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Tag Archives: last meals

“I’m all lost in the supermarket,
I can no longer shop happily,
I came in here for that special offer,
A guaranteed personality…”

The Clash
Lost In The Supermarket

Hell has indeed frozen over.

Lebron James returned to Cleveland, Tommy Ramone died…and I found myself standing in a “Whole Foods” outlet.


Yes, my friends, hell has frozen over.

Whole Foods is this place where you go when you want to pay expensive prices for food that tastes rather bland. That’s not a knock on the store. I think the tragedy at play here is that I was actually in it without really needing to be.

Given a choice between a Big Mac and some Arthur Treacher’s fried fish and chips (with hushpuppies), I would enthusiastically take them both and think it absolutely normal to do so.

Let’s face it. I was in there under duress, OK? There. I said it. Someone made me go there with them.


Here’s the thing I want to underscore here. What you have in there are millennial hippies. They work there. They are patrons of the place. Some of the guys that work there have that Amish beard thing goin’ on. They wear the color tan. Do you know what I’m talking about? Sometimes they wear polo shirts with striped colors,….but the strange thing about that? The colors of the stripes seem amazingly dull. They have pierced ears and semi long hair. They no doubt ride their vintage Schwinn’s to work when the weather is conducive to it.

My question is simply this:

Is this what the millennial hippies of 2014 aspire to in their walk of life? To sell and buy over-priced bland food?


If it is, that’s not necessarily a bad goal to to have. I am totally down if they are happy at their vocation. I really am. Not too many people find the work that they want to do these days. (If they can find work at all)

The thing is, they looked happy. Probably more happy than I look at my job. So, in essence, I was a bit jealous of them.

That’s alright. I don’t eat healthy as a habit. Being a Teamster, eating healthy is somewhat akin to a cat taking a bath. I would rather die than do it and you will get the same ear-splitting histrionics out of me as you would a cat with an impending water bath. Ugliness afoot all around.

It was just a dashed odd observation, that’s all.

They had everything there however. I’ll give them that. They even had,…what is it?….organic beer there?


It was then that I felt as if I was in a museum. I looked in awe, studied it and knew it was well out of my price range,…so I better not touch it. But it sure was interesting to look at,….knowing I could never have it….by choice and by pocketbook.


It was an odd day, to say the least.

Right before we went in there, we had just dined at a place that served us something called a “crab-stack” and “Creme cilantro chicken with red-skinned potatoes with roasted corn and cheese”.


There’s the old adage: “Don’t go shopping hungry. You spend less if you eat first.”

This is the one exception to the rule. Even if I was hungry, I wouldn’t have bought anything in the place.

My other half, however,….did.

With extreme predjudice.



“Got no woman,
or a steady job.
Feeling like a cowboy
and looking like a slob….”

The Rutles
Living In Hope

Hey. What’s goin’ on?

When it comes to my job, I thought that I had seen it all…but no.

This was a classic.

The other day when I was rushing’ around to go to work, I hastily packed a lunch. It was three baby back ribs from Aldi’s. They were leftover from the weekend. They were pretty good ribs considering that I only paid 6 bucks for an entire slab of ’em. They were pre-cooked and bathed in BBQ sauce and were just the thing to hit the spot at 8 pm on a summer evening.

I had made 5 ribs the night before for my midnight meal and these three were the leftovers from that dinner.

Anyway, as I was searching the cupboards to find a container, I ran into a small snag. I couldn’t put it in my pink tupperware bowl because the ribs themselves were too large to fit in this particular round container. I moved on to a disposable Ziploc container that I had bought at Aldi’s… one of those clear things with the blue lid….this proved to be too large and would take up too much real estate in my backpack.

I then found a smaller Ziploc container and this proved to be too small as well. (But the ribs would “go” into the container-with a little force-so this was to be the container that I would use.)

I shoved the ribs into it, got the lid on it, threw it into my backpack and headed off to work.

I went into work, put my lunch into the fridge and set about my day.

At 8 pm, (which is our union sanctioned lunchbreak) I went to get the ribs. As I was walking over to the microwave I couldn’t help but notice that the container seemed a tad light.

That was weird.

I opened the container and was distressed to find that there were only two ribs in it. I stood there looking at it for a minute or two…because my brain was desperately trying to process what had taken place between the hours of 3:30 and 8…

That someone actually stole one rib from my lunch.

Paul (the guy I eat my lunch with) came over to stare into my twisted container with me after he noticed my facial distress from afar. I told him that somebody actually ate one of the ribs out of the container. He started laughing and when I didn’t start laughing with him, he really began to believe that I was actually serious.

I said, “Dude,…I put three bones in this thing at three o’clock and now there’s two”.

He looked at the container, which was all bent and and kind of twisted from me trying to get the three bones in there, and he even deduced that it looked like it held somethin’ more than the two bones that currently resided.

We stood there looking at each other as to try and make sense of the current critical situation.

Is it possible that I was mistaken?


I transferred three bones into three different containers before I left the house! There was no question that there were three bones in there!

And now there was two!

Now, since the thought that someone pawed over my lunch was just too un-appetizing for me to comprehend, I took the remaining bones and threw them out and sat and pouted while Paul ate his boloney and ketchup sandwich.

Not much was said during our lunch break…but the latent underlying issue was still there.

Who…would actually go into someone else’s lunch…and eat just one spare-rib?

I knew it wasn’t Paul because…well…it’s Paul.

Paul doesn’t go in the fridge cause it’s a dark and scary place. I don’t like to go in the fridge because it’s a dark and scary place…but since meat has this “thing” about being refrigerated, I have to put my lunch in there.

I really don’t think this was a personal affront because my name wasn’t on the container and no one saw me put it in there. I think this was just someone who was hungry and decided to rummage aound in the fridge to see what there was to gnosh.

Isn’t that a bit scary?

How many times have I put something in there that I DIDN’T know was pawed over before lunchtime? If I brought spaghetti, how would I know that someone didn’t stand there eating it with his or her own bare hands?

Is this an isolated incident or is this something that is running rampant?

You can’t tell management about something like this either. They would just look at you like you were crazy…or laugh…or quickly dismiss it out of hand because they actually KNOW who did it and are working hard at trying to protect the guilty party. Trying to protect one of their own, as it were.

Paul speculated that it might be the president of the company.

I dismissed it because the president of the company, on that particular day, was wearing a powder blue shirt and no one in their right mind would eat BBQ spareribs while wearing a powder blue shirt. Too much room for error.

He agreed.

No, I think this was someone “on the floor”, as it were. Someone who knew the inner-machinations and the dietary habits of the people and their environs. Someone who has access to the fridge and could go in there unfettered. Someone who could pretend like they’re looking for his or her own lunch when, in reality, they’re actually just standing there pawing over and eating other people’s food.

This is a guy who could blend into the background. A guy who would say “Sup” as you walked by. A guy who can strike and disappear.

I walked around the plant looking in the various garbage cans placed hither and yon…to see if I could find a discarded rib-bone perched majestically upon a mound a refuse…but it was to no avail.

This kind of put a damper on the rest of the night…for Paulie as well. He went over to the bulletin board and pulled down a memo from the president. It was about some stolen material and what they’re going do when they get their hands on the guilty party.

He xeroxed it and, on the copy, crossed out the part where it says “stolen copper braiding” and wrote in “stolen rib-bone”.

Even though I laughed, I was still kind of depressed about it.


I just feel so violated.


“So I walk up on high,
And I step to the edge
To see my world below.
And I laugh at myself,…”

Collective Soul
The World I Know

What does it mean when I wake up and have visual flashes that I am falling off a sky-scraper or out of a plane? It’s like vertigo, and I always wake up that way now. Any idea?



“A bottle of red, a bottle of white,
Whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight,
I’ll meet you anytime you want,
In our Italian Restaurant….”

Billy Joel
Scenes From An Italian Restaurant

The Godfather

It’s gotta be one of the greatest movies of all time. The reason isn’t because of the family or even the story. The reason is simply because of the food.

Let me explain.

There were two things the Corleone family knew how to do really well. One was to whack people and the other was to eat. There was just something sublime about the meals they sat down in front of,…which was sometimes followed by someone getting a bullet through his forehead.

Be that as it may, there is a subtle nuance between the characters and the food portrayed in that cinematic masterpiece. It’s almost as if there’s sub-liminal messaging going on throughout. Kinda like the old commercials where they would stick the McDonald’s arches into a frame for an igna-second.

(I think the Department of Homeland Security might have clamped down on that, though….you know,…so as to get their own messages in there or somethin’….)

I don’t know about anyone else, but I always get famished while watching that movie. It seemed that they were eating throughout the whole two and a half hours. Plus, the stuff they ate was second to none.

Spaghetti never looked so good than when it was being passed across the table by Abe Vigoda. Abe just had that way of making spaghetti look real good, didn’t he?

It’s just noodles and sauce, but you add that standard motel water glass of wine with it, it takes on a whole new dimension, doesn’t it? A whole new culinary world opens up at that point.

(A small, motel water glass seemed to be the main vehicle for wine in that flick. Don’t ask me why. I would think that a proper wine glass would be the way to go,…but, then, I’m not Italian either. Maybe that’s the way they drink it in Italy or something. I should really investigate that….)

I’m not a big fan of Cannoli. I just get that sweet-tooth immediately when Clemenza says, “Leave the gun, take the Cannoli”. I’m not so sure the appeal of it is because Paulie’s brains were all over the windshield at that point. I think it could be because of that great overcoat that Clemenza was wearing. Something changes when a nice fedora and an overcoat are introduced with Cannoli. It was probably cashmere. Cashmere and that little box tied with string just really went well together.


It’s vexing, to say the least.

And then there’s the veal. Michael is about to whack Sollazzo and McCluskey when McCluskey turns to him and says,

“Try the veal. It’s the best in the city.”

I always really, really feel like a piece of veal at that point.

I think that might be because of the sterile white tablecloth that adorns the table. That plus the bottle of wine that the waiter takes way too long to open. That might be why I get instantly hungry for veal. Or maybe it was the absolute desolation in that restaurant or something. I don’t know.


I don’t normally have a hankerin’ for veal when I watch “Goodfellas”. I don’t normally have a hankerin’ for veal at any other time in my life,….except when I watch that scene.

And it always happens, man. Always.

Hell, even the Chinese take-out and beer they were dining on in the previous scene looked pretty good. I mean, Chinese take-out and beer should only be consumed in a wife-beater with suspenders,…as was so aptly demonstrated by James Caan. If I could get away with it in the year 2014, I would most assuredly go to any dinner table dressed like that.


You just can’t do that in these times. Times have changed. Someone would have a serious objection about that. But there’s just something strangely appealing about eating Chinese while wearin’ a wife-beater and suspenders.

(Btw,…it’s not politically correct to use the term, “wife-beater”, when referencing a white tank-top undershirt, is it? I don’t know….maybe I over-stepped my bounds on that one…apologies if I did.)

I dunno.

I guess the clincher scene in when Clemenza is making that pot of kick-ass sauce. That scene kills me every single time….


“You start out with a little bit of oil. Then you fry some garlic. Then you throw in some tomatoes, tomato paste, you fry it; you make sure it doesn’t stick. You get it to a boil; you shove in all your sausage and your meatballs. And a little bit of wine, and a little bit of sugar—that’s my trick.”

I don’t follow his recipe at all. I’m sure that’s sound advice but, not being Italian, I’m a little leery about putting that much sugar and raw meat into a pot of spaghetti sauce. I did know a guy once who was Italian. He put raw meat into his sauce,…and I ate it and it was very good. I just think that somethin’ would go horribly wrong considering that I am mostly Irish. I don’t think an Irish guy like me could really pull off the whole raw meat in a pot of tomato sauce and have someone not get really, really sick.

Therefore, I will cook the meatballs and sausage prior to shoving it in,….and I will negate the tomato paste due to the fact that my base is called, “Prego”.

Other than that, we pretty much have the same sauce.

Yeah. This is what happened the last time I watched the Godfather:


I got the veal. It was the best in the city.


“I just can’t find the answers
To the questions that keep going through my mind…”

The Baby’s
Isn’t It Time

Here are the top ten things I learned this week:

10. A biopsy hurts. There are no two ways about it. They hurt.

9. Dogs of the peek variety would just as soon soil themselves than go out in the winter weather. Humans would also just as soon soil themselves than go out in this winter weather. I would just as soon soil myself than go out in this winter weather.

8. I can sleep till 1pm on any given day. Is it the need for sleep or am I just really depressed….or, worse yet, lazy?

7. It’s always handy to keep antacids by the bed. You don’t need them often, but when you do, it is inherently better not to have to look for them.

6. Snow in tire wells becomes more aggravating when you don’t have the time to pound it out. When you do have the time to pound it out, it becomes aggravating when it doesn’t come out.

5.Early morning fatigue comes at inopportune times,…like in a McDonald’s drive-through.

4. Winter now reminds me of the movie, “Fargo”.

3. Tina Fey is a fox

2. I won’t eat a giant shrimp. The ratio between cocktail sauce and shrimp has to be maintained.

1. I can hibernate until summer. i think I can do that.