The Cultured Ape

Entries categorized as ‘Bar Madness’

Sending out at an S.O.S.

September 20, 2006 · 1 Comment

A few days back, I was hanging at the corner tavern and a conversation came up on “Mom Food”. You know what I’m talking about, the food “mom used to make”. We reminisced over Chicken a la King, Frito Pie, various casseroles, Goulash and a perennial favorite, Shit on a Shingle. We concurred on recipes (Chicken a la King is chicken in white sauce with some veggies over rice, Frito Pie is Frito’s, taco meat, beans, sour cream and cheese, etc.) or at least concepts (Goulash is anything in the fridge with paprika over noodles) for all the above, save one. Shit on a Shingle. Everyone in the bar seemed to have a different experience with what a true Shit on a Shingle is. Other than the Shingle being a piece of toast, there was no agreement on a proper recipe.

You may know this dish by other names, SOS, Stuff on Toast, what have you, but what makes Shit on a Shingle? If you search for Shit on a Shingle on the almighty Wikipedia, it redirects you to Chipped Beef on Toast. End of story, right? Nay. Nay I say. The participant that threw SOS into the conversation grew up with the Shit portion of the dish being tuna in white gravy with melted cheese. I grew up with more like country sausage gravy made with either chicken or ground beef. Further exploration shows recipes including everything from corned beef, to ground beef to seitan (it’s made of people).

This begs the question: what does it matter what Shit on a Shingle is, as long as it’s the best damn Shit on the best damn Shingle there is. Thus the genesis of the Annual Shit on a Shingle contest. The rules: It’s gotta be on toast. Thems the rules. The judges will be the participants, and they will judge on taste, presentation, smell, originality, momitude, whatever they feel makes it good.

Do you have a recipe you think is the best damned SOS in town? Was your mom the Shit on a Shingle queen? Comment with her recipe, sure, why not. Go ahead.

In other news Here’s my top 20 iTunes rockers at the mo:

  1. Lifter- Deftones
  2. Fiesta de la Rumba- Afro-Cuban All Stars
  3. The Misfit- Oneida
  4. M.E.- Gary Numan
  5. Forest- System of a Down
  6. Carnival- Pillows (FlCl, reprezent!)
  7. Tweezers- Fudge Tunnel
  8. A.T.H.F.- Danger Doom
  9. Lightning Song- QOTSA
  10. Show Me the Way- Dinosaur Jr.
  11. Model Home Invasion- Cursed
  12. Boarderline- Ogre
  13. It Ain’t Easy- David Bowie
  14. I Feel 4 U- Technova
  15. Jesus Was Gay- XPQ-21
  16. Crumbling Down- Polvo
  17. Virtue to Vice-Deathstars
  18. Mighty Joe Young- Supersuckers
  19. Another Time and Place- Blazing Haley
  20. Thunderhorse- Dethklok

Enjoy

Categories: Bar Madness · Fuck You · Selma Hayek's boobs · beer · retarded

Taking the time to talk to people that would normally be written off because of a language barrier:

June 14, 2006 · 4 Comments

Last night the wife and I were at the bar having a couple of drinks after dinner, and this little older Latino guy came in. He was in a minor panic going on with “Ayudame, ayudame” and such. I was the only one in the bar that spoke a lick of Espanol, so I did my best to translate what he was saying. At first I thought he was saying he had been robbed at the park up the street, and they had taken all of his clothes and money and beaten him up. After listening a little more, I started to understand what he was really saying. He was hungry, needed a place to “chower” and “chave” and a place to wash his clothes. Being the soft hearted, liberal pussy I am, I wracked my brain for one of the local resource centers for migrant workers in the area. After much drunken brain wracking, I remembered a place down the street and gave him my best directions (if izquierda isn’t left, btw, I could have sent him into a whole other kettle of refried beans). He took it like I was throwing him out or sending him to be killed and sat down quietly for a few minutes. Only a few minutes. Suddenly, with great aplomb, he got up and started singing La Bamba and dancing. We wuz all “Whadafuck?!” and he was like, “Baila la bamba que nececita una poca de gracia!” n shit. We were only mildly amused. After the owner of the bar chilled him out, he said he was sorry and sat back down. Then he got to the point. He said in mildly clear English “Can I have one beer?” That was it. I told him if he had money, he could have a beer, but alas, he was dead broke. That’s when it started to get not so cute. He said, if he didn’t get a beer, he’d stay all night and sleep there. Que exasperando. I mean, shit. I honestly tried to get the guy some help, and all he wanted was a beer. Made me wish I’da just not even bothered to talk to the guy in the first place. I should have just kept it shut and shooed him along like everyone else.

ON THE OTHER HAND

I got a call this morning from a doctor that sounded like he’d suffered a bad stroke. He was hard to understand, but I took the time and effort to listen. I didn’t have to, really, I could have just pushed him on to voice mail, but I didn’t I took the time to listen to what he needed (he was trying to get us in on a federal survey for a specific program, no biggie even). I could tell that it was a chore for him to make these calls, but my taking the time to listen really did him well. After I took the pertinent info down, we had a little chit chat about how great of a town B-more is. I could tell that little exchange brightened his day. All because I took the effort to listen.

I know what you’re thinking “yeah, so this makes you a better than me or something?” Honestly, if you don’t take the time to at least give people a chance to be human, then yes, I am better than you.

Categories: Bar Madness · beer · philosophy & politics