Archive for February, 2011

Making macaroni salad that clings to the stomach is easy, but making a batch that ‘sticks to the ribs’ is a method that the Pennsylvania Dutch have mastered.

Although ingredients for this South Central Pennsylvania dish are relatively the same across kitchens in Lancaster and Huntingdon Counties, the tastiest way to make a full pound box of elbows is with Miracle Whip salad dressing– about two cups—ask any woman who has fed many kids with so little in food stamps.

There is a deli that sells macaroni salad on every block in New York City, but none of them make macaroni salad with Miracle Whip salad dressing and a can of Eagle Brand condensed milk, like the Dutch of Pennsylvania are known for. For years, I have suffered a bitter distaste for elbow macaroni and the large chunks of lazily chopped boiled egg so common in the white fluffy dishes found behind glass deli cases here in the Big Applesauce.

On Friday, I broke down and made my own. Sick of the mayonnaise ridden pudding that is so common in large cities, I called my three mothers for advice. It’s Sunday, and the entire pound is gone. I ate it all like a home-sick dog. I couldn’t stand going without good macaroni salad any longer. I was starving for something that would put me to sleep for an entire afternoon. It worked. How I longed for tiny, microscopic pieces of egg in my macaroni salad; not chopped egg, but boiled eggs shredded in a metal grinder, like is done in kitchens across Pennsylvania.

Peeling the eggs is the most time-consuming aspect of making macaroni salad. Eggs that are at least a week old come out of their shells like drunken pretty white girls at a red neck bar. One should boil eggs for two minutes and let them rest in the hot water for five more. Peel them ten minutes after they have cooled at room temperature. The shells come off with the simple slip of a thin membrane.

White Spanish onions are a necessity for making elbows that shove the digestive system, as is a spoonful of Gulden’s Mustard. A chopped dill pickle gives the dish a Jewish touch, but a half jar of India relish will do the trick of making it “kosher”.

A few shredded carrots add color and crunch. Salt and pepper are not necessary, but often make this miracle of the mountains of Pennsylvania worth watching as it is lifted from the table often before Grace is said.

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Executives of JP Morgan Chase have been served. Former millionaires who were once social friends with James Dimon have lost their fortunes and are blaming the bank’s head officer for their misfortune.

Their eyes have seen. They have been taken. Shocked rich faces looked upon Medusa as they turned to stone the moment fortunes were reduced to a pile of salt. In the blink of an eye they were made into bitter, broke Jews. The claimants in the case cannot find jobs; the economy here is in a sense, as sour as in Egypt. God’s former chosen are desperate and have been known to be dissatisfied with manna in the past. These ‘victims’ are not victims of anything or anyone’s scheme but their own. These masters of the legal system were once, hot-headed, kiss-my ass, rich, nose high- in- the- air Jews; but now they can no longer afford the best money can buy in legal representation. The suit has no merit. The group of unfortunate sons of David, must, like the cursed of Egypt, have their case dismissed. The entire world economy is suffering and everyone has lost. Greed of a group of individuals who thought they were special is all this case is.

The ‘victims’ have come up with a legal ambulance- chasing docket, designed by a sue-the-drug company firm, in hopes of convincing a Judge Judy type that the bank should pay. This is New York. The ‘victims’ hope to prove that senior management at JP Morgan Chase should be held accountable for the billions ‘lost’ three years ago.

It has been difficult, psychologically, for the victims to acknowledge that their dreams were never real in the first place. Time has come to embrace the facts: Madoff had a high-tech digital printer and wrote the rules as we went along. Now we are all fucked, not just the Jews.

Most of what disappeared from institutions and prestigious Jewish charitable endowments never existed in the first place–only on paper– like so much of everything else in a world of digital media. What is so hard to believe about the fact that all has vanished at the click of a button? There was a time when Alexandria was the most industrial city of the world, back when God still parted seas for tribes of dissatisfied workers trying to escape slavery of a Walmart world.

Bank executives have no reason to snoop around what is kept in their vaults, electronic or otherwise. JP Morgan is nothing more than a safety deposit box. Why should the biggest bank in the world be held accountable for not catching a massive fraud? Perhaps these executives should be called gods and not bankers.

This group of ‘victims’ was a small, religious sect who once thought they were the most noble and charitable of society. They were wrong. Now look at them– as desperate as the rest of us, ready to sue anyone worth a dime at the drop of a dime! These ‘victims’ were once part-rulers of the modern world banking system. They should live with it as we all must.

The financial meltdown that put the world, and now Egypt into chaos, is the fault of this one group of ‘victims’ and their religious leader– Bernard Madoff– the timing of the financial crisis and the Madoff scandal are impeccable. Who would have thought the America dream was nothing but numbers printed on a Lexmark printer on Park Avenue?

If the claimants in this lawsuit win $10 Billion from JP Morgan Chase and the New York Mets, the poor will pay the cost, like they always have, not the banks. The finacial masterminds of the world, along with their Jew mayor, will tax our cigarettes more and work those not in the IN crowd as slaves at minimum wage, until the gods of printing money decide to print more pyramids or at least part the sea of poverty the world has become.

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The Gay Brooklyn Nun

An ice storm nearly ruined a book checked out of the Brooklyn Public Library yesterday. “Teachings of the Christian Mystics”, edited by Andrew Harvey, was soaked around the edge of the pages, even though the manuscript was tucked neatly inside an inner pocket of a black hoodie. The ground of New York City is like a giant root beer snowcone. Making the quarter-mile journey to the central library is treacherous.

Surely the pages will turn brown eventually, ruining this piece of public property. It is my responsibility to pay for this book, although it could be returned through a green metal return bin found outside the library’s main branch from whence this book was secured. If questions were to arise regarding the tattered condition when trying to return it to the library, a saint could reply, “It is not my fault that it got wet.” It is true. The weather was as cold as a witch’s tit. A fresh coat of slush was added to sidewalks that have not really been clean since Christmas.

Already the book has made its worth inside my cold psyche. A saying from the book of Thomas– a forbidden gospel that did not make publication within the “New York Times” of ancient, Jewish literature–

—Jesus said, “Whoever drinks from my mouth will become like me; I myself shall become that person, and the hidden things will be revealed to him.”—

There is a huge difference between drinking from one’s lips and drinking their blood.

Weather like today’s is perfect for reading, besides, there are but a few saints who frequent the back part of the sprawling library at Grand Army Plaza where 248.22 T was obtained and nearly destroyed by a careless gay nun in a black hoodie yesterday.

It seems the rain was holy water, now that I’m dry and prepare to drink from the savior’s lips. The lord works in mysterious, mystical ways, especially through literature.

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