caviar...twice a year - a mother of pearl spoon - birthday and christmas...sancerre...or champagne if you prefer....
smoked salmon...quarterly - toast points, diced onions, capers, and a lemon...chilean sauvignon blanc....
oysters...monthly - plump and salty, in mid afternoon...a little vodka, and bed....
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
chokoloskee
swan and i went to chokoloskee one fall to fish for snook with gil drake, our key west friend and tarpon guide. ed watson's ghost stalked us the whole time we were there. we had both read peter matthiessen's novel KILLING MISTER WATSON and part of our interest in the fishing had to do with visiting the scene of the killing - which actually took place in front of ted smallwood's store, not far from where gil docked his boat.
edgar, ed, e.j., jack watson - call him what you may - was a formidable character in southwest florida in the early years of the twentieth century. he came to that part of the country via south carolina and oklahoma - where it is said he had killed belle star. he farmed - successfully - an old indian mound at chatham bend just south of chokoloskee and, rather than pay them at the close of harvest season, killed several of his farm hands. some number of other murders or disappearances were attributed to him as well. he so terrified the locals that, at last, they shot him down in a group as he was coming ashore to purchase supplies. much murkiness surrounds his killing - certainly enough to support his ghostly presence.
the people of chokoloskee are not particularly friendly - especially to yankee fishermen and i suppose that helped with our feeling of dread. gil took us by the chatham bend homestead - nothing remained, he said, but the cistern. i knew from my reading that the government, when it created the park had burned down all man made structures within its boundaries but that did nothing to dispel the willies. i felt like a kid on his first halloween.
we didn't catch many snook - though we both developed bursitis in our casting shoulders skittering our flies in under the mangroves hour after hour. we certainly felt mister watson's presence, menacing even today, a hundred years later.
edgar, ed, e.j., jack watson - call him what you may - was a formidable character in southwest florida in the early years of the twentieth century. he came to that part of the country via south carolina and oklahoma - where it is said he had killed belle star. he farmed - successfully - an old indian mound at chatham bend just south of chokoloskee and, rather than pay them at the close of harvest season, killed several of his farm hands. some number of other murders or disappearances were attributed to him as well. he so terrified the locals that, at last, they shot him down in a group as he was coming ashore to purchase supplies. much murkiness surrounds his killing - certainly enough to support his ghostly presence.
the people of chokoloskee are not particularly friendly - especially to yankee fishermen and i suppose that helped with our feeling of dread. gil took us by the chatham bend homestead - nothing remained, he said, but the cistern. i knew from my reading that the government, when it created the park had burned down all man made structures within its boundaries but that did nothing to dispel the willies. i felt like a kid on his first halloween.
we didn't catch many snook - though we both developed bursitis in our casting shoulders skittering our flies in under the mangroves hour after hour. we certainly felt mister watson's presence, menacing even today, a hundred years later.
a useful phrase
"...i'll warm your biscuits...."
as in, "if you don't stop that, i'll warm your BISCUITS...."
or
"you can bet i'll warm YOUR biscuits...."
use it any way you'd like, just give me credit, please....ANON.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
garissa
the little town in northeastern kenya was hot and dusty as we pulled in from the south in july of 1971. the main street, the only street, was quiet in the midday heat, the odd mongrel dog peering at us from the meager shade of a storefront overhang - a rooster scratching hither and yon, cackling loudly as our three vehicle entourage pulled to a stop in front of patel's general store.
the day before we'd flown from nairobi to malindi on kenya's east coast, occasionally idling on one wing over tsavo's elephant herds - "that's what we're after boys - a big tusker," shouted glen over the engine's clamor. at malindi we joined the trucks for the trip north to cross to the tana river's east bank at garissa.
we passed through garsen, heading north to galole where we planned to fly camp - sleep under the stars - before pushing on. in the morning we kicked aside the thorn boma surrounding our beds [to keep the lions at bay], had a quick coffee and were on our way. rumbling through numerous little villages with names like makere, wenje, and bili [swahili for two], we eventually arrived at mr. patel's establishment. after gassing up, swallowing some of mr. patel's sweet indian chai and whistling up the boys [some of whom had gone to get their backs straightened at the local whore house] we swung east, crossed the tana and turned south - our objective was hunting block 16a - elephant territory.
i tell this tale because garissa has lately been in the news...as the center of a somali/kenyan war. the territory we hunted - east of the tana - has long been disputed. the somals claim it as theirs - the kenyans likewise. i don't know why either would want it, it is godforsaken - dry and flat, bush covered with only the odd water hole breaking the hard desert country. a few somali bomas dot the area. nothing else but elephant and a gaunt lion or two populate the place. the elephant gave rise to poaching gangs of deadly efficiency in the late 70s and shifta, somali thugs, ran raids in the old days into kenya - and mr. patel's store [as he so fervently swore] - from time to time.
now there is a full fledged war raging and garissa is at its center. at the moment kenya holds the advantage, but if al qaeda sees a reason to enter on the side of the somals things may change. god help mr. patel and his chickens should that occur.
the day before we'd flown from nairobi to malindi on kenya's east coast, occasionally idling on one wing over tsavo's elephant herds - "that's what we're after boys - a big tusker," shouted glen over the engine's clamor. at malindi we joined the trucks for the trip north to cross to the tana river's east bank at garissa.
we passed through garsen, heading north to galole where we planned to fly camp - sleep under the stars - before pushing on. in the morning we kicked aside the thorn boma surrounding our beds [to keep the lions at bay], had a quick coffee and were on our way. rumbling through numerous little villages with names like makere, wenje, and bili [swahili for two], we eventually arrived at mr. patel's establishment. after gassing up, swallowing some of mr. patel's sweet indian chai and whistling up the boys [some of whom had gone to get their backs straightened at the local whore house] we swung east, crossed the tana and turned south - our objective was hunting block 16a - elephant territory.
i tell this tale because garissa has lately been in the news...as the center of a somali/kenyan war. the territory we hunted - east of the tana - has long been disputed. the somals claim it as theirs - the kenyans likewise. i don't know why either would want it, it is godforsaken - dry and flat, bush covered with only the odd water hole breaking the hard desert country. a few somali bomas dot the area. nothing else but elephant and a gaunt lion or two populate the place. the elephant gave rise to poaching gangs of deadly efficiency in the late 70s and shifta, somali thugs, ran raids in the old days into kenya - and mr. patel's store [as he so fervently swore] - from time to time.
now there is a full fledged war raging and garissa is at its center. at the moment kenya holds the advantage, but if al qaeda sees a reason to enter on the side of the somals things may change. god help mr. patel and his chickens should that occur.
Friday, November 9, 2012
007
i went to argentina 25 years ago because i heard the dove and duck shooting was terrific. it was, and buenos aires was the most european city - outside europe - i had ever experienced. unfortunately, i forgot one thing - i spoke no spanish - which came to plague me when i found myself alone in an airport far from buenos aires and my flight was cancelled. happily i found a local traveler in the same predicament and he delivered me to an alternative flight source. i did, during our 45 minute car ride, consider, briefly, the possibility he was kidnapping me - but i wasn't worth much so i put that thought away quickly.
before that hiccup i had wonderful shooting and one funny experience in a local casino. we were moving from doves to ducks which required an overnight in a small town en route. i wanted dinner and some gambling at the local house of ill repute and was soon sitting before the roulette wheel. being a believer in mechanics and their shortcomings i began to record the spins and their results...until a large, dark complected gentleman inserted himself between me and the wheel - shouting loudly and waving his arms aggressively. i called out for carlos, my host, who quickly relieved tensions.
from there it was on to the baccarat table.
i flopped down between two gamblers, bought some chips, and, as they say, began to play. my first wager amounted to fifty bucks - on bank. the hands were dealt - one for "player" and one for "bank". "banco," murmured the dealer. i had won! "let it ride," i said as i waved off the chips pushed my way. won again. now there was two hundred in the betting block. the gambler to my right shifted in his seat. "senor..." he said as i indicated to the dealer to let it stand. third time's a charm. now there was four hundred at risk.
"senor," he said again. "it is not wise to make this wager." he stuck out his hand. "i am alberto. what is your name?"
i looked him over and replied, "bond. james bond."
a burst of laughter came from the small crowd which had gathered behind us. then, a small ripple of applause.
he was right. i lost the bet.
before that hiccup i had wonderful shooting and one funny experience in a local casino. we were moving from doves to ducks which required an overnight in a small town en route. i wanted dinner and some gambling at the local house of ill repute and was soon sitting before the roulette wheel. being a believer in mechanics and their shortcomings i began to record the spins and their results...until a large, dark complected gentleman inserted himself between me and the wheel - shouting loudly and waving his arms aggressively. i called out for carlos, my host, who quickly relieved tensions.
from there it was on to the baccarat table.
i flopped down between two gamblers, bought some chips, and, as they say, began to play. my first wager amounted to fifty bucks - on bank. the hands were dealt - one for "player" and one for "bank". "banco," murmured the dealer. i had won! "let it ride," i said as i waved off the chips pushed my way. won again. now there was two hundred in the betting block. the gambler to my right shifted in his seat. "senor..." he said as i indicated to the dealer to let it stand. third time's a charm. now there was four hundred at risk.
"senor," he said again. "it is not wise to make this wager." he stuck out his hand. "i am alberto. what is your name?"
i looked him over and replied, "bond. james bond."
a burst of laughter came from the small crowd which had gathered behind us. then, a small ripple of applause.
he was right. i lost the bet.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
on a limb
okay, i'm going out on one - five days before the election...
mitt romney will win - big, and here's why:
obama fails because of the following:
1. 23 million people out of work - with no coherent plan to put them back to work.
2. big government failed - i offer you solyndra, etc.
3. bowing to arabs?
4. failure to recognize radical muslimism is a true and very dangerous enemy.
5. arrogance as witnessed in the debates.
6. empty suit - fine orator, no intellectual engagement with the nation's problems.
7. [and this is small-minded] too many rounds of golf, appearances on the late night shows, too much shopping by spouse via air force 2, too many vacations at the public's expense, and of course, joe biden [a fucking small deal].
the list goes on...and it's a killer for re-election
mitt romney will win - big, and here's why:
obama fails because of the following:
1. 23 million people out of work - with no coherent plan to put them back to work.
2. big government failed - i offer you solyndra, etc.
3. bowing to arabs?
4. failure to recognize radical muslimism is a true and very dangerous enemy.
5. arrogance as witnessed in the debates.
6. empty suit - fine orator, no intellectual engagement with the nation's problems.
7. [and this is small-minded] too many rounds of golf, appearances on the late night shows, too much shopping by spouse via air force 2, too many vacations at the public's expense, and of course, joe biden [a fucking small deal].
the list goes on...and it's a killer for re-election
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