Month: December 2016

What is so holy about holy? Just asking the question is an absurdity. Dictionaries don’t help. “Holy” with a capital “h” is the sacred, pertaining to divine things or beings.  While “holy” can also be merely a word used in expressions of surprise, as in “Holy cow!” And then there is Hollywood where there are neither hollies, nor anything holy or even surprising.

Be that as it may, where I am at home December is the Christmas season. An educated extra-terrestrian visiting for the first time would assume that this holiday season has something to do with Christ, a prophet or a divine being venerated by some earthlings, depending on whom you ask. If the extra-terrestrian were to ask me I would have to admit that the season is probably more about entertainment. At my local Seniors’ Center, for example, you are, if you are old enough, invited to a lunch where you will enjoy “a rocking Elvis Christmas”.  Can’t you just see it, a pelvic Saint Elvis strumming a voluntary to “Rock of Ages”?

Here is an interesting aside: the above-mentioned invitation to the Christmas lunch came before Thanksgiving. That old Pilgrims’ holiday is in danger of getting lost in the shuffle for Christmas. Maybe it needs a distinctive possessive modifier. Staying with the entertainment theme I would propose “Reality Thanksgiving”, at least this year.

Lest you fear that this trend toward secularization of holy days signals a nationwide decrease in religious fervor let me assure you that, while some churches may have lost a few members, the attendance at the Cathedral of St. Market was phenomenal, last time I visited the Mall.

Thinking of minor holidays, there is one that certainly does not need a modifier, and that is Mothers’ Day. But even then, you might get a few more rsvp’s if you invited the neighbors to a “Martha Stewart’s Mothers’ Day” party. But it would probably be too cynical to call attention to June 18 as “Folsom Fathers’ Day”. So, scratch that one. Saint Valentine’s Day needs no help, nor does Saint Nicholas’ Day, although even lifelong Christians might be surprised to learn that Father Christmas, Grandfather Frost, Santa Claus, and Saint Nicholas of Myra are one and the same person whose feast day is December 6, not the 25th.

Another less holy “holiday” with an obvious name is Black Friday although I have no idea which Friday that was, or is. And then there is “the Fourth”. It used to be an almost holy national celebration of liberty but in many neighborhoods it is now often celebrated for the freedom of lighting illegal fireworks under the nose of the police. Gradually, I suspect, the Fourth of July will be seen as nothing more than the forerunner of Christmas. You doubt this? Do not underestimate the power of St. Market!

Food-oriented people have their days, too, I should add.. People often refer to Thanksgiving as “Turkey Day”. I have not heard anyone call Halloween the “Candy Day”, but that would be a possibility, although not very likely because everybody is getting more and more health conscious. Come the week before next “Easter Bunny Day”, might we now run into “Lean Tuesday”?  Fat chance, I reckon.

(c) 2016 by Herbert H. Hoffman

 

 

This is the title of an article that elucidates the mysteries of retail shopping in a wholesale environment. It was published in the magazine Culturecult. You will find the article by googling for ‘herbert h hoffman culture cult magazine’.

“Animals are such agreeable friends”, novelist George Eliot once wrote. “They ask no questions, they pass no criticisms”. I assume she (yes, a woman named George) did include dogs among her friends. Or maybe not, because how could she have failed to mention that dogs are also insatiable eaters? They eat the food you give them at their regular feeding times. They also eat the food you don’t give them, like my sandwich on the table while I answer the phone. They eat whatever worm or other creature has expired on the sidewalk, no matter how long ago. They also eat rubber gloves. At least our Brussels griffon does. We know that because it came out his back door again, finger by finger. Our female Yorkshire terrier, all five pounds of her, has an even more exotic idea of what constitutes gourmet food: she cleans up after herself and eats it.
I remember, a long time ago, that one of my uncles had a dog for whom he always cooked horse meat and vegetables in a big kettle. Recently we became suspicious when the commercial food we had been buying, labeled ‘Bison and Potato Formula’, was suddenly relabeled ‘Potato and Bison Formula’. We intrepreted this as a discreet admission that meat was not the prime ingredient. Since the bison is a cousin of bos taurus, the common bull, we feared that, let’s just say, we would never be told straight out how much actual meat was in this pelletized mix of gristle, sinews, bones, hair, hoofs, skin, and sawdust that we are often warned about in the press. We decided to cook our own dog food from scratch. We did not stoop as low as horse meat, but we had a recipe for a two-course menu of chicken thighs and greens. We came to the first hurdle at our first visit with the butcher at the supermarket. It seems that people’s eating habits have changed toward better nutrition. Nodody buys chicken with skin any more. All the chicken the butcher had, consequently, was skinless. We needed chicken with the skin still on. And it had to be boneless. And it had to be ground. Well, this butcher was unable to do all that.
We eventually found one who was able and willing to prepare what we needed. But he had no innards. I mean, he had none for sale, there were not any in the store. He said that people don’t want them any more, that he couldn’t afford to stock things people don’t buy. Nowadays, the typical American grandmother’s famous gravy comes out of a package, just add water. Who wants to mess with liver and gizzards?
In other cultures, in France for example, or in Iran, chicken livers are highly praised delicacies. So we found a butcher who spoke Farsi, a most friendly and accomodating man who was delighted to supply us with all the liver we could handle. It occurred to me then that our government, instead of trying to come to an understanding with the uncooperative ayatollahs might be more successful working things out with the Iranian butchers’ guild.
Unfortunately our new Iranian friend was out of gizzards or he would have thrown some in. But a nearby Korean market had plenty, enough for our recipe, anyway. To chop liver is no great art. To chop gizzards is a challenge. The job requires a very sharp knife. Mine was razor sharp. That is why I nicked my thumb. Only a quickly grabbed Kleenex prevented me from adding blood to the dog food. We finished the job using the Cuisinart food processor.
To cook ten pounds of meat, rice, vegetables, and fruit one needs a big pan, one bigger than anything we had. In simpler days one could go to the store and buy a pan. Not so any more. No one goes to the store, in the first place. One goes to the computer and googles Amazon. There one learns that there is no such thing as ‘a’ pan. There are only sets of twelve convenient sizes and the shipping is free for orders over fifty dollars. By luck we found one ‘open stock’ skillet of the right size and material at a half way reasonable price. But let that go. The cooking done and the food having cooled, we mashed it all up in a bowl. The dogs paid close attention.
Such food spoils easy. One must freeze the bulk of it until needed for a feeding. One does this by measuring out daily portions. This operation involves the dog owner in most complicated computations, namely how much to give each dog per feeding. The complications arise from the fact that several different units of measurement are in use. In the markets they weigh all food in pounds and decimal fractions of pounds, 2.25 pounds, for example. Our recipe specified the same amount of ingredients in terms of pounds and ounces, like 2 pounds, 4 ounces, while the suggested rations were given in terms of two more different sets of measurements, namely cups, half cups, and fourth cups, as well as tablespoons and teaspoons. Where I come from dog lovers have it easier: everything is weighed in grams, the dogs as well as their food, it being considered irrelevant if served in cups or with spoons. Once weighed out, the portions are set into the freezer where they are promptly forgotten until the following morning’s feeding when everything is frozen solid. This is where the microwave oven comes in, bless the inventor.
It takes two adults to feed four dogs their proper rations, what with shopping, cooking, measuring, and presenting the food in suitably cut up and digestible condition, not too cold and not too hot. The last step is giving the food to the pack in such a way that they all get their’s at the same time. It is a dramatic event. I recorded, mentally, some snippets of our kitchen conversation:
“Beckie’s dish is ready. No, wait. Too much, I think. Where is the scale?”
“Here, stick this one in the microwave, just a few seconds”.
“Not on high! Defrost it, I meant, don’t cook it! Oh, let me do it, here, hold this”.
“Have you done Tiffy’s yet?”
“Hold it, this is Tiffy’s, ready for the oven”.
“Not Tiffy! Her FOOD! Get it together, now”.
“I need one more container”.
“No, not the small one”.
“Is there more room in the oven? What smells so?”
“Do you have something in the toaster oven?”
“Why did you stick Beckie’s food in the toaster?”
“Yes, I may have said “oven” but I meant “microwave” of course. A child would have understood that”.
“Stop barking, Benji. Don’t you see we are working at it?.
“Here, Gwendolyn, let me blow on yours. It was way too hot, wasn’t it?.
“Is it o.k. now? Take a bite, darling”.
“Not you, I was talking to the dog”.
“I am losing it. These animals drive me crazy”.
“I see”, is all I could get out by way of agreement. The funny thing is that what took us hours to prepare they slurped up in ninety seconds and then came begging for more. Needless to say, our pack shows no signs of malnutrition or stress other than that they could handle another cup or ounce or spoonful without trouble. Not to worry, they would somehow ‘gram’ it in.
(c)2016 by Herbert H. Hoffman

 

October 22

SHE: Next week is Halloween. HE: Dear Me, again?

October 23

HE: They will do the Nutcracker at the Fine Arts Pavillion. SHE: Dear Me, again?

October 25

SHE: We need to buy some candy, soon. HE: Yes, unfortunately. Might as well go today.

Same day, at the supermarket

HE: How many did we buy last year? SHE: Not enough. We had to give out quarters by eight thirty, remember? Here, grab a handful of Snackdoodles. And some Loonies. They are too sweet for me but kids like them.

HE: How many, you think, we need? SHE: At least a dozen of each kind I would say.

HE: Oh look, they have Gluecrafts, they are good. What are these? Hi-Kal “Glutenfree”? I never heard of them. SHE: That may be a good thing. You never know what they put in to make it healthy. Grab some, anyway.

HE:  Do we want Shnools? I think they are chocolate with goo inside. SHE: Anything with chocolate cannot be all bad. Take some.

HE: That is quite a bag full already. I didn’t really count what I put in.

SHE: Oh, good I found these. They are “peacrackernutbars”. At least that is what I called them as a child. I loved them. They were the perennial favorites in our family.

October 26

SHE: Wow, that is a lot of stuff. I hope we did not buy too much. HE: Yep. I just weighed the bag. We have almost five pounds of candy here.

October 28

HE: It is terrible. Every time I walk by the bag I reach in and have a candy. Some are actually better than others. SHE (trying to speak with a sweet putty sticking to her teeth): I know. I have two favorites, the Loonies and the Peacrackernutbars. I set a few of them aside. Let’s give those away only if we run out of the others.

October 30

SHE: I really should not eat any more, I had so many yesterday. But candy, just because it is available, grows on you. Like a craving. HE: I agree. And yes, we ought to stop or there will be nothing left to distribute. As a matter of fact, we have barely two and a half pounds left. I can’t believe we ate this many.

October 31, Halloween, Afternoon around four o’clock

HE: I am worried now. Maybe we should put all those favorites back in the bag.

SHE: Isn’t going to happen.

HE: What do you mean?

SHE: Don’t look at me like that. You are not innocent, either. I ate them, of course.

Same evening, around eight

SHE: It is dark already, this time of the year. Funny that nobody has come yet. Go out and try the bell. Maybe it is not working? HE: They would have knocked, if I know children. But I will check. (Ding dong goes the bell). The bell works alright.

Same evening, nine o’clock

HE: This is weird. Is everybody out of town this year? Did all the neighborhood kids grow up and get married? I do not understand.

SHE: Now this is weird. Look out of the bathroom window. Do you hear the voices? There are hordes of children and grown ups, all practically running, toward the School it seems. I bet they have an organized affair this year because of all the vandalism in recenty years.

Same evening, ten thirty

SHE: Well, so much for Halloween, I guess. (Unwraps a Peacrackernutbar). We will have to eat lots of candy now. HE (Munching on a Snackdoodle): Yeah. It’s a shame. No cute kids this year. No Angels with wings, no Princesses. On the other hand, it was a peaceful evening. I guess we will have to give the whole bag to charity.

December 15

SHE: I just thought of it last night. We still have to get all that candy to the Fire Station or the Salvation Army.

HE: Are you kidding?

SHE: What do you mean?

HE: What candy?

(c)2016 by Herbert H Hoffman