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Gourmet Cooking for Guys
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
I've spent the last 12 years of my life slowly transforming myself from a Guy (with a capital G) to a mature and responsible Man. But there are some who believe there is no difference between a Guy and a Man:Bruce Cameron, author of "How to Remodel a Man," Oprah Winfrey, or the Lifetime Channel program directors.
But there are actually several important differences. Guys drive trucks, Men drive sports cars. Guys like football, Men like yard work. Guys use power tools, Men still have all their fingers and toes.
Since I've begun making this change, I've noticed lots of differences between Guys and Men. And since I'm also an insufferable know-it-all, it's my job to help other Guys make the same transition, but with slightly less pain and suffering.
This week, I want to talk about gourmet cooking for Guys, and how you can learn to make a gourmet meal without sacrificing your Guy-ness, or using the word "beautiful" to describe a vegetable. I've chosen gourmet cooking because this is more than heating up a microwave burrito or melting cheese on corn chips. This is real cooking with a real recipe.
First of all, remember that cooking is actually a Guy's activity, despite the mistaken belief that it's "just women's work." I'm actually surprised that Guys haven't taken it over from women. After all, there aren't a lot of other activities that have the three elements that make it suitable for Guys: knives, fire, and melted cheese.
Today you're going to make something that can impress your friends AND your wife or girlfriend. This is actually harder than it sounds, since they're polar opposites on the taste and appropriateness scale. So today we're going to learn how to cook Mexican food. True Mexican cooking is gourmet enough to impress your wife and her snooty friends, but still has enough beans for your friends' enjoyment a few hours later.
First, you need ground beef or chicken. I don't know what we're making yet, but most Mexican recipes use one of these. If your wife is concerned about your health, use chicken. If she isn't, she will be, but in the meantime enjoy your freedom and use the beef. For this recipe, brown a pound of ground beef in a frying pan. Avoid saying "How now browned ground" while you cook.
Helpful Gourmet Tip #1: Use a strainer to drain the grease off the beef when it's done cooking.
Next, you'll want 32 ounces of tomato sauce and a can of stewed tomatoes. Dump those into a pot and put it on a low "simmer." (Simmer: the next-to-lowest setting on your "stove.") (Stove: That thing on the top of the big box that gets hot.)
Helpful Gourmet Tip #2: You can buy tomato sauce at the "grocery store" (that's the big place that sells microwave burritos and beer). You might be tempted to get the cheap cans of sauce, but this is gourmet cooking. Spend the extra twenty cents and get the good stuff.
Dump in the ground beef, and add some basil, two chopped garlic cloves, some oregano, and a cup of red wine. Simmer this for 45 - 90 minutes. Use the biggest sharpest knife you can find to chop the garlic cloves into tiny pieces. It really doesn't matter what size of knife you use, but this is Guy cooking, so go big.
Helpful Gourmet Tip #3: Use real spices, not the dried stuff in jars that you got for Christmas 1994. Also, remember a CLOVE of garlic is the little piece inside the HEAD of garlic. Don't confuse the two. You can find these things at the grocery store. They're in the section with the "vegetables."
Next, bring four cups of water to a boil and drop in 16 ounces of penne noodles (these are the ones that look like macaroni but have the letters "P-E-N-N-E" on the box). Let them boil until they're soft with just a teeny tiny bit of "toothiness" (crunchiness) to them. This is also called "al dente." Make sure the sauce is still simmering while the noodles boil. Don't add any oil or salt to the water, and don't rinse the noodles when they're done. This helps the sauce stick better.
When the noodles are cooked, dump them into a colander to drain the water, and then transfer them to a big bowl. Pour in the sauce, add a cup of shredded Parmesan cheese (use the real stuff, not the stuff that comes in the plastic container), mix it and serve to your wife and friends.
Then, when your guests say, "Hey, you said you were making Mexican food. This is Italian," point out that you're a Guy. You've never stopped for directions before, and you're not about to start now.
Bon Appetit!
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Erik Deckers
(published week of August 5th, 2005)
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How Does He Feel About Stunt Doubles?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
Erik is out of the office this week, but he had a wild hair about how writers aren't respected or appreciated, so we are republishing this column from 2001.
Although I know people have differing views on writers and our so-called contribution to society, I try to stay out of the fray, except to say that people who don't like writers are mouth-breathing goobers who watch too much pro wrestling. Other than that, I have no opinion.
But all that changed thanks to an April 20, 2001 opinion column in the online edition of The (Toronto) Globe and Mail.
In an editorial whine-fest about the pending Hollywood strike by the Writers Guild of America, columnist Doug Saunders had a hissy-fit over the idea that writers think they're the creators of Hollywood movies. Saunders says that instead of the writers, it's the directors, producers, actors, and possibly even the guy who gets the little bran muffins for the actors, who actually create movies.
To Saunders, writers are just the people who crank out a bunch of words so the actors have something to do while they're prancing about in front of the camera.
I have a couple of words for Saunders, but they're not repeatable, unless you're in a Quentin Tarantino movie.
The big complaint by the WGA is that writers are basically the gum on everyone else's shoe when it comes to movie making. They're allowed on the set for one or two days, they don't get any recognition, there's only one Oscar given out for screenplays, and most moviegoers don't even realize a writer created the film in the first place.
TV writers on the other hand, are the cat's meow when it comes to show creation. In TV Land, the writers are the ones who wield the true power, like "The Practice" creator David E. Kelly, or gold-and-jewel-encrusted Michael Crichton who created "ER."
So as the contract talks enter the final stretch, the movie writers are feeling like the kids who were picked last for kickball, and are threatening to strike on May 1st. Their issues? Movies should no longer have "A movie by. . ." or "A so-and-so film," with the producers name filling in the blanks.
Because, the writers say, we're the ones who came up with the movie in the first place, not the director or the producer. They also want access to the set, they want to be interviewed, and they want to go to the premieres. After all, if it wasn't for them, there wouldn't be a movie, right? Well, mostly.
I'll admit that the producers and directors play a huge part in getting a movie created, and if it weren't for the actors, we'd have nothing to watch. But Saunders -- a writer -- seems to forget that if it weren't for the writers, the producers and directors wouldn't have anyone to call on their cell phones. And movies would be nothing more than people milling aimlessly about, mumbling inanities because they only dialogue they could come up with would be too lame for a porn flick.
Actor #1: Hey.
Actor #2: Uh, hey.
Actor #1: So, uh, how's it goin'?
Actor #2: Oh, not so bad. Uh, what are you doing?
Actor #1: Oh just stuff. I thought I'd head to the Taco Locker for, uh, lunch.
Even with Tom Hanks and a volleyball, this would STILL make for a crappy movie.
Saunders offers the lame argument that since movies are mostly visual, the dialogue is almost unnecessary, and that's why writers aren't so important. That may be true if you watch Jackie Chan movies, but it takes someone smarter than a run-of-the-mill Canadian columnist to churn out something more complex than "Jackie kicks a guy in the privates."
In an effort to throw the writers a bone, Saunders does reluctantly agree that writers play a slightly important part in the creative process. After all, he says, "no film would exist if some writer, somewhere, hadn't scratched out a few pages of words."
A few pages of words? Is that like saying Moby Dick is just a big fish? Are Minnesota winters just a little chilly? A typical movie script is close to 120 pages of dialogue, actor directions, and even scene background. It's NOT "Jackie kicks a guy in the privates."
It boils down to this: the actors need the writers more than the writers need the actors. If the actors didn't have writers, there would be a lot more movies like "Mission Impossible 2." But if the writers didn't have actors, we'd have. . . books.
If writers really aren't that important because they don't do anything more than scratch out a few pages of words, then why does everyone go ga-ga over writers like William Shakespeare, Tennessee Williams, or Samuel Beckett? If they're "just" writers, then why are these men considered some of the greatest playwrights in history? Why isn't Irving Hassenfeffer considered a big Hollywood player after his 1976 appearance as Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman at the Grand Dakotan Dinner Theatre in Pierre, South Dakota?
Why? It's because if it weren't for the writers like Arthur Miller, Irving Hassenfeffer would have been reduced to sitting on the stage, reading the week's hog report for two truckers, a waitress, and his mother.
After reading Saunders' misguided diatribe on a writer's actual contribution to Tinseltown, I would humbly ask that he "scratch out" a few more columns on any topic he would wish to name. I'm trying to housetrain my dog, and his contribution to my efforts will be duly noted.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of August 12th, 2005)
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You've Got a Thing Hanging. . .
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
Quick, check the mirror. You've got something in your teeth.
How many people would tell you that? Not many. You could be eating lunch with a friend and you've got a huge chunk of your entree stuck between your front teeth, and your friend just stares at you. You think you're wildly interesting, because she's making great eye contact and hangs on your every word. But in reality, you're going to spend the entire day with a huge piece of green spinach plastered to your front tooth, making you look like Mike Tyson's prom date. And your friend will never tell you.
Some people say that you can tell who your true friends are, because they'll tell you if you've got a booger hanging from your nose; they want to save you from complete embarrassment later on.
But most people I know say they never point out dangling boogers or tooth spinach because they don't want to embarrass the other person. That's understandable. You wouldn't want to have your carefully crafted persona shattered by being told you have a huge chunk of barbecued rib dangling from the corner of your mouth.
However, these non-tellers never think about the fact that you won't discover your bodily faux pas until three hours later when you finally get to a bathroom mirror.
Now how embarrassed are you? Not only did you sit through lunch with your friend, but you had a department meeting, and gave a presentation to your boss,with that booger stalactite hanging from your nostril.
Let's face it, we're not really trying to spare the other person's feelings. We're just embarrassed ourselves. We don't want to be the one to point at the other person, say "Err. . . you've got a. . ." and then wipe our hand under our nose.
However, we feel absolutely no compunction about laughing about it with friends later -- "I mean, it was just HANGING there , flapping in and out with every breath!" -- but we just can't bring ourselves to say, "Dude, you've got a booger. Wipe your nose."
We need to get over ourselves. Life is not always about us (it's about me, actually), so we shouldn't worry about the shame of saying "You've got a. . . uhh. . ." We're actually doing the other person a favor -- the same favor we would want them to do for us.
It's the Golden Nugget Rule: Point out others' boogers as you would have them point out boogers unto you.
Ultimately, the kind of person you are comes down to that one simple question: are you a forthright straight shooter who tells people what they need to hear? Or are you a shy, timid wallflower who would rather be swarmed over by fire ants then tell your best friend of 25 years, "Hey, your barn door is open."
I would hope you're the former, and that you'll spare a friend total public humiliation and remind her to thoroughly wipe her nose before she leaves the restaurant.
Of course, all of the rules fly out the window when it comes to smells and odors. Even communication and relationship experts agree that telling someone they smell would be the most awkward, uncomfortable thing we could ever do. It's less awkward to tell your best friend you're having an affair with his wife as the two of you walk out the door for a romantic weekend.
Our smells are one of the most basic things about us -- it's our very essence and the way our prehistoric ancestors used to identify each other way back in the 1940s. Even in some cultures today, a person's odor is considered part of who they are -- as distinctive as their face and their personality. To experience a person's odor is to experience the person.
Because odors are so primal, people never want to point out that someone else is emitting an unpleasant one. In most cases, it's considered a grave insult. The only exception is when a group of Guys get together and someone shouts the inevitable, "Dude, that was gross! What died inside you?!" immediately after an. . . explosive sound. Then, not only are odors pointed out, they're usually celebrated.
So, don't be a fair weather friend. Look out for your friend, co-worker, or new acquaintance and help them save face in what could be an awkward social situation. Stand up, point dramatically at the other person, and declare proudly: "I am your friend, and you've got a large booger hanging from your nose!"
They'll thank you for it.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of August 19th, 2005)
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Lord of the Fish
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
Erik is on vacation this week, participating in his favorite sport, fishing, so we are reprinting a fishing column while he's gone.
Friday, July 6 - We made it! After a 20 hour drive from Indiana, we made it to Red Lake, Ontario for our annual fly-in fishing trip. Each summer, we spend a week up in Northwest Ontario, eating, fishing, smoking cigars, telling jokes, and enjoying the scenery and moderate weather, and maybe drinking a beer or two. Between us. All week long. I swear.
This year, it's just me, Joe, and Carmon. We're going to try something new. For the past four years, we've brought enough food for all seven days, in case we don't catch any fish. Since we've had great luck in the past, and this is such a great fishing lake, we're only bringing canned fruits and vegetables to go with all the fish we'll catch.
We're here a day early, so we'll check in with the camp/flight service owner. We're tired after the long drive, so we'll get to bed early. We leave at 5:00 tomorrow morning.
Saturday, July 7 - Ah, Marvin Lake, our old stomping grounds. The float plane landed at 6:00 am, we unloaded our gear, helped the previous group load, and they were on their way. We won't see anyone from Red Lake until Tuesday when they check on us to make sure we're alright.
Unfortunately we were so tired that we slept through last night's dinner, and we left too early to get breakfast in town. And to top it off, someone (not me) forgot to bring our food. All we have are two cans of beans, some vegetable oil, and a bag of flour for battering the fish. We're definitely going to have to catch fish if we want to eat.
Sunday, July 8 - Yesterday was awful, and today was worse! The sun was bright, the weather was hot, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It's hotter in the cabin than it is outside. Sure it looks beautiful, but fish don't like bright clear days. They like cool, cloudy days. Needless to say, we didn't catch anything. We ate a can of beans, and saved the other can for tomorrow.
Monday, July 9 - Blast this wretched sun!! It's been clear and hot since we got here. We didn't catch any fish today either, and we're famished! We finished the other can of beans for breakfast today, and we've started frying little balls of dough and water into some sort of deep-fried ball. It's disgusting, and the balls just sit in our stomachs like pebbles.
The heat is just intolerable. Joe is suffering terribly from the heat, and Carmon can't get enough water. I've been lucky enough so far to spend most of the hot weather sitting in the shade during the worst of it, but I'm still feeling the day's effects.
Tuesday, July 10 - Another hot and clear day! Joe finally snapped and began babbling incoherently about flying fish wearing giant onion costumes. We couldn't leave him in the cabin, because it's 10 degrees hotter in there. We left him in the shade, half-conscious, and he lost a pint of blood to the biting flies. Now we're not just trying to catch fish to eat, we're trying to survive.
Peter was supposed to come today to check on us, but he never showed up. Either he forgot about us, or the entire Western hemisphere has perished because George W. Bush couldn't get his missile shield finished in time.
Wednesday, July 11 - Joe and Carmon have been sharpening their knives an awful lot, and giving me these funny looks, sort of like when the Coyote envisions the Road Runner as a giant Road Runner sandwich.
Last night, I woke up to find Joe standing over my bed with his knife and fork in hand. I'm afraid for my life, so I booby trapped my side of the cabin with bungie cords and pointy sticks. I know they'll be coming for me, but I'm ready for them.
Thursday, July 12 - It finally happened. Joe and Carmon have snapped from the lack of food and repressive heat. They went out fishing early this morning (they woke up at 5:00, which is the first sign of insanity), caught a small Northern pike and ate it raw. That gave them the energy to mount an attack against me, but I had spent all morning creating spears from tree limbs, and a crude bow and 30 arrows. I was able to hold them off
At noon, they cut the water line that runs from the lake to the sink in our cabin. I anticipated this, and have filled every pot, bowl, and glass with water. They've fashioned drums out of hollow logs, and have smeared berries on themselves to make war paint. Very "Lord of the Flies."
My arrows and spears held off two more charges, but I can hear them outside in the dark, snarling, slapping at mosquitoes, and waiting for me to drop my guard.
Friday, July 13 - It's a standoff. I'm trapped inside where it's hot, but sheltered from the bugs. Carmon and Joe are stuck outside with the bugs, but they have access to the lake. If I can ration my water, maybe I can outlast them. When will help arrive?
Saturday, July 14 - It's the last day, the end of our trip! Soon, the float plane will arrive with the next group of hopeful fishermen. And they'll have food. I shouted this information to Carmon and Joe as they hid in the woods. We have forged an uneasy peace. We will hide in the woods, and wait for the new ones arrive. . .
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Erik Deckers
(published week of August 26th, 2005)
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