Forbidden Fruit

They say love can lead to butterflies in the gut. Whoever said that is wrong. Love leads to chest pains, and I have the honor of owning that feeling every week. It wasn't love at first sight that is for sure. There was a lot of her. It was really intimidating, but I knew I was man enough for the challenge that lay before me.

Summoning up enough courage, I approached "my lady," and went for the direct approach. I opened my mouth and took one bite, and I was hooked for life.

Each bite of Ms. Dee's succulent Country Fried Chicken wrap takes me back to a simpler time. It reminds me of days gone by when there were no wars, George Sr. told us to read his lips, and gas was $0.99 a gallon, and oh yes my favorite football team the Miami Dolphins, actually had a QB and at least one stinking victory by December 1.

I just look at her, and can not believe those ten pieces of fried chicken, coated with mozzarella, and bathing in a honey Dijon sauce is all mine. At least once, more likely twice a week, I come for her, at my favorite deli, Dee's Deli. For only $7.90 I get to experience the best feeling in the world.

It's worth every bite of bliss. I know its love, as I struggle for air, and the sharp pains radiating from my chest let me know everything I need. As I get halfway through the mounds of chicken I know I should walk away, but she's inside my head, and I know I can't disappoint. I must finish what I started.

Despite the intense nausea that follows I have no regrets. Love is a sacrifice, and who cares if each bite shortens my life expectancy. I know one thing. I can't live without her.

My doctor thinks she's bad for me, kinda unhealthy, but I've never been happier.

As I write this I'm missing her. I think its time for another Country Fried Chicken wrap from the world's best deli, Dee's Deli, on New Haven Avenue in Milford. I'm powerless.

Forever yours,

Brian McCready

If not you, who?

There's a scene in the 1984 classic "Repo Man" where Otto Maddox (unforgettably played by the esteemed Emilio Estevez) is in this bar and there's some punk rock music playing, and he says "I can't believe I used to listen to this."

Emilio, we all make mistakes. Mine was the four years in high school that I spent as a "straightedge vegan." A quick backgrounder: Straightedge was this odd cultural phenomenon that emerged in the mid 1990s, where mostly bored white kids were upset that they had nothing to be upset about, so to fight the system we would draw X's on our hands with markers and pledge not to have anything to do with alcohol, drugs or cigarettes.

Crappy hardcore bands that played in VFW halls was also a part of it, and I recall something in there about not having sex - never really figured that one out. If you've heard Minor Threat's "In my eyes," you've pretty much got it.

As they say, once the pendulum gets going one way it's hard to stop it, and before I knew it my fellow revolutionaries were admiring wackos like the Earth Liberation Front, who as far as I can tell are people who have cast themselves as freedom fighters in whatever movie they're starring in, and think the best way to save the planet is to key a neighbor's Hummer. They also set fires.

So I get it. I've done the tofu, the textured vegetable protein and the soy milk and memorized endless statistics about grain/beef ratios and how livestock flatulence causes global warming (a true argument). God bless all of you and this big beautiful country.

But the fact is that I was a jerk, just like the ALF (Animal liberaton front) and ELF are a bunch of punks, and that so much of this Great Struggle is really just used as a fashionable ego trip, like when regular vegetarians go after vegetarians who still eat fish. And that's a shame, because there are dedicated, intelligent and passionate people in this thing, but you won't find them pelting old women with paint baloons because madame is wearing fur.

At least in my day, animal rights groups also tend to have a heavy membership in the "hot but smart and environmentally-conscious girl" demographic. So not too bad.

Anyway, that's where we're at. Over 10 years later I'm stuffing myself with Rubens and White Castle, have what some might - unfairly - consider to be a minor alcohol problem and am addicted to nicotine (although we're trying to quit; even I manage to at least try and keep up with the times). On more than one occasion this year I've eaten a large quanitity of steaks du Salisbury in one sitting, apparently because I hate myself. I joined this thing as a favor to some friends, and hope to write some reviews, news of the day, etc.

You know what the straightedgers always used to say: "If you're not now, you never were." Fair enough. I went on a once-in-a-lifetime canoe trip in the Adirondacks during this phase and didn't even bring a fishing pole. So thanks a lot, veganism.

-phil helsel

The Wonder of Hog's Feet

So I was just lounging around on a Saturday, just channel surfing when I came across Paula Deen's show on the Food Network. I'm a sucker for her sultry Southern drawl, no-nonsense aphorisms and deliciously decadent pineapple upside down cake (her secret is replacing the flour, eggs, baking soda, pineapple, butter and milk with Hostess cakes, foie gras, cream of cattle and ear wax), but until that show I never knew that she was a health expert too.
Right after they showed a close-up shot of her éclair-like fingers massaging a box of Krispy Kremes into a fine pulp, Paula paused and turned, facing the camera. She had something important to say-- you could sense it. Had her dog died? Was she finally going to The View? Was she going trans fat-free because of yet another massive heart attack? I was giddy with anticipation.

She took a deep breath (which sounded like starting a 1987 Buick Skylark), and pulled out a set of hog's feet from under the counter, "Hunney, I once suffered from that there arthritis. Oh Lord, it was so bad I could hardly move! But these here pig's feet—I rubbed e'm on my body, then drank me some mint juleps. Now I feel oh-so-much better."
Gosh, it must be her old-fashioned Southern intuition. Who knew that pig products could be delicious and nutritious?

I went to like five grocery stores searching for hog's feet. Everyone was sold out because of what Paula shared with the world. But my persistence paid off-- I found a butcher's shop that still had e'm in stock and bought the last six pairs. I was thrilled. I would finally be able to help heal my virtually crippled grandmother.
"Here you go grandma, you can stop your bitching now. What's for dinner?" But I should've asked, "What's for dessert?" cause it was pineapple upside down cake
- chris rhatigan