[This shit is dangerous. It tastes like it has little alcohol but that is a lie. Do yourself a favor and cut it with soda water or you’ll get shithoused really fast]
You ever hear of a drink called the Arnold Palmer? It’s iced tea and lemonaid. It’s pretty decent if you are a square.
My version is made with tea-infused vodka, limoncello, and lemon juice. I call my drink the Robert Palmer because it’s SIMPLY IRRESISTIBLE!!!
The Robert Palmer: Simply Irrisistable!
- 6 parts Tea-Infused Vodka
- 4 parts limoncello (50 proof or higher)
- 1 part fresh lemon juice
This is the the ratio of ingredients if you want to prep some goofy amount not mentioned in this post. Keep in mind, 6+4+1 = 11. So, take your goal amount, say it’s a litre, and divde by 11. 1000ml divided by 11, rounded down, is 90ml. That means you’ll want 540ml of vodka, 360ml limoncello, and 90ml lemon juice. Get it? IT’S MATH!!!!
Making a single drink:
- 3 oz tea-infused vodka
- 2oz limoncello
- 1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
- 90 ml tea-infused vodka
- 60 ml limoncello
- 15 ml fresh lemon juice
Pour over a pint glass full of ice and enjoy.
This stuff is dangerous. Tastes great, but I make it with 80 proof tea-infused vodka and 75 proof limoncello. This is a “Pants down, then shit” kinda drink.
“That’s great, Tastykakes, but how do I get these ingredients??”
Good point. Tea-infused vodka can be made at home in a day. Limoncello takes a few weeks to make. Or you can buy some. Here’s the rub: Store bought limocello is shit. IT’S SHIT!!!!!!!! I will give you the recipe for both. You won’t make them because you’re a lazy prick.
- 6 tablespoons quality black tea (that’s 2 grams if you’re civilized and 6 teabags if you married your cousin)
- 750 ml bottle of vodka
Dump the tea into the bottle of vodka. Let it steep for 24 hours. Dump the vodka through a coffee filter or fine mesh to remove the tea leaves. Boom! You’re done! Pour it back into the bottle from whence it came and put the goddamn cap on it, Sillyass.
- 8 large, bright yellow lemons. Like hand grenade size lemons. Or 10-12 smaller lemons. Better to err on too many lemons.
- 500 ml Everclear (150 proof)
- 500 ml home made simple syrup. (Google it if you don’t know how to make it. It’s easy. Sugar + water heated on a stove.)
- Microplane zester
- Glass mason jar
Use the microplane zester to remove the yellow lemon zest. Microplane is key because it gets the zest without any of the bitter white pith. Don’t use a veggie peeler or we’ll all be taking the pith. Place the zest in the mason jar and fill with 150 proof Everclear. Don’t use vodka or you’ll end up with a weak, shit limoncello. Screw the cap on the mason jar (dunsky!) and leave it in a cupboard or pantry for three weeks or until the yellow zest has been stripped of all it’s color. When it is done, filter out the zest using a coffee filter. I use a reusable coffee microfilter. You can use a paper coffee filter if you are a pleeb. Combine the lemon-infused Everclear with an equal amount of simple syrup.
500ml of lemon-infused 150 proof Everclear + 500 ml of simple syrup will give you a litre of 75 proof limoncello. Much of the store bought limoncello is 30 proof, weak-ass limoncello that is made from artificial flavors and tastes like a cheap lemon drop candy you might find at a convalescent home or a Salt Lake City dildo shop. Make it yourself, as instructed, and it will taste like what you get in Sorrento or Capri.
Drink, get caffeine/alcohol blitzed, grind teeth, shit pants, and enjoy life. Puto.
I have been putzing around with pasta dough recipies. I buy Bob’s Red Mill Semolina flour and usually use the recipe on the bag. It’s really good. You should prolly stick with it and ignore my half cracker / half camel jockey ass. But if you want to bump it up a tad, this is what I do:
Use half semolina and half all purpose flour. Instead of two eggs, use one whole egg and two egg yolks.
- 2 Tbsp Olive Oil
- 1 whole egg + 2 egg yolks (or just use 2 eggs if you want to be a simple-minded tit)
- 1/2 cup Semolina Pasta Flour + 1/4 cup all purpose flour. (You can use 1 1/2 cups of either flour if you want. Go ahead, break my heart)
- 2 Tbsp Water
- 1/2 tsp Salt (Try sea salt! That little bit of extra fish shit adds a certain je ne sais quoi)
Combine flour and salt, add eggs, water and oil. Mix to make a stiff dough. Not Ron Jeremy stiff, but stiff enough to make a cougar blush. Knead 10 minutes or until dough is elastic. You want to kneed by smashing and stretching with your hands. Don’t be a lazy prick! PUT SOME EFFORT INTO IT!!! Wrap dough plastic bag and let rest for 30 minutes so all those dangerous glutens can gain enough strength to kill you and your shitty-ass gluten-free body. After 30 min, on a lightly floured surface, roll out to desired thickness and cut as desired. I use a Kitchen Aid pasta roller because I am lazy.
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook until tender (approximately 3 – 5 minutes). Don’t over cook fresh pasta, silly ass! When making lasagna, no need to boil noodles. Add directly to your recipe.
Eat. Get diabeetus. Die with a smile on your fat face.
- 1 lbs Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and sliced
- 1 1/4 cups half and half
- 1 tsp butter
- 1/2 yellow onion, sliced
- 2 cloves garlic
- Salt and pepper to taste
- 1 tsp thyme
- 4 tbsp unsalted butter, diced
- Optional: 3 tbsp hatch chili, canned or roasted and diced. (or any diced roasted chili or crushed pepper if you wish)
- 2 cups shredded cheese (Gruyere for French-style. Cheddar and jack work best if you use chilies. Or try a combo of cheddar, jack, and Gruyere)
Preheat oven to 425. Sauté onions in 1 tsp butter until caramelized. Add garlic, chilis (optional), salt, pepper, and thyme. Add half and half and bring to boil. In a greased 2 quart oven safe dish, place 1/3 of the sliced potatoes, top with 1/3 of butter, cream mixture, and cheese. Repeat two more times, ending with cheese. Bake at 425 until potatoes are tender (about 45 minutes).
I’m half Assyrian. I grew up eating a dish called Zazich (prounounced jah-jek). It’s a cheese spread that we’d smear on everything and eat like it was going out of style. It’s a really great dish to eat if you think your LDL is too low.
Here is the zazich recipe. I didn’t even know how it was spelled until I looked it up on Google recently! There are slight differences between recipes I’ve found online and what my family did, but the overall recipe is fairly consistant.
- 16-ounce package small curd cottage cheese
- 2 large packages (6- or 8-ounce cream
- 1 tablespoon butter, room temperature (optional, but yum)
- 1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro (Use Italian parsley if you think cilantro tastes like dish soap. Some people hate it)
- 1/2 cup chopped fresh dill
- 2 hot yellow hungarian peppers / banana peppers, diced. (omit if you are a sissy pansy)
Add all ingredients to mixing bowl and blend. I use a hand held blender to smooth out the cottage cheese curds. They’re kinda nasty lookin’ otherwise. When you are done blending, put it back in the fridge. It will be about 24 hours before all the herb flavors release into the dip. Add a little salt if you wish. Spread it on bread, toast, bagels, pita. Rub it on your assneck, I don’t give a shit.
If you want it to be lower fat you can use use half the cream cheese, as we did when I was a kid, but fat is what makes everything taste good. Growing up, we never measured anything. It was a pint container of cottage cheese, a standard stick of cream cheese, a “bunch” of cilantro, a “bunch” of dill, and that was it. If you have cilantro or dill left over it won’t kill you to just throw it in. More flavor, ya know? I never liked hot peppers as a child. Now I can’t get enough. Use them if you wish.
When I got older I discovered all the other middle eastern cuisines as well as world cuisine. I love Assyrian food because I grew up with it, but I think Lebanese food is far superior. (My grandmother is going to haunt me from the grave for admitting that). Learning to cook world cuisine has altered how I approach family recipes.
I realized I could make a fantastic tzatziki while using the flavors of Assyrian zazich. We never made tzatziki when I was a kid, so I had to make up my own that still adhered to the flavors common in my family’s recipes.
Here is what I came up with:
- 1 pint full fat greek-style plain yogurt.
- 1/4 cup chopped fresh dill
- 1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro (Use Italian parsley if you think cilantro tastes like dish soap. I said it before: Some people hate it)
- 1 tsp smashed fresh garlic
- 1/2 – 1 tsp salt (start with a half and add more to taste)
- 1/2 tsp paprika
- 1 tsp pepper
- 2 tsp lemon juice
- 1 tbsp olive oil
- 1 tbsp mayo (you can skip the mayo, but I think it rounds out the flavor. Use good mayo, not some Miracle Whip bullshit)
- 1 medium cucumber (I leave on the skin)
I place the pepper, salt, and garlic in a mortar and smash the hell out of it with a pestle until it is a paste. Slice the cucumbers thin and then dice them. I use a truffle shaver, but I am a douchebag. Put the minced cucumber into a mixing bowl along with your garlic paste.
Add in a pint of full fat plain greek yogurt. I prefer Straus Greek Yogurt. Greek yogurt is strained so it is rich and almost as creamy as cream cheese. Any yogurt will work but dairy fat makes it taste better and it should be tart enough to gag a Bulgarian plummer.
Add in the remaining ingredients and mix well. Place it in the fridge and give it 24 hours for all the herbs to mingle with the dairy fat. Put it on kabobs, rice, pita. Rub it on your pintits, I don’t give a shit!
Makes two drinks
4 ounces gin
1oz Luxardo Maraschino liqueur
1 oz simple syrup
1 oz fresh lemon juice
Club soda or seltzer water, chilled
Lemon peel garnish
Fill two tall glasses with ice and fill your cocktail shaker half full with ice.
Add gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup to the shaker and shake 30 seconds.
Strain the cocktail ingredients into the ice filled glasses.
Top off the cocktail with club soda, and garnish with lemon peel.
Serve with stolen Starbucks straws.
The margarita is not that popular in Mexico. You read that right. The margarita was popularized in the United States of Gringos. In Mexico, the tequila cocktail of choice is the Paloma. Tequila and lime are good but grapefruit seals the deal. It is often made with grapefruit soda like Squirt when fresh grapefruit is not available. When I visited the douchey, rich area of Monterrey, Mexico for a business trip they made palomas with fresh grapefruit, fresh lime, simple syrup, quality tequila, and club soda. This is my own variation that uses fresh citrus plus Italian grapefruit soda.
I call it the Palermo Paloma.
Makes two big cocktails. I use twenty ounce glasses.
- 12 oz can of San Pelligrino Pompelmo (grapefruit soda).
- Juice of one lime
- Juice of one grapefruit
- 4 oz of tequila
Pour tequila, lime and grapefruit juices into shaker with ice and shake for a minute. Pour into glasses and top with grapefruit soda. Garnish with grapefruit peel.
Drink. Poop your pantalones. Repeat.
By the way, left over grapefruits make great stunt tits.
I shot this on my iPhone while on a work trip to South Dakota. Edited with Adobe Premiere and After Effects.
Twelve Monkey meets Raising Arizona.
Rated PG for the word “Shit”
February 22, 2016. Monday
Four days earlier I exited the New Jersey Turnpike, on my way to New York City from Delaware, to return a call to my director. She wanted to swap trips with me and the trade was most welcome. We don’t travel as much as most of the people in my department but we do travel and I tend to enjoy seeing new places.
“Chris, I need to go to British Columbia in your place. The [new system] module is a disaster and since I have been working with the development team, I feel I should be the one going to Canada for damage control. I was scheduled to attend the
[ REDACTED] Casino kickoff meeting in Oklahoma next week. I need you to go there instead.”
This was good news for me. Several top brass from my company were scheduled to attend the Oklahoma meeting and I have been scoring some points with our project managers recently, doing more business assessments and presentations. I’ve been doing this stuff forever but my current employer has no idea that it is one of my strongest skills. I was happy to go to Oklahoma in my director’s place and I have seen enough of Kamloops, British Columbia.
“Sure, I’ll go to Oklahoma!
[ REDACTED] requested me for that project originally, so she’ll be happy. In Monday and out Wednesday. Easy peasy. Have fun in Canada.”
I booked a last minute flight on American Airlines and since I have status I was assigned premium seats in the front of coach (my company will not pay for anything higher). My flights between Dallas and Oklahoma were automatically added to the first class upgrade list for free. Not a bad way to travel, if I may say. I was looking forward to lunch at Pappadeaux’s in DFW airport and dinner at Chuy’s Tex Mex, which I noticed was next door to our hotel in Norman, OK.
Sunday night, the evening before my flight, I got a notice that a package delivery had been attempted at my house on Saturday. They were trying to deliver a Suzuki Melodica that I ordered from Japan. These harmonica-sounding keyboard/wind instruments cost about $80 on Amazon and ship directly from Japan at no extra shipping costs. They don’t really sell these in the states and I have wanted one since watching Stephen Colbert’s band leader, John Batiste, play one each night on the new Late Show. This model melodica is rated very high and $80 seemed like a steal. The delivery estimate was not for another two weeks. They tried to deliver it Saturday and I was not expecting it this early. Sure enough, there was a slip on my door from the US Postal Service. It’s not the kind of parcel I wanted to leave at the post office for three more days.
My scheduled flight through Dallas to Oklahoma City left Vegas at 11:10 AM. I got up decently early and decided to drive to the post office to pick up my Melodica with a quick detour to the gas station, because I’m too stupid to fill my tank on my day off. In my silly brain, I imagined a five minute line to get my parcel and then going my merry way. I got to the post office and stood there for 45 minutes watching the miraculous efficiency of the USPS. I calculated, based on previous experience being late to the airport, the exact cut off point when I would have to abandon my quest for the melodica and catch my flight. 10am was my final cutoff. I got the parcel and was out the door by 9:50. I really had to pee, but the USPS doesn’t have a restroom. I decided to hold it until the airport.
I parked my car at the long term parking, as usual, which gets me into the terminal quickly. There is one men’s room near my security gate and I power walked to it trying not to let the tinkle leak down my leg. RESTROOM CLOSED! Somumabitches!! Crap. I’ll have to hold it until the terminal. I marched up the TSA-Pre security with my carry on luggage in tow, my ID out, and my digital boarding pass ready. There was a slight line at expedited security but not bad. I had 25 minutes before my flight left. No problemo. When it was my turn, Capt. Dunsky Q. Dipshit of the TSA made one attempt to scan my phone and then said, “You need to go down to ticketing and get a paper ticket. This isn’t scanning.”
“Can you try it one more time?”
“Sir. Please step out of line and go to ticketing for a paper ticket.”
“Just try again.”
“Sir! You WILL step out of the line!!”
“Goddamn! Sonofabitch! Peckerhead! Shitnose! Assface! Scumbag! Nickledick! Pissbrain!”
I muttered every compound profanity my father ever taught me as I marched to the men’s room, trying not to piss my pants. As frustrated as I was, a good pee is still a good pee. I placed my hand on the urinal wall and savored a long leaning piss, momentarily disconnecting myself from time and space.
The ticketing/check in line looked like a scene from Terry Gilliam’s Brazil. I am able to use the Priority/First Class check-in line but it was still incredibly long and being serviced by one person. The gate agent could not find single thing wrong with my digital boarding pass nor could she find any reason why I could not be let through security at the time. Naturally, I missed the flight. The best thing she could do was connect me through Phoenix to Dallas to Oklahoma City, but I was placed on stand by the entire way.
I am a fairly easy going guy and I try never to get pissy with people in the service industry, especially airline folks, since they put up with so much bullshit from people. I mentioned to the gate agent that I was looking forward to sitting at Sammy’s Wood-fired Pizza and having a nice chicken caesar. My original flight did not give me enough time to eat. She appreciated that I found the bright side and wished me luck on all my connections.
Past security, I had a lovely lunch and got to my gate just as my name was cleared for the flight. Whew! One down. I was placed in the back of the plane but in an exit row with a ton of leg room. Nice! The doors closed, we push back from the gate, and that is when I heard the retching.
“Huey! Huuuueeeey! Hyooooo….BLAALAALARG!!”
A woman screamed. I looked behind me to see a tall man had just target vomited on the woman’s head in front of him. He started heaving again.
“Huey! Huey! Huey! ROBOCOPBUGSBUNNYTACOBELLBUYMYBUICK!”
This time he managed to open a puke bag at the last second. A caustic bouquet of putrid Cinnabon and Starbucks began to waft through the cabin. I started to fear a regurgithon-style domino effect once people reacted to the smell. The plane lurched forward and stopped at the gate. Linda Blair’s twin brother was let off the plane as well as his victim with her glistening barf hat. That may have been the first time that the smell of burning jet fuel entering the cabin was a welcome event. The scent of vomit was effectively buried by fumes. The puke incident held us up for only 15 minutes and we were on our way. But my fun had just begun.
I had very little time in Phoenix and I went directly to my new gate. I was given a decent seat and was on my way to Dallas. Two down! That flight was uneventful. I read and relaxed. At the Dallas airport I went to Pappadeaux’s, a Cajun food chain, ate shrimp, and drank large fru-fru frozen cocktail. I texted the project manager at the client site so she could arrange for someone to pick me up when I landed three hours later than planned. It is a 30 minute flight to Oklahoma City from Dallas and the end of my long travel day felt within my reach. Boarding was delayed and then delayed again. I was looking forward to getting into my hotel bed and sleeping. More delays. I kept texting my new arrival time to my co-workers and they gave up and told me to take a cab.
I was the last person to get on the flight. I got a middle seat, last row, and I was very happy to have made all three stand by lists. When I got to my seat, the college-aged girl next to me on the aisle seemed a bit out of it. I incorrectly assumed that she was just nervous to fly. I noticed she had been given three airplane blankets. Another young lady two seats up handed her sunglasses and said, “I’ll get them back from you when we get to Oklahoma. They should help.” The girl put on the glasses and then turned to me.
“I am sorry for being such a pain.”
“A pain? Did I miss something? I just arrived. Is there something the matter?”
“I am epileptic. My medication is checked in my bag and I can’t get to it. I’m having a few tremors and they are making me nervous. That woman is a nursing student and she was kind enough to lend me her sunglasses. Darkness helps. Thankfully, the flight is just thirty minutes.”
The plane started to push back from the gate. I wanted her to feel comfortable so tried to put her at ease. “Well, you’re no trouble at all. Let me know if there is anything I should know or if there is anything I can do to help.”
We were making eye contact while we spoke and as I finished my sentence her eyes rattled and her face contorted. She let out a guttural scream from the bottom of her lungs and she fell, face first into my chest and neck. Her whole body writhed. Thinking fast, I used several of the blankets to make pillows so she didn’t bash her head into mine. I wrapped another blanket around her arms to softly restrain her flailing. The nursing student got up and turned around in her seat and made eye contact with me. “Make sure your arm rest is up so she doesn’t crack a rib.”
I had left the arm rest up already. I nodded and gave her a very attentive look as if to welcome more instructions. “Let her ride it out and just keep her from harming herself.” Way ahead of you! A river of drool poured from her mouth and down the blanket I had used to cradle her against my shoulder and chest. I experienced a very random and vain appreciation for those extra blankets. The passengers, now aware an event was occuring in the back, turned around to see me cradling a violently seizing woman. I had a strong urge to yell, “Hey! What’s shakin’ motherfuckers??” Thankfully, good taste prevailed.
The nursing student was let out of her seat and most of the crew approached us. I let everybody know that I would keep a hold of her until she stopped if needed and the nursing student said that would be best. When she finally stopped seizing and opened her eyes the nursing student wrote down the duration and said,”Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” Holy crap! It seemed like an hour to me.
The girl was totally disoriented. She had no idea where she was but she had no problem burying her face back into me like a frightened child. I kept her eyes covered with the third blanket and had let go of the blanket I used to restrain her arms. For the next several minutes she was like a three year old child who had been woken from a deep sleep. The nursing student grabbed her wallet and found her emergency medical info to give the paramedics who were on their way as the plane went back to the gate. The flight crew picked up the iPhone that she dropped and had been asking her for the passcode so they could call a family member. She didn’t understand their request. I noticed that her phone was an iPhone 6 Plus like mine. I asked them to hand it to me and I carefully placed her index finger on the fingerprint censor, unlocking the phone. The flight attendant quickly found the word “Mom” in her recently called list and hit dial.
The paramedics came and took her off. The girl became very upset once she was aware of what happened. She was embarrassed and crying and clung to me. The paramedics coaxed her onto their chair and wheeled her off the plane. I felt a sense of relief that she was in good hands and I selfishly realized I could take her aisle seat. That is when everyone started thanking me for everything I did. I’m sitting here coveting this girls empty seat and these people think I am a hero. I was flattered but, honestly, what else was I supposed to do? Douse her with holy water and shout, “The power of Christ compels you!”
The ground crew sorted through all the luggage and found her bag with her medication. The captain informed us that she got her meds and was being taken to the hospital. When our flight took off we were two and a half hours behind schedule. But finally… I was on my way to Oklahoma City.
We landed close to midnight and the little airport was a ghost town. I got my bag and went to the transportation area. Nothing. The rental car companies had closed. I walked outside to where the taxi stand and shuttles pick people up. Nothing. There was one man sitting on a bench in the distance and I saw a cab pull up. I started running towards him.
“Sir! Where did you get that cab?”
“Oh, I called ahead from Chicago and booked this hours ago.”
“You’re not going to Norman are you?”
“No sorry. I’m going downtown.”
“Are you paying cash?”
“If you will let me share your cab, you can pay me the exact fare to your hotel. Then I will take the cab to Norman, pay the cab with my corporate credit card, and I’ll cover both tips.”
An hour later I was checked into my hotel. I showered and was in bed by 1am. Whew.
Two days later on my return home, I found a suitcase that had been abandoned at one of the convenience stores at the Dallas airport. I told the store manager and watched as security showed up with a beagle to sniff out the bag. I don’t frighten easy and I don’t get worked up over terrorism or active shooters. I tend to be carefree and live in the moment. But for just a second, after all the ordeal I experienced two days earlier, I imagined that suitcase exploding. I walked five gates away and sat behind a concrete wall for the next hour. Couldn’t hurt, right?
I have made emergency landings on commercial flights, including landing in Curaçao because the entire island of Aruba lost electricity. I have nearly crashed in a private twin engine plane when the door blew open and the engines suddenly failed. I was almost run over by the old man who killed 70+ people with his car in the Santa Monica farmers market disaster in 2003. On work trips I have been stuck in blizzards, been in earthquakes, I had a rental car slide off the road and get stuck in an embankment, and I have been evacuated from casinos due to flash flooding. I was given an incorrect work visa in The Bahamas and had the casino GM threaten to hold me hostage until my company fixed their tech issues. I fled the country that night in secret. I had police in Durban, South Africa point 9mm sub-machine guns in my face and order me to return to my hotel because I had unknowingly wandered into an urban war zone. I was assigned a bodyguard when my company sent me to the casino in Monterrey, Mexico that had been fire-bombed by drug lords.
And as I am typing this on the plane, coming back from this very exciting trip to Oklahoma, the man next to me has Tourette’s.
I have fun.
Buy a food grade cedar plank from Home Depot or Whole Foods and soak it in water for at least an hour. In a bowl, combine the following until it becomes a nice goop.
- 1/2 cup brown sugar
- 1 tbsp dry thyme
- 1/2 tsp Chipotle powder or cayenne
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 1 tsp bbq rub
- 1 tsp cumin
- 1 tsp powdered garlic
- 2 tbsp oil
- Zest of one lemon
- Juice from half a lemon
- (Optional) 1/4 tsp fine ground espresso
Place filet of salmon or steelhead trout, skin down, on the soaked cedar plank. Place on the grill and cook on low heat for 40 mintues or until the thickest portion of the fish is 145 degrees inside. You want the plank close enough to the flame to smoke but not catch fire and cook the fish too quickly. The longer it cooks, without overcooking, the more smoke flavor.