All Entries Tagged With: "dining out"
Happy 4-20 from Antioquia, Colombia
La galleta favorita de la leche
Breakfast in the Andes
Beans, rice, fried plantains , cilantro and aji pimienta. Morning fuel for Paisa kings
CHURCH IN HOT WATER WITH IRS OVER CASINO OPENING
(Wimpton) The Chapel of the Full-Tilt Reformed Blinding Light Unicorn Salvation and Ante-Coastal Fellowship may forfeit its tax exempt status due to the opening of a high stakes casino on its 30,000 acre survivalist fortress here.
According to investigating Treasury Department officials tax exempt and gambling don’t mix well.
“Who ever heard of a non-profit black jack table,” said one IRS agent. “It’s virtually impossible even with the watered down games that these jokers have been pushing on their congregation since the Puritans hit the pulpit.”
The fellowship, which operates out of the trunk of a Buick LeSabre registered to a Rev. Phillip Pharisee, plans to appeal whatever decision is handed down on the grounds of religious freedom.
Traditional gambling interests in Las Vegas and Atlantic City have already threatened to align themselves with the church in light of the potential increase in customers.
“If we could crack the Sunday go-to-meeting crowd we might survive the onslaught of riverboat, Indian and low stakes shanty casinos that have cropped up in every fishing village, reservation and former mining town across the country,” said one poker-faced spokesman from Nevada.
“Imagine the profits from the fish fry/bingo contingent alone,” he mused.
Lobbyists for the gambling industry have long sought the relaxation of laws prohibiting children and the mentally ill from wagering paychecks and pumping slot machines.
“Let’s face it,” said the source, “eternal life is a gamble and there’s no better time to start counting cards than the present.”
A decision on the matter is expected Friday. Already Pharisee has threatened to relocate his fortress and his Buick to Russia, “where at least they have religious freedom”, if the IRS forces the issue.
– Uncle Pahgre
Feds Admit To Misplacing Rhode Island
(Providence) Today federal officials shocked the nation by admitting that they had lost Rhode Island for a few anxious hours in early April during the Corona virus lockdown. Sensitive to accusations about blatant incompetence and the absence of real security at the highest levels, a spokesperson for the feds read from a prepared statement:
“It is true that Rhode Island was in limbo on the morning of April 8. We could not find her anywhere. Then, almost as easy as we lost her, we found her again, hanging out with Massachusetts and Connecticut at the beach at Cape Cod.”
Relieved, the gov’ment workers quickly hauled the state back to its original position among the 13 colonies.
“At all times we were certain that Rhode Island would be located. In reality we did not lose Rhode Island. We just couldn’t find her. This was not a breach of security. We are functioning at the highest level. We are in charge. This is not a matter of easily access atomic secrets or even the botched forest fires of arrogance,” continued the release.
Insiders hope that the temporary absence of Rhode Island from the federal roster did not sprout seditionist sentiments down South where Confederates in the belfry, stung over prohibited display of the Stars and Bars, continue to fight the War Between the Snakes.
In closing, one spokesman for someone’s gov’ment, allegedly located somewhere in a fortified bunker on the Eastern seaboard, defended the loss in that Rhode Island is, “after all” the smallest of the states.
“If there are fifty birds in the hen house it’s easy to see how the smallest could stray especially with the hungry Constitutional fox on the prowl. It was a mere oversight,” said the red-faced lackey.
– Pauline Pettifogger
Canine’s CD Rips Up Charts
(Eldridge, CO)) In a world where just about everyone has released a CD, a local dog named Sparky has achieved overnight success with his maiden flight entitled “Are You Predictable?” The CD has cruised to the top of the pop charts holding onto fourth place in sales in just two weeks.
Receiving critical acclaim right out of the gates, the musical offering features enlightened howling and barking interspersed with selected excursions coupled with growling and whining. In addition to the CD the package offers a DVD of a recent performance and several designer dog biscuits direct from Paris. The music has been equally as popular with people as with dogs.
Worthy of special notation are the background yips in the Elvis hit “Is Your Bone Gone Tonight” and the dish-rattling percussion in the Del Shannon classic “My Little Runaway”.
Other selections include the tail-wagging “Marking My Way Back Home” and the popular single “Scratch My Ears and I’ll Scratch Yours”.
This is the first time in recorded history that a dog has succeeded in releasing a collection of songs into the mainstream. What makes this piece so incredibly priceless is that there are no instruments employed (no thumbs) and all songs were recorded on location.
“There is no place for synthesizers in the mind of the purist,” said one fan.
– Small Mouth Bess
Yellow Flagged in an Andean Paradise
Due to the virus, the world lockdown and cancelled flights we have been quarantined near a 6500-foot mountain town in Antioquia, Colombia since mid-March. It’s 74 degrees, sunny, solitary and silent.
After searching for days through empty streets and among the masked residents I have finally accepted the sorry fact that grocery stores in the small village of Jardin, Colombia do not offer Twinkies or Ding Dongs. I can deal with the blatant, almost arrogant absence of kosher pickles, ahi tuna steaks, frozen pizza, champagne and caviar but now this?
Today we bought rice, beans, mangoes, eggs, zucchini, maple syrup, chicken, garlic, peppers, yucca, potatoes, shrimp, salmon, beer, rum, granola, cheese, ham, chorizo, cream, milk, ginger, peanut butter, pasta, peanuts, potato chips, tomatoes, papaya, mineral water, paper products, soda crackers, Oreos, yogurt, toothpaste, tilapia, canned peaches, coffee, butter, basil, salsa, thyme, oregano, capers, cooking wine, olives, spaghetti sauce, pancake mix, chocolate, cilantro and cucumbers.
Our view of Jardin from the farm on the river down below
It was all delivered (eggs on the handlebars) to our finca house one kilometer from town at no extra charge. Servicio domicilio ala motorcycle. Even the beer was still cold. Survival alamode can be high impact entertainment.
Tonight we will feast on ajiaco or sancocho or maybe fritanga. Recipes for these fine Paisa dishes are easily cornered in a variety of sources for the curious gourmet.
Sitting in my al aire libre office looking at banana and mandarin trees I get the idea that I am only an intruder into this magnificent landscape of overwhelming green and breezes. My neighbor, Fabio, harvests coffee beans to sell while I marvel at the diversity of birds, monitor the same old news, write harebrained stories and read novels. You can never be bored when there are books.
I have read Tolstoy backwards. Yeats in a hammock, Marquez by candlelight and Joyce on the horizontal lien and on the lam. Yes, I am technically an illegal alien due to the virus-driven closure of immigration machine in Medellin. My partner’s passport is expired and we no longer possess valid plane tickets back to the US. We could rent recreational vehicle and make a mad dash through the Darien but there are an assortment of armed groups running the show there, and RVs are all but nonexistent in South America.
The neighbor’s dogs are paying a visit this morning while the two very friendly resident cows stare us down from flimsy fence line, waiting for us to deliver lunch from the sweet grass just out of out reach. The horses whinny and twitch in dusk’s remaining shadows unconcerned with the human predicament.
But we have not touched a clutch in months. We walk to town up and down the muddy, forest hills to the yellow bridge across the river that cascades from the chiva circus and trucharias in Caldas to the south. It is just enough exercise to lubricate our brains and bones and earn an evening beer. In town the pretty plaza stands empty on the verge of tears, holding its corsage tightly, waiting to be the center of life once again.
My outdoor office outside the village of Jardin, Colombia
We sometimes sit on our mosaic tile patio and look up at the pantomime village, a place that just weeks ago was brimming with life, now a stumblebum on a cliff. Oh but for the high-rev snarl and rumbling thunder of a badly tuned motorcycle bouncing off the Colonial walls or people yelling hello from balconies or bus horns blasting their departures, or the clinking of beer bottles or church bells banging away at ungodly hours. I never thought I’d miss these sounds of life unfolding, clatter and reverberations demanding to be heard.
The river croons, heaves and gushes after a quenching rain and Rocas* screech in the woods. We watch as the day shift of bees and flies are replaced by the night workforce of moths and beetles.
Some days I can almost hear the sound of trees growing.
