Eberhard Muller has had my vote ever since the summer day I trekked out to the family farm with a bunch of chefs and saw the “village in Texas missing an idiot” bumper sticker on his truck. But his and his wife Paulette Satur’s beat-back against Immigration overreaching makes him look even more like a true American patriot in a country unwilling to feed itself through its natural-born labor. With Halliburton busily building private prisons, this German emigre clearly knows that first they come for the farmhands. . . . The NYT played the story well enough that you could almost forgive them for giving the Jodiator front-page real estate on one of the hoarier campaign “stories,” rife with cones and corn dogs. But then they had to go and screw it up in the slide show by referring to one of the action hero’s “popular” clients as Union Street Cafe.
If chimps could fly, maybe something really would be done about air traffic chaos. But you have to trust his pulled-from-a-monkey’s-ass promises more than a celebrity chef’s vow to bail on a gig with an airline if his creations do not live up to their promise at 30,000 feet. How could a mega-caterer possibly screw up Nutella, grape jelly and brown banana on cardboard ciabatta any worse than its developer did in dreaming it up? It’s just lucky they don’t charge for airsickness bags yet.
In other low crimes, Time magazine’s superb how-the-sausage-is-sold photo blog shows another of the chefs sentenced to serve a simian snipping rosemary in the White House garden for the water-toasting fete for Sarkozy. Which seems very Alice Watersy until you notice the digital op was 10/31 and the dinner was not till 11/6. This crew must plan state dinners about as well as invasions. Who knows how many millions in lamb went missing while the herbs dried out?
Mission must really be accomplished for the too-rich-to-ever-spend-it-all in this country. Cafe Gray, I read in a paper that knows from gazillionaires, is charging $500 a head, grownup or human larva’s, for Thanksgiving dinner and distractions during the Macy’s parade. And those are the cheap seats — the 12-chair chef’s table in the kitchen that day is going for 10 grand. And the entire exercise in unseemliness is reportedly sold out. Obviously, the tough go to war. The profiteers go to a shopping mall.
One more reason to regret letting a dry drunk rule: He mucks up the money and now, as the Italian Wine Guy notes, we soon won’t be able to afford booze from Eutopia — the Calvados will cost more than the heritage turkey. As he’s proving with vetoes, the Chimp knows the price of everything domestic and the value of nothing international.
Proof that photos officially speak louder than deeds: The Chimp got all the coverage he expected for parading among the embers while throwing out the same promises he did in New Orleans. Yet Dooky Chase, the scene of his last camera-ready stunt in that lost city, has still not reopened. And to think we have 448 more days of disaster kabuki. . . .
Given that her husband repeatedly flat-out lies about trivia like torture, it should not be so crazy-making that Mrs. Chimp continues to prevaricate away about cookies. Sure, she can tell the Gullible Times she doesn’t touch dough, but the Google doesn’t dissemble. Old campaign BS fed to the country doesn’t disappear just because simian wranglers need a new distraction. It figures that her famous recipe had cowboy in the title. They should have called the fake cookies compassionate. Or conservative. And made them with s-chips.
The day after reading that food banks are running on empty in New York thanks to the federal government sweating the small stuff out of the budget, I was lured to Petrossian for an early (for me) press event staged partly to introduce its new private tasting room, complete with caviar omelets. Crazies can call Paul Krugman shrill till the Wagyu cows come home, but something is wrong with a country where the super-rich cannot find enough ways to dispose of their income and the working poor can’t even get vegetables to puree into secret ingredients for their macaroni and cheese. But if you really want your head to explode, start following the WSJournal’s coverage of the investigation into the suspected fraud and corruption involving some of the country’s biggest brand names (Kraft, Conagra, Sara Lee). Every day it gets worse. Nothing, of course, has been proven in a government that does not admit torture, but the gist is that companies and middlemen supporting the troops’ need to eat are jacking up prices to obscene levels. War profiteering once would have been considered treason. Now, where have you gone, Jimmy Dean sausage?
You know my disorganization is spiraling out of control when I succumb to a slice of crappy pizza for a meal. But at least I got a laugh to go from the roach pit nearest me: The sign listing lunch deals “with free fountain soda” started with two plain slices for $5.50. A regular slice is $2.25. Talk about a No Chimp Left Behind special.
Give the Chimp points for timing. He could not have chosen a better week to veto more health insurance for kids, just as a huge burger producer had to actually shut down for good because there was so much shit in so much of its meat. And who would be most likely to be eating cheap frozen beef, and most at risk of getting mortally sick? The same kids he thinks can simply go to the emergency room. For the record, my recent seven hours at St. Vincent’s cost $2,386. Multiply that by 3.4 million and imagine how many federal inspectors it could send into slaughterhouses. The torture never ends with this sociopath.
Luckily, he now has one of the Skank Twins cleaned up and shipped out to make him look less cretinous by contrast. Anyone who believes she actually had anything to do with writing a book probably still thinks Robo-Mom baked those Cowboy Cookies back in 2000, the recipe for which has since been scrubbed off the White House web site. While I was looking for it yet again, though, I found out how horse-fearing the tough guy really is: The family recipe for guacamole calls for eight avocados. And exactly one jalapeno. I guess we should just be glad he didn’t invade Mexico for harboring habaneros.
As entertaining as Bill O’Reilly’s shock and awe up at Sylvia’s in Harlem has been, it does make it clear he hangs out with the Chimp crowd. I guess he expects everyone to behave like the Wasp in Chief at table, talking with mouth full and spewing slobbery dinner roll while muttering to Tony Blair that Hezbollah needs to be told to “stop this shit.” Given another famous incident in a restaurant, Al Hunt can insert the motherfucking joke here.
Once again, I have to thank Islamochrist that crooks and liars installed the first CEO president (or was he supposed to be the first MBA?) I went to buy another nearly quart-size jar of Maille’s Dijon mustard and it cost $1.50 more than the last one, just a few months ago. Talk about feeling like an American in Paris. Now we can’t even get a taste of Eutopia without paying a premium, and it’s only gonna get worse. We’ll be priced out of extraordinary olive oil, Parmigiano, balsamic vinegar, great olives, Maldon salt, Calvados — everything, come to think of it, that King George has never experienced for all his money and opportunity. Merde, as they say — even the stoned wheat crackers from Canada are going to cost like Carr’s. I’m all for eating locally, but I never thought it would be rammed down my throat by a government that couldn’t shoot straight.
Maybe if Panchito had not been so distracted by towel snaps on the butt we would not have had to wait all these years for Vicente Fox to reveal that the Chimp is afraid of horsies, and the world might have been spared a fraudulent Cowboy in Chief. The detail is not surprising, but just imagine how far Molto Ego would have gotten if anyone thought he was scared of pigs.
You know it’s predawn in America when food manufacturers start begging for more regulation. In a week when E. coli was detected in lettuce yet again, even after all the blustering from the same Pinocchio who also promised to rebuild Katrina, the WSJournal reported that private companies have come to realize they need public help policing what they sell. To quote the president of the Grocery Manufacturers Association, “A strong FDA is in our interest.” And when big business gets hungry, government has to feed it. Grover Norquist, the phone in the bathroom is ringing. Your salmonella tub is about to run out of water.