Toast Poast Number Triskaidekaphobia

Well, this story, FORGET POWER STATIONS WORRY ABOUT TOASTERS, CYBER EXPERTS SAY, is a Fahrenheit -47 degrees downer, partially because Bloomberg Technology seems to have forgotten punctuation. How can we worry about our toasters when we are terrified about a misplaced apostrophe? Imagine a cyber expert busting down the door to seize your toaster’s? Now that would indeed be dreadful.
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We did not predict our love affair with smart phones, so I will take it on faith that our love affair with smart appliances will be equally enthralling. There is no falling without fall out – bumps, scratches, scrapes and bruises. Leaps of faith include getting banged up, right? Though I would not have pegged the docile toaster as a potential cyber-heart land-mine.

When the Internet of Things – that’s right, the INTERNET OF THINGS – gets a hold of our appliances, we are done for. Done. For. And then we will figure it out. Ann Landers, I hope you are getting an advanced diploma in cyber security.

Thank you, Sorry-Birds Ellen, for putting terror in my heart. To toast or not to toast? With intelligence. That is the 13 million dollar question. Can we hack it???


Lambie Lambie Bo Bambie

Banana fana fo fambie
Fee fy mo mambie

Lambstrami is the the name of the game and, pssst, somebody needs to be talking about this sssstuff. One hasssshtag mention on the Twittossssphere, one recipe in Googleversssity, one blogpossst at MLA, dat’sss about it.

What gives? This sandwich does. It gives good. Lambstami, people!

Aussie Lambstrami Reuben  - Version 2

Photo by Renee Comet
Styling by Yours Truly

This lambstrami was made in Virginia, by an outfit that is outfitted for commercial production. Can I share their information with you? No, I cannot, because I do not have it. Frowny face.

I can tell  you this: strami is a beautiful thing, created through brining and smoking, two brilliant meat transforming techniques. Good lamb/pastrami has the power to elevate one’s faith in humankind. Velvety, fatty, spiced, smoked and sliced. A slippery slope for the cheese melt. Sliver, slice, slab, slob. Lamb slam!

Hotdogging the Holiday Loafing

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The debate continues to rage: Is a hotdog a sandwich? I say yes, based on zero research or reflection. Pure kneejerk.

I did, however, spend some time in the Lunch Encounter Lab, testing a radical theory. Could one build a hotdog loaf? If so, I put hotdogs in the sandwich camp. Fired up!


Yes, a hotdog can be loafed. And iced with chipotle mayo. And sliced. This proves, as definitively as needed by me, that a hotdog is indeed a sandwich.

You can now put that to rest and your mind can resume its ease. You’re welcome and happy 4th!

Should you need a baseline, take a peek at this. Need more be said? Or spread? Nah.Sandwich Loaf

While that sandwich incroyable is enough to make one shriek and run for cover,  we must consider this (below) imaginative loaf from yesteryear. Hotdogs have been wiggling their way into sandwich territory for eternity. Or at least since the 50’s.

Happy birthday, these United States, and pass the ketchup.

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To To To Toronto


For spring break we went north. Yes, north. We had no problem finding flights and accomodations. Big surprise. Not. The skies in Toronto were grey or they rained ice. “Another perfect day for a museum,”said I. “It’s always a perfect day for a museum,” said Teddy.

Have you mentioned Canadian bacon to anyone Canadian, or virtually Canadian, such as a Buffaloan? Wait for it…. The “Oh brother” face. People, get with it. The thing to eat is peameal bacon. That’s right. Pea. Meal. Oh mother, is it good.


IMG_7236First stop after dropping our bags, the St. Lawrence Market for a peameal bacon sandwich on a soft country bun.


We browsed the goods, pretending to be natives. Wishing to be natives. Toronto is the total package. Smart, fun and sexy.


It’s plain. I like plain. Perhaps because it is less taxing on the brain. Meat, bread, butter. See it, taste it, know it.


Know what else? There is no hiding or fake-outs when food is plain. Either it’s good or it’s not. No poking around through the ruby amaranth, confit Romenesco and rice syrup gastrique to be sure that this is ACTUALLY WHAT YOU ORDERED.


Wanna make it yourself? Here’s how. Cheaper than airfare, I grant you that, but lacking the panache of a trip to the St. Lawrence Market. In a pinch, homemade, on a plane, Toronton. I’d do it again any day. As I said, Toronto is the whole package. We are peameal insider wanna-bes.

Precious Crystals

Chefs love this 600 million-year-old salt, I’m told. So much tastier than bog butter, one supposes.

Just why do they? Found out here.

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Every time I turn around Dickinson’s salt appears. Like fresh snow. Welcome, unexpected, quiet, delicious as it falls on your tongue.

The United States Postal Service, that bringer of all things good, bad and in between brought me a box of Dickinson’s salt. Harold sent it. He told me that he had had it for many years and had not found anything to put it on. Waaa? The man does not eat salt. Were it not for salt, I would not eat.

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With the package came a note.

A little background on the salt post: not swearing to any of this, but it’s the stories I heard growing up. 

No. 1 Can swear to this: the original family farm where the salt wells are is directly across a highway from Buzz Foods home of Teddy’s favorite burger, the Buzz Buttered Steak. 

No. 2  This village is where Booker T. Washington spent his adolescence. He even returned there during the summers when he was a professor at Hampden College to work in the coal mines. 

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No. 3 Cabin Creek Quilts began in the village. Some say that was the beginning of the back to roots crafts movement. They won a Coty Award. Think that’s like an Oscar in fashion. Senator Rockefeller was involved.

Why he would not eat the salt, considering its pedigree, I do not know. What’s a little salt in in the grand scheme of things? So, not to be harsh, WV Slim’s loss, our gain. We are eating it. On sandwiches. Lord have salty mercy it is so good on a tomato slice. Thank you, Harold!

Ice is Nice

There is a reason everyone you know is going to Iceland. Yep, that’s right. Sandwiches. Geysers, hot springs and boiling pools of mud are cool and all, but when all is said and done – come for Mother Nature, stay for the sandwiches. Iceland 3Iceland 2 Our plane landed at 5 am. First stop, Sandholt in Reykjavik. Oh, we might have dropped our bags at the hotel, but my memory fails me while musing on Sandholt’s bread. Iceland 5Sandwich. It’s what’s for breakfast. IcelandIceland 1

Sandwich. It’s what’s for lunch. Later the same day…
Iceland 9Iceland 8 Bergsson‘s got the location location location thing tied up as well. Take a table on the rim of the room and gaze. Reykjavik harbor is beautiful. A harbor minus the giant paved parking lot and devoid of military flotilla. Particularly beautiful. Screen Shot 2016-05-22 at 2.55.23 PM

They do seem to eat well in Iceland. Pure is the word that comes to mind. Mind you, we were there briefly, but did get into a mess of restaurants, corner stores and groceries. While the licorice assortment was breathtaking, the splendor to which Americans are accustomed in the packaged/processed/flavored/extruded/puffed/fluffed/syruped varieties was absent.

And, breathe.


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Iceland 7

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Just when you thought it was safe to go to your computer.  Holy cheese-oly, another sandwich loaf! Orghhh. Yes, one more reason to shut it down and face life beyond the screen.

Sandwich Loaf

Or. Go to your kitchen. Find some bread. Find some cheese and other stuff. Odds and ends. Anything called “loaf” is a catchall for food that is floating around your kitchen in need of a community.

While you are at it, accessorize.