THE GURGLING COD

Truth is stranger than back issues of Details

Like Joaquin Andujar said, when asked his favoirte word  in English, "youneverknow."* I clicked on a referring link , then came a link to a Fader feature on Freaky Ice. Unfortunately, they are Dutch, and seem to have hired the Night at the Roxbury folks to manage the brand. In case you were wondering, "the Freaky Ice girls will bring Freaky Ice to your customers' attention immediately." (You can click through the intro to see and artists' rendering of the Freaky Ice girl, or you can close your eyes and imagine a Riefenstahl-inflected anime iteration of a jazz age cigarette girl, but Dutch.) Sad to see the Dutch resorting to sex to sell frozen malt liquor pops. Sadder, too to recall that malt liquor pops was a "fake fad" in Details, back in one of their more agressively het, Dawson Creek-era Katie Holmes pimping incarnations. Somehow the OE in a Dixie Cup with a popsicle they featured seems cooler than Freaky Ice, though I fear you would have to get the OE pretty cold to make a viable malt popsicle.

*Image of Joaquin boosted from Ape Culture, your best Internet source for haiku about individual St. Louis Cardinals.

Brown Eggs

are local eggs, and local eggs are fresh. Or so goes the jingle burned into the synapses of young New Englanders of a certain age. It comes to my mind in the wake of Badthings' rather more pessimistic take on Grocery Store Wars than the original here. Badthings is certainly far more engaged in issues of sustainable agriculture, organic farming and related issues than is the Cod, and having watched the film with dialog (saw first in lab of speakerless computers) it comes up short. Initially did not sniff around here to see just who was supporting this stunt. It is facile, and simplistic, maybe facile even by the standards  for a cartoons featuring  talking vegetables. And yet, it seems as if things like this have the potential to make a bigger difference than the difference between dying one way or another. There are large swaths of the country where buying organic or sustainable meat and produce  with any consistency  is currently  about as viable as finding halal meat.  I'd argue that GSW, even if  it is propaganda from a sinister Big Org. Trust, has at least the potential to encourage Star Wars fans more than a few gallons of gas  from the nearest org. oriented market, and without access to a spectrum of righteous local farmers, to begin to consider where their food comes from. I think in general "awareness" is a lame PR euphemism for "inaction," but here, precisely because the problem is lack of awareness, or nonage (Holler, Immanuel!) sowing the seeds of doubt in the minds of Winn-Dixie shoppers  is worth doing. In the last day or two, I  have had occasion to mention GSW  and related issues to folks with whom I've never had occasion to discuss such things. That might not be one of Martha's Good Things, but it is something.

Ham Solo

I shudder to think of the Google traffic "solo ham" will bring, but every once in a while the Internet produces something that actually breaks your head, restores your faith in humanity, and I wanted a catchy title. Grocery Store Wars is such a moment.* Imagine LA Confidential's "Whores cut to look like models," but substitute "fruit and vegetables" for "whores" and "characters from the Star Wars saga" for "models," and you begin to get the idea. Tip of the fin to our fearless CSA director, who sent this along. That is, on the right, none other than Cuke Skywalker. Good luck to these folks--Lucas is notorious on trademark protection--just ask Luther Campbell! Also, if Lucas has seen the Lane review, he will be looking for a puppy to kick, no doubt. The Cod, has from time to time, wondered if the strenuous precisianism of some organic folks might cause some fence-sitting producers and consumers to ease back in to the world of ho-hos and Hawaiian Punch after being rebuked for trying and failing to do the right thing, but the awareness generated by this grasp on Lucasfilms coattails can only have positive ripples.  Take us out, ChewBroccoli:

*From the same folks who did the Meatrix, which I never had the sack to watch 'til now. Must have been thinking of some other vegan agitprop, b/c this was pro-meat, and pretty tame. It does lead to this very useful tool, the Eat Right Guide, which offers listings of local ag producers based on zip code.

July, July, July, July

Oh me, oh me, oh me, oh my.
 

Just saying

I have already established that the flagship of my restaurant empire will be called "Gout," but following up on the Kenmore dining discussion (which thus far has not encompassed the inexplicable survival of the Uno's in the formerly cursed location on the corner of Brookline and Beacon) I think I'd also like to open a more casual place near Fenway called  "Foul Territory." It will be modeled loosely on Snake & Jake's in New Orleans, but will serve only hotdogs, and play only Peaches and the Electric Six. Y'all come! Also, following up on the just saying category, I happened to catch a portion of the Braves' team calling last night's Braves-Sox game--they are fine, if unfamiliar, but it was jarring to hear the radio guys constantly shilling tix. No need for Joe and Jerry to do that, which may be why they have the have the opportunity, between and during pitches, to recall occasions where they have seen portions of The English Patient on hotel cable. Still it is very sad. The Braves have consistently pretty successful for more than a decade, but cannot fill their park, or even give away playoff tickets. The solution is clear. It has been long enough. It is time for the Braves to come home. Among other things, it would make my dad happy. Sadly, their home has fallen into the hands of that kleptocracy on the Charles, but I'm sure they'd listen to a reasonable offer.

18 Wheels and and a strong clear vision

Still in a cocoon of horror, work wise, but you New Yorkers heed the wise words of cinetrix, and make sure to get a load of the NY A/V project, a video mapping of New York City. The site is a bit confusing, but  it is a traveling installation projecting footage from 4 years ago, where it was originally shot. And, Ryan Adams-free. If you hit the 14th street one, you could grab some pickles. Tell 'em the Cod sent ya!

The new musical fruit?

If I ran a premium cheese concern with a name that began with the syllable "art," I'd take pains to avoid having the letter "F" appear  in the URLs for the links in my monthly emails without a space right before my company's name. Just saying. Is anal of me, I know.

We've got fun and games

Do you know where you are?
You're in the jungle, baby.
And you're gonna die.
If the kiddies are good, a cookout with the 'Fesser's homemade boudin blanc* when we read this next week. If not, the boudin noir. Pedagogically sound, in that the whole point of the damn book is that while sausage is icky, capitalism is much ickier. I'll shut up about work now.  Pleased to learn of  a graphic novel version of this tale.
*I have had good luck with the Panisse sausage receipts.

Paris says ow--you say wok

The Cod is buried to the dorsal fin and beyond, but Mr. Badthings'  roundup will certainly do more than tide you over. Especially when he guides you to gems like this:

As if booting Bob Edwards were not unforgivable enough, NPR devoted long minutes on a Saturday morning to a segment on a guy whose own handlers once told me was plucked out of kitchen obscurity not for his Escoffier potential but simply because “the camera loves him.” Does no one else find it surreal to hear serious radio promoting vacuous TV? I guess I should just be glad Paris Hilton was too busy getting waxed to stir-fry.

Hail, gastropoda! I was familiar with Regina Schrambling's name from NY Times DI/DOs of yore but having slipped that leash, she is, well, off the chain. Also, the readings are not to be overlooked.

The Bronx is up/aka Where have you gone Rich Garces, our Nation turns its lonely eyes to you

Experiments in the unfamiliar challenge of being gracious in victory to follow, please read with caution.

A lean DI/DO, by the Cod's lights. Disappointing that the calls to edit Bruni appear to have been heeded, and Bmuse chimed in below to indicate that his review  was on the money. However, the tour de Bronx put a shiver in these fins. Astute readers of the Cod may have noted an enthusiasm for the World Champion Boston Red Sox expressed from time to time here.. Leaving aside the will success spoil questions for the moment, just now, it seems as if the Bronx would be a much better place to go to a game if you were hungry before or after. With the very notable exception of El Pelon, eating options in the Fens have been going backwards for many years. (Their signature "El Guapo" burrito is a rite of passage.) Sure as Sherman, Silber's gang of gentrifiers has laid waste to a once vibrant neighborhood, replacing a textbook stoop culture, Jane Jacobs stizz, with gleaming airconditioned nightmares of Durstosity it would take Mike Davis to explain.  And now, next door, this, submitted by the ever-vigilant Rose's Lime, who calls it a "kofta in sheep's clothing." I remain profoundly unconvinced by the Burgerdog, though I fear that the ever upwardly mobile Fenway fan base might, you know, eat them up. Rich Garces, where are you?
In any case, all you homeboys out in the Bronx, (who were remarkably classy on  opening day, I meant to mention) this one's for you.