Five-Star Dining? Yes? No? Maybe.

    For some reason neither Lorraine nor I are enamored by five-star dining. I suppose one reason is that Lorraine is a very good cook, so we really don’t have to go anyplace to get gourmet food. Second: we’re both sort of simple food people. Third: some of our fine-dining experiences haven’t turned out well. 
    A case in point in one experience we had just before we left Kentucky. Shauna and Kevin had sent us a gift for the Mansion, a five-star restaurant in Lexington, Kentucky. This is the place where our nephew and niece got married and had dinner afterward. It was excellent, so we were looking forward to eating there again. 
   The following is from my journal at the time. 
    Last evening Lorraine and I went to The Mansion for some dinner. This is a five-star place affiliated with the local Marriot and golf course complex. I should say it was a five-star place, but now it is a four-star place, and they are trying hard to get back that other star. The Christmas before last Shauna and Kevin gave us a gift card so we could go out and enjoy a nice dinner. 
    We were shown to our table and when asked about drinks I asked for a couple strawberry daiquiris, non-alcoholic of course. The waitress said they couldn’t do that, as they didn’t have a blender. Well, that explained the fifth star. We settled for tap water, so right from the start they knew what kind of discriminating diners they had on their hands.
    The next thing the waitress explained to us was that The Mansion had a new chef and that he specialized in only a few dishes, but that he did these exceedingly well. We had noticed that the menu was very short, about six salads, and about seven entrees. It sounded like a guy who only got part way through the Shawano School of Culinary Arts, because of his predilection for adding cheese toast to each of his dishes. (We could only hope.) 
   We each ordered a salad and an entree. I ordered the Salmon and Lorraine went for the Sea Bass. Except for the Kobe Beef those were the only two items that did not include pork in some form or another. Well, there was one whole Poulet (chicken to us lowlanders) a person could get, but the table next to us had one and it looked like a person would have to be well trained in doing a post-mortem necropsy to dissect and eat the thing. 
    So, we were all aflutter to see what this new chef would do with what we ordered. 
    Our salads came on large rectangular plates. This gave said chef the opportunity to make this salad layout a work of art. And it was. Mine was tomatoes, onions, horseradish, and some other stuff to help decorate the space. The flavors were very good together, and other than rounding up the salad from the four corners of this large plate, was enjoyed to the maximum. Lorraine’s salad was beets and some other stuff to make it possible to have it look like it should have been in the Louvre. The main claim to fame for this salad was that the beets were of several different colors. Whoopee! But then again what can you expect from beets. 
    Just about the time we were ready to plunge into our salads, the guy sitting at the next table about four feet away, blew his nose. Not some little stopping a drip with a tissue thing, but a major juicy, warbling blow out, that went on and on. I don’t want to even think about where all that mucus was coming from, but there was certainly an overabundance of it. 
    Between the salad and the entrée we got a small glass of lemon sorbet. I guess this was to cleanse our palettes, so we could fully appreciate what was to come. Maybe if we had used it on our palates it would have worked better. Just kidding. 
   Before the entree arrived so did four people to occupy the table on the other side of us. I’m not sure how long they had been waiting in the bar, but they were in a fine mood. Their talk and laughter was about 40 decibels above what was necessary. To talk to Lorraine, I had to put my mouth up to her ear. The waitress soon moved us into the next room where we were by ourselves. Speaking of being by ourselves---as we were leaving about 8:15, the place, or what I could see of it was maybe 1/10th full, or 90% empty. 
   The entrees came. Again, they looked very pretty. However, my salmon was soft and sort of mushy. I’m guessing it had been caught on its spawning grounds just before it rolled over on its back; knowing it had fulfilled its main mission in life. 
   Lorraine’s Sea Bass was not much better. The taste was not too bad, but the texture took most all the pleasure out of it. Now if I had gotten this from some cook at Denny’s and was paying $9.95 for it, I would have gone back and hit the guy over the head with the large rectangular plate, being sure that he was having some kind of joke at my expense.
    But at the Mansion, where I was paying $35.00 for just this entree, I accepted it without a murmur, at least not much, and just assumed that the fault was with me and not this wanabe five-star chef. Funny how that works. Well, $66.00 dollars and our $50.00 gift card lighter, we went home. I’m not sure I could ever talk Lorraine into going back to the place. And I don’t know why I would try.

What Is the Deal? 

    So, what is the deal with cash register tapes? I stopped at Safeway and bought six items. The cash register listed the store name and the address etc. Then it listed my six purchases and a total. That took up about five inches of paper. 
    Now, that would be enough to prove that I had paid for the stuff I’m carting out of their store. But no, some genius from the legal department has figured out that this is a terrific opportunity to put the customer on notice, so there are nine inches of fine print explaining that the store is not responsible for anything, and that if I want to sue someone not to come looking for them. Up to this point I had not even thought about suing these people, but now I’m thinking, well, maybe I can conjure up something. 
    Somebody at Safeway had figured out that this slip of paper, that the captive customer is hauling out of the store, just might represent another source of income, so they are selling space to advertise things like the upcoming concert by the Manure Pile Deadbeats, who will be playing at a local Music-in-the-Park shindig the week before Christmas. 
    At the end, they have the effrontery to give you a website where you can fill out a customer satisfaction survey. (Why they might think you would be in a good mood after reading through all the extraneous fine print, I don’t know.) And for spending your valuable time on their survey they will give you a 1 in 50 million chance to win $1,000. 
    So now I’m leaving the store with a cash register receipt that has morphed from five inches to seventeen inches. Oh well, it’s only dead trees.

The Lady Got Bitten Where? 

What Did They Say? 
   On a South African beach a woman noticed that a seal had been sunning itself in the same place for most of the day, and fearful that there was something amiss, organized a rescue party to help the poor seal back into the water. The seal took exception to this, and as the article said, “the lady was bitten on the beach,” which as you all know can be very painful. If you’ve not been bitten there, then you wouldn’t know. 
    What the article writer meant to say was that while on the beach, helping a seal back into the water, the lady sustained a bite to her nose, by said seal. They did find her nose but couldn’t attach it to her face, so she is having some kind of surgery to minimize the fact that her face is missing one rather important feature. The seal seems to be doing fine and is back sunning itself on the beach, without being further bothered by well-meaning people.

No One Can Remember Him Doing That Before 
    I understand that in Arkansas utilizing road kill is a totally acceptable pastime. But bedroom kill? It seems that a five-point buck crashed through the window of Wayne’s house. It then ran down the hall to a bedroom, obviously just wanting to take a nap. But Wayne wasn’t about to allow that, so he followed the deer into the bedroom, and after a 20-minute struggle, staggered out and asked his wife to call the police then he dove back into the bedroom and the fight continued. After some time, Wayne drug the now dead deer out of the house to get it processed for its meat. Wayne is none the worse for his encounter with the buck except he walks bowlegged. No one can remember him doing that before.

It Could Be Worse 

   You think you have it bad? 
   A person has to be careful about advertising the powers you might have.  
   Several years ago a holy man in India, or someplace in that corner of the world, claimed that his body had magical powers. So, a couple fellows cut off his leg to use for some project that needed magical powers to bring it to fruition. I guess taking his whole body was just too much of a logistics problem. The holy man didn’t survive the separation from his limb. 

    Again in India, a man saw a rabid dog escaping with one of his ducks. The man caught the dog and bit its throat. For his part the dog had the man’s arm in his mouth. Some neighbors finally separated the two and beat the dog to death. The news media didn’t say what happened to the duck but the man is being treated for rabies. This man is from the village of Pakakkadavu, and was taken to the state capital of Thiruvanathanpuram. How would you like to be writing one of those return addresses on your Christmas cards every year? It would probably be easier to move.

Give A What on The What When? 

    The Swiss Hiking Federation has come up with some guidelines for being around Swiss cattle. 1. never hug a Swiss cow, 2. never caress a calf, 3. don’t look a Swiss cow directly in the eye, 4. Never wave sticks at a cow, and the one I really like, 5. in the event of absolute need, give the cow a precise blow to the muzzle. 
    I’ve been around a lot of cows. I’ve chased cows from the pasture to the milking parlor. I’ve even been chased by cows, so feel I’m somewhat of an authority on cows and how to handle them. The ones I knew were not Swiss, but I don’t think the language barrier would make a great deal of difference.
    Guidelines one and two are okay. Number three---is something I never even thought about during all my time with cows. I can’t imagine it making a great deal of difference to the cow or to me. 
    The same with guideline number four--- 
   
    Now for guideline number five---Have you ever tried to give a cow a precise blow on the muzzle when it’s chasing you intent on doing you bodily harm? 
    Picture this: You’re running flat out, probably across rough terrain. Behind you is a cow, closing on your backside. You have a very limited time to evade this 1500 pounds of agile, angry, animal. You’re of necessity weighting all your options, like how about the nearest barbwire fence, and whether to go under, through, or over, knowing that any of those three choices will be painful, with the upside that the resulting scars will be with you for a long time---or desperately looking for any other way to allude this bovine. 
    Again, you’re running flat out, and in the middle of this you’re supposed to reach behind you and give this cow a precise blow on the snout? Give me a break.

Yeah, They’re Somewhat Different 

A Different Mind-Set 
    Several years ago, Lorraine and I lived in Burleson, Texas. Texans are a little different. Just a different mind-set than other parts of the country. A case in point is below: 

     A group of security experts has made instructional video tapes showing a gunman bursting into a classroom and being swarmed by the students. As the kids charge toward the gunman they are throwing books, chairs, scissors, staplers, and anything else that is at hand in order to discombobulate and take down the gunman. They admit that several of the students will probably get hurt or killed in the process, but the school of thought is that fewer people will get hurt doing this than if they submit to the gunman. 
     And guess where they are starting this program? Good old Burleson, Texas. They hope to have all 8,500 Burleson students trained in short order. 
    Leave it to Texas, next they’ll probably be issuing each student a handgun. The reaction to this program has not met with a lot of positive comments from around the country. 
    There are some school districts that take a different approach to student safety. A case in point: Officials at an elementary school south of Boston have banned kids from playing tag for fear they’ll get hurt and make the school liable. One parent’s reaction was that her son now feels safer because of the new rule. “I’ve witnessed enough near collisions.” (Emphasis is mine.) I would hate to be around this kid when he grows up. 

It's Just What You Get Used To 
    The price of gas goes up and down and my reaction is amazing. When it goes up I think I’m being killed. Then when it goes down significantly, and even though it’s still higher than it was three months ago---well---it’s like if my doctor has been using three fingers to check my prostate, then he learns how to do it with only two fingers and I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s amazing what a person can get used to.

Everything Worth Reading from the News 

Maybe He Didn’t Think It All the Way Through      A man in Akron, Ohio, phoned 911, and requested a police dog. When asked why, he said it was to help track down some heroin that he thought had been stolen from him. 

     While police were interviewing this individual, he pulled “a brown, waxy substance from his pants.” 

    Police seized the substance, I’m guessing rather gingerly, and with gloved hands, and sent it off to be tested.

Headline: “Police probe drone that crashed through New York woman's 27th floor window.” 
   It seems it would be better if they were probing the person who was controlling the drone. 

 Scowling Face in Street Lamp
    In Salem, Massachusetts, the Mayor snapped a picture of a street lamp that seems to have the face of a scowling man inside it. The Mayor called it “eerie.” I’m not sure why, if you were trapped in a street lamp wouldn’t you be scowling? 

Depressed Dogs? Really? 
    From a report coming out of the UK it seems that one quarter of Britain’s dogs are stressed out. How do they know this? It seems they took a survey of 1,100 dog owners and one-quarter of these owners believe their furry friends are suffering from stress. Fifty-three percent of those surveyed thought themselves to be stressed out also. 
    This highly scientific study reminds me of a comment by Mark Twain, “There is something fascinating about science. One gets such wholesale returns of conjecture out of such a trifling investment of fact.” 

Just the Way They Like It? 
    The Australians are noted for their barbeques, but they recently went over the top, maybe. A farmer near Dorrigo had 68 of his cows hit by lighting, all at one time. The common opinion was that they were a little crispy around the edges, but the rest of the meat was just right. 
    Now this is a cute story, well, maybe not maybe for the cows, but to have 68 of them hit by lighting is really hard to fathom. This is one unlucky farmer.