I was reading this story the other day of how The Detroit Tigers fired a hot dog vendor for hating ketchup and it got me thinking about my own disgust for the condiment that everyone but me seems to love: Ketchup.
Apparently Detroit’s own Charlie Marcuse – who’s locally famous for singing while he’s selling hot dogs in the stands at Comerica Park – supposedly took his act too far and was angering fans by refusing to put ketchup on the dogs.
He had a strict mustard-only policy – and ended up getting combative with customers when they disagreed. People were actually so angry with him that they filed enough complaints to get him fired.
Now, I can’t say that I blame them for canning the guy if he was endangering people, but to be blunt I think he was in the right when he insisted on a no ketchup rule that pertained to hot dogs!
Growing up I was taught at an early age that ketchup was for French fries and to cover the taste of bad burgers; mustard however was for everything else (including at times French fries). Think about it, from soft pretzels to perogies, mustard is the world’s most user friendly condiment.
Mustard has every kind of pedigree from basic yellow goodness, to the elite gourmet distinction of a Dijon style that people would ask for while being chaffered around during lunch. Name me one gourmet ketchup hybrid… you can’t, cause there isn’t any!
The Romans were probably the first to experiment with the preparation of mustard as a condiment which undoubtedly contributed to its awesomeness because as we all know: Italians are outstanding cooks, but the first ever appearance of mustard makers on the royal registers in Paris dates back to 1292 … while ketchup wasn’t born the 1690s when the Chinese mixed a concoction of pickled fish and spices and called it (in the Amoy dialect) kôe-chiap which in the 18th century the English eventually termed ketchup. See, mustard even has an advantage in its maturity.
To sum it up I would rather eat a hot dog blessed with a condiment made from the seeds of a mustard plant, than I would a concoction of pickled fish and spices… and like Charlie Marcuse I have to insist on the same for you too.
So last night I became a visionary. I made a meal I had never seen before. Chicken wing Spaghetti. It all started when I was suppose to start my diet Monday, but I left my gym bag at home, and when I go back home from work, I'm HOME. So I figured minus well start the diet tomorrow, and make one last Hungry man meal. A quick trip to Wal Mart and I was ready!
Here are the ingredients I went with:
I wanted to go with angel hair pasta, and THOUGHT I had a box at home, but I did not so this had to do.
After all ingredients were cooked up it was time to make some sauce. Now the hot sauce/ Wing sauce (pictured above) wasn't going to taste good by itself. It was too watery, because it is made for wings, and not think pasta. So I grabbed a bottle of Kraft Bleu Cheese and added two squirts to the sauce. Now I made a small bowl first to get the consistency of sauce to bleu cheese correct. I recommend you do the same to avoid ruining the whole box of pasta, Once you get the sauce the way you like it.
Add some Boneless bites and mix them in. That's it, you're finished. To my surprise , it was awesome! Very filling, I could only eat on bowl. Go ahead give it a try and mix up your dinner! I'm currently working on a healthier version that I can eat for my diet!
Do pretentious pregnant hipsters write for Babycenter.com?! WTH is a jicama, and why would I ever compare my baby's size to that? Really, you can't just say, "turnip"?!! (aaaand now entering the 32nd wk of pregnancy, aka, the "Annoyed Stage")
32 weeks: Your baby is about the size of a jicama
Your baby is taking up more and more space in your uterus, weighing in at about 3 3/4 pounds and measuring 16 3/4 inches from head to heel.
See what your baby looks like .
Read about your baby's development at 32 weeks
I'm not sure that "shocked" is the word that best describes my attitude about this but I wanted to shared this story with you: Unbelievable as it may sound... a man put an ad on Craigslist offering a free ticket to Saturday’s Tennessee-Florida game, but there’s a catch.
If you want the ticket, you’ve got to take the guy’s step-daughter with you.
“My step-daughter’s date backed out,” wrote the anonymous step-father. “His loss, your gain.”
The man requires the date to be “an attractive, professional, single, well-educated gentleman” who is not “threatened by an attractive, professional, single, well-educated lady.”
You’re also on the hook for dinner and drinks – and you have to send in a picture of yourself to even be considered.
To see the ad click the link below and scroll to the bottom!
In Japanese the word "ossan" (ãã£ãã) is somewhat of a rude word for middle aged-dudes. How would you like to rent an ossan? Well, in Tokyo, you can.
Enter Ossan Rental, a middle-aged man rental service that makes older gentlemen available for only 1,000 yen (US$10) an hour.
And not just regular old dudes, but 65 year-old former Japanese pro ballplayer Mikio Sendou (who was an All-Star in 1978!) and 46 year-old "fashion producer" Takanobu Nishimoto. Currently, there are only two ossan for rent.
The hair. Just look at the hair! It's magnificent. These aren't video game characters. They're men who would like to drink cocktails… Read…
This is not a sexual service! Or a host club. Japanese website NariNari explains that you are renting an ossan to do things like, for example, going to art galleries, having lunch and talking about your love life, test driving cars with you, renting weepy DVDs, looking at new apartments together, complimenting you, and even giving you ideas.
You can even hire an ossan to run your errands or do your shopping. And in Sendou's case, you can have him sign old baseball cards!
Basically, in my “third act” here on earth, I see myself either here in the USA being a University security guard, a beach comber for a hotel in some southern coastal town, or greeter for Walmart… but in Japan I am a hot commodity that can charge by the hour!
It may look like he's scared, but Cole is actually cheering on the never ending waves that came crashing down on him at the shore this Labor Day weekend. The sandier he got, the happier he was...and the more exhausted I was trying to convince him at the end of the day it was time to head in for a bath!!