Veinte y ocho

Today was my 28th birthday. For those of you who are too young to understand, or just too old to remember your youth, this means I am now in my late twenties. Being in one's late twenties is very serious business indeed... no longer in my carefree early twenties, or my identity-crises mid-twenties, I have finally figured out who I am and where my life is headed. So, I have set forth the following goals, which I intend to reach before I turn 30:

1. Do something.
2. If something doesn't work out, do something else.
3. If something else fails, do anything.
4. If anything sounds too desperate to your family and friends down the pub, don't mention that you'll soon seek an anything at all. They might not handle the truth well.
6. If anything at all is an utter letdown, then there's only one alternative: NOTHING.
7. Dedicate yourself to nothing, then. Get really good at nothing. Become flexible and limber while practicing nothing. Get more smarter and more faster at nothing. Be the best at NOTHING!

YAY!! Graduate from the school of hard knocks with flying 'effin colours.

Po' Bastard's Following Sandwich

What are you putting on your sandwiches these days? Sandwiches are a most versatile cuisine... perhaps even moreso than beef or turkey mince. Po' Bastard has 101 ways with mince, but that's a topic for another day.

Lately, I've been making the following sandwich. And no, it isn't gross. The only sandwich no-no is this: old tires don't taste good slapped between bread.

The Following Sandwich

Ingredients:
-2 slices Tesco Value brown bread, toasted
-one small, cooked beet-- thinly sliced
-one small tomato, thinly sliced
-one fried egg
-Tesco Value sandwich pickle, or whatever brand you like
-knifepoint of mayo
-squiggle of mustard

Method:
Don't be daft. You don't need directions for assembling this, and if you do, your prom date was likely a Special Person who gave you a wrist corsage of radishes.

I will say this: The only rules in making the Following Sandwich are the following: 1) salt the tomato slices generously; 2) the squiggle of mustard goes on top of the mayo-- which is spread thinly, to reach the edges of the bread; and 3) make sure to toast the bread.

Notes:
This sammich tastes best when drinking milk and watching an Australian soap opera.

Biodegradable-- who cares?

Andrew recently purchased some environmentally safe nappy sacks to dispose of Evan's shizz. It's great that they come in recycled packaging and all that-- but, seriously-- who cares if the bags themselves are biodegradable when the Huggies in them are not? What kind of half-assed hippie invented this? I mean, if you truly CARE about the environment, wouldn't it be better to dig a hole in your yard, go crap in it, let the manure mature, and then use it as compost fertilizer for your organic beets?

Put that in your bong and smoke it, you gutless tree huggers! You'll pay e5.65 for a pint of Ben and Jerry's that isn't packed in a recyclable carton, but you won't admit it.

True freedom comes from wrestling with one's contradictions and then admitting that deep down, we're all a bunch of lying pikers playing at being nice neighbors, good citizens, and grown-ups.

I'm now going outside for a walk in the park. I'll be carrying a large book of matches, an axe, and a gigantic log-lifting crane.

My Friendly Neighborhood Estonian Cleaner

DCU's buildings and grounds are maintained by a very capable and excellent staff. In the past, I've bitched about how long it took to get a lightbulb changed, to get the kitchen sink unplugged, etc., but in the end, everything got taken care of. Sometimes it took a week or two, but the job always got done. One can't ignore the fact that this place is exceedlingly clean: from the spot-free floor and mirrored walls in my elevator to the rubbish bins (which never overflow) lining the greens, and if small repairs have to wait to maintain that sparkling standard campus-wide, that's OK with me.

Most of the dirty work is done by Eastern Europeans, who've come to Ireland in search of a better future. One of the DCU cleaners, an Estonian woman whose name I don't know (but Wwe speak often), is just one of these examples. She's in her 50's, and has left her two sons, three grandchildren, and elderly mother behind in Estonia. In her home country, she had no job and no income; so, she came to Ireland, learned English, and found a job. With what she makes at DCU, she is able to pay for her mother to live in a care-center where she receives regular massages. She also sends boxes of gifts home to her children and grandchildren. This is a good story.

Yesterday on the evening news, a report said that bus loads of Polish people arrive in the Dublin city centre every day, desperately hoping for an opportunity similar to the the one described above. These are often people well-qualified to do more professional things, who speak clear English and are able to communicate with others. Some of them are living five or six to a tiny flat, sleeping on blankets spread on the floor, eating nothing but 59cent Tesco Value white bread for days. And what do they hope for? To be lucky enough to get a job as a cleaner-- to be able to send money home to their loved ones, or to develop a decent standard of living in Ireland, and then send for their family.

I think this mirrors immigration in America. People who yarp on and on about "foreigners" coming in to "steal jobs" are uninformed eejits. 'Cause you really wanted that job cutting lawns for $2.65/hr. under the table, right, Honky? You really wanted that job on the midnight shift, cleaning offices for The Man, ain't it so, Cletus? I'm not condoning illegal immigration here, folks, I'm just saying we ought to work harder to understand these people are human beings seeking the same things we natives seek: stable and decent lives in clean and safe areas.

There is a movie out now, MARIA FULL OF GRACE, which I have yet to see-- but I've read quite a few reviews of it, and it seems to address many of these issues. Would definitely be interesting viewing. First person to write an essay comparing and contrasting authorial points in this post with those in the film wins a desk-top statue of Molly Malone, made in Ireland. By Nigerian immigrants.

OCD-- OK!!

Anyone out there know if there's any way to tell whether or not a toddler is developing the beginnings of OCD? I only ask because, well, it seems my Cool Little Dude has developed/is developing a strange NEED to touch leaves and trees as we walk through the park.

He'll be sitting in his buggy, looking around like a normal baby, and then all of a sudden will lean dramatically to one side stretching his arm toward a dirty piece of nature... which means that if I want to avoid feelings of Mean-Momness, I steer us toward the bush, tree, or whatever he seems interested in. Then Evan will happily tap or stroke the tree trunk, give a leaf a tug or two, and then point to another moss-covered, termite-ridden block of wood and the same thing starts again.

Walks through the park are beginning to take longer, as is going to do the laundry. One of the corridors we walk through has red walls, which Evan must stop to inspect and pat. Lately he also has to hold the railing on the ramp outside our building. It took about ten minutes to walk down it today because we had to stop every three feet so he could grasp the metal and say, "Mmm-hmm, hmmm."

I sure would like to know what he's thinking. Maybe toddlers have a body-based ESP, whereby different textures speak baby-ese into their palms, leading them and their confused parents onward through rugged and uncharted territory: the kitchen drawers, or horror-of-horrors-- the local football pitch.

Damn shame about Tesco

I'm so sick of Ireland right now. There's a special brand of incompetence that only happens in Ireland. People can't give directions (well, neither can I), they can't properly estimate time or distance, and they have too many long weekends.

Tesco just called to say they're running two hours behind on deliveries today. Why, you ask? Well, it's because yesterday was a "Bank Holiday," meaning lots of people have called in "sick" to work. An American would just go to work hungover. Fine, go ahead and sleep it off, you Irish BABIES!

I want my car that I can drive to the store and load up with groceries myself! I want a fucking big-assed SUV size refrigerator with a freezer large enough to stack enough pizzas to feed Somalia. Most of all, I'm sick of paying for laundry and washing dishes. For the love of God, ENOUGH!

Po' Bastard's Pizza Fiorentina (nods to Milano)

My most favorite chain restaurant is called Milano. In case you can't already tell, it's Italian. They mostly serve pizzas, which are very different from American pizza-- each person gets their own, large plate-sized one, with thin crust and a charming (and inventive) array of toppings. Friends and family who've travelled to Italy tell me this is closer to proper Italian pizza, and I have to believe them.

So, the recipe that follows is based on a pizza I like from Milano. The crust and sauce are adapted from Delia Smith, and the rest is from what I remember about eating this pizza at the restaurant the last time I was there. It doesn't take as long as you might think to make this. There are steps, yes, but those can be done in three distinct phases and at the end, you made a pizza and it's ALL YOURS.

Sauce:
-1 can chopped tomatoes
-2 tbsp. water or wine swirled around in the empty can of tomatoes
-1 clove garlic, diced
-olive oil
-salt and pepper
-1 tsp. oregano
-sprinkle of sugar, or dash of balsamic vinegar
-any other Italian spices you want to add

Heat a swirl of olive oil in the pan. When it is fragrant, add the finely chopped clove of garlic. Let the garlic cook until it is pale golden in color, but don't let it burn. Add the can of tomatoes, rinse the can with the two tbsp. water or wine, and dump that in too. Put in other spices, salt and pepper, etc. Bring to a boil, then turn the heat to low. Let simmer, uncovered, for about 40 minutes until most of the liquid has evaporated and you have a lovely tomato sludge.

Crust:
-2/3 cup flour
-1 tsp. fast-acting yeast
-1/2 tsp. sugar
-1 tsp. salt
-1 tbsp. olive oil
-scant 1/2 c. warm water

Put the first four ingredients into a bowl. Give them a stir. Form a well in the center, then add the oil and the water. Stir together until it forms a dough. It will probably be quite sticky and you will have to add a bit more flour. Knead until it doesn't stick to your clean finger, then turn the bowl over and let it rest and rise for about 45 minutes.

Topping:
-Handful of chopped frozen spinach (thawed, obviously)
-parmesan
-half a ball of fresh mozzarella, thinly sliced
-one egg (yes, I'm serious)

Assembling your pizza:
Pre-heat your oven to 450 degrees. After the dough has risen, sprinkle a pizza tray with a bit of cornmeal, which will prevent the dough from sticking. Stretch the dough out to the size of a dinner-plate, and pinch the edges with your fingers to form a raised edge. Dump the sauce on it, and spread to the edges of the crust. Then, arrange the toppings, leaving a bald spot in the middle where you will crack the egg. Crack one egg in the center of the pizza. I sprinkled the yolk with some salt and more parm. Put the pizza in the oven and let it cook for about 10-12 minutes, until the crust is golden and the egg is miraculously cooked-- the yolk might be a bit soft, but it will be harder than that of a fried egg.

Eat happily, impressed with your dexterous skill. Have some wine or beer with it, too.

Now, because this has taken so long to type out, the first person to make it must indeed be Munka B., who recently chided me by saying, "When will Po' Bastard post another recipe I will like? Hinty-hint-hint..." As if she hasn't liked the previous ones. But, our friendship is a complex system of checks and balances-- I cook, she knits; I bake, she knows lots about color and texture. It might be fun to make a yarn pizza...