The Workingman’s Quesadilla*

Impress someone that’s hot and likes spicy food. This recipe is for two quesadillas.

Ingredients
8″ flour tortillas
Cheese
Jalapenos
Black beans
Tomato
Cumin
[Meat]

Side-Salad Stuff
Lettuce
Scallions or thinly sliced onion
Garlic powder
Celery salt
Black pepper

The Basic Quesadilla:
First, let me say this is not traditional, I don’t give a damn about traditional. It’s all about the way I like it. My first Quesadilla experience was in Allston, Massachusetts, at a tiny eatery. The tortilla was deep-fried, a smear of refried beans, jalapenos, and cheese were added immediately after the frier and it was briefly put in a pizza oven. The thing was folded in half and served – hot, melty, and really spicy. I was hooked. I don’t have a deep fryer or pizza oven. My process is pan-cooked…

About The Ingredients:
– Cheese is the essential ingredient. Don’t be stingy with it. A combination of Cheddar and Monterey jack is good; I just cut slices, it’s easier than cleaning a grater afterward – the cheese melts anyway.
– Pickled jalapenos. [I used to like Cento brand, but too many times I got a bottle that was over processed and mushy.] I’ve switched to Vlasic. Chop the slices, not too fine. You’ll know how many to chop.
– Refried beans, or a sprinkle of black beans right out of the can [I like Goya] ‘if you’re into the brevity thing’. You’ll want to get rid of the thick liquid in the can. Hint: Crack the top fully open, hold it in place with two fingers. Fill the can with water and shake out the sludge. Repeat.
– A small tomato [plum], finely chopped.
– A SMALL bit of meat – this isn’t a fajita. Any cold-cut will do; ham seems to be the best for a good balance of flavors. Crispy bacon is really good too. Meats, like leftover steak, pork, or chicken need to be cut up really fine. Quesadillas love leftover meats, but don’t use too much. If you don’t like meat, that’s OK but you’re missing out on the good flavors. Veggies work too, but it’s another step to cook them properly. Fried eggplant works good, but it’s not what the Workingman would prefer.

The Process [enough to feed one Workingman]:
– It really helps to have all the ingredients in separate piles, one for each quesadilla. OK, here it goes:
– Add a tiny bit of cooking oil to a 10″ pan on high heat. When the surface of the oil is moving, fwamp in 2 tortillas and wait a bit. If the oil was properly hot, the bottom tortilla will start to puff. Turn the bottom to the top – I flip them. I’m not going into specifics here, just try to get a coating of oil on the tortillas, both sides. Then lightly color each tortilla on both sides.
– Remove one tortilla from the pan. Add the ingredients to half the side next to the rim side of the pan. It really doesn’t matter what order you add the ingredients. [I like the hots next to the meat.] Add a good sprinkle of cumin. Fold the tortilla over and press a bit. Repeat with the other tortilla.
– Add a cover and cook on the lowest heat. With gas it’ll take about 7 minutes until the bottom is crispy. Turn – another 5 minutes covered and they’re done.
– Schmear with sour cream, if you like it. Enjoy.

Ooo, ooo… Once you get the pan covered, there’s also the side-salad thing to consider. It’s way-easy. Shread some lettuce [that means chopped really thin], chop a scallion, squish on some lime juice [leftover from the tequilla shots], add a sprinkle of olive oil, some garlic powder, celery salt, and pepper.

Nobody to impress… screw the pan frying. Just add meat, cheese, store-bought salsa, and beans to a couple of tortillas, [don’t forget the cumin] then microwave the suckers – both for you. Truly, The Workingman’s Quesadilla.

My Skewed Vision [videos]

It’s been a long time since the reel to reel video days. I bought a Panasonic “Portapack” in 1973. A guy in a Cadillac convertible delivered it to me. I think I got a good deal.

My first shot at making a video since the reel-to-reel days—
Empathy

Another, with a more exuberant attitude—
Wahoo

Everybody gets lonely sometimes—
The Guest

The big snow, 2011.
Suzy Snowflake

I’ve gotta do more… TBC.

Kick The Can

The greatest game that was ever invented…
And, the way it was played in my neighborhood.

I’m not going to explain the rules; that’s what Wiki is for: Kick The Can

We played in the dark.
It was Billy’s idea. We always played the game in Billy’s yard; it had all the good hiding places. The dark idea was a natural progression. Given the opportunity we’d play until dusk or certainly suppertime, when we had to quit the game and go in for the night.

I was the “new” kid in the neighborhood. I’d moved there 2 years earlier. It was pretty crushing for me to leave my old friends and move so far away – 40 miles. Now I was in Billy’s neighborhood. He said,
“Hey tomorrow’s Saturday, we can play later. Tell your parents; they won’t mind if you eat early and come over. We’ll start when it’s still light and just keep on playing. Everybody’s coming. We’ll keep playing until they yell at us to come home. Bring your little sister if you want…”

My sister, Peg was 3 years younger than me. Typical of little sisters, she wanted to do what I did. Her tomboy years were still to come but she liked to hang out with the boys anyway. I didn’t really want her to come and I didn’t know if Billy was being nice to include her. I never could tell with Billy; he was always teasing me. He was older than me. Everybody in my new neighborhood was older than me.

There was Dennis, not a paticularily bright guy, but he had a good heart. I don’t know what he had against dental hygene though. He hardly ever brushed his teeth. There was this orange gunk that extended from his gum line halfway to the bite of his teeth… to be continued.

On Bicycles And Bicyclists

I learned quickly how to ride a two-wheeler from a friend. He lent me his bike, got me going and aimed me down the hill of my driveway. I didn’t fall; I wanted more.

My dad offered me the bike he had as a kid – 1930s design, equipped with big balloon tires and a nice patina of rust. I was able to upgrade to my older cousin’s bike. Soon, I was cruising the neighborhoods with friends, then riding further distances to go fishing or swimming or such. I got another bike [second-hand also] when I started doing a paper route. I rode that damn paper route for four years; it was a big one too.

My bike riding pretty much ended when I got my license. Years passed, and I was living in San Francisco. Ninety nine bucks got me my first 10-speed – new! The extra gears helped, but getting up the hills could be a bit of a challenge considering the bike was a sprinter from the flat lands of Holland. I also learned about the shortcomings of bicycle brakes by slamming into a panel truck while cruising down one of those San Francisco hills.

The bike survived the crash better than me. We didn’t pair up much over the next 30 years; then, I started to use it for exercise. I’m not in bad shape and I pushed myself to make my rides a workout, not just a cruise. The first time I was passed by another biker it didn’t bother me on the moment – I didn’t see him coming. So, I put on a little more effort to close the distance between us. As his brightly colored shirt got smaller and disappeared into the distance, I thought, “What do you expect, you’re a 50-odd year guy on a 30-odd year old bicycle.”

I got passed a lot and sometimes I passed others; either way I would make an effort to comment on the “nice day” or just offer a simple “howdy”. We were all doing the same thing, peddling from point A to B. It didn’t matter if we were commuting, cruising, race training, or working out. I considered all I saw on a bike going my way or on the other side of the road as comrades. Then, I became color conscious.

It wasn’t an aha type of thing, but over time I noticed that the road jockeys dressed in the brightly colored-coordinated, latest biking-wear fashions snubbed my greetings. Was it because my look wasn’t cool, or because they had a much better ride between their legs – one that didn’t say “Magneet”on the frame next to the shifters. I didn’t really care how my clothes looked. And, it was a conscious choice to continue on with my 30-odd year old bicycle – I rationalized that I was getting a better workout than with a lighter bike with more gears. No, it didn’t have to do with me at all. It was more about attitude. These guys weren’t racing but they were acting like anybody in their vicinity on a bike was a competitor.

I’ve moved on from gym shorts to the tight-fitting padded-butt sort of shorts. My cotton tee-shirts progressed to the moisture-wicking kind. It was all about comfort. I even spent the bucks to get a “modern” road bike, also a comfort. Yeah, it made a difference; but now to get the same workout I have to bike farther. I like that too. I look the same as other bikers now, “one of us, one of us“. No, wrong; I’m not trying to fit in. I just want the common courtesy of recognition – a simple greeting on the public ways among the freaks who love biking. Bicycling has long been a sport and those that compete give it all the concentration they’ve got. But if you don’t have a damn number on your back, look up from your handlebars and at least nod in recognition to a friendly “howdy” from a guy who’s had a lot of time in the saddle.

Grumpy Davich is my name.

In HIS Image

Yeah, that’s what it says in the Bible. God created man[kind] in his own image. Most Judeo-Christians trust in that. After all, “it is written”.

It seems to me that God’s Word is a conveyance to our own needs. He, she, or it is our concept and mankind wrote about it so many times, so many years ago. The earliest of the gospels, or “good news” about the Christ didn’t come about until about a hundred or so years after Christ’s death. Kinda like the party game telephone. And, those tablets with the ten commandments were scribed long before there were Christians. But you gotta believe in the ten commandments; they were “written in stone”.

To me, it seems the ten commandments were a socio-political creation. It was more about keeping the nasty masses in line – a common sense sort of thing for civilizing a population where the strong would prey on the weak [much like it is today]. The Commandments now made morality law and wrongdoing ultimately punishable by God. To the unscienced, superstitious lot of humanity at that time a powerful avenging God was a big incentive to toe the line.

It’s that “eye for an eye” thing that bothers me. The Commandments didn’t take up a lota space in a very big book. The writers of the Bible couldn’t leave off after the tablet of Ten. They wrote anecdote and parable, muddling their “Word of God”. Old Testament then begat New Testament. The “Christ” became the central character and the story took on a more love and forgiveness theme. It’s still a best-seller, but instead of being on the poetry or culture shelves you’ll find it in the religion section of your local Barnes & Noble.

Religion is a muddling thing. It takes Man’s highest thoughts and brings them down to a culture of superstition. To be nice, I’ll call it faith. It’s all natural that we have a fear of death. The concept of the hereafter being a blissful continuation of our consciousness is very appealing compared to nothingness, no continuation – not even reincarnation. Our consciousness is essentially a selfish entity.

Do I sound like an atheist? It’s a nasty sounding word… doesn’t have the same appeal as “Christian” or “Faith”. These words are even suitable as people’s names. I think life would be pretty tough on a kid named “Atheis” or “Apostasy“. I was brought up as a Christian of the Catholic type and my wife is a Christ-believer of the non-denominational type. I’m not educated in any other religion, but like most people I have a passing knowlege of other faiths. I’ve considered my lack of religious education in this rant and I’ve tried to keep my comments to the Judeo-Christian sort of faith.

I can only rant; I can’t come close to the well educated insights of Joseph Campbell in his books or the snarky comments of Bill Maher in his film “Religulous” {you’ll have to be logged in to Netflix for this link to work, or there’s always the Wiki link} “Religulous“.

Peace.

Grumpy Davich is my name.