Might as well share my other blue ribbon, for best short story in the Western class.
On Saturday I got a chance to read an excerpt aloud at the fair. Many of the writers/readers were a bit shy and reserved in their reading. Not me. I went in there with *jazz hands*
Would you expect any less from me? I didn’t think so.
Look! Look! Look!!
My biscochitos (the New Mexico State cookie) won a blue ribbon at the county fair!
Yeah, baby!!
The recipe I use is from the PNM sponsored Cocinas de New Mexico cookbook. It’s the cookbook my mom used for years and now I have my own copy. Order yours here.
Upon seeing my blue ribbon, The Good Man, a city boy through and through said, “hunh….as a kid back in Brooklyn, I never could have imagined I’d be married to girl who won a blue ribbon at the county fair.” Then I reminded him that I was also in a sorority.
He actually had to wander off by himself for a bit to ponder the meaning of his life.
Over the course of the last week, my favorite Theme Thursday word of the week and creative idea fueling site was down.
They’d fallen victim to an especially tenacious comment spam-bot, so they shut ‘er down to get it sorted.
And so of course, with that in mind, this week’s theme is, you guessed it, SPAM.
SPAM, SPAM, SPAM…lovely spam! Wonderful SPAM!
Well…where can one go with SPAM? It’s either nuisance email or it’s shivering pink gelatinous goo in a square can. One I ignore and the other I fry up nice in a pan and gobble with a touch of mustard.
So I took to the waters of Google to find something different and was rewarded for my journey.
SPAM-ku. Like haiku, only SPAMmier.
Select bits from the MIT (yes, MIT) website:
This was filed under the “addiction” category…
Desire overwhelms.
“SPAM, I must have more of it!”
Freud would be enthralled.
and
Gave up cigarettes
No more drinking, and drug-free
Hidden stash of SPAM
Wow…such SPAM angst. I never knew one could have such delicious agony over luncheon meat.
Let’s see…what do we find under the “sex” category (cuz you knew it was going to go there)?
In regards to SPAM:
Sexual hangups aside,
It makes me feel strange.
or
Autoerotic!
Open can, insert member:
Wham, bam, thank you SPAM!
and then there is
Beneath the armpits
SPAM gives one a manly scent
Drives all women wild
Um…ok. : looks around nerviously : That’s just…odd.
And I like odd, but wow. There are literally pages and pages of SPAM-ku on that site. I believe they have over 5,000 bits of verse devoted to SPAM.
I’ve been known to take my OCD too far, but even I’m unsure about this.
But then I read a verse that speaks to me:
SPAM, too, needs a wife.
What consort for my Pork Prince?
Ah! The Velveeta!
Whoa. I do love the Velveeta and I’m not ashamed to own it. Maybe I am starting to understand these strange SPAM poets.
Then I read the SPAM verse that seems to sum it all up:
SPAM: the perfect food
For people who study Zen–
Meat, and yet not meat.
Ponder that for a while, why don’tcha?
Meanwhile, I think I’ll just have a salad and a walk for lunch. My cholesterol went up twenty points just reading about lovely, wiggly SPAM.
SPAM art found at Strategic Public Relations blog.
Today, after I get home from work and grab a little snack, I will reach into my special cabinet and remove the 1970’s era KitchenAid mixer waiting there. The mixer will go on the counter next to my battle worn Cocinas de New Mexico cookbook.
It’s time to make biscochitos.
This is my fourth and final entry for my local county fair, which starts this weekend. I decided to enter my biscochitos in the “culinary arts” event under the “ethnic desserts – cookie” category.
I first learned how to make the New Mexico State Cookie on the very same avocado green mixer that I will use tonight. It’s been a part of my life as long as I can remember, churning out bread, tortillas, grinding meat and makes endless batches of cookies. My mom oversaw my first forays into baking, helping make sure I got the measurements right and followed the recipe to the letter.
Baking biscochitos is like a meditation. Mix the dough, an extra pinch of anise seed for luck, roll out the heavy dough on the counter, cut out circles and bake to golden perfection.
This process, these cookies and that green mixer are all a part of my DNA.
I have no idea what sort of competition my cookies will go up against, but I know this: win or lose, The Good Man and I will have a fresh batch of homemade bicochitos to get us through the day.
A little bit of New Mexico in the middle of a very busy work week. That’s a winner!
Note to El Viejo: I will make them both with and without cinnamon sugar on top and then decide which I think the judges would prefer. I tend to think I should go gringo style and turn in the sugared tops to try to curry the favor of the judges.
Yesterday I had to attend an all day meeting with representatives from a fairly large British company. We work very closely with this company, and almost daily I’m on the phone talking to these Brits. I think I’ve spoken about this in quite a few previous posts, but I’m a bit of an Anglophile, so I have a lot of fun with these quirky cats from London.
After our day long business meeting was done, we all went out to a fabulous Italian restaurant in San Francisco to celebrate over good food and good wine.
As we all waded into appetizers and Chianti, the good natured ribbing began all around. The Brit sense of humor works for me and let’s be honest, it’s extraordinarily easy to make fun of the squishy British man.
At one point, I’d brought up a topic which after a long bit of convoluted conversation (you had to be there) landed us on the topic of the Steve Miller Band. Which then caused one especially posh guy (think of a messier and louder Prince William) to start naming off Steve Miller songs.
It went something like this (hear this in a Brit accent as you read):
“Ah, Steve Miller. Yeah, right, Abracadabra, isn’t he? Fly Like an Eagle, sure. And what about Space Cowboy, then? You know, Maurice, wheeet-whoo!”
To which I replied, “So, are you a midnight toker?”
And he took a prim sip of wine and responded “no, I’m a cowboy joker.”
Which caused the rest of the lads to break down in giggles. Then these London boys got down on a riff about cowboys, and how they all fancied themselves to be cowboys.
Well now we’re in my zone, right? I know more than your average person about actual cowboys, so I just sat back in my chair with my own glass of red and stayed quiet while these Brits went off on their version of the American cowboy.
My over active mind started imagining some sort of summit meeting. I imagine my best friend’s back patio for this event. We’d serve good food, and we’d set up a nice long table. Squishy Brit boys sitting down one side, New Mexico cowboys on the other.
Same planet, worlds apart. But not so different, I suspect.
I believe both sides would agree on the importance of beer. They may not agree on the brand, but the concept, hell yes.
They’d both be able to dish up hearty doses of self-effacing humor.
And each would talk with their own particular accent that would make the other say “huh?”
Ay god, what an event that would be. Once everyone got past the awkwardness, I bet it would be one hell of a party.
Or one hell of a fight. Hard to say.
I think I should ring up my best friend and get to work on the party planning.
Or maybe I need to go a little easier on the Chianti next time.
Photo by Raúl Fernández and used royalty free from stock.xchng