Scandal at Chile's

Welcome to this week’s version of the Friday Letter. We’re just thankful to be here. Read on!

Scandal at Chile’s

Wednesday night, we had the rare pleasure of out-of-town visitors, so we went “out” to eat.

We chose Chile’s. Our server “Dan” was efficient and attentive, the food was plentiful and edible.

Soon the hostess seated two young women in a booth across the aisle from us. By and by, after they had been served their meals, the two began asking various persons to take their picture.

Whenever a wandering photographer was enlisted, one of the two giddy young women would swap sides of the booth, so they could be photographed sitting side-by-side, “together.”

It wasn’t exactly titillating – to me anyway – to watch the girls groping each other, grinning in a mawkish manner at the camera, rubbing perfumed and powdered cheeks together. They obviously enjoyed creating their fun little scandal.

The Chile’s staff was cooperative, going along with this bawdy charade at every opportunity. And I? For once I said nothing. Oh, except for on the way out, I asked a hostess if this was the new Greeley hangout for lesbians.

Maybe it is. All I know for sure is, living in this new century is not the peaceful, contented restful adventure I had hoped it would be.

Oh, and a note to Dan: either shave or don’t shave. The “day-old beard” look went out of style in the 80’s. Nobody even remembers Don Johnson, so why try to emulate his “look?”

*Editor’s note: I object just as much to a heterosexual PDA – Public Display of Affection. If it’s starting to steam up the place, please, you should take it somewhere private.

Landlord Terror

This is a sequel to the Lowe’s Debacle of a few weeks ago.

The Lowe’s Debacle was intended to be a victorious event. This particular apartment house has been in the family since the early 70’s.

The sliding “patio” doors leading from the back of each apartment have always been problematic. Renters don’t deal well with anything requiring patience, and these aluminum-framed devices certainly always needed to be dealt with patiently. Likewise, the silly sliding “screen doors” that accompanied them.

So we thought of it as a big victory when we finally got it together to replace the difficult doors with hinged exits. Less maintenance for us, better access and better appearance to please tenants.

After the Lowe’s installation deal stiffed, I had no idea where I would find capable workers to fill the gap. As if by fate, we soon found Nick and Rusty, a father-and-son team from Evans. Oddly, we found them while we were visiting a friend at a housing project in Green River, Wyoming.

Nick and Rusty were soon on-site at the four-plex, and they needed me there to unlock apartments and to make trips out for supplies and hardware. (I went to Lowe’s five times that day. That was as hard work as if I had to install the doors myself. I was tired that night.)

But we are moving right along at the work site, and Nick and Rusty are installing one door after another, quite quickly and efficiently.

When I opened the front door to apartment # B, the final installation, I got a whopper of a surprise.

There was a dog in there. A big mean one, a German shepherd with huge ears sticking up, barking and growling.

This is a “no pets” complex, and the tenant there has signed a strict lease prohibiting pets – no pets in the apartment, no pets visiting. No exceptions. For this reason, the dog was an unpleasant and terrifying surprise.

Eventually, I screwed up my courage and went back in. I chased the dog into a bedroom, using my cane as a prod and a defense, and shut the door.

Then I told Rusty and Nick, “He’s locked in. But remember, that’s only a hollow-core door.” I’m sure they were comforted.

You never know where you might find a big, mean dog. Even an illegal-alien-big-mean dog. The dog story is probably not over, but the saga of the rear door installation at Lowe’s is most likely at an end.

Anybody want my job?

Belief

My daughter Jaye, who is visiting this week from her home in Indiana, says the following anecdote is true:

“Dad, when I was about four, you told me, ‘Believe nothing you hear, and only about half of what you see.’”

I don’t remember having said that, but I’ll take it. I’m thankful for her memories.

More on White Sauce

Our good friend Dan, who benefits from a dual personality as a consummate chef and a powerful singer, commented on the blog site last week regarding our “white sauce” dissertation.Dan says, “The white sauce is actually one of the five Mother Sauces found in the culinary bible. Otherwise known as "Bechamel" (Bay-Shaw-Mell).

“The Others are "Veloute", same as the Bechamel, but made with stock, instead of the cream or milk. “Tomato,” 'nuff said. “Hollandaise,” made from an emulsion of clarified butter and egg yolk. And finally "Espagniole", or brown sauce.

“From these five mother sauces ALL sauces in the world are derived. Special note on the bechamel, or white . . . try making your roux from unsalted butter, rather than vegetable oil... ahhh, now that’s a rich sauce.”

Dan, permit me this response. The butter idea is marvy, as you say. However, I would urge caution. The amateur is quite likely to try mixing the melted butter with the flour while the butter is still too hot. Disaster. Big clumps. Lumps. Bumps.

See, the too-hot oil “cooks” the flour on contact, and the sauce cannot be saved after this happens. It is waste. It won’t even suffice as dog biscuits.

Now I have to cop to this fact: So far in my life, I have been unable to successfully prepare a Hollandaise. I got straight-A’s in culinary school, with the exception of the “F” I got on my Hollandaise test.

I did subsequently use a quite nice “Hollandaise” powder mix in one restaurant where I worked. But as for the real thing, I am an utter failure. Now you know.

Dan did sort of gloss over the tomato sauce. Currently, here’s mine: Sauté an onion, a couple of sliced jalapenos, and a sliced carrot until juicy brown. Add one or two cans of whole peeled tomatoes, or a can of tomato juice.

Simmer, and spice to taste. Good as a spaghetti sauce or a taco sauce or . . . whatever.

Oh, and that idea that it takes “all day” to make a proper spaghetti sauce is just bunk, a myth. When the contents have simmered until all ingredients are fully done, the sauce is ready. Cooking it longer adds nothing except time.

The jalapeno will clear out your sinuses.

The Stable

Last night I went out back to put my bicycle away. I’ve lost bicycles overnight, so I am vigilant about security.

But I had to move stuff around for the poor little bike to fit in the garage.

It strikes me, my herd has outgrown my stable.

Time for a bigger stable.

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Word of the week: Alchemy. It basically comes from Latin and Greek, chymeia and cheein, to pour. Alchemy was the chemistry of the Middle Ages, the chief aims of which were to change base metals into gold and to discover the elixir of perpetual youth.

In a broader sense, alchemy is a method or power of transmutation, seemingly a miracle of changing one thing into another.

Next week’s word: Chingus, or in Spanish, chingaso.

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