Of styrofoam and swap meets

Model Airplane swap meet in a strange town means lunch at a new Chinese restaurant!


So after I had seen everything I wanted at the swap meet (I deliberately hung around until lunch) I went out on the town in search of a Chinese place. I had eaten at a really good one in this town before (Murfreesboro, TN) but doubted I would find it again since I was coming in from another part of town and it’s pretty large at that. My criteria was simply that I would stop at the first place I could find. I was in the “uptown” section and had to wander several miles till I hit the seedy part of town and swung in abruptly towards my target. It was right at lunchtime and I wandered in to realize I was the only one there except for the guys who worked there. Didn’t take long to realize that the kid behind the counter didn’t want to be there either. He was punching the computer screen while taking my order like he wanted to kill that thing. I sat down and started taking in the ambiance around me.



It was hot in there, smoky, dingy, and somewhat dirty. There were huge old calendars hung on the walls with pictures of Asian girls on them. The window shades were dirty and the table was greasy. I began to suspect I could have chosen a little more wisely but you never know about these places. The best ones are those hole in the walls that look like they should have been shut down by the board of health. My ace in the hole was the guy doing the cooking. He was the real thing. The typical Chinese restaurant has 1 Chinese woman running the cash register and a herd of Mexicans doing everything else, including the cooking. I don’t like that. And those are the places that have a huge buffet complete with pizza, tacos, and French fries. Not me.

So after a lengthy wait, my soup arrived. Funny that the guy who was doing the cooking brought it to me instead of the kid at the cash register. Maybe the kid got disgusted and went home. Soup wasn’t bad but nothing to write home about. When the rest of lunch finally showed up the cook brought it out himself again. Only my tea wasn’t there.

I asked the cook to please bring me my tea. He said, “Ohhhh, you order tea?!!!!” “Youwah sweet tea”?!!!!!! He was really loud and his accent was right off the boat. I told him I would rather have unsweet tea. He then said, “youwah hot tea”?!!!! Oh yes! Hot tea would be excellent. The guy then brings me a Styrofoam cup of tea with a lid on it that was two sizes too large and tells me to keep lid on.

The meal was pretty good. I had broccoli with hot sauce, an egg roll, and rice. The egg roll was really fresh and the rice was the pork fried variety. I typically don’t go in for fried rice but this was great! It had lots of bits and pieces off all kinds of stuff in it. The broccoli was pretty good but a little too greasy for me.

The kicker was the tea. After I was finished eating, I took the lid off the cup and looked down into it. I drive Kathy nuts when we go out to eat Chinese because I always finish my meal with tea and make her sit there forever while I enjoy it. Anyway, Instead of finding the typical Lipton tea bag (yuck) I was shocked to find a few tea leaves in the bottom. It was really good too.

I waved and said good bye to the cook and walked out of there with my tea and a big smile on my face.

What? I didn't know you could even eat that stuff!

So we went to the mountain top flea market yesterday. They ought to call it the "hillside" flea market because it is on a steep hillside. You walk up or down, then once you hit a row, it's easy going to the opposite end. A good way to have a good time, buy someone elses crap, and get some exercise to boot. Marshall doesn't do very well at these things and there isn't anyone to dump him on so we pack him with us. I just wheel him around in his wheelchair. I don't mind because it also serves as a carrier for all of our junk. If you can't find what you want at the flea market, chances are it never existed anyway. It's cheap entertainment at the least, with a red-neck petting zoo for the kiddies to boot. Yesterday we saw some sort of large parrot that was making enough noise to wake the dead. I don't know what his problem was but he wasn't selling with that kind of behaviour. Kathy loves to see all the cute puppies. I'm glad they're so expensive. The last one of ours was free, these go for over $300 a copy. No thanks. I even saw a turkey that was packed in a 50# onion bag. He was trying to get out in earnest too. Sucks to be him.

This flea market is located towards the Eastern end of the state and is in the middle of nowhere. When we had seen it all and were about wore out it was time for some lunch. I chickened out on the flea market fare. The Mexican "roach coach" looked good and had a large crowd but I wanted something a little more substantial. On the way back we decided to head out of our way for 15 miles or so and try our luck in another town. There are only 2 restaurants between our house and this flea market:  Jacks or McDonalds. I figured we would roll the dice and also have a little adventure on the way. We made a right turn and headed out towards Albertville.

Kathy got out her new GPS after a while to see if we could find directions to a restaurant. She found a place right off called "Grumpys" and declared that's where we were headed. The directions to Grumpys had us going from the middle of nowhere to the land of the lost. But that GPS got us right to Grumpy's front door just the same. Only problem was that Grumpy's was closed. We were on the edge of a town that wasn't Albertville and wandered around for a little while looking for somewhere to eat (okay, I was looking for Chinese). Mexican was also up for grabs as a fail safe. We ended up at a tiny Mexican place called "La Autentica" or something. The menu didn't look like typical Mexican stuff so I asked the waitress for suggestions. We wound up with some mighty fine eats. There was one item on the huge platter of beef, pork, chicken, and shrimp we shared that I had never had though. It was cactus. She said it was very good for you especially if you were a diabetic. Also mentioned that it tasted like okra and quietly it might be slimy. I told her I didn't realize that cactus was edible. She said they ate it all the time. The waitress had Kathy pretty excited about the pork tacos  too so she also got one of those to try. I got a bite and it was the best taco I'd ever had. Pork, pico de gallo, flour tortilla, and a fresh lime wedge was an instant hit. The refried beans were very spicy as well.

The waitress really did right by us and we left a huge tip. Too bad that place is so far away. We found it by accident too. Maybe we'll head over there again. I'm gonna eat a big plate of shrimp tacos with cactus.

The lunch dare

There are many food shows on TV these days. The hosts travel all over the place to wow their viewers with tales of exotic and wild dishes in the oddest of settings. One show I enjoyed highlighted a lunch wagon (also known as a "Roach coach") in Sanfrancisco that served fancy Chinese dim sum with a flair. I watched transfixed to the screen as they created these exotic little wonders for the gathering crowd to ooh and ahh over. I told the wife that if we are ever lucky enough to get back there I wanted to find that place. Then I had a thought:  maybe there's some kind of funky wild exotic place right here in our neck of the woods we could try. Why travel 1,000 miles when the excitement is right here in your own backyard? Then I had another thought (I was on a roll);  what if there's some kind of funky wild exotic place right here in our neck of the woods and one of those overpriced TV hosts finds it before we do? We can't let that happen. We don't need no Hollywood tinseltown moviestar so and so telling us about our well kept secrets right?

Well, we have several. But we have one in particular. We call it "the bus". We've gone past this bus many times on our way to the Chinese place for lunch. And we've talked about trying it out. It started out as a joke because if you take one look at this thing and the area they park it you check the car door locks pretty quickly. The area is somewhat less than hospitable. There is a hootchie cootchie club just down the road and driving in this area after dark is not for the faint of heart. I've heard horror stories about the activities across the street and in the housing projects too. By the way, the bus serves Mexican food. We do like Mexican every now and then. Rumor mill said they had the best in the State. Really? We started having serious thoughts.

So a good bit of research was done. Try as we might, we couldn't find one single dissenting word about "the bus". There hadn't been any homicides in the 'hood that week so the next day off we went. Most of the usual lunch crew (from work) bailed on us so we did some outside recruiting.  Armed with an unsuspecting Husband and a couple of cute little kids we slid right in there. Who's gonna bother you if you have little kids? The ordering and eating procedure at this place is a little unconventional and if you hadn't already guessed, you better know just a little bit of Mexican. You have to walk inside to place your order and there is not much room. There are only about 8 chairs lined up along the walls with a skinny counter and the kitchen takes up nearly half of the space. Thankfully, the food choices had pictures and numbers, so you just pick out a number from 1 to 30 and let 'er rip. This place is known for super authentic Mexican dishes, and that generally translates the same way in any language:  a little weird. Authentic in Mexican is beef cheek (I didn't know you could even eat that part), tripe (guts), and tongue. Being the adventurous type,  I went with chicken, got a "chata" to drink (yes the drinks are authentic too) and smiled to myself that I had actually pulled this off and was about to enjoy a fine meal. Then things got just slightly worriesome when the guy in the kitchen started calling out who's order was ready. I couldn't understand a thing. I concentrated and realized he was calling out the orders in Mexican by the ticket number they give you. A quick rattle of my brains back to High School Spanish class got me where I thought I needed to be to get my order. Lucky for me, they were beyond the teens because I never could remember them, even back in school. Well, when my order came up he called it out in English;  I guess Gringos get special consideration. There was another guy there who was a cherry just like us and he was asking someone what/how to do. This is one of those places where you need to step back and watch what goes on in order to get the full good out of it. There is one long picnic table outside to sit at so we all plopped down there after trucking everything off the bus only to find out that the kitchen guy will hand it outside to you through the window. He's about 10' off the ground so you have to reach up over your head to get it and pray it doesn't fall on your head.  I never did understand one thing he said to the other customers either. In High School they teach Spanish, at the bus you have to speak Mexican.

So how was it? I thought it was great. I got a plate of enchilladas with beans and rice. There were some pickled carrots on my plate and some sort of wierd long pepper thing. Not like anything else I've ever had in the usual Mexican places. The "chata" was good too. I think it was made with rice milk and cinnamon. After 20 minutes or so that place was filling up fast. A bunch of geeky Engineers (you have to be one to be able to spot them) arrived and looked sort of worried/annoyed about how and where they were going to sit. Engineers are not known for their social skills and I chuckled to myself knowing that they were facing quite a dilemma at the thought of sitting at the same picnic table with a bunch of strangers. A few of them at the other end were even (gasp) Mexican. We overheard some of the conversation suggesting they drop the tailgate of somebody's truck. The picnic table would have easily accomodated another dozen people. I figure they took our spot the second we got up. I snapped a picture of the bus on the way home and a few guys inside waved at us while I took it.

Well I'm going back. I saw a guy getting some sort of sauce to put on his stuff and I'm curious about it. I'll have to brush up on my Mexican first though.

Mechanical mysteries of the Universe explained

The service manager stood there with a serious look on his face and told me that only the very senior mechanics did that type of work. They operated in the back of the shop where it was quiet and the rest of the place was told to leave them alone while they performed their magic. He further explained that it took years to learn how to do that kind of work and occasionally, a bright young man with a promising future and very high scores on his SAT exams would be allowed to apprentice with this senior craftsman/swami until his death when the torch would be passed along in high ceremony and 3 days of public mourning approved by the Governor himself. I bought this academy award winning performance hook, line, and sinker and decided I had best leave well enough alone or pony up the bucks and let the “technician” do it for me. I suppose at this point it would be sporting to let you know exactly what flavor of service I’m talking about. Today’s technical mystery of the universe is automotive instrument panels. What’s behind the dashboard, anyway?

Before I tell “the rest of the story” let’s hit a tangent and talk tires for a moment. I got the same “you can’t do that” story from the guy who worked on my motorcycle. Tires, it seemed, were only able to be changed and balanced by the professional who had invested $100,000 in tooling and knew just how to do it. And I was assured that even if I could change the tire, there was no way on God’s green Earth that I was going to be able to balance it. A couple of years ago I paid $800 to get two new tires and have my wheel bearings serviced. This lit a fire under my happy ass to find a way to do it myself and save some money in the process. I’m world renowned as a cheapskate and futhermore I was sick and tired of being held over a barrel by somebody who was really enjoying it. I bought my bike due to it’s reputation as being easy to work on and here we are with the “you can’t do that” from the very guy who recommended it to me. The little grin on his face didn’t help either. Well, in order to not turn this paragraph into chapter 5 of “War and Peace” I did my research, bought the necessary equipment (less than $400) and now I change all my tires myself. It’s already paid for itself and I not only save the labor cost, tires are about $40 less apiece when I buy them direct from a mail order place. So there.

Now, back to instrument panels. I was already determined that going to the dealership and having them tell me to turn around and bend over when the bill got there was out of the question. The instrument panel lights were all out on my son’s car. A check of the fuse panel revealed a burnt 5A fuse so I replaced it with a spare that was in the box cover. Still no soap with the new fuse. I faintly remembered the wife telling me that when this was her car, some of the lights weren’t working and could I look at it. Obviously, that was the point where I had the conversation with the dealership and decided it was easier to just tell her that it would cost more than it was worth (she got a new car shortly afterwards anyway). This time I decided I was going in, come heck or high water. Armed with resolute determination and a Haynes service manual, I proceeded to rip that dashboard apart into 1,000 easy pieces. I laid all the parts out neatly on a towel. The hardware was carefully organized into piles according to size and type. I nearly choked when the directions said to disconnect the speedometer cable at the transaxle but I found that dude and took care of business. When I got the panel down to it’s short and curlies, I had a heck of a time getting it pulled out from it’s lair but after further checks with the service manual and a couple of extra steps, it was in my sweaty palms. I turned it over and there they were, all exposed and vulnerable;  about 20 tiny light bulbs asleep in their ¼ turn housings. Each one was methodically inspected and tested with a voltmeter. I thought it kind of strange that out of all those bulbs, only 1 was bad. I put everything back together with a surgeons precision and care, even taking the effort to use glue to piece together some plastic parts that had broke during the extraction. This car is 17 years old and I expected to have a few casualties so the glue was pretty much factored into the repair as necessary.

After it was all together (6 hours later) I gave it a try and still we had a dark panel. I thought that perhaps there was another fuse that I had missed so I proceeded to check every single one of them, in orderly fashion of course. When I got to the new one that I put in that morning, it was bad. Uh oh. My spare had let me down. I managed to turn a 2 minute job into 6 grueling hours of brain surgery. Nevertheless, I felt vindicated that I had beat the dashboard, the car dealership, and my own fears of the monsters that lurk behind the speedometer cable. I think I’ll drive by there in the morning and thumb my nose at that service manager.  

Thanksgiving 2011

The cooking started at 2:30 am. Not because that's what I intended; I just happened to wake up and thought I might as well get the turkey going. By 3:00 am that dude was in the oven on his way to becoming the centerpiece of our Turkey Day feast. Allow me to digress a bit. This years festivities will best go down in history as the impromtu celebration. We were supposed to go to Tennessee for the day but due to several very last minute logistics problems and a slightly sick kid we had to cancel and I was pressed into service to come up with something at least mildly better than Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving dinner of popcorn and toast. Coming out of the shoot I had two made-from-scratch sweet potato pies up my sleeve. That was all I had planned to make since the relatives were providing everything else. I had bought nearly everything needed earlier in the week, intending to make a small version of Turkey day just for my family over the weekend. After sizing up my situation I threw my frozen turkey in some cold water and headed out to join the grocery store malay on Turkey day eve. The crowds weren't really all that bad. I picked up a few things I needed and had a chuckle with someone when we spotted another shopper leaving the store without their turkey. They had left it in the bagging area. The grocery store employees laughed and sent one of their own chasing after the bonehead with a big turkey in tow. People are so stupid.

Besides the turkey I made a batch of fried apples, fancy glazed carrots in grape juice and honey, stuffing, broccoli, peas and cranberry sauce (of course). We wouldn't want to forget the cranberry sauce now would we?. I keep several cans in my well-stocked pantry year-round for just such an emergency.

I do my turkeys sort of like barbeque in that I slow cook them. 225 degrees until the insides are at least 160 deg. By 9:00 am it was done and with 1 hour to rest the meat so the juices wouldn't run out I was only an hour and a half early to show time. I don't cook a whole turkey very often so I tend to err way on the side of caution so we won't be waiting on it. It was done in about 6 hours and while carving it really just fell apart. Juicy and tender to boot. I have to confess that I spilled WAY too much spice on that poor bird but it turned out to be pretty tasty in the end. Whatever it was, it was green and I'm lucky the Turkey came out of the oven brown and not green. I would have had trouble coming up with a valid reason for eating green turkey.

The carrots and apples were made from fresh ingredients and were really good. A suggestion was made to combine them into one dish and I think that is a good one. There is something really good about fried apples in the fall. It must be the slight nip in the air and the smell of dried leaves that does it. Add to that the pumpkin pie spice and fresh lemon juice and you just can't miss.

The sweet potato pie was tasty. Easy made, it is little more than boiling a few potatoes and then mixing them up with a bunch of junk and pouring it all into a shell. Those shells are courtesy of the grocery store, by the way. I don't do homemade shells. It's not in my contract. I copped out on the other desserts. I really wanted to make everyone feel like they were having a big meal so I bought two other pies. Mrs. Smith provided a berry and a chocolate pie. Nothing to it, just thaw the chocolate one and cook the berry pie in the toaster oven.

All in all I was satisfied with the results and I didn't hear any complaints from the peanut gallery. They took about 10 minutes to wolf it all down and it was all over. I've been cleaning dishes in stages so it doesn't seem like so much to do. The refrigerator is so stuffed with leftovers I don't think I'll be cooking for the rest of the weekend. That's not a bad thing either.

Marshall made the turkey in the picture. We kept it on the table while we ate and giggled about it the whole time. It was good enough to take a picture.

After the feast I managed to connive my wife to snuggle on the couch with me (not easily done). I fell asleep and when I woke up she was complaining that I had drooled all over her hair. Poor girl, that'll learn her to marry me.

Tomorrow is black Friday and I'm keeping my happy ass at the house. It'll be turkey for breakfast, turkey for lunch, and turkey for supper. I should really just send out for Chinese.

Naked girls and noodles

What do car wrecks, topless girls, Vietnamese restaurants, and sharks all have in common? The answer is pretty intuitive if you don’t dwell on it very long. They were all part of our Florida vacation, of course. Read on if you have a minute for all of the noodle slurping, death defying details. Pay attention as there might be a pop quiz at the end.
You remember of course my bellyaching about last year’s vacation. The 4th of July in Destin, Fl. amid hordes of tourists, foreigners, drunk partying college kids, and fat Canadian businessmen. I wanted quiet beaches, a few seagulls, and the occasional banner towing airplane. Naturally I endured the total opposite. Destin was crowded and locked down into a traffic jam the entire time. On our way to a flea market last year, we passed through a dumpy little outskirts town called Navarre. It was the sort of run down, destitute, poor Florida town I had been dreaming of. I mentioned to the wife that we ought to spend our next vacation there away from the upscale tinsel town that Destin has transformed into.
So in February I went to work planning our getaway. I picked out a nice hotel and booked it for 5 days several months in advance. In retrospect, this was an uncharacteristically smart move on my part. The rates went crazy in July and the hotel clerk told me he had to turn away 30 people one night. Apparently, every hotel on the beach was full. I missed out on an opportunity to heckle another hotel guest who was complaining about the high price of her stay to the clerk. Better luck next time.
We found the place easy enough and enjoyed the ride down below Montgomery (after lunch at “Chinatown”) since it was all 2 lane country roads. There was no plan for what to do other than enjoy the beach. That was a slight problem because our beach front hotel didn’t really have a beach to speak of. It was about 10’ wide and 400’ long and faced an inlet. There had to be something better. I asked Kathy to find out what the spit of land on the other side of the inlet was. It looked like another beach. She asked a 12 year old kid running a wave runner concession and the kid told her it was an air force base. We rode over there the next morning and found it to be the beach we had hoped for. Stupid kid. Anyway, the beach was nearly empty that morning so we settled down with our toes in the sand and enjoyed the quiet surf. And that is about all we really did the entire time except for hitting the flea market and eating out twice a day. But what about the car wrecks, topless girls, Vietnamese restaurants, and sharks? Be patient, I’m getting to it.

Topless girls!

Okay, not girls, but girl. MY girl. Kathy had a little wardrobe malfunction while we were out in the surf one day. The wave came crashing over us (the waves were very rough all week) we jumped up, but her bikini top didn’t. She’s standing there, wiping the salt water out of her eyes, and her top was hanging down around her belly. The funny thing was that she didn’t even notice. I finally told her that her tits were hanging out and she quickly put them up. No one else noticed but me and the 450 or so people on the beach she was facing. She’s prone to this sort of accident. Years ago when she took swimming lessons, the same thing happened only it was her little brother and the swimming instructor who were watching. Speaking of bikinis, the first one she tried on was way too skimpy. She was all ready to prance out the door with it on but I told her that unless she was planning on auditioning to be a stripper she might want to opt for something a little more demure.

Car wrecks!

On the last night of our visit, we decided to walk across a long bridge to get to the fishing pier. The bridge was very busy and also narrow. Some clown tried to make a U-turn right in the middle of it and ended up smacking a pizza delivery guy in the rear. After that all traffic came to a dead standstill except for the two of us trucking along in the pedestrian lane. We came up on the scene and Kathy checked out everyone to make sure they were ok (required of Nurses by law). While she was interviewing the victims, I made inquiries to the pizza delivery guy about purchasing a slightly used pizza for a sizable discount but unfortunately it had already been delivered. After we left the accident scene we were asked about what was going on up ahead by every 3rd car or so in line. It was only fun for a little while until I realized it would take forever to get to the fishing pier if we had to explain the situation to so many people. I do admit to having just a little fun telling several of them how screwed they were until both vehicles were towed away by the as yet un-arrived tow trucks.
There were quite a few people fishing on the pier and catching some small ones but nothing really sizable. Interesting that I saw so many foreigners. I suspected they were going to eat whatever they caught. On the way back across the bridge we stopped at a local open-air bar for beer and fish tacos (for me). Kathy had to have a girlie drink but didn’t have enough of them to become interested in the fish tacos.

Sharks!

I saw a shark. We were in the water. We got the heck out of there fast. No, I didn’t see a dolphin, a shadow, or a mirage either so if you are going to tell me it was probably something else just click your heels together 3 times and say to yourself: “it really was a shark”. I’d say it was about 3’ to 4’ long.

Vietnamese Restaurant

The one day we went to Destin for a little shopping we got caught up in a bad traffic jam which is rapidly becoming what Destin is most widely known for. After shopping the chance of getting something to eat without waiting outside in line for 3 hours was getting slim. Kathy picked out a place with a “Pho” in the name of it somewhere so in desperation we headed to it. As soon as we walked in I realized that we were the only two white people in there. Undaunted, we sat down and listened to the incomprehensible jabbering of the regulars while we waited for our food. It was surprisingly good, too. Pretty different from the standard Chinese stuff I’m used to. However; Eastern folks have a different set of standards when it comes to eating, particularly when you talk noodles. They love to slurp. I doubt there is an American alive who doesn’t flinch when he accidentally slurps his own noodle soup for fear that his Mom heard him and is about to slap him upside his head. Apparently, it’s a form of appreciation for a really good noodle in other parts of the world. For me, it’s simply a good way to turn my stomach. They backed us up to a table of 4 noodle slurping Vietnamese in order to ensure that we got the full dining experience. In spite of the ambiance and background noises, the tea was wonderful since it was loose and not the horrible bagged kind so I’m game for a return visit. Next time I’m going back to show those guys who can be more obnoxious when he eats. Maybe I’ll start by putting a chop stick in each nostril just to psych them out. That ought to level the playing field somewhat.

Well, there’s another vacation in the books. 5 days of sun, surf, and sand with a splash of naked girls and noodles.

Take a ride in Mr. Peabody's wayback machine

In a previous post, I talked about time and how much it has always fascinated me. I also mentioned that time can only move in one direction and that is forward. However; for the period from 2005-2025 time is indeed going in reverse. There is interest in doing things “the old way”. We are going back to our roots, reviving old, long forgotten techniques and skills that were afraid to have been lost in antiquity. I just saw a review on a retro website for a brand new Sony radio that is retro styled. It looks like it came right out of a 1960s yardsale, wood grained case and all. My wife and I went to “Mule Day” in Tennessee which is coincidentally everything mule. Amongst the vendors selling ticky tack, hot dogs, and balloons were a lady showing how yarn was spun and a man who made corn whisk brooms entirely by hand. One of my hobbies is woodworking. The online discussion group I belong to are constantly chatting about the “great handtool revival” and the increasing interest in selling off power tools to be replaced by 100+ year old hand tools. It’s showing up everywhere, even automobile manufacturers are reintroducing old cars that had their original hayday in the 60’s like the Dodge Charger. The TV channel, “TV land” regularly reruns shows from the same time period. I like it. It’s good to have a revival and throwback to the past. Enjoy it while you can because in February of 2025 we are all going to put our toys back in the closet where they belong. Of note during the same period of time is the interest in the Earth and conservation of all things “green”. It’s not just about saving the whales these days. Now it’s everything but Kudzu. I’ve seen more spins on the “green” thing than I can shake a stick at. Just watch advertising and you will see what I mean.