Stodge
by Dan Arcos
Stodge for the Great Depression
May, 2009
A couple of weeks ago I had a houseguest. He is an affable guy who needed a place to land until the check came in. He also laughs at my jokes. Being one check away from hobodom is something I know about so we arranged his use of my air mattress. Now my pecuniary lifestyle does not currently include a lot of wining and dining but it does involve having plenty of beans in the larder.
Like any strapping Tex-Mex lad I grew up with pinto beans as a daily staple. Potatoes were a distance second if I include tortillas and rice. “Ay, I have to put the beans on” was a phrase that was just part of the ambient noise in my house. Thanksgiving was traditionally american with roast turkey, cornbread stuffing, green beans, potatoes and refried beans. At christmas refried beans lend themselves as a side to ham quite nicely.
So when I learned my friend was staying I sussed out the fridge and put on the beans. The first day beans were served as a soup and my guest reminisced on how when I first met him I gave him a recipe for chipotle baby lima bean soup for his late bistro. Five days later he anxiously anticipated the tardy check. He wanted to go out to dinner.
Though pasta and other dishes were served I prepared my daily beans (often with bacon fat). My friend coincidently timed his visit to a focused bean regime. Two weeks before I sunk into a case of the blues. The signs were apparent; I stayed in, avoided phone calls and chores. I focused on meals, the menus, the trip to the grocer, the prep and consumption. I did this three times a day and napped in between. Pasta appeared more then once that week. I indulged the blues for a day or two but by the end of the week I was anxious. My exhibit opened that weekend and my motivation was not kicking in sufficiently.
I am not sure when the moment of enlightenment struck but I realized I did not eat one bean in over a week.
Forty-eight hours later I was fine though tired after the opening where thanks to a great business partner and a couple of friends everything was under control and I could shmooze and deal. I ate my frijoles that day.
Beans are my stodge. Not bread, not mac and cheese, not taters, but the protein rich carbo of my peoples. I know this but steered off the mexican health plan by eating pasta 3 days in a row and falling into what is for me a trap. When I am not thinking clearly, feeling myself or just in need of some fiber I am hardwired to need beans. Frijoles in soups, in tacos, with eggs, on tostadas, in salads, with pork, beef, chicken and fish. Even pasta fazul. Some even call me cosmopolitan for going beyond the pinto and cooking black beans, navy beans, red beans and garbanzos. New Year’s Day requires black-eyed peas with that christmas ham bone. My caldo gallego is a stodge lovers ambrosia of small navy beans, potatoes, kale and a side of crusty bread. Pea soup with ham as well as curry powdered lentils and sausage complete my love of legumes. Sorry pigeon peas.
I am well in the pink now, or perhaps more ochre. The resolution is noted. To avoid depression and be happy, chipper, randy and maybe a little flatulent I require my regular side of beans and a doctor prescribed shot of testosterone. The latter being the randy part.
Stodge Brings Home the Bacon
April 22, 2009
I just saw the story on ABC news about the Bacontreprenuers and how they want to make every guy’s dream come true and have everything taste of bacon and salt. My blood pressure is up just thinking about it.
Like any American kid I grew up with the smell of bacon. If anything could get me out of bed on a Sunday morning after a late night of horror and monster movies it was the smell of bacon frying. To this day I have a thick pottery cup on the stove to save those sizzling hot drippings and add that smoked bacon and salt flavor to my eggs, refried beans, pan fried potatoes, and anything else. Recently one of the burger giants had an ad with two girls at a club. One apparently brought bacon burritos hidden in her purse to attract guys with its smell. It did.
Bacon’s artery plugging cholesterol do not keep me from crumbing it up and putting it on my Huevos Rancheros or placing whole strips on potato taquitos. Heating up salsa in a skillet with bacon fat makes corn chip dipping sublime. I know Jews and have met Muslims that succumb to its treyfous temptation.
The Bacontreprenuers also have bacon mayo, bacon salt, bacon lip balm, but alas none have actual bacon in them. They even have plans for bacon soap and beer. Should I dip my finger in the bacon fat cup and rub it behind my ears? Will I get lucky? Will I get trampled in the crush?
Excuse me while I go out and buy a pound of bacon.
More at Dan's blog Stodge
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