys.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
DOES NOT TASTE JUST LIKE CHICKEN! HOT FAT, CRISPY-FLAKY, SMELLS LOVELY, HAVE TWO FOR LUNCH WITH A GLASS OF BUTTERMILK!
One of the things I wish we had in the downtown is a decent Indian food shop. Yes, there are some Indian restaurants - bahut mahenga! I am not made of money (meaning that I'm actually a typical Dutch cheapskate), and lunch should not cost more than a good cigar. Nor should it be worse than a good cigar.
I really wish I could buy some samosas nearby.
And so do you. You remember them from when you were still in Central Asia (sambusa), or Turkey (borek), or from a female relative who spoke Ladino (borekas, borekitas; empanadas, empanaditas). You remember them right out of the deep fat, smelling luscious and burning your lips.
You remember them, so you might as well make them.
SAMOSA RECIPE
Filling:
4 large potatoes, boiled, peeled, and mashed.
1/2 cup cooked and drained green peas.
1/2 TBS cumin seeds.
1 tsp ground coriander.
1 tsp amchoor(mango powder).
1 tsp cayenne.
1/2 tsp ground fennel.
1/2 tsp garam masala powder.
Squeeze from half a lemon, more or less.
A little minced cilantro or parsley.
Pinch ground cinnamon.
Pinch salt.
Dough:
3 cups all purpose flour.
1/2 cup flour, for rolling out and flouring your hands.
4 - 6 TBS heated ghee (or oil).
Cold water.
Pinch salt.
Making the filling
Heat a little ghee in a skillet and add the cumin seeds.
When the seeds splutter, add the various spices, stir, and add the mashed potatoes, green peas, minced herbs - mix well.
Add salt to taste.
Cook on a low flame for about 10 minutes and remove from heat. Squeeze the half lemon over for little moisture.
Making the dough
Prepare the dough for the samosa by combining the flour, warm ghee (or oil) and a pinch of salt. Add water, in drabs, to make a pliable dough.
Cover with a damp cloth and set aside for about 20 minutes.
Putting the samosas together
Roll the dough into ten rounds. Divide each round into two halves. Flour your hands, so the dough does not stick. Wetten the long edge of a half round, and fold to form a cone, bringing together and sealing the wet edge (allow for an overlap). Fill with the potato stuffing, wetten the edges and fold over the remaining flap of dough (allow for an overlap), seal.
Deep fry the samosas in oil at medium heat till golden and crisped, drain, and serve with fresh green chutney.
[Or you could place them on a greased cookie sheet, brushed with a little oil, and bake them at 375 degrees for half an hour. Not as good, but you're the one trying to cut fat out of your diet, not me.]
Obviously this is a basic recipe - cooked chicken or ground lamb (keema) can be added. Let your tongue be a guide.
Note regarding green chutney: Many restaurants call this mint chutney, but that is an over-simplification - have you seen the price of a bunch of fresh mint?
It is easy to make, though. Dump a generous quantity of cilantro, parsley, basil, and mint, along with a few fresh green chilies, into your blender. Add enough lime juice to keep the machine from burning out, plus a pinch of salt. Osterize. Use within a day or two. Can be frozen, but there will be some loss of zip.
A tangy apricot chutney is also good. Not traditional. But good.
--------------------------------------------
So what did I actually have for lunch today? Such a pity you asked. Some kind of sausage made from chicken meat, in a bun of a spongy consistency. The downtown is not good for eating. No Burmese restaurants. No decent Chinese restaurants. No Jewish delis. No Mexican restaurants that don't serve muck. Mediocre pizza. Uninspired Japanese food. Six of one sandwiches and half a dozen of the other junkfood. We are desolate.
I really wish I could buy some samosas nearby.
And so do you. You remember them from when you were still in Central Asia (sambusa), or Turkey (borek), or from a female relative who spoke Ladino (borekas, borekitas; empanadas, empanaditas). You remember them right out of the deep fat, smelling luscious and burning your lips.
You remember them, so you might as well make them.
SAMOSA RECIPE
Filling:
4 large potatoes, boiled, peeled, and mashed.
1/2 cup cooked and drained green peas.
1/2 TBS cumin seeds.
1 tsp ground coriander.
1 tsp amchoor(mango powder).
1 tsp cayenne.
1/2 tsp ground fennel.
1/2 tsp garam masala powder.
Squeeze from half a lemon, more or less.
A little minced cilantro or parsley.
Pinch ground cinnamon.
Pinch salt.
Dough:
3 cups all purpose flour.
1/2 cup flour, for rolling out and flouring your hands.
4 - 6 TBS heated ghee (or oil).
Cold water.
Pinch salt.
Making the filling
Heat a little ghee in a skillet and add the cumin seeds.
When the seeds splutter, add the various spices, stir, and add the mashed potatoes, green peas, minced herbs - mix well.
Add salt to taste.
Cook on a low flame for about 10 minutes and remove from heat. Squeeze the half lemon over for little moisture.
Making the dough
Prepare the dough for the samosa by combining the flour, warm ghee (or oil) and a pinch of salt. Add water, in drabs, to make a pliable dough.
Cover with a damp cloth and set aside for about 20 minutes.
Putting the samosas together
Roll the dough into ten rounds. Divide each round into two halves. Flour your hands, so the dough does not stick. Wetten the long edge of a half round, and fold to form a cone, bringing together and sealing the wet edge (allow for an overlap). Fill with the potato stuffing, wetten the edges and fold over the remaining flap of dough (allow for an overlap), seal.
Deep fry the samosas in oil at medium heat till golden and crisped, drain, and serve with fresh green chutney.
[Or you could place them on a greased cookie sheet, brushed with a little oil, and bake them at 375 degrees for half an hour. Not as good, but you're the one trying to cut fat out of your diet, not me.]
Obviously this is a basic recipe - cooked chicken or ground lamb (keema) can be added. Let your tongue be a guide.
Note regarding green chutney: Many restaurants call this mint chutney, but that is an over-simplification - have you seen the price of a bunch of fresh mint?
It is easy to make, though. Dump a generous quantity of cilantro, parsley, basil, and mint, along with a few fresh green chilies, into your blender. Add enough lime juice to keep the machine from burning out, plus a pinch of salt. Osterize. Use within a day or two. Can be frozen, but there will be some loss of zip.
A tangy apricot chutney is also good. Not traditional. But good.
--------------------------------------------
So what did I actually have for lunch today? Such a pity you asked. Some kind of sausage made from chicken meat, in a bun of a spongy consistency. The downtown is not good for eating. No Burmese restaurants. No decent Chinese restaurants. No Jewish delis. No Mexican restaurants that don't serve muck. Mediocre pizza. Uninspired Japanese food. Six of one sandwiches and half a dozen of the other junkfood. We are desolate.
THE COMMENTS WILL BE ANTI-SEMITIC
The comments will also be just plain stupid and ignorant. Guaranteed.
This in reference to this article in the Algemeen Dagblad:
http://www.ad.nl/buitenland/2412888/Hoed_inzet_van_straatoorlog.html
It's in Dutch, but the gist of it is that two groups of Vishnitzer Chassidim in Bnei Brak are in conflict over the succession of the two sons of Rabbi Yehoshua Moshe Hagar, fighting not with Saturday-night specials or machine guns, but by grabbing as many shtreimlech of the opposing side as they can - thus forcing the other side to negotiate or give in, rather than losing the investment which their headgear necessitated.
When Rabbi Yehoshua Moshe Hagar fell ill, his followers divided into two camps - supporters of rabbi Yisroel and supporters of rabbi Menachem Mendel. The first side controls the shul, the second the neighborhood.
A shtreimel can be very expensive indeed - a few thousand dollars. Hence captured shtreimels becoming "hostages".
Anyhow, this furry mishegoss is not earth-shattering news, and there are precious few amongst the readers of the Algemeen Dagblad who will actually know what a Chassid is, where Bnei Brak might be located, or in fact that Chassidim are not a majority of practicing Jews. Many Dutch are fairly ignorant about matters outside their own fold, and most comments under internet articles reflect that ignorance abundantly.
The Dutch are also exceptionally good at criticizing the ideas, habits, and customs of others. And generally being negative.
[We call that 'azijn-zijken' or 'terpentijn-pissen', both of which terms would be unprintable in English, but refer to a stream of burning liquid (azijn: vinegar; terpentijn: turpentine) coming out of the urethra. There's also a term about testicularly dessicated individuals who have congress with canaries, or ants..... Dutch is a very flavourful language.]
Lashon Hara and Lashon Holanda are cousins. Perhaps not actual bloodrelatives, but they're closer than two ridgerunners in a barn.
So I'm predicting that the comments underneath the article in the Algemeen Dagblad will be repulsive.
And at some point some iggerunt cheese will bring up the Palestinians. Because, of course, ANYthing Jewish must naturally mean EVERYthing Jewish, Jewish means Israeli, and Israeli means repression of Palestinians and (by implication) exploitation of innocent and helpless natives all over the third-world.
Manifestly, wearing a fur hat is another way of imposing tyranny.
This in reference to this article in the Algemeen Dagblad:
http://www.ad.nl/buitenland/2412888/Hoed_inzet_van_straatoorlog.html
It's in Dutch, but the gist of it is that two groups of Vishnitzer Chassidim in Bnei Brak are in conflict over the succession of the two sons of Rabbi Yehoshua Moshe Hagar, fighting not with Saturday-night specials or machine guns, but by grabbing as many shtreimlech of the opposing side as they can - thus forcing the other side to negotiate or give in, rather than losing the investment which their headgear necessitated.
When Rabbi Yehoshua Moshe Hagar fell ill, his followers divided into two camps - supporters of rabbi Yisroel and supporters of rabbi Menachem Mendel. The first side controls the shul, the second the neighborhood.
A shtreimel can be very expensive indeed - a few thousand dollars. Hence captured shtreimels becoming "hostages".
Anyhow, this furry mishegoss is not earth-shattering news, and there are precious few amongst the readers of the Algemeen Dagblad who will actually know what a Chassid is, where Bnei Brak might be located, or in fact that Chassidim are not a majority of practicing Jews. Many Dutch are fairly ignorant about matters outside their own fold, and most comments under internet articles reflect that ignorance abundantly.
The Dutch are also exceptionally good at criticizing the ideas, habits, and customs of others. And generally being negative.
[We call that 'azijn-zijken' or 'terpentijn-pissen', both of which terms would be unprintable in English, but refer to a stream of burning liquid (azijn: vinegar; terpentijn: turpentine) coming out of the urethra. There's also a term about testicularly dessicated individuals who have congress with canaries, or ants..... Dutch is a very flavourful language.]
Lashon Hara and Lashon Holanda are cousins. Perhaps not actual bloodrelatives, but they're closer than two ridgerunners in a barn.
So I'm predicting that the comments underneath the article in the Algemeen Dagblad will be repulsive.
And at some point some iggerunt cheese will bring up the Palestinians. Because, of course, ANYthing Jewish must naturally mean EVERYthing Jewish, Jewish means Israeli, and Israeli means repression of Palestinians and (by implication) exploitation of innocent and helpless natives all over the third-world.
Manifestly, wearing a fur hat is another way of imposing tyranny.
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