High Roller's Stag Bar

For T and F,

The Neighborhood Bar, the pub, the tavern, four elaborate and ancient walls caught in a time pocket. Call it a time capsule pickled and preserved in alcohol. Do not tread in these walls if ye subscribe to political correctness, hate card playing, mind smoking or need a sterile scent in the air to drink. This is where the times have been taken, thrown into a box made of time and forgotten. Here men speak like they did 50 years ago. It is a wondrous time when the gang of the porch, Yayabo, Ash, even Fu, come by here for a drink. Worthy of that trip across a river that is like crossing a nation. Sleepy and unchanged, just the way I like it.

We do drink here, the workers from the Zatarain's factory down the river road, the judges, the old retired men that remember when this neighborhood was filled with longshoreman spending their hard earned coin on a local, and illegal casino. Within this pub the men remember, and even agree, with segregation and racism. The ancient judges of the courthouse a few blocks away drink here, the onces that spy from cityhall with their drinks in their hand at lunch. Right next here to the common ground.

Drinks are 2 and 2.50 except if you order beer, then you can drink forever. Come by and ask for Mrs. D, she may even have some monstrous pork cracklin for you that ya can get just down the road on Paris.

Visitors

I thought I would take this opportunity to say hello and thanks to everyone that is dropping by the porch. It is a rare lazy life we enjoy here on this porch overlooking Bayou St. John. At times it appears here at times there. Is this true or fiction, well are not the lines blurred when we drink from a special glass?

So if you drop by, do me the favor of signing that guest book over there. Just move the bottle of San Judas rum and I will get to it. In the meantime, relax and notice how nicely the sun shines through piles of icecubes in this tanned glass.

Papa Day

Surely no one expected a post from me yesterday. I, or we. were recovering from a day of stuffed potato cakes (link below). Yayabo and I spent the day lounging about making the papas. Well I cooked the picadillo (with raisins and olives no less, probably one of the best I have made. I have become such an expert at making it), and then set to cook the potatoes. All the while going back from the porch to the kitchen to the bridge (my name for my game room) where Yayabo sat humming Brazilian samba and blasting aliens, Nazis, and robots (something he calls 'Gun Porn').

I made a huge mistakes with the potatoes. Instead of fork mashing them, I whipped them, thinking I was being all slick. Well that was the word, slick. I cooled them and when Yayabo and I went to make them, we found it infinitely hard to turn mashed potatoes into balls.

The answer? FLOUR. Lots of it. Nothing better (except eggs) to make food stick together. We made the balls alright (the image of Yayabo's percussion hands covered with a thick layer of breading goop, will always live in my memory), but we had an ocean of bread crumbs and flour all over the counter and the floor. Not to worry my two dogs raced to the occasion, and had the floor cleaned in seconds. The desert of crumbs, flour, and a glowing yellow river of egg were a different story but all turned out well.

I love frying. Perhaps it is instinctual but I adored dumping those lovely cakes into a cast iron pot over a fire. Now some broke apart as the hot oil ate away at our meager coating. Also I wish I had put more meat into the center, but like I said, with mashed potatoes- who could have done it?

We got about 12 solid balls, and ate well here and there, always with a staff of rum beside us. Lovely and good Mount Gay, from Barbados. Just sweet enough. Now a good mixing rum is Flor de Cana Extra Dry. Surprised me beyond belief. Diet Coke and Coke pouring here and there.

I had so many leftovers,and since I am a kind of culinary missionary, I brought the papas to my neighbors and exchanged them for crabcakes and fried shrimp- wonderful. Then since a friend of ours closed on her house around the corner, I made a tray of everything I had, and a bottle of Marques de Caceres (I adore Spanish wines) and headed on over. The only article of furniture she had was a rug- thus a makeshift picnic started.

All the while Yayabo blasting away in the bridge.

Did I mention the next day? No? Good!

Papas Rellenas

Not necessarily happy with the last post, I just did not want it to be the first thing people see. Going to think that I'm a full Taoist or something.Thus I am posting once again. Tomorrow should be event filled. Yayabo, musician and my oldest friend, called saying he needed the porch. He is shipping out on some concert tour, and needed Papas Rellenas- Stuffed Potatoes.

Its made with picadillo or ground beef hash stuffed into breaded potato balls which are then deep fried. It is quite labor intensive, but I may have my friends come in and do the labor intensive part. Rum bottles are also on their way. It is a staple of the Cuban diet, and one of my all time favourites.

The website linked above contains a multitude of recipes from around the world. Rather colorful and informative; especially if you like flags.

A WARRIOR'S CREED

In every single journal I have created, I have a copy of this to remind me of things; keep me on the path and all that:

A Warrior’s Creed

I have no parents: I make the heaven and earth my parents.
I have no home: I make awareness my home.
I have no life or death: I make the tides of breathing my life and death.
I have no divine power: I make honesty my divine power.
I have no means: I make understanding my means.
I have no magic secrets: I make character my magic secret.
I have no body: I make endurance my body.
I have no eyes: I make the flash of lightning my eyes.
I have no ears: I make sensibility my ears.I have no limbs:
I make promptness my limbs.I have no strategy:
I make “unshadowed by thought” my strategy.
I have no designs: I make “seizing opportunity by the forelock” my strategy.
I have no miracles: I make right action my miracle.
I have no principles: I make adaptability to all circumstances my principles.
I have no tactics: I make emptiness and fullness my tactics.
I have no talents: I make ready wit my talent.
I have no friends: I make my mind my friend.
I have no enemies: I make carelessness my enemy.
I have no armor: I make benevolence and righteousness my armor.
I have no castle: I make immovable-mind my castle.
I have no sword: I make absence of self my sword.

~ anonymous 14th century samurai