Staying up until 2:30 takes something out of you, if you get up at 8. That's why everything that follows is mundane and lackluster. I was banging away late last night, then gave myself a Battlestar Galactica, because I just want to get to the end. (It was the first ep of season 4.5. Lots of talk. The whole thing is now mythos.) Hello, it's 2:30. When the alarm went off this morning I slept through almost the entirety of “Wake Up and Sing.” The secondary alarm brought me out. I moved around in a syrupy fog for two hours afterwards.
But I got a big blog post out, and filed a column, and did a radio interview, so there was that. Then I made ribs for the family. They weren’t very good. Oh, I know. I know. I should get the ribs in raw form, hand-rub them, grill them while turning and basting, and all that. No. My wife bought a slab on sale at Cub, and the general taste and quality was “on sale at Cub.” But I didn’t know that yet.
I did know that we lacked beans.
I’d bought beans. But there were no beans. I thought: there was a food shelf drive at my wife’s job, and she took the beans on the way out of the house in the morning. It’s possible. Probably shouldn’t call her on cell to ask. You know how that would go.
Did you take the beans?
What beans?
The beans I had set aside for a time when we have ribs. They’re gone.
I haven’t seen the beans.
You didn’t grab them in the morning when you had things on your mind.
No.
So, I guess I’ll go buy some beans.
If you want. It’s not necessary.
No, beans would be good.
Okay.
So you imagine. What if she says something else?
Oh, the beans? Right - I thought I heard something the night you went to see Batman, so I put a can in some nylons to use as a weapon. I think it was the beans. Look in the hamper.
That's one possible conversation. But sometimes the best thing to do is just go buy beans. So I did.
The label said the beans had bacon. The label didn’t lie. There was one segment of bacon, perfectly square, striped with fat in a straight line. It was probably reconstituted bacon, made from bacon. Makes you realize that bacon is singular and bacon. No one ever says “some more bacons, please.” There’s bacon as a strip, and bacon as a grouping, or “rasher.” But no one ever says “rasher” unless they’re putting on airs as a joke.
In the UK, an individual slice is called a rasher, Wikipedia says, or “occasionally a collop.”
“Scotch Collops are a traditional Scottish dish. It can be created using either thin slices or minced meat of either beef, lamb or venison. This is combined with onion, salt,pepper, and suet, then stewed, baked or roasted with optional flavourings according to the meat used. It is traditionally served garnished with thin toast and mashed potato.”
Oh my yes.
Anyway, I used to hate beans, but this was based entirely on a childhood prejudice based on aesthetics. Slimy little rabbit kidneys. I felt the same about mayo and pickles. I think I came around to pickles a few years ago.
Hello, pickles:
The text says they're as "persnickety as grandman" when it came to pickles.
What is it with grandmas and pickles?
Say there. You’re wondering about alarm clock of mine, it’s not just programmed to play “Wake Up and Sing.” (The Eddie Duchin version, not the Ben Howard version; he gives it a Cab Calloway treatment you don’t need in the early AM.) The start of the alarm is this.
Long-time patrons will recognize it.
Finally, Friday “Who’s That Person,” now on its third week! The minute I saw this guy, I could hear the voice.
Answer on Monday. New Wards61! See you in the usual places: the Strib Blog, the Strib column, Lint, and Twitter.
Oh: in case you didn’t notice, the front page of the site has changed. Don’t worry if you’re looking for something; the “Everything else” link just kicks you down the page, where the most exhaustive menu the site’s ever had scrolls on for about six yards.
