In the peace of the morning, and before your mind is cluttered with the chum of the day, there is time to contemplate 'things'. Yesterday, Landi and I began discussing Thanksgiving. As some may remember, last year I recorded some tips for frying a turkey.....and for putting out the fire. Landi has made a request this year that I refrain from setting the backyard on fire. I really going to try to comply. As this turned over in my mind this morning, it occured to me that while this did involve a good amount of excitement and fairly large conflagration on the back deck (concrete), it was an inadvertant aberation and it did not involve any of our local emergency services.
Contrast that with Catfish. He has always been a unique boy. At 3, he called and tried to order the Phonics Game because he didn't feel that he was 'reading at his grade level'. Arround this same time he tried to buy homeowners insurance on the Lego Harry Potter Castle he built. He once asked me if I wanted to lose "ten pounds of unsightly fat". A few weeks after the 9/11 attacks, he emerged from the basement to tell me I was needed on the phone. It was the 911 operator who told me that Catfish had reported a 'dead soldier' in our basement. G.I. Joe's head had come off. The South Plainfield SWAT unit is very responsive. A year or so after that he attempted to warm a bagel in the microwave. Five minutes into the process, the bagel burst into flames, the fire alarm went off, and he began running arround the island in the kitchen hollering 'Fi-yr! Fi-yr! Call 911! Call 911' He used to claim that Buckwheat, our black lab, put poop in his diaper. At the spring Parent/Teacher conference in his kindergarten year, we were amazed to discover that Catfish had explained Judiaism to his school mates who were primarily Hindu, Muslim and Christian. I told the teacher that 1) we were Episcopalians, and 2)I've heard him explain things before. He probably created some misconceptions.
So, in this very peaceful morning, I'm wondering what adventure awaits Landi and me. Hopefully it won't involver emergency services or a flaming backyard, but it will probably involve Catfish. He's 14 now, and understands that he reads well, and understands that he doesn't need home-owner's insurance. He can warm a bagel without setting the house on fire. Though we did it at gun-point, he is potty trained, and understands that he is Episcopalian. It's gonna be a great day.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
It's Different Below the Thermocline
There are times when you are really proud of something you kid has done. I was proud when Jenn graduated from Mount Holyoke, and I was proud when she decided to attend law school. She works full time as a paralegal, goes to law school at night, and in her spare time, is a cheese monger at Whole Foods. The thing that makes me super proud is that even with all that, her GPA is floats somewhere between a 3.5 and a 3.75. Pretty impressive, eh?
Jordan, too, has set the bar pretty high. Graduating with Honors in Economics from Tulane, and getting a full ride to UMass for her Masters. She reluctantly left the land of gumbo and helecopter sized mosquitoes and headed to the frozen wasteland of Massachusetts in persuit of another level of education. Today, she has her Masters, and is doing well in Indianapolis. She works for the government, and she really is there to help.
So, now we get to the Fish. He's a freshman in high school, and we haven't seen any grades yet. He plays on the school soccer team and he plays hard, and has a lot of fun. On weekends, he tells me his friends from school video games. His weekend was different.
Last Feburary, he began training to be a PADI Certifed Rescue Scuba Diver. That's a diver who is trained in how to rescue a diver in trouble. That diver may be on the surface, or 100 ft down. That diver may be unconcious, or he may be paniced, or he may just be exhausted. The diver may be lost and in need of being found. What ever the situation, the Rescue diver locates the diver in trouble, and gets that diver out of the water, and under the appropriate level of medical care as quickly as possible.
This past weekend, Catfish completed his final dives for certification. In one of the dives, he was acting as divemaster, and had to direct 6 adult 'inexperienced' divers in a search for a lost diver. He deployed his divers along a line and the 'lost' diver was quickly found, lying motionless on a slope at 65ft. The diver was unresponsive, and Catfish being the only 'trained rescue diver', had to lift this diver from the bottom and do a controlled assent to the surface some 65 ft above.
The female victim was 20-30 lbs heavier than Catfish. He ensured that her regulator stayed in place as he struggled to lift her off the slope. They slid down the slope to the bottom at 75ft. Silt filled the water and reduced visability. He stayed with it. They began to rise, then after coming off the bottom, she slipped from his grasp. He went completely upside down, holding on to her with one hand and ensuring her regulator stayed in with the other while she dragged him back to the bottom. Silt billowed around them. Back on the bottom, in visability approaching zero, he fought his way around behind her, and clutching her tank between his knees, with his arm reaching under her arm, and holding her regulator in her mouth, he again began surfacing the victim. He emerged from the clouds of silt with his victim and made a perfect assent. On the surface, he established boyancy and began rescue breaths.
I knew he could learn the skills to be a Rescue Diver. He's a great swimmer, and a good scuba diver. There was no question in my mind that he could do that. I was concerned when he was asked to act as the divemaster on the exersize because that's a tall order to ask of a 14 year old kid. How many kids do you know who are comfortable giving orders to adults? Well, he wasn't comfortable either, but he got it done. I'm sure he wasn't comfortable directing the search, but he got it done. I'm really sure he wasn't comfortable when we found the victim on the slope, and she slid down to the bottom. Hell, it was 43 degrees there, and he has zero body fat. He wasn't just uncomfortable, he was freezing his ass off, but he hung in there. In zero visability, 43 degree water wrestling with a motionless woman he was not only uncomfortable, he was magnificent. He did the things he had been trained to do, and did them calmly and confidently. He safely overcame every obstical, and did every that was possible to "save" the victim.
He's not just my boy. He's a PADI Certified Rescue Diver.
Jordan, too, has set the bar pretty high. Graduating with Honors in Economics from Tulane, and getting a full ride to UMass for her Masters. She reluctantly left the land of gumbo and helecopter sized mosquitoes and headed to the frozen wasteland of Massachusetts in persuit of another level of education. Today, she has her Masters, and is doing well in Indianapolis. She works for the government, and she really is there to help.
So, now we get to the Fish. He's a freshman in high school, and we haven't seen any grades yet. He plays on the school soccer team and he plays hard, and has a lot of fun. On weekends, he tells me his friends from school video games. His weekend was different.
Last Feburary, he began training to be a PADI Certifed Rescue Scuba Diver. That's a diver who is trained in how to rescue a diver in trouble. That diver may be on the surface, or 100 ft down. That diver may be unconcious, or he may be paniced, or he may just be exhausted. The diver may be lost and in need of being found. What ever the situation, the Rescue diver locates the diver in trouble, and gets that diver out of the water, and under the appropriate level of medical care as quickly as possible.
This past weekend, Catfish completed his final dives for certification. In one of the dives, he was acting as divemaster, and had to direct 6 adult 'inexperienced' divers in a search for a lost diver. He deployed his divers along a line and the 'lost' diver was quickly found, lying motionless on a slope at 65ft. The diver was unresponsive, and Catfish being the only 'trained rescue diver', had to lift this diver from the bottom and do a controlled assent to the surface some 65 ft above.
The female victim was 20-30 lbs heavier than Catfish. He ensured that her regulator stayed in place as he struggled to lift her off the slope. They slid down the slope to the bottom at 75ft. Silt filled the water and reduced visability. He stayed with it. They began to rise, then after coming off the bottom, she slipped from his grasp. He went completely upside down, holding on to her with one hand and ensuring her regulator stayed in with the other while she dragged him back to the bottom. Silt billowed around them. Back on the bottom, in visability approaching zero, he fought his way around behind her, and clutching her tank between his knees, with his arm reaching under her arm, and holding her regulator in her mouth, he again began surfacing the victim. He emerged from the clouds of silt with his victim and made a perfect assent. On the surface, he established boyancy and began rescue breaths.
I knew he could learn the skills to be a Rescue Diver. He's a great swimmer, and a good scuba diver. There was no question in my mind that he could do that. I was concerned when he was asked to act as the divemaster on the exersize because that's a tall order to ask of a 14 year old kid. How many kids do you know who are comfortable giving orders to adults? Well, he wasn't comfortable either, but he got it done. I'm sure he wasn't comfortable directing the search, but he got it done. I'm really sure he wasn't comfortable when we found the victim on the slope, and she slid down to the bottom. Hell, it was 43 degrees there, and he has zero body fat. He wasn't just uncomfortable, he was freezing his ass off, but he hung in there. In zero visability, 43 degree water wrestling with a motionless woman he was not only uncomfortable, he was magnificent. He did the things he had been trained to do, and did them calmly and confidently. He safely overcame every obstical, and did every that was possible to "save" the victim.
He's not just my boy. He's a PADI Certified Rescue Diver.
Monday, September 19, 2011
The March of Time
Apparently, as we age, we acquire the collective phobias of our parents. To date, I have determined that bridges are the work of the devil, and having been constructed by the lowest bidder, are inherently unsafe. I am not just refering to the Huey P. Long bridge in New Orleans, which I must add was clearly engineered by Satan in the depths of a cocaine fueled acid binge, but also the Burlington Bristol Bridge, engineered by the spawn of Satan, between New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Huey's bridge is unique in that some bastard decided that it would be cool to put the actual roadway beside the damn bridge instead of inside the bridge. They have put the damn train track 'inside' the bridge,and the road surface 'outside' the bridge. Notice how much room the stinking train has.
When was the last time a train had a blow out and suddenly veered to the right? Think about that for a minute. A damn train can not turn.
The road surface of the Huey P. Long Bridge that you and I drive our automobiles across is held up by the same sort of magic you see in Las Vegas magic shows. Oh yeah. Like the trick where they have a tiger in a cage, and make him appear outside the cage? Screw that. If you are going to make the tiger appear outside the cage, then make me appear in the cage. Likewise with bridges, put the road surface inside the bridge.
Try driving across a bridge 300 feet above the Mississippi River with no side rails. Welcome to New Orleans.
The Burlington Bristol Bridge is almost as much fun. It is about 200 feet above the Deleware bridge, but unlike Huey's bridge, this piece of art has
no concrete. Although the lanes are actually inside the bridge, the lanes are metal grating. If you look down,you see water. It's a two lane bridge sized for muppets pushing hand carts, built by dwarfs and traversed by frenzied people who drive according to the traffic laws of their native lands. Now the best part.
See the section between the two tall towers? They can make that section go up. Yep...they can move the damn bridge. You're driving along minding your own business and suddenly zooop! Some sick bastard moved the bridge. Who thought that particular feature would be attractive? Next time I cross it, it will be at gun point.
Mom was scared of bridges. Dad was scared of politicians.
When was the last time a train had a blow out and suddenly veered to the right? Think about that for a minute. A damn train can not turn.The road surface of the Huey P. Long Bridge that you and I drive our automobiles across is held up by the same sort of magic you see in Las Vegas magic shows. Oh yeah. Like the trick where they have a tiger in a cage, and make him appear outside the cage? Screw that. If you are going to make the tiger appear outside the cage, then make me appear in the cage. Likewise with bridges, put the road surface inside the bridge.
Try driving across a bridge 300 feet above the Mississippi River with no side rails. Welcome to New Orleans.
The Burlington Bristol Bridge is almost as much fun. It is about 200 feet above the Deleware bridge, but unlike Huey's bridge, this piece of art has
no concrete. Although the lanes are actually inside the bridge, the lanes are metal grating. If you look down,you see water. It's a two lane bridge sized for muppets pushing hand carts, built by dwarfs and traversed by frenzied people who drive according to the traffic laws of their native lands. Now the best part.See the section between the two tall towers? They can make that section go up. Yep...they can move the damn bridge. You're driving along minding your own business and suddenly zooop! Some sick bastard moved the bridge. Who thought that particular feature would be attractive? Next time I cross it, it will be at gun point.
Mom was scared of bridges. Dad was scared of politicians.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
A Barbeque Professional
I was recently reminded of my days as an Information Technology professional. In 16 years as a consultant to the likes of Hewlett Packard, Verizon, Sprint, and Bristol Myers Squibb, you see a lot, learn a lot, and develop some pretty strong ideas about how to get things done. Having acquired this knowledge, if you then abandon the consulting life for the corporate life in hopes of avoiding out of town travel which conflicts with your son's soccer schedule you need to be aware that the fates are going to deal you a screwball.
I was hired some 4 hears ago by a former client whose Unix boxes were a disaster, an absolute disaster. My first week there I received over 100 alarms a night from the unix servers. Using all of my knowledge gained in 16 years of problem solving for 'the big guys', over the first month or so, I constructed a plan to bring the unix environment into a more 'standard' configuration and introduce 'Best Practices'.....and that was a problem.
At this particular company, the use of 'Best Practices' was forbidden. The CEO expressly forbid using recognized 'Best Practices'. He also forbid note taking in technical meetings, claiming that if we couldn't remember what was decided, then the answer wasn't 'clear' enough. The environment was expected to be 'up' 100% of the time, but the infrastructure had no redundancy built into it. We had two tape libraries. One was purchased from HP, and the other was 'found'. The CEO did not believe in maintaining Service Contracts on servers after the initial warranty expired. He didn't like Support Contracts either, which sometimes made problem solving 'interesting'. One of the more interesting features of the corporate culture was that success depended on your ability to determine what Voldomort wanted to hear, and then saying it. Success was not related to your ability to deliver results.
So, I enjoyed a liquid lunch for a couple years. I kept my mouth shut, for the most part, and got the unix environment stable using Best Practices, and for my sins, was 'promoted'. Actually, the stability of the unix environment brought me to Voldomort's attention, which ment that I now had to interact with the loon and his band of lunatics. Actually he wanted me to do for the rest of the environment what I had done for the Unix environment, but without using the techniques and strategies on which my success had been built. Welcome to the land through the looking glass.
You simply can not reason with a lunatic. While trying to bring a new environment under control, I was confronted with blank stares when I explained to the imported morons that at some point, if we want things to get better, we simply had to stop doing things that we know are wrong and start doing things that we know are right. Silence. The morons had an interesting defensive tactic. When they were trying to thawart your plans, they would find the least informed person in the company who was at least one rung up the food chain from you, and get that person to make a 'decision' about the matter. More than once, I found myself in the position of having a non-technical imported moron tell me that I simply did not understand the 'technicalaties of the matter'. What is this world comming to when we have to import morons? Aren't home grown American morons good enough any more?
On another occasion, I got a lecture about priorities from Voldomort himself after I told him that until his commitment to quality exceeded his commitment to a release date, the software development guys would keep releasing non-functional software into production. I knew what he wanted to hear, but I wouldn't say it. I was an Information Technology professional, not a syncophant.
Liquid lunches got longer.
Finally, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, when Voldomort's pet monkey threatened to fire me because I would not require my entire team to be on "standby" over the Thanksgiving Weekend just in case Voldomort decided to move servers, I got mad. It was in the morning, before lunch. "That is a chicken shit threat.", I told him," Either man up and fire me, or shut the hell up." The meeting was pretty much over, and I went to lunch.
What did I care? My servers had gone two years without an unplanned outage, and I already knew my days were numbered, and it was time for lunch.
So, now I am retired from Information Technology, and, tragically, my alcohol consumption has taken a dive. I barbeque a couple of weekends a month at KC's Korner, a bar in South Plainfield, and I scuba dive. When in competition, or barbequing for one of our parties, I have been known to inbibe a bit...ok..a lot. Now, things are different.
It's important to get some things right. When you are introducing folks to the joys of real Memphis Dry Rubbed Ribs, you have to be 100% on top of your game. No liquor, because I am a Barbeque Professional.
I was hired some 4 hears ago by a former client whose Unix boxes were a disaster, an absolute disaster. My first week there I received over 100 alarms a night from the unix servers. Using all of my knowledge gained in 16 years of problem solving for 'the big guys', over the first month or so, I constructed a plan to bring the unix environment into a more 'standard' configuration and introduce 'Best Practices'.....and that was a problem.
At this particular company, the use of 'Best Practices' was forbidden. The CEO expressly forbid using recognized 'Best Practices'. He also forbid note taking in technical meetings, claiming that if we couldn't remember what was decided, then the answer wasn't 'clear' enough. The environment was expected to be 'up' 100% of the time, but the infrastructure had no redundancy built into it. We had two tape libraries. One was purchased from HP, and the other was 'found'. The CEO did not believe in maintaining Service Contracts on servers after the initial warranty expired. He didn't like Support Contracts either, which sometimes made problem solving 'interesting'. One of the more interesting features of the corporate culture was that success depended on your ability to determine what Voldomort wanted to hear, and then saying it. Success was not related to your ability to deliver results.
So, I enjoyed a liquid lunch for a couple years. I kept my mouth shut, for the most part, and got the unix environment stable using Best Practices, and for my sins, was 'promoted'. Actually, the stability of the unix environment brought me to Voldomort's attention, which ment that I now had to interact with the loon and his band of lunatics. Actually he wanted me to do for the rest of the environment what I had done for the Unix environment, but without using the techniques and strategies on which my success had been built. Welcome to the land through the looking glass.
You simply can not reason with a lunatic. While trying to bring a new environment under control, I was confronted with blank stares when I explained to the imported morons that at some point, if we want things to get better, we simply had to stop doing things that we know are wrong and start doing things that we know are right. Silence. The morons had an interesting defensive tactic. When they were trying to thawart your plans, they would find the least informed person in the company who was at least one rung up the food chain from you, and get that person to make a 'decision' about the matter. More than once, I found myself in the position of having a non-technical imported moron tell me that I simply did not understand the 'technicalaties of the matter'. What is this world comming to when we have to import morons? Aren't home grown American morons good enough any more?
On another occasion, I got a lecture about priorities from Voldomort himself after I told him that until his commitment to quality exceeded his commitment to a release date, the software development guys would keep releasing non-functional software into production. I knew what he wanted to hear, but I wouldn't say it. I was an Information Technology professional, not a syncophant.
Liquid lunches got longer.
Finally, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, when Voldomort's pet monkey threatened to fire me because I would not require my entire team to be on "standby" over the Thanksgiving Weekend just in case Voldomort decided to move servers, I got mad. It was in the morning, before lunch. "That is a chicken shit threat.", I told him," Either man up and fire me, or shut the hell up." The meeting was pretty much over, and I went to lunch.
What did I care? My servers had gone two years without an unplanned outage, and I already knew my days were numbered, and it was time for lunch.
So, now I am retired from Information Technology, and, tragically, my alcohol consumption has taken a dive. I barbeque a couple of weekends a month at KC's Korner, a bar in South Plainfield, and I scuba dive. When in competition, or barbequing for one of our parties, I have been known to inbibe a bit...ok..a lot. Now, things are different.
It's important to get some things right. When you are introducing folks to the joys of real Memphis Dry Rubbed Ribs, you have to be 100% on top of your game. No liquor, because I am a Barbeque Professional.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Hurricane Ready
At last reports, the eastern seaboard is being threatend by a hurricane. The Weather Channel is breathlessly hyping the storm. Their ratings in NYC are going to be great. The major networks, thankful for something other than the economy to talk about, are exersizing extreme gravitas when speculating about the possible impacts of the storm on New York City. Grim faced broadcast professionals are advising us to 'get hurricane ready'.
This is gonna be tough, as I have barbeque responsibilites I have to meet, but I'll give it my best shot.
It looks like it will be a two day event, so I'm thinking a 1/2 gallon of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum, and a 1/2 gallon of Malibu Caribbean Rum wiht Coconut Liqueur. I have a gallon of Nature's Select orange juice with Calcium and 3 cans of frozen orange juice. I have a 1/2 gallon of cranberry juice.
On the bloodmary front, I have 3 containers of Tabasco bloodymary mix, a fresh bottle of Tabasco, a fresh bottle of Worchestershire Sauce, 3 limes and a half gallon of vodka.
We have 2 boxes of wine, and a gallon of bourbon.
I have 6 lbs of frozen shrimp, and a new can of Old Bay Seasoning. There are 4 ribeyes and 4 filets in the freezer. I have some ribs I brought home from my bbq gig at the bar. I'm going to buy a couple of bags of ice, just in case we over run the ice maker.
I am as ready as it is possible to be....well...maybe I should get some batteries for the flash light, if I get a chance.
As I survey my preparations, I am reminded of a cheer I last heard at my sister's 1973 High School Graduation in the wreckage of Jonesboro High following the tornado that year....
Open the roof and let it rain, Give'em Hell, Hurricane!
This is gonna be tough, as I have barbeque responsibilites I have to meet, but I'll give it my best shot.
It looks like it will be a two day event, so I'm thinking a 1/2 gallon of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum, and a 1/2 gallon of Malibu Caribbean Rum wiht Coconut Liqueur. I have a gallon of Nature's Select orange juice with Calcium and 3 cans of frozen orange juice. I have a 1/2 gallon of cranberry juice.
On the bloodmary front, I have 3 containers of Tabasco bloodymary mix, a fresh bottle of Tabasco, a fresh bottle of Worchestershire Sauce, 3 limes and a half gallon of vodka.
We have 2 boxes of wine, and a gallon of bourbon.
I have 6 lbs of frozen shrimp, and a new can of Old Bay Seasoning. There are 4 ribeyes and 4 filets in the freezer. I have some ribs I brought home from my bbq gig at the bar. I'm going to buy a couple of bags of ice, just in case we over run the ice maker.
I am as ready as it is possible to be....well...maybe I should get some batteries for the flash light, if I get a chance.
As I survey my preparations, I am reminded of a cheer I last heard at my sister's 1973 High School Graduation in the wreckage of Jonesboro High following the tornado that year....
Open the roof and let it rain, Give'em Hell, Hurricane!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Plaid Clad Strangers Invade Jersey Town
All manner of wilted, worn out, sold out hippies and roving yuppies have arrived in our fair town. Freely roaming the streets in BMWs, a number of them sporting plaid shorts and polo shirts descended on KC's Korner last night.
Each approached me and the smoker with great caution. It was as if they were approaching an alien spacecraft. Warily they eyed me, which was odd because I wore shorts yesterday, not a kilt. I have become aware that kilts sometimes freak people out. Women are particularly intreigued by a kilt, and they pose quite a threat to the unguarded. Eventually, our plaid clad friends ordered ribs, or chicken, and cautiously retreated to the Patio Bar area.
Ten minutes later, after they had devoured the chicken and ribs, I discovered these guys weren't worn out hippies and yuppies, these guys were my new best friends! We began chatting about all manner of things and having just a hell of a time. One guy was from Philly, was a auditor with a giant consulting firm, and he'd never had dry rubbed ribs before. A lady, who's father was some sort of judge, ordered 1/2 a chicken, and devoured the entire thing. She wanted to know if I would be there again today. Several bought ribs to take home with them.
So today, we're told to expect 50,000 people in our little town. It's going to get 'interesting' today. Our friends from yesterday said they'll be back, and that they'll bring there friends. I can just see the teaser on the news...."Plaid Clad Strangers Take Over Jersey Bar...Film at 11:00
Each approached me and the smoker with great caution. It was as if they were approaching an alien spacecraft. Warily they eyed me, which was odd because I wore shorts yesterday, not a kilt. I have become aware that kilts sometimes freak people out. Women are particularly intreigued by a kilt, and they pose quite a threat to the unguarded. Eventually, our plaid clad friends ordered ribs, or chicken, and cautiously retreated to the Patio Bar area.
Ten minutes later, after they had devoured the chicken and ribs, I discovered these guys weren't worn out hippies and yuppies, these guys were my new best friends! We began chatting about all manner of things and having just a hell of a time. One guy was from Philly, was a auditor with a giant consulting firm, and he'd never had dry rubbed ribs before. A lady, who's father was some sort of judge, ordered 1/2 a chicken, and devoured the entire thing. She wanted to know if I would be there again today. Several bought ribs to take home with them.
So today, we're told to expect 50,000 people in our little town. It's going to get 'interesting' today. Our friends from yesterday said they'll be back, and that they'll bring there friends. I can just see the teaser on the news...."Plaid Clad Strangers Take Over Jersey Bar...Film at 11:00
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Ribs and Yard Birds
The sun finally clawed it's way over the horizon just an hour ago, and my bloodymary sits sweating and waiting. From my kitchen window, I see a great expanse of green grass, and uncounted huge corporate 'hospitality' tents. The Woodstock generation is all grown up, has adopted golf as it's new religion, and will be descending on us tomorrow for the Barclay's Golf Tournement. Fifty thousand strong they will come in Saabs, 
Mercedes, and Volvos. They are going to clog our streets, and annoy the hell out of everyone....except me.
One of the great things about having a smoker is that occasionally a friend who owns a bar will ask you to come over, hang out and cook ribs....all week long. This just amazes me. I get to hang out at a bar all week long and cook ribs. He's hopeful that some of our locals will find their way to KC's Korner for a cold one and some ribs. I'm thinking this is a hell of a good idea.
KC's is a great little bar. Twenty years ago, it was a biker bar. It's no longer a biker bar, and today, it has the best food in town. It's clientele is an ecletic mix of locals, and imports (me). It's like 'Cheers', but without Kirsty Alley. I'm setting the smoker up by the new 'patio', and will be doing ribs everyday. I'm going to do them as if we were in a competition, which means I'll be mostly sober for most of the week.
So, beginning this afternoon and going for 7 days, there are king hell, championship quality, Memphis style, dry rubbed baby back ribs at KC's.
Mercedes, and Volvos. They are going to clog our streets, and annoy the hell out of everyone....except me.
One of the great things about having a smoker is that occasionally a friend who owns a bar will ask you to come over, hang out and cook ribs....all week long. This just amazes me. I get to hang out at a bar all week long and cook ribs. He's hopeful that some of our locals will find their way to KC's Korner for a cold one and some ribs. I'm thinking this is a hell of a good idea.
KC's is a great little bar. Twenty years ago, it was a biker bar. It's no longer a biker bar, and today, it has the best food in town. It's clientele is an ecletic mix of locals, and imports (me). It's like 'Cheers', but without Kirsty Alley. I'm setting the smoker up by the new 'patio', and will be doing ribs everyday. I'm going to do them as if we were in a competition, which means I'll be mostly sober for most of the week.
So, beginning this afternoon and going for 7 days, there are king hell, championship quality, Memphis style, dry rubbed baby back ribs at KC's.
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