The most important meal of the day

Prior to the 1920’s breakfast in America was not considered “the most important meal of the day”.  Coffee and toast were the norm and the noonday meal . . . dinner . . . provided the heartiest fare. 

The word ‘dinner’ actually means breakfast as it comes from the Latin word ‘disjejunare’, which literally means ‘break the fast’.

It was until a man named Edward Bernays, “the father” of public relations, who was hired as the publicist for Beechnut Packing Company launched a campaign to popularize a new and untested product . . . bacon. 

Bernays was a double nephew of psychoanalysis pioneer Sigmund Freud. His father was Ely Bernays, brother of Freud's wife Martha Bernays. His mother was Freud's sister, Anna.

Bernays believed that society possessed a herd mentality.  He believed that it was necessary to manipulate the masses, which he considered irrational and dangerous as a result of the 'herd instinct'.

One of Bernays' favorite techniques for influencing popular opinion was the indirect use of "third party authorities".   This was how he changed what Americans ate for breakfast.

The conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organized habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in democratic society. 

In one of the most infamous PR campaigns in history, Bernays sent out a survey to 5,000 doctors asking them if a substantial or a light breakfast was better.  They replied unanimously that a hearty breakfast was better because the larger intake could provide the most energy in the morning to keep you active all day. Bernays advertised these results in the newspapers, displaying that 5,000 doctors declare eating a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs was superior to that of a light breakfast of juice, toast, and coffee.  Bernays' plan to redirect popular opinion and the sale of bacon went up; making bacon the number one breakfast meat ever!

This provided him with proof-positive that the public can itself be molded by people they don’t even know exist.  And, enforced his belief that psychology could be used to help free the sheeple from habit and the bondage of conformity.

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Baked French Toast Casserole with Maple Syrup

• 1 Loaf French Bread (13 To 16 Ounces)
• 8 Large Eggs
• 2 Cups Half-And-Half
• 1 Cup Milk
• 2 Tablespoons Granulated Sugar
• 1 Teaspoon Vanilla Extract
• 1/4 Teaspoon Ground Cinnamon
• 1/4 Teaspoon Ground Nutmeg
• Dash Salt
• Praline Topping, Recipe Follows
• Maple Syrup

Praline Topping:

• 1/2 Pound (2 Sticks) Butter
• 1 Cup Packed Light Brown Sugar
• 1 Cup Chopped Pecans
• 2 Tablespoons Light Corn Syrup
• 1/2 Teaspoon Ground Cinnamon
• 1/2 Teaspoon Ground Nutmeg

Slice French bread into 20 slices, 1-inch each. (Use any extra bread for garlic toast or bread crumbs).

Arrange slices in a generously buttered 9 by 13-inch flat baking dish in 2 rows, overlapping the slices.

In a large bowl, combine the eggs, half-and-half, milk, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt and beat with a rotary beater or whisk until blended but not too bubbly. Pour mixture over the bread slices, making sure all are covered evenly with the milk-egg mixture. Spoon some of the mixture in between the slices. 

Cover with foil and refrigerate overnight.

The next day, preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Spread Praline Topping evenly over the bread.

Bake for 40 minutes, until puffed and lightly golden. 

Serve with maple syrup.  I think it's sweet enough without the maple syrup so I serve it with bacon!

Jimmy, Warren, China or Hometown . . .

I know a lot of people love them, but I’m not a fan of buffets.  As a rule of thumb, I won’t go to one unless I have no option.  There are exceptions, of course but the thought of eating at a buffet makes my stomach roll.  And eating at buffets may actually cause stomach rolls!

I’ve had some unpleasant experiences at buffets.  One notable occasion was at one the upscale buffets at Mohegan Sun, a Connecticut casino.  My hunny had won enough cha-ching at the slots so that we could go to one of their buffets . . . the kind with fresh sliced prime rib, Alaska king crab, filet mignon and other luscious high-end noms.  The buffet at Mohegan Sun is enormous with just about anything you could want to eat from soup to nuts.  It’s pretty much guaranteed that no one is going to leave there hungry; there is enough food there to feed an army or two. 

So, I am browsing the buffet tables trying to decide where to start.  Out of no where a ginormous woman . . . and I do not use the word ginormous lightly . . . plows into me from behind, hauling her ginormous ass with an already over-filled plate of food to the buffet I was perusing.  She literally shoved me out of the way.  Like there wouldn’t be enough for her if I had a crab leg or a peanut or something.   Seriously  . . . rude!

With that in mind . . . I am, by no means, an expert but let me attempt to educumacate you on the do’s and do not’s of buffet etiquette.   Get your learnin' cap on and pay attention.  Especially you, ginormous lady from Mohegan Sun.

I'm certain that even in the dog-eat-dog world of a buffet situation that shoving people out of the way in some misguided attempt to get the end cut of the prime rib is considered rude.   There’s plenty more where that came from, so relax.

You will notice that buffets are equipped with a sneeze guard; that’s that border of glass acting as a barrier between your face and the noms.  It’s there for a reason; however, don't feel the need to test it. Generally speaking, they are effective devices for keeping your expelled airborne cooties away from the food.  That is, unless a person is vertically challenged. That poses a problem.  As a rule of thumb, if you have to cough or sneeze, step away and turn your head.  I promise you won’t lose your place in line.

It should not escape your attention that each and every food receptacle on a buffet comes with its very own serving utensil. That’s fully intentional and by design.  Don't use the same serving utensil for every dish.   And, for the love of God, use them and not your fingers.  Trust me when I tell you that nobody wants to consume anything you've had your grimy fingers on . . . who’s to say where those hands have been.

If you pick something out and decide you don't want it, don't put it back.  And, sampling is a no-no.  If you’re not sure if you like something, take a little bit and try it.  If you like it I guarantee there will be more when you go back up for seconds.

For Pete’s sake, don’t stare at the fat people.  You know what I’m talking about.  Remember that obscenely obese woman who knocked me to the floor to get to that prime rib.  Chances are she will be seen her heading back up to get seconds and thirds and fourths.  Even though its conceivable that you may actually see her butt getting bigger with each plateful.  Don't stare!

And take out?  Buffets don't offer it.  Don’t take more than you can eat. Generally speaking the rule of thumb at a buffet is that you don't get a doggie bag.  Don’t ask . . . don’t even think about it. 

Here endeth the lesson . . .

Cher’s Easiest, Yummiest Beef Stew

2 Lbs Beef Stew Meat

6 Each Small Yukon Gold & Small Red Potatoes, Halved

4 Medium Carrots, Cut Into 1-Inch Pieces

4 Ribs Celery, Cut Into 1-Inch Pieces

12 Radishes, Halved

4 Cloves Garlic, Minced

1 Package Brown Gravy Mix, Dry

1 Package Beef Stew Mix, Dry

1 Package Dried Italian Salad Dressing Mix

1 Package Ranch Dressing Mix, Dry

2 Cups Water

Place the meat and vegetables in the crock pot. 

Mix the dried mixes together in a bowl and sprinkle over the top.

Pour the water over everything.

Cook on low for 7-9 hours. Thicken sauce if necessary with cornstarch or flour.

Too many parents are not on spanking terms with their children

In days of yore when corporal punishment was a suitable means of disciplining your child . . . you know, when a kid couldn’t pick up the phone, call the cops and then have them show up on your doorstep to arrest you for child abuse; like waaaaaay back when I was a wee snip of a girl.

When I was growing up, my 4’13” mommy demanded and commanded respect.  How did this petite woman, who weighed all of 100 pounds soaking wet, manage to wield such authority?   By beating the crap out us willfully insolent brats. . . duh.  

Hanging from a hook on the wall was a paddle.  No, a wooden spoon wasn’t good enough for my mom.  She required a tool specifically designated for encouraging acceptable behavior and, dammit, she could use that thing like a pro!  Ouch!

Sometimes, when it was paddlin’ time . . . which is more often than I care to admit . . .  my mom would make me go to my room to ponder my indiscretions before carrying out the sentence.  Those were the times when I was lucky enough to prepare for butt-whacking session that was soon to follow.  Those were the times when I would have the time to fortify my dupey with several layers of underpants to cushion the forthcoming blows. 

Now, you may not think that . . . uhm . . . accidentally breaking your mom’s manicure kit would warrant a paddling.  And, you would probably be right so long as the perpetrator was smart enough to fess up to it.  But say, you were a wily kid that knew you wouldn’t get caught.  For example, by flushing the evidence down the toilet.  No proof, no harm, no foul.  Assuming that said manicure kit didn’t cause a massive clog in the plumbing  . . . on *gulp* Thanksgiving Day . . . causing the contents of the septic system to back up into the basement. Supposing that such a thing didn’t occur . . . all would be well and good.

But, let’s just say, for the sake of argument that this calamity actually occurred.  My mother uttered . . . with the barest amount of control . . . through clenched teeth to “go fetch the paddle . . . right now!”.  That’s when I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was buried up to my chinny-chin-chin in a steaming pile of doggie doo-doo.  It was on occasions such as that that there was no time to prep the tushy . . . those were the times when the beatings would commence immediately.  Definitely NOT good times!

You’d think I would be smart enough not to incite even more rage by antagonizing her further; by simply standing still and taking what I had coming to me.  Yeah, well, sometimes I wasn’t the sharpest tweezers in the manicure kit. 

If I was feeling particularly spunky, I would bounce around in an attempt to avoid the inevitable blows.  Of course, this only served to further piss off mother-dear which resulted in harder and faster wallops.  Then, in an attempt to deflect the hits, I would try to cover my rump with my hands.  I can tell you from intimate experience that a wooden paddle smacking against the flesh of bare hands hurts like a bitch!

I recall one particular incident when my crime had been exceptional heinous and the beating was extraordinarily enthusiastic that the paddle actually split in half.  That didn’t help my situation in the slightest.  My mother was further infuriated.  I got whumped with both halves of the paddle.  Nice, huh?

Ah, that reminds me of another fervent thrashing.  That, it just so happens, was also the last whoopin’ I ever got.   Mommy-dearest . . . OMG, she absolutely hated it when I called her that . . . was issuing the punishment as was deemed appropriate for whatever transgression I had committed . . . it wasn’t the Manicure Kit Incident, by the way.    Anyhoo, I was feeling especially feisty and was trying to avoid the spanks by running around the room while she chased after me with the paddle, getting in a good whack whenever she could.  She eventually managed to grab hold of my arm and, instead racing of willy-nilly around the room, I was running round and round with my mom at the axis.  Holy shmokers, that REALLY and TRULY pissed her off but good!  She started spanking me with all the force she could muster . . . which was considerable considering her size. 

Anyhoo . . . for some unknown reason, in the midst of all the running and walloping,  I got a raging case of the giggles.  I couldn’t control myself and just laughed and laughed.  If I thought she was livid before, then I was seriously mistaken.  That woman could paddle like nobody’s business!  The giggling and the beating continued and even escalated.  After an eternity, she finally got tuckered out.  My belly hurt from laughing, my butt hurt from the whoopin’ and I was out of breath from running.  My mom?  She just mumbled something about going to my room and never coming out again.  I was more than happy to! 

After that, either I was a more well-mannered child or she just decided that corporal punishment was not longer an effective means of punishment.   I suspect it was the latter.

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German Red Cabbage

 

• 1 Medium Head Red Cabbage, Cored And Sliced
• 2 Large Tart Apples, Peeled And Sliced
• 1 Medium Sweet Onion, Sliced
• 1 1/2 Cups Water
• 1 Cup Cider Vinegar
• 1/2 Cup Sugar
• 1 Tablespoon Butter
• 1 Teaspoon Salt
• 1 Teaspoon Pepper
• 1/2  Teaspoon Allspice
• 1/2  Teaspoon Ground Cloves
• 2 Teaspoons Cornstarch
• 2 Teaspoons Cold Water

In a Dutch oven, toss cabbage, apples and onion. Add water, vinegar, sugar, butter and salt, pepper, allspice, cloves. 

Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 1-1/4 hours.  In a small bowl, combine cornstarch and cold water until smooth; stir in cabbage mixture. Bring to a boil; cook and stir for 1-2 minutes or until thickened.

A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.

When I’m not at home pretending to be a domestic-goddess I’m at work being a techno-nerd.  All day I am surrounded by computers and it’s my job to make sure they work.

Eventually computers poop the bed and need to be replaced.  A big concern for my company is security of the data encoded on the hard drives. 

My solution is to wipe them out with a software program specially designed for such a task.  And then I dismantle them.  Most of the components go to a business that specializes in recycling electronics.  I keep the magnets because they’re super powerful and the hard drive platters because they’re very shiny. 

Besides being sparkly they actually have a nice tonal quality. 

A fun project is to make Hard Drive Wind Chimes.  It’s really easy and you can do it any way you fancy.

To start out, you’ll need several of hard drive platters. For my wind chime, I used six 3 1/2" platters and one 5 1/4" platter. But you can use any size you have available.  I used thin nylon cord for my string. 

With my Dremel, I drilled 6 equally spaces holes around the outer perimeter of the larger platter, which I designated as my top piece.  And then drilled 4 equally spaces holes around the inner perimeter.  The holes around the outer edge are to dangle the other platters from.  The holes in the center for for the support.

Then I drilled a hole fairly close to the edge of each of the smaller platters.

To support the chimes, I used thin nylon cord.  I chose this because I could knot them tightly and then burn off the ends so they look neater.

Then I pulled the strings through the six holes on the perimeter knotted them and burned the ends.  Then I tied the other platters.  lead down to the eight other platters. The strings are anchored at the top by simple knots in the strings.

         

For the top support I pulled a short length of cord through each of the center holes on the larger platter.   I knotted them around a spacer from the hard drive and burned off the ends.  

   

That's it-- Easy Peasy!