I Guess I Can Call It My Mutt Pizza

I know someone who goes to London, frequently.  He is aghast at what they call pizza over there.  His description was Jarred Spaghetti Sauce with Cheddar Cheese.

No, Really.  It sounds like an abomination.

Mind you if you try to serve me Pineapple Pizza, you will wear it.  I am flexible but it needs to taste right.  Pineapple belongs in an upside down cake.  Period.  Or perhaps on a different dessert.  Keep that dreck to yourself.

When I moved here to Florida, I was struck by how mediocre the pizza was.  Think sauce from a can and flavorless cheese.

I set on a path that allowed me to develop a recipe that my Italian Mother would be proud of.  It tastes like a 1970s Pizza Shop sauce.  The kind of place you walk in and see a giant vat of the stuff reducing on a slow flame on the stove.

Remember to add the spices when you take it off the heat.  You want the punch of oregano to shine through.

Today I came home from a marathon on the bike.  That seems to be my normal workout at this point.  Today was 28.02 miles - I was close and made sure to round out the distance.  After two hours, and getting hit by some light rain, and I wanted the pizza.

This thing's crust is not so very good.  It is a large tortilla.  Sure, it saves me about 300 calories but it is kind of soulless and I describe it as an "Italian Quesadilla".  Nothing against Mexican cuisine, I love and respect that and this mashup is strange.

I was in a rush so it has its place.

I did want to use up some of the oddball ingredients I had on hand.  The Mozzarella I had ready was only about half of what I needed so I got "creative".  Adding in the main flavor of the Parmesan would help this effort greatly. 

Still I was short.  I remembered the discussions of the British Pizza.  If we want to laugh, we look at each other and say "Cheddar Pizza" and cringe. 

At this point I realized either thaw out some more Mozzarella or get the Cheddar.  It's a good Cheddar, I equivocated, but it is still a cheddar.  It also was on the "old side" and I had cut out all the "spots".  It needed to be used up.

Ok, admittedly, all the ingredients were weird, let's make a pizza out of these bastard ingredients.  I cook to get a flavor profile as well as a balanced amount of protein with a specific calorie count.  That meant that in order to make the pizza 1000 calories, I needed 5 ounces of cheese total.  I ended up putting a mix together of 1 ounce of rather good sharp Parmesan, 2.5 ounces each of Mozzarella and Extra Sharp Cheddar.

Assembling the pie or quesadilla, I poured a glass of Chardonnay.  Taking a sniff of that glass, I realized it was for cooking.  We made Beef Stroganoff and it put the "Ordinaire" in the term "Vin Ordinaire".  Not great stuff.

Somehow the combination of that wine and the strange pizza worked well together.

I guess the moral of the story is not to be so rigid.  If you have to use Cheddar, it isn't the end of the world, just make sure that you have a strong sauce, and that the Cheddar is Extra Sharp.  Having it be the minority cheese in a mix won't ruin a pizza, it will pass if you are caught up short.

And a glass of Ordinary Wine never hurt anyone.

I don't advertise my lip reading business. It's all word of mouth.

Be safe out there.  I'm going to blow off some steam and go carve some large circles around a gasbag.  





 Two lumberjacks, Bill and Frank, are out in the forest cutting down trees.

Not paying attention, Frank gets too close to the saw and gets his arm cut off. In a mad scramble, Bill wraps Frank’s arm in plastic, and rushes his dismembered friend to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank the next day, and to his amazement finds him back in tact, playing ping pong in the physical therapy area.

A few days later the men are back in the woods, cutting down trees. This time, Frank loses his leg after again getting too close to the saw. Just like the last time, Bill wraps his friend’s leg in plastic and rushes him back to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank the next day, and this time to his amazement finds Frank in the physical therapy area, all in one piece, running on the treadmill.

A few days later, the pair are back in the woods, sawing down trees. This time, Frank gets too close to the saw and gets decapitated. Bill, now an old pro at this, wraps his friend’s head in plastic and rushes him to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank at the hospital the next day, only to find out that his friend didn’t make it. Distraught, he asked the doctor what happened.

“Well,” the doctor said, “your friend would have made a full recovery, if some idiot hadn’t wrapped his head in a plastic bag.”

Cassette tapes had an A side and a B side, so it makes sense that their successor would be the CD.

I have to say that while I am not terribly fond of this kind of story, the punch line made me laugh loud enough to make the dog look up at me wondering why I lost my mind.





An Englishman, Scotsman and Irishman are all working on a construction site, building a new skyscraper in London. It's lunchtime and they're all sat atop the building. the Englishman opens up his lunchbox to see what his wife has packed him.

"Ugh... Ham and cheese sandwich... again. I'm sick of ham and cheese sandwiches, it's the same every bloody day. If I get another ham and cheese sandwich in my lunch box tomorrow I'm jumping off the top of this building."

Next, the Scotsman opens up his lunch box.

"Aackk, jam sandwich... again. I cannee go on like this eating jam sandwiches every day of me life! If I get the same again tomorrow I'm jumping as well."

Next it's the Irishman's turn.

"Ohh for fecks sake! Not another egg and cress sandwich! That's the fourth one in a row this week! I'm with you boys, one more egg and cress sandwich and I'm jumping!"

So next day they sit at the top of the building to have lunch. One by one they open up their lunch boxes... The Englishman finds another ham and cheese sandwich, so off he jumps, and splats into the ground below. The Scotsman finds another jam sandwich... Off he goes...Splat. The Irishman, egg and cress sandwich... Splat.

A week or so later later the three widows are talking at the memorial service. The English widow says, through tears, "I still can't believe it, had no idea George hated ham and cheese so much, if only I'd known..."

The Scottish widow says "Duncan did say he was getting a bit bored with Jam, but I didn't realise he hated it that much, I just wish he'd have let me know how he really felt."

The Irish widow says "I... I just don't understand... Paddy packed his own lunch."

Air Fryer Brownies? Here is the recipe!

 

Everything was new once.  I once microwaved a chicken.  It actually came out well done but I can't say I would do it again.

I once had a Curry Chicken recipe that I really would love to find for that same microwave again but this was a time long past and a lost recipe.

Every new cooking fad has a peak.  The Air Fryer is having its moment right now and I find it to be amazing.

Worse comes to worse, this will bake well in the conventional oven, same time and temp.

Anything frozen, chicken parts both thawed and frozen, pork parts, fish sticks and fillets.  All have come out wonderful and wholesome.

This is an online recipe that I shamelessly stole.  The "pan" is my silicone liner that I oiled and poured the batter into.

Note:  I measured everything with a gram scale.  I have one and it works well, however typically volumes are used.  Maybe next time, huh?

I followed the recipe below faithfully and got some wonderful treats.  It fell together in about 10 minutes.  Cooked in 15.

Whenever you cook in an air fryer, I find that I have to check frequently and make sure the internal temp comes up to the correct level for meats.  I used a toothpick for the brownies and we have enjoyed them.

They. Were. Excellent!

Ingredients:

• 1/3 cup (42 grams) whole wheat flour or all-purpose flour
• 1/4 cup (29 grams) Dutch-process cocoa powder (sifted if needed)
• 1/16 teaspoon salt (nobody has one of those, I eyeballed "half" of a 1/8 tsp)
• 1/4 cup plus 2 teaspoons (65 grams) coconut oil or unsalted butter (melted and slightly cooled)
• 1/2 cup (100 grams) granulated sugar or coconut sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 large egg (about 50 grams, out of shell)
• 1/4 cup (43 grams) chocolate chips, plus extra mini chips for the top

How to make them:

1. Prep your pan: Line a small cake pan or air fryer-safe dish with parchment paper.
2. Mix the dry ingredients: In a bowl, combine the flour, cocoa powder, and salt. Set aside.
3. Mix the wet ingredients: In a separate bowl, stir together the melted coconut oil or butter with the sugar and vanilla.
4. Once blended, mix in the egg until just combined.
5. Combine everything: Add the dry mix to the wet bowl a little at a time. Stir gently until almost no flour is visible. Fold in the chocolate chips.
6. Preheat the air fryer: Set it to 340°F (170°C).
7. Pour and top: Transfer the batter into your prepared pan. Sprinkle mini chocolate chips on top for extra gooeyness.
8. Air fry Cook in the air fryer for 14 to 20 minutes. The top should look set with a thin crust.
9. A toothpick in the center will come out a bit wet. The edges should have soft crumbs.
10. Cool before serving: Let them cool completely in the pan. They’ll continue to firm up as they sit.

If you give these a try, let us know how they turn out. They're dangerously easy to make.

In order to have a murder of Crows, there must be probable Caws.

 Oh!  Yeah!  Blog!  Just getting ready to go to the park and bike a marathon.  I realized that I need to stop playing with sprinkler heads and listening to the news on CBC/BBC and get to it!

When I get there, I'll say CAW! to the crows, Roar! at the iguanas, and try to avoid the ducks that are damnably everywhere.

On Yer Left!

Meanwhile, I have been seeing this discussion on social media way too often and I see it this way.





A guy was talking to his neighbor over the fence. “I mowed the lawn the other day, and after doing so I sat down and had a cold beer. The day was really quite beautiful, and the drink facilitated some deep thinking.

My wife walked by and asked me what I was doing, and I said, "Nothing."

The reason I said "nothing" instead of saying "just thinking" is because she then would have asked, "About what?"

At that moment, I would have needed to clarify that men ponder deeply on diverse subjects, sparking further inquiries.

Finally I pondered an age old question: Is giving birth more painful than getting kicked in the nuts?

Women always maintain that giving birth is way more painful than a guy getting kicked in the nuts, but how could they know?

Well, after another beer, and some more heavy deductive thinking, I have come up with an answer to that question.

Getting kicked in the nuts is more painful than having a baby, and even though I obviously couldn't really know, here is the reason for my conclusion:

A year or so after giving birth, a woman will often say, "It might be nice to have another child."

But you never hear a guy say, "You know, I think I would like another kick in the nuts."

I went to the fridge and I saw one of my vegetables crying. I guess I have some emotional cabbage.

 Of course yesterday, walking through a specialty market I grabbed two half-pound bars of chocolate.  I had one at home but forgot.  I was told that and told that I had "too much chocolate".

Have you ever heard something that silly?  Too much chocolate?  I am aghast!





 I invited my boss and her husband over for dinner and while we were eating she asked my son, Little Johnny, what he learned about in school that day.

I said that we usually play a "four clues" game where we have to guess and she thought that would be fun.

So Johnny gave his first clue: It's kind of round and covered with hair.

That didn't narrow it down much so he went to his second clue: It can be full of juice that you can access through a crack.

Nobody had an idea yet, though knowing Johnny I was starting to get anxious. He gave his third clue: When mommy and daddy were unpacking and changing from a day at the beach I peeked into their room and saw that mommy had one and daddy didn't.

Still no guesses from anyone but I was starting to panic. Johnny gave his final clue: It contains the letters C, N, T, and U.

My wife saved my career when she quickly blurted out COCONUT!

The Monarch Cage - So I Can Get Milkweed Seeds

 Sorry Monarch Mommas.  This one is for me. 

Your last batch of kids came through and ate every one of my milkweed plants.  One had gotten to the flowering stage. 

They even found the plants in the backyard and scattered within my other pots.

So this time, I got bold.

I built a cage for the Milkweed plants.  In this case, I am waiting to see if the plants become plants or are they just a goner. 

I built a box out of Hardware Cloth to surround the pot that I have on my porch.  30 inches tall and about that wide.  I did not measure anything.  It was too hot on the porch.  This is South Florida after all.

Then I covered the box with the leftover Hardware Cloth so that it had a sturdy "roof".

There are many other milkweed pots on the property.  Your children are welcome to those.  Just not this one pot.  Once I get some plants going, I will transplant them into accessible spots and you can have at them again.

I enjoy seeing the monarchs here.  I just need a little bit of milkweed for myself.

For the record it would be 30 inches tall, 30 wide, and about 20 deep.  About.  I did not measure anything.

Now go visit the backyard.  There is plenty of food out there!

Have you ever seen fruit preserves being made? It's jarring.

 Actually, yes, I have.  I generally get enough "windfall" fruit each year to fill the freezer and make enough Fruit Preserves to last the year. 

This year, no.  The mango crop is very low this year.  I haven't been getting enough to justify making jam so I have been eating the fruit.  My own tree may give me just enough for one batch but that is doubtful.




 A visit in the bedroom

After a night of drinking, Brian crept into bed beside his wife who was already asleep. He gave her a peck on the cheek and fell asleep.

When he awoke, he found a strange man standing at the end of his bed wearing a long flowing white robe. "Who the hell are you?" demanded Brian, "and what are you doing in my bedroom?"

The mysterious Man answered "This isn't your bedroom and I'm St. Peter."

Brian was stunned "You mean I'm dead!? That can't be; I have so much to live for. I haven't said goodbye to my family and friends. You've got to send me back straight away."

St. Peter replied " Yes, you can be reincarnated but there is a catch. We can only send you back as a dog or a hen."

Brian was devasted, but knowing there was a farm not far from his house, he asked to be sent back as a hen. A flash of light later, he was covered in feathers and clucking around pecking the ground.

This isn't so bad he thought, until he felt this strange feeling welling up inside him.

The farmyard rooster strolled over and said "So you are the new hen. How are you enjoying your first day here? "

"It's not so bad" replies Brian " but I have this strange feeling inside like I'm about to explode."

"You’re ovulating" explained the rooster, "don't tell me you've never laid an egg before."

"Never" replies Brian.

"Well just relax and let it happen."

And so he did and after a few uncomfortable seconds later, an egg pops out from under his tail.

An immense feeling of relief swept over him and his emotions got the better of him as he experienced motherhood for the first time.

When he laid his second egg, the feeling of happiness was overwhelming and he knew that being reincarnated as a hen was the best thing that had happened to him ever!

The joy kept coming and as he was just about to lay his third egg he felt an enormous smack on the back of his head and heard his wife shouting ...

"Brian, wake up you drunken bastard, you're pooping in the bed".

What do you call a dog that can do magic tricks? A Labracadabrador

I'm thinking that while I carbo and Caffeine load, it's time to get up and become a jock once again.  

Or maybe life is more simple than that. 




 The note

Auld Jock had been a religious man all his life.

When rushed into hospital his family called a preacher to stand with them. As the preacher stood next to the bed, Jock's condition appeared to worsen and he motioned frantically for something to write on.

He was lovingly handed a pen and paper and Jock used his last gasp of energy to scribble a note which he handed to the preacher and then he died.

The preacher thought it best not to look at the note at the time and placed it in his jacket pocket.

At the funeral, as he was finishing his eulogy he realised that he was wearing the same jacket as he had at the hospital.

He said "You know, Auld Jock handed me a wee note just before he died. I haven't read it yet, but knowing Auld Jock I'm sure there's a word of inspiration there for us all"

He opened the note and read out loud "Hi minister. Yer staundin oan ma oxygen"

Monarch Butterflies, we have to talk. You are eating yourself out of house and home.

I was happy with my little farm.  I was planting milkweed cuttings all over my property.  In existing pots, new pots, and in the garden.  I needed the seeds for bio-diversity.

I had some plants that were growing quite well.  One of the plants was waist high and I have a 35 inch inseam.  

Did you catch the "was" there?

My front window faces out to the porch and I have a recliner and rocker in that window.  It lets me see the world when I am not working out.  It is overstuffed and I can lounge around when I am in it, like now.

I need to rest frequently because I am an athlete.  You tell me if I am using the right word, three marathons on the bike per week.  First sprint is usually just over a half marathon at a 14 MPH average.  Then water stop and repeat.

So my sport watch yells at me that I am doing too much and PAI numbers are averaging in the high 200s.  It's a measure of activity, just like a resting heart rate of 52 is a measure of fitness.

Enough bragging, back to the butterflies.

I am about a block from a small park.  M.E. DePalma Park.  That is where I got the first seeds for the Mexican Milkweed that you little critters love so much.  I got them about 15 years ago and have been propagating them ever since.  I stuff some plants under other plants and take cuttings frequently.

Mrs Monarch, this is where you came into play.  You see I was just about ready to get some seeds when you found these plants.  Two days later I started seeing holes in the leaves, two more days and I had stumps in my pots. 

Yes, you.  You put your eggs on my plants left and right and center.  You and all your flutterby friends.  Swallowtail and Zebra Wing, all of you came by and visited my porch.  At one point there were enough of you on my porch that I thought I was looking at a holding pattern in a large airport.

Of course I know what that looks like, I bike at an airport in Pompano Beach, and I once rode a motorcycle up the New Jersey Turnpike past the Newark NJ Airport.  I know what a holding pattern looks like.

Then your children did what they do and ate my plants away.

Yes, I know, I grow them for that purpose and your children were hungry.  But every plant is now gone.

Now, don't apologize.  You did what you had to.  But I had about 50 plants and now they are all gone.  There are 12 in that one pot alone!

So I have to build a cage.  You won't get in this thing.  I have hardware cloth and I know how to use it.

Don't apologize, I am bound and determined to get something past the sticks!

Just keep your pretty orange and black wings and your eggs to yourself.   If I have to be a farmer I have to do it outside.  If I told you what the ants do to plants indoors here in South Florida, you would be deeply offended!