"Fluff and Chow"

For the dozen or so of you reading this blog, my apologies for no entries the past few days; I was busy and didn't much feel like it. I also knew I had a family engagement to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday coming up, so I figured I would hold off as that was sure to yield some gems.

For one reason or another, they have an unhealthy fixation with Chinese buffets, so we tried one we hadn't been to before. The previous buffet was visibly higher quality, but my brother was leery to return there due to a confrontation between my aunt and a man she felt was hogging all the raw oysters.

The attendees were as follows:

Mom: Road-rage legend. No filter.
Dad: Conspiracy theorist. Chinese chicken-wing aficionado.
Gail: Dads's girlfriend. Talented artist. Dog enthusiast.
Dane:  Middle brother. Wild Card.
Bobbi Jo: AKA Slubbybubbercans. Sister-in-Law. Birthday girl.
Dylan: Baby brother. Favorite past time - shooting mom in the face with nerf darts.
Justine: Dylan's girlfriend. Strong silent type. Ate pizza at a Chinese buffet.
Me: Epicurean in a lilac polo shirt.

We wasted no time taking our coats off and bee-lining for the expansive selection of food. I was fairly put off by a majority of the offerings at the Flaming Grill & Supreme Buffet ("The Flaming Asshole Grill" - Mom) on Route 23. There were a number of unidentifiable and/or unappetizing dishes, most notably a whole grey-skinned fish that had taken on a glossy gelatinous sheen. Oh, and calamari which my mother looked at and said "That's pig rectum" matter-of-factly.

After fixing a conservative plate of green beans, fried shrimp, and chicken variations, I sat down with my family. The green beans were delicious. The chicken was rubbery, if it was in fact chicken.

* * *

"I thought this was shrimp!" my mother said, referring to an amorphous fried nugget.
"It's sweet and sour chicken, mommy," I said.
"But I didn't get any sauce!"

* * *

I quit smoking cigarettes about a month ago:

Mom: I'm going out for a cigarette, you're coming with me.
Me: No I'm not. I quit and it's cold outside.
Mom: David! Come with me. What if I get robbed or raped?
Me: [Shrug]
Mom: It's ok - I wore my rape pants.

* * *

[Upon her return]
Me: How was the raping?

* * *

After discussing the pros and cons of DNA ancestry tests (particularly the possibility of getting cloned), government spooks, and chem-trails, Dane looked around to the now vacant area of the restaurant we occupied and said, "We cleared that out pretty fast."

Gail told us about a tutorial she'd seen using old Tic Tac containers for spice storage when camping. Dane insisted that you could just bring your spices with you rather than go to all the trouble of filling Tic Tac containers with spices that you probably wouldn't need anyway since you were camping. Gail clarified that they would be glamping, which I understand is a portmanteau of glamor and camping, two words that should never be used together or combined to form a new word.

Fig. 1.1 Tic Tac Spice Storage

While it's a cute idea, I have a number of issues:

1. Why would you need nutmeg or garam masala on a camping trip, glamorous or otherwise?
2. Other than salt and pepper, please name one other spice of any use for food you'd be preparing on a camping trip.
3. Why would you take the time to do this when this exists:

Fig 1.2 "Multi Spice" Jar

According to my sources, she already has a number of these Tic Tac containers saved and ready to go. I predict that despite our well-meant criticisms of this project, she will continue unhindered.

Back to the buffet.

Dylan sustained a small oral injury from the sharp edge of a fried wonton. I mocked him all evening like a good big brother.

Upon returning to Bobbi Jo's (Slubbybubbercans if you're nasty) and Dane's place, my mother had some gifts for us. Lego mini-figures and shell magnets for all. Then I was shown what she made Bobbi Jo for her birthday:

This is a hot-glue project made from driftwood, sharks teeth, and seashells. It is also a magnet. After requesting one for myself, I suggested she sell these on the side of the road during the Summer. Dane suggested that it was actually a prehistoric bread knife.

We also each received a small ziplock of fresh basil, two large cans of crushed tomatoes, and a large bag of rice, pictured below:

Fluff and chow

Apparently, concerned the world was going to end via North Korea, she purchased a 20lb bag of rice; like ya do. She then sat on her bed and divided the bag up between her three children and in permanent marker wrote the instructions for how to prepare the rice. She insisted that it was "the good stuff", to which I countered "Nothing good comes in a twenty pound bag." I also let her know that I would never be eating this rice as I now considered it a family heirloom.

"Fluff and chow. Love, Mommy"

FIN