THE GURGLING COD

Cod Thanksgiving Greenmarket Action

The Union Square Greenmarket on the day before Thanksgiving. It's New Years Eve in the club, Bourbon and Canal on Mardi Gras Day, the culinary equivalent of the Kentucky Derby infield, a fresh and local Altamont. The Gurgling Cod will be hanging out at the Rick's Picks booth, and delighted to a) meet you, b) sign copies of his book, or copies of Goaltender, c) draw a mustache on your copy of Going Rogue, or d) draw a funny face on your squash purchase.

C'est Le boire poupre!

Just like every third Thu in Nov, The Beaujolais Nouveau is here, like it or not. I stand by my sippy straw and 11 friends approach, but mostly, this, and more immediately, this:

 

Renewed thanks to Penny Pascal for realizing my vision.

We, the people (of Waffle House)

It's another one of those Tumblrs where one regards a certain kind of person, skinny, or fat, or whatever. Surprisingly, The People of Waffle House is much kinder to its subjects than its immediate progenitor, People of Wal-Mart. Generally, the folks one sees at Waffle House appear to have been scattered, smothered, and covered by life, but these folks look generally tend towards the reasonably not unattractive. Perhaps the Internet is getting nicer.

Dorito Salad!

Busy times here. But enjoy the Dorito salad reportage. Also, the secret to delicious collards? Infant. That's something the Lee Bros. won't tell you.

Mommy blogging: the world's oldest profession?

UPDATE: Don't miss the discussion here.

The Cod realizes that he has been remiss in failing to mention how important being a mom is to him.*  I think this LAT jawn is not the first piece I've seen talking about the enormous influence mommy bloggers wield over, um, people who read their blogs, but this has a kind of delusional grandeur that, kind of like a LeRoy Nieman painting, you have to admire, even if you cannot cherish (or abide) it:

More recently, Nestle paid to put her and 16 other so-called "mommy bloggers" -- and one daddy blogger -- up at the posh Langham Huntington hotel in Pasadena, treated them to a private show at the Magic Castle in Hollywood and sent packages of frozen Omaha Steaks to their families to tide them over while the women were away learning all about the company's latest product lines.

In return, Deckard and her virtual sisterhood filed Twitter posts raving about Nestle's canned pumpkin, Wonka candy and Juicy Juice drinks.

"People have accused us of being corporate shills," said Deckard, a Monroe, Ohio, mother of three whose junkets have also included a free trip to Frito-Lay's Texas headquarters. Deckard, noting that she is up front with her readers about such trips, said they are educational for her and her fans, and "just fun."

Besides, she added, "it's not like I sold my soul for a chocolate bar."

It's worth noting that in English, the phrase "it's not like" translates easily as "is." For instance, Helen Caldicott was never moved to say "it's not like I'm giving the lacrosse team handjobs for a quarter behind the gym," because she was fighting the proliferation of nuclear weapons. Generally speaking, the image of the thing you say it's not like you are doing trumps the assertion that you are not doing it, often because, basically you are doing the thing you say it's not like you're doing.**

The "her" of above is Mommysnacks.net, which actually transcends those notions of blog-whorishness you may have imbibed from the world of fine dining, and instead strives for an Annabel Chong-like relationship with corporate America. It's as if an individual attempted to produce their own Sunday paper coupon insert. Quite frankly, the enterprise does not make sense unless there is free shit in the offiing because having Wal-Mart, CVS, and Meijers run a train on you, er, compiling special offers with Asbergerian ruthlessness as an end in itself is even more depressing.

*(Psst, conglomerates: hit up Fesser at the gmails for address to send swag.)

**Bonus, totally incoherent quotation from a Blogher impressario:

"They're treating blogging like it's pornography," said Elisa Camahort Page, co-founder of the online community group BlogHer. "They think you'll know unethical blogging when you see it."

Er, except the comment was offered in relation to obscenity, not pornography, and Justice Stewart made the comment to illustrate the difficulty of defining it, rather than to point out its self-evidentness.

Wal-Mart is for turkeys.

Shit like this make it easier to forgive the reverently fetishistic treatment of the bird by the Heritage breed types that is otherwise kind of annoying:

Is frozen turkey bowling in a Wal-Mart distribution center an emblem of all that's wrong with America, or is it just another Guiteau Monday? (TOF: Awl.)

Ain't no party like an Oxonian party...

Via the incomparable cinetrix, useful cocktail information:

That is to say, the Oxonians party like it was a Charleston cotillion, which is to say, hard.

Worst. Ramen. Ever.

Shit's still real real real, but through the offices of the cinetrix, a moment of leaven, specifically a href="http://bronxflavor.com/">Bronx Flavored moment, described as the lost Tony Bourdain/Kid Creole side project by FOC Maceo. I look forward to watching the video when there is more robust internets, but betimes, the swag pictured at left suggests a world where each borough is defined by its panty steez. The Manhattan briefs,  Queens granny panties, Brooklyn hipsters (natch), Staten Island tap pants, and the Bronx Flavored Thong. It's like anime J.Lo in panty form! 

Program note

Posting will be light, because things are heavy. My mother is ill. See you when I see you, and in general, thanks to all of you out in Internetland who provide distractions/amusements during hard times.

Chris Onstad on Italian food and pornography.

"Italian food is like pornography. I can’t define it, but I know when I have paid too much."

See also. And consider picking up a tee or something from the shop, so Chris does not have to keep picking up odd jobs and can spend more time with his family.