This Is Getting Redundant

NOT ONLY do we have, as today's lunch, more egg-laden noodles, but we also have as out subject some re-commentary based on previous photos of lunchal items. Didn't I tell you? Redundant, but, I hope, not dull.

The first comment I will deal with would be from Tiff (BTW, Tiff, the reason I never comment on yer blog is that by the time I get there, you've already got 13 comments and somebody has always-- ALWAYS-- already said what I was going to say; I kid you not, it's like voodoo), which was that the previous outing of noodles and eggs, which had twice the egg of any previous sample, was either genius or madness. The second comment, which came from my arch nemesis Annikins, and came some months ago, expressed astonishment and, I think, admiration at the notion of having eggs and beer. And, to be doubly perverse, not only have I listed the matters in reverse chronological order, I am going to discuss the one I have labelled second first, so that I might not even have bothered switching up the order in the first place. It's a service I provide.



Eggs and beer is something that dates all the way back to my high school years. I think the first time was while making an omlette at two in the morning, after a late jam session with a musician pal or while watching back to back Twilight Zone episodes on PBS. The natural thing would have been to have coffee, but, I figured, if I was going to sleep at all that night, coffee might not be the best thing. So I had beer. It seemed pretty natural; I think the omlette contained, at least, cheddar cheese, onions, black olives, and ham. And it worked. In later years I would conclude that having bacon and eggs for lunch was a perfectly acceptable thing, leading to many a micro-lecture from my mother on the wisdom of consuming such large amounts of cholesterol ("You'll shoot your eye out!"). And on those outings, almost always a Saturday thing, beer seemed the ideal mealtime libation. So yes: eggs and beer. I heartily recommend it, so long as a) you like eggs, and 2. you like beer.



Part of the reason I started this whole taking-pictures-of-my-lunch bit was the enormity my lunches had started taking on. This is something that has mitigated in recent memories. Not that I am not having hearty lunches, nor to say that the era of pound-and-a-half sandwiches is over, but, clearly, Ramen noodles don't make for the heartiest meal. Thus the inclusion of eggs. (Thus, ironically, the exclusion of beer. If I'm having beer with lunch I think it ought to be something solid and substantial. Don't ask me why. I have a couple of rationals for it, but none of them make a whole hell of alot of sense.) Back when Ramen noodles first entered my universe, boiled egg was actually one of the serving suggestions on the back of the packet (another of which was chicken, which, amusingly, after a short period of time turned into "cooked chicken," and then into "COOKED chicken," and then into "cooked meats," with a variety of icons meant to represent chicken, beef, pork, and as near as I could tell, midget). Taking the suggestion at face value lead to some forays into egg drop soup, some successful and others not so much, but I never seriously considered adding the boiled egg to the Ramen noodles until fairly recently. The result is both interesting and benign. The egg adds substance and flavor, but complements the soup and anything you used to spice it up. This example had a quartered egg added to shrimp flavor Ramen with soy and chili garlic sauce, which was just lovely. The species Tiff had actually commented on had two quartered eggs in "oriental" flavor Ramen with two types of soy sauce (a regular dark and an extra dark sushi soy). Tiff was right to be skeptical. That was a strange, strange balance, but it worked out alright. I am sure I will do it again sometime, but I don't know that I can reccomend it

THIS, I can recommend. I have run across it twice, both times completely by accident, so I have yet to see it from the absolute beginning, but it is the neatest collection of talking head testimonials, antecdotes, outakes, observations, quips, and out and out andmissions of guilt by actors, directors, producers, and other Hollywood players I have ever seen. (Which isn't saying much. It's hard to come across such a thing that isn't 90% self-agrandisement.) It's also largely under the radar. There's no atricle for it at Wikipedia, the folks at the Onion AV Club have yet to review it, and when I asked Blockbuster Online to find it, it first ate my browser before reporting that it knew of no such thing. The only place I have found any mention of it at all is at HBO itself. Which is just,well, weird. But then, HBO. From what I've heard, HBO is peopled with weirdos.

Ommmmm-lette

This is your brain on drugs, with turkey, ham, bacon, minced onion, chopped basil, 4 cheese blend, with (inside) cracked green peppercorns and chili powder and (outside) black pepper and Celtic sea salt. (The potato side is a hash brown made from deconstructed tater tots, with white American cheese and a schmear of barbeque sauce.)

There has not been a movie of the day for-- what? Two weeks? Three?-- because we have been in the middle of watching a couple different series on DVD.

First, Dead Like Me. This is something I had caught a little of one night in a hotel room while out on a business trip, which is to say I didn't get the best glimpse of it. It seemed interesting, but turned out not to be something that we just didn't happen to catch when it was on. Typically, with HBO series, they are scheduled such that I catch them around the time the Wifey is headed to bed, which is what happened with John Adams and Generation Kill. I don't recall her saying why, but she stuck this in the queue, and so far we have quite enjoyed it. Some of the story arcs are less than gripping-- although never boring, truely-- but the performances are adorable, especially Ellen Muth as the sullenly blase teenager learning the lessons of life in death, and Mandy Patankin as the zen task master of the worldy purgatory.

Then, of course, there is the Boston Legal.

James Spader. Bill Shatner. Candice Bergen. And, this season (last season), John Laroquette, chewing most delicately on the meatiest role the man has had in recent memory. And don't get me started on the vets playing the judges. In our household, this is known as candy. Sweet, sweet candy.

I will probably get around to posting about movies-of-the-day in another couple of weeks, but before that, I will be on hiatus. Not just due to the Boston Legal-- caaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnndy, sweet, sweet caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnndy-- but also due to the fact that I am wrestling with a temporary crown on the lower left rear molar, to be replaced by a permanent crown a week from tomorrow. So, in the mean time, most of what I have been having for lunch has been less than spectacular. On the other hand, thus the omlette. Speaking of which:

Really, this was more like three of your brains on drugs with etc etc. Which, of course, defies literal interepretation, but actually goes a long way towards explaining, by way of metaphor, the magic of the omlette.