The Manhattan Julep or Dr. Bob's Remedy

       Ok, so I promised this last week, but forces conspire against me from time to time. Funny thing, if you forget both that you've cut your hair and sunscreen, you can get sun poisoning. Who knew? Coupled with the sign I saw that I thought said "Lovecraft Zone Only" and I had a bit of a wonky week. So how do you cure that? With one of Dr. Bob's infamous Manhattan Juleps.

Picture from: moosroom.blogspot.com

    Now I'm aware a REAL Julep has mint, but honestly in our CoC game we've never followed all of societal norms. We keep picking up hobos and maple syrup salesmen. So Dr. Bob, a true Southern gentlemen stuck in the heathen wilds of 1920s New York, has adapted and made his own signature drink. It not only gets him Grecian woman, but it's a sure way to drown sorrow and U-boats.

The Original Manhattan Julep
     Collins glass
     2 Parts Good quality Bourbon
     2 Parts Champagne

Directions:
      Chill the glass and toss in a handful of ice.
      Fill half the glass with Bourbon, then fill the other half with Champagne.
      Enjoy.


Now this was a little...umm strong. So a more drinkable version I thought might be needed. This is as close as I can come to what I think he intended.

The Manhattan Julep

     2-3 oz. good quality Bourbon
     1 oz. lime juice
     1 tsp. bar sugar or simple syrup
     Champagne or classic Verdi Spumanti
     Collins glass (or in my case a Mason Jar mug) Chilled of course

 Directions:
       Combine Bourbon, lime juice, and sugar till sugar's dissolved.
       Add a handful of ice to the glass.
       Pour in the Bourbon mixture then fill the rest of the glass with Champagne or Sparkling Wine

But where's the fun in stopping there. No I doubt the man who managed to read a book of magic and nearly rip reality in half--much as he was almost ripped in half--would rest on his laurels like that. He'd want to create something that appealed to the ladies as well. So I present The Cherry Manhattan Julep.

Cherry Manhattan Julep

     1 Parts good quality Bourbon
     2 oz. Cherry-Bourbon juice (see recipe below)
     2 Parts Champagne or classic Verdi Spumanti
     Collins glass (or in my case a Mason Jar mug) Chilled of course
    
Directions:
     Combine the above in a glass and enjoy.

Cherries in Bourbon or What's in the Jar?

  2 heaping cups of fresh cherries
  2 cups of Bourbon (might need a swoosh more)

Directions:
  
  Put cherries in a quart jar, add bourbon until cherries are covered. Close, seal, and store in a cool dry place. Overnight and they'll be great and should keep 2-4 weeks for maximum flavor.

 Notes: You can score each cherry with a knife, just piecing the flesh for a more intense flavor. You can pit them if you like, but it's not needed. (The pits slide right out.)

     I put them in the fridge since I'm crazy about not molding things, but by eliminating the simple syrup some have you put in, it seemed to fix the problem. I used whole cherries and left them soak in the Bourdon overnight and they were amazing. Leaving them a bit longer did really intensive the flavor into something I'm sure the good Doctor would love.

  Next up, GenCon and maybe what to do with all those left over cherries...

Gaming and Food, or The PC vs. Fried Chicken

Gaming and food seem to go hand in hand. I've been known to use the gaming group as test subjects for something I wanted to create. Not that they complain, seriously I had to twist their arms to try the jalapeno poppers wrapped in puffed pastry with bacon. I put the plate down, turned back to shut off the oven, and they were gone. I heard they were delicious.

Artist rendering of events.

 
And I remember several years ago, I think in one of the Wayfinder issues, I'd found several Paizo/Pathfinder related cocktail recipes. They weren't bad, and the world they created is littered with various references to food and drink that are important to people in the setting. So I started to think about creating recipes based not only on the campaigns we run but the characters themselves.
 
And wouldn't you know it, the 1920s Call of Cthulhu game proved a brilliant, if not fiery and destructive, start. To learn more about this ongoing campaign, you'll have to go to the Viscount's blog. It's quite the adventure. Currently many of us are playing 1920s caricatured versions of ourselves. Some out of his twisted mind, while others recreated themselves in the most entertaining ways. Did I mention they're history buffs too? Like everything accurate to 1/1000th scale obscure information about New York in the 20s. I think I slept through that part of history class.


1920s feel without all the pesky prohibition.

So this brings me to today's offering. Both Dr. Bob and Frances Dresden (whom the widow Carson was keen on) were from the South and found their way "up North" after a becoming an esteemed professor and finding some really weird stuff going on in the bayou, respectively. After several harrowing trips to Harlem and getting kicked out of a juice joint, both Southern boys found themselves craving some good old "friiied chick-en."
 
I know the recipe isn't exactly 1920s accurate, but I think they'll forgive me.
 
 

Chicken thighs—kind of fried.

(Adapted from Tyler’s Ultimate Chick Thighs with Wide Buttered Noodles, Fennel, and Grapes)

Serves 4
You Need:

Kosher Salt

 

1 Tablespoon peppercorns

1 tablespoon fennel seeds

8 chicken thighs (skin on)

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

4 shallots cut in half lengthwise or 1 Vidalia onion quartered

Splatter guard

       1.  Preheat oven to 375

       2.  Grind peppercorns and fennel seed in a spice grinder. I leave them a little chunkier but you can pulse them into powder. Sprinkle over all sides of the chicken thighs then sprinkle them with salt.

       3. Put an ovenproof skillet, big enough to hold everything (I love cast iron) over medium heat. Add olive oil and heat till nearly smoldering. Put chicken in pan, skin side down, then add the shallots or onion cut side down.

       4. Cook 5-7 minutes until skin is crisp and onions/shallots are browning. (Throw a splatter guard on the pan unless you like cleaning off the stove.) Turn them over and let it go another 5-7 minutes. Turn one last time (skin and cut side down) and put into the oven for about 30-35 minutes or until chicken is cooked.

Note: I’ll admit once in a while the shallots/onion need to get pulled a little early if the chicken’s being stubborn. Use a meat thermometer until about 170-180 or whatever your thermometer says. Or stick a knife in near the bones in the thighs and if the juice is pink let it go. Ok, the shallots were a suggestions from a friend. I tried it....and no. They're too delicate and burn too fast. Stick with the onion! (I did try it with a red onion and that was pretty tasty too!)

 
But what's a great star without a side kick? Or at least a Dumb Dora? This next one I'd planned to call "What Ever Happened to That Hobo, Salesman, and Librarian" but thought it was too wordy. Instead this recipe reminds me of what eventually happens to everyone's mind in a CoC game. Plus it's a great accompaniment to the chicken.
 


Baked Potatoes and Apple (Left Holding the Bag)
Serves 4

What you need:

8-10 red potatoes cut in half lengthwise

Olive Oil

Salt (Kosher or Sea) and freshly ground black pepper (to taste)

1/2 teaspoon ground sage (more if using fresh)

½ teaspoon paprika

2-3 apples cored and halved/quartered depending on preference. (Pink Lady, Gala, or Fuji hold up best)

Juice of ½ lemon

2 sprigs fresh rosemary or 1/2 teaspoon dried

½ teaspoon freshly ground fennel seeds

Sheet tray big enough to hold potatoes and apples

Parchment or aluminum foil

      1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F and line sheet tray with parchment or foil.

      2. In a large bowl, toss red potatoes generously with some olive oil, salt, sage, and paprika.

      3. Lay potatoes, cut side down, on the foil or parchment lined sheet tray. Place in the oven and roast until they are soft and golden, 30-35 minutes.

      4. Core apples and cut them in half. (Or quarters if you'd like them bite size.) Toss the apples with the lemon juice, a little olive oil, salt, rosemary, and ground fennel. Lay them out on the sheet tray (or another smaller one), cut side down and place in the oven during the last 15 minutes of the cooking time for the potatoes.

Note: Want to make it more fall-ish? Substitute 1/2 pound peeled sweet potatoes for the red and add 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon and 1/2 teaspoon cayenne to the potatoes. Get rid of the fennel and rosemary on the apples. Roast them up the same, then scoop the apples out of their skin and mash them into the sweet potatoes. Leave it a bit chunky, and viola--mashed sidekick.

 

More to follow later in the week. And I'll have pictures of the chicken Thursday. I haven't even touched on the good Doctor's favorite drink. But remember, this is 1920s and prohibition's still out there. If the cops ask, the giggle water didn't come from this dame, see?

 

 

 

“The only certainties in life are death and taxes, and one of those is negotiable.”

Death sucks. There’s no two ways around it. If it were up to me, I just won’t do it. My relationship with death has been interesting. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the idea of dying that terrifies me. I’ve honestly played in cemeteries since I was 6, ghosts and my family go way back. So I get the idea of death, I understand it but that’s not what bothers me.




We played tag, but probably would've built a fort if we didn't think the nuns would get us.

It’s the idea that I stop. Everything that makes me, me ceases in this place. I don’t get to see what comes next. It’s like buying a book only to find out you’re missing the last two chapters. Now I don’t plan on going easy, I will rage against the dying of the light, but I also understand that as long as someone we’ve connected with survives, so does a part of us. There’s comfort in that. But with the passing of yet another person from my childhood, I’m forced once more to stop and examine these ideas.

I’ve heard everything from the atheist camp who reminds me that I’ll only end up fertilizer and possibly fish food to the Catholic ideal of Heaven except I don’t get to see my favorite pets. So what to believe?

I remember being exposed to part of Ode: Intimations of Immortality in high school. Now poetry is subjective, especially to the mind of a teenager, but part if it always stuck with me:

Is something that doth live,	135
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest—	140
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—	//
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,	155
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day

I know the poem jumps, but these are the lines that caught my attention. Now he’s a Romantic poet (that’s Romantic with a capital R, not romantic. There is a difference.) and mixing that with my recent discovery of Transcendentalism in Ms. Rhoback’s class these changed my view of the afterlife.

So here’s my take on it all: fiber optic wands. That’s the way I see life.

That's right, life's better with stars and glitter!

I’ve always been a firm believer in the idea that as we pass through each other’s lives we leave a mark, no matter how small. I think I got the idea from my grandfather. We used to throw rocks into the river sending plumes of “smoke” into the water and ripples across the surface. (Really clumps of dirt and debris exploding from the tufts of grass growing in the river, but he let me imagine whatever I wanted. He was awesome like that.)



Those ripples were brief and that always made me sad when I lost track of them. Poppy—that’s what we called him—used to remind me that was part of life, you get to make new ripples. But that doesn’t mean the old ones were truly gone. Once you’ve seen something it’s there forever in your head.



Ripples are still cool!

Again, remember I was like 6 when he imparted this wisdom to me, so I know I’m paraphrasing, but the idea stuck with me. Instead of ripples, I began to see it as a strand of tangled lights. Each person is their own center of one of these cluster, you are the light in your own world. Meeting other, we ping into their cluster and brighten it. If they move on it doesn’t matter, you can still follow the trail of their light. (Much easier now in this digital age.) But when one of those lights goes out, the whole wand is dimmed. It just doesn’t look as bright.



That’s what happens when someone we know dies. The world is less brilliant. Even if they were an acquaintance, a colleague, a neighbor, there’s one less piece that you’re connected to in this world. This continues until like pulling the strand from a fiber optic wand, only the core is left. And eventually you know that’s going to burn out too.



They stay with us, like lights in the night.

However, you can’t forget about the coolest part of these wands—the trail of light they leave behind. Waving them in the dark you can see threads of color waving back and forth. It’s that trail that important. That’s what’s left behind, as long as we can see the trail, no matter how faint,  it’s still there. The light, the person, isn’t truly gone.

Over the years I’ve lost friends and family in many ways: car accidents that we’re their fault, suicides, cancer, illness, and even old age. Many were lights so far out and little thought of that their blinking out was a minor incident, a flickering in the corner of my eye then gone.

Others were needles of ice cutting into bone. I’ve been lucky that those people were kind enough to send signs that lessened the dimming, though made it no less painful. But, if I’m right, they’re not really gone. They find their way back from time to time. A name that makes me smile. Creating a character whose personality seems familiar. The face of a nephew. Lessons they taught. As long as I remember them, their light still flickers from time to time.

So tonight I raise a cup of coffee to these, my friends who’ve passed to whatever comes next. Though your lights have darkened, the trails and marks you’ve left behind remain. I humbly hope that one day I affect someone as much as all of you. May you wands never burn out.

Starting is scary. Restarting is fending off a pack of hungry dogs with a carrot.

        Alright, I need to write. I’ve been in a stuck in a rut for too long now, probably it’s a lot of the negative energy and feeling’s I’ve been holding on to lately. So, after a month of not writing to see if I still had the skills or the drive…oh, who am I kidding I’ve been making notes in 3 different note books and scanning through the freelance positions. 

Yeah, I like pink. And it's already full of scribbling.

       So now I need to force myself into a schedule. I’d love to say: “Yes, a thousand words a day minimum!” But that’s like saying, “Yes to train to run a 5k, I’ll start by jumping into that 2.5K tomorrow morning.” (Not sure if that’s how running works, but I’m sure it’s close enough.)


Seems legit.

Then smaller steps are needed:

1.      Read something new every day.

        Check! I downloaded Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith. Now I’d love to say that I did that before I knew it was Rowling, but I didn’t. And I probably would’ve missed this book otherwise and that would’ve been a shame.

       Also I have a ton of reading to do for an AP course I have to teach. Granted it’s my fault for assigning the work, but if I need to learn to not hate non-fiction, so do the kids.

 

2.      Look for inspiration wherever it strikes you.

         Check! Honestly most people know my unhealthy love of Skyrim, but I also have Dishonored and it’s DLC. I loved the silent protagonist Corvo and Daud in the DLC, in my version at least, is more the redeemed anti-hero/bad guy. It’s made me think and branch out into more urban and sci-fi stuff.

3.      Have fun.

        Well, yeah. We have trips planned. And games, but no more dynamite.

 

4.      Write something every day.


       Now here’s the tough part. An hour, 500 words, both? I have to let go of the rejections—it’s part of it—let go of the familiar and take more chances. I need to just get the words down, then I can make them better.

 

       And that’s part of where this comes into play. I need to force myself to write more, and better. Blogging is writing, and I’ve been really lazy with the blog. You’re all welcome to come along as I try to get better at this and get my work out there for others to read. I’m submitting, I’m writing, and driving the husband with “honey, could you listen to this?” So my goals: post here at least once a week, submit to at least 2 places a  month, and write until I get the story out. Come one, come all, let’s get this party started.