I spent the balance of my day shopping, more or less — first for clothes and then for groceries. I find that I am no longer interested in buying clothes for myself and just do it for others now. Food, that’s another story. I enjoy buying delicacies and am open to all sorts of fare. This evening I made some steamed clams in a seafood stock, emblazoned by white wine and heavy doses of truffle salt. It was delicious. Since this is the season of pumpkin, I paired it with a fine pumpkin ale and it was great.
I gave my dog, Twinkie, my last clam. She ate it right out of the shell and began chewing on the empty shell with grave intensity. I marveled at her ignorance and then quickly took the clam away from her, fearing it would choke her to death.
On the stove now, sizzling loudly and splashing corn oil onto my stove, backsplash, and floor is some floured wild cod. I don’t buy farmed raised fish anymore because I once saw a documentary that said it was the equivalent to eating out of a toilet bowl.
I’m sipping on my third glass of pumpkin ale now and my wife texted our good friend Dave, who is a former NYPD detective, that we were doing so. Dave is a brave man, 10 years my senior, who likes to laugh at my forays into flavored ale. He likes the simple things in life: fine cigars, Irish whiskey, and plain ale.
I haven’t broken my vegan diet yet, despite complaining about it every hour. Truth is, when I start something, I like to finish it and I feel bad breaking my ridiculous vegan diet. After I wrote that I just realized I had been eating fish all day — so I’m really a pescatarian. At a minimum, this experience will enable me to communicate well with other vegans, making fine conversation.
My wife just informed me that the wild cod was a disaster. She’s been drinking pumpkin ale with me and I think that had something to do with it. I didn’t take the kids to the local haunted farm this year — because they’re getting older and they said it was for babies. I really hate the fact that they’re getting older and can’t wait until they grow old enough to produce grandchildren for me. There’s nothing better than life and pumpkin ale, during Halloween, at a haunted farm, with small children.
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Damn, this the most circumspect, non-volatile, grandfatherly post you’ve ever written.
I didn’t come here for this.
Snap out of it!
Blame it on the pumpkin ale. Come morning, I’ll be telling you to fuck yourself. Relish in the detente.
Why wait? Hey buddy, sit and spin
Drinking Pumpkin Ale proves one is not an alcoholic. The Grandchildren will appreciate that. And prepare for your dog to gets the shits. Possibly.
Would you allow your better half to write a piece, say oh on how to cook buttered cod? Dr Fly style?
It’s pretty much like wild cod, butter, chives, lemon zest, white wine, and more butter. Jesus, don’t you watch f that’s delicious on vice?
no
Corn oil???
YES….. For Gawds sake Fly, avacado or coconut oil you Savage
FUCKING CORN OIL
Yes, not only are farmed fish swimming in a toilet bowl they also have high levels of PCBs, antibiotics, and much less Omega 3 than the equivalent wild fish. Know your source.
And yes, grandkids are fun. Have them in NYC and on the West Coast now. I was just visiting the NYC twins and took them to the Central Park zoo, on the subway, walked around the City, etc. It was interesting to watch the tough guy NYC cops and construction workers melt when they saw me with twin girl babies. Most started up conversations with me.
And by the way, both of our kids have now apologized for some of their behaviors when they were kids now that they are raising their own.
Make sure you take them to Governor’s Island. It’s a fun day for little ones (age 5 – 10), especially the slides. Ferry is a couple of bucks unless you’re from Venezuela in which case it’s only a couple billion.
When are you breaking out the drinking chocolate?
never
You like the atomic-pumpkin?