Quote: “Why drop from the sky, when you can spread your
wings and fly. They are there just as
the air. Remove the limitations, excuses
and procrastination . . . dream, believe and jump!” -chef scotty
My neck is soar, stiff and all too riddled with iron like
clumps that I can only hope to be knots rather than tumors. A diet of black strap molassess, garlic,
organic greens, freshly pressed grapefruit juice and unfiltered apple cider
vinegar would likely be the cure all.
That and the absence of alcohol, coffee and cigarettes from my daily
diet . . . perhaps go so far as to refute white flour, granulated sugar and
honor my lactose intolerant genetic predisposition? Nope!
The gym exists only as a noun in my life. I’m fat, less sassy and likely to undergo a
complete metamorphosis into one of the deep fried fritters that I made for the
kids this morning. Sprinkle me with some
powdered sugar and that just about sums up more current vitals. Doom spindling away in the web of Scottydom .
. . God save the Queen!
Something about children breaks the icey barriers of
bullshit and rakes ones reality beach until it resembles something of poured
concrete – the microscopic, calcified shells no longer individualized. My beach needs more combing but I feel like my
hands are tied behind my back and I’m left to operate with a toothpick clenched
between my teeth. Nonetheless, I’m much
better today than earlier this week with a profound sense of stability, a
predictatory feeling of relief and a descent dose of “get your ass in
gear!” I got up at 5:14am this morning,
so I guess that’s a start.
I have to tell you – there’s always somebody who has it
worse . . way, way worse. Two of the
charities that I have supported (through the catering services of my catering
company, Chi Cuisine) happen to work some miracles for those very people living
a nightmare of disfiguration. Both Face
Forward & the Children of War Foundation share the honorable mission of
remedying such atrocities, flying these folks to a venerable, board certified
plastic surgeon and providing
accomodations throughout their free
treatment and recovery. It is
unfortunate circumstances, most often abuse by some unrelenting loved one or in
the case of COWF – reckless warfare fighting over ownership of land, control of
resources, greed & control. Aren’t
we just a marvelous world of disrepair?
For all our worses, our faults and our selfish tendencies . . . at least
we possess the will to be better, the possibility to help one another and
rectify that which we created, dissemated and disturbed. I urge all of you to check out these
organizations at: http://facela.net/ & pass along an
open invitation to participate in caring at the upcoming gala for Face Forward
this September.
If you’re not giving, you are only taking. Share some of yourself with the world and you
will find yourself all the better for it!
*I am back in LA after a night at Sister Mary Cleo’s, my
back feels a bit better as I took a nap and as I wasn’t certain of what recipe
I would post – it literally fell before me, or at least Lewis did. Two baby squirrels fell out of the now
trimmed Date Palm tree that soars above a poorly fabricated fence that divides
Mr. Wilsons property from that of his neighbors. I’ve named them Lewis & Clarke with hopes
that they will recover – they seem to be a bit more than just dazed from their
fifty foot drop on to concrete. Poor
little guys.
With falling squirrel blessings,
Chef
Scotty
RECIPE: White Trash Squirrel
Now the story from my childhood cooking adventures would
tell you that I grew up in the backwoods of Wisconsin. The story would also tell you that Prince
Arthur (my Brother) was a fairly descent marksmen who felt great joy in killing
squirrels and that we had a whole chest freezer full of em. It’s basically a tree rat that eats a
varieties of nuts so . . . the flavor is a bit peculiar. I don’t care for squirrel but when I do . .
that’s right – beer braising! (the story would also tell you that my first
adventure hunting I killed a squirrel on my first shot, despite it’s efforts to
leap from one Butternut Tree to the next . . . after it fell and I held it’s
warm body in my hands . . I balled my eyes out.
I never hunted again)
INGREDIENTS:
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