Short Stories, Film Reviews, and Recipes

Tag: Recipes

The Music Is the Problem

Downtown North Side Avenue 1989

“I’m having premonitions about this one. Maybe we should wait till tomorrow,” Franklin said as he scratched the stubble on his face. He stared at Bill’s tape deck in his BMW and thanked God it wasn’t playing. Although he didn’t mind some of his music, Franklin preferred silence, especially after last night.

Bill looked down at his watch and said, “It has to be tonight. This isn’t the kind of appointment you bump to the next day. Besides, I’ve got a badminton class tomorrow.”

Franklin smiled and pictured a group of uncoordinated forty-something men and women decked out in sweatpants and legwarmers, watching a badminton instructor demonstrate the finer points of the game.

Above them, the sky lit up with lightning, and the rain poured down. Although it was early evening, the tornado-like glow in the sky and coal-colored clouds made it look much later.

“How much did you pay to become a badminton wizard?” asked Franklin.

“It’s only $150 a month, but Susan’s a world champ. She can hit anything with a shuttlecock. It’s funny, but she got into trouble a few years back when she blinded a dude in the stands when he wouldn’t shut up. Instead of the shuttlecock, she served up a small rubber ball she always carried in her match uniform.”

“It was a good luck charm her grandpa bought in a gumball machine, but I bet he never would’ve believed his gift would someday pulverize a guy’s eyeball. . . but, wait a minute, why don’t you think we should visit these guys, again?”

Franklin looked over at Bill and tried to crack a smile before he started but couldn’t. “It started a few weeks ago but really fried me last night. Tanya has been out of town with her mom, but I don’t think this has had anything to do with her absence.”

“You know, until recently, I hadn’t remembered a dream in years. But in the last two weeks, I’ve probably had ten dreams that all have the same theme.”

“And not like the ones I had as a kid. They terrified me but were made up mostly of monsters, carnies, Joseph McCarthy, and dead people, and they were nothing like the ones I’d been having lately. These don’t seem like dreams, and the sounds and lighting all look real.”

“In your dreams, have you ever been attacked by a guy wearing 3-D glasses and swinging a cleaver in one hand and a broken whiskey bottle in the other while Creature From the Black Lagoon plays in the background on a giant projection television?” asked Franklin.

“Please don’t tell me about your dreams, man,” said Bill. “I’d rather hear about a boil you got lanced or a venereal disease that’s taking over your body than one of your dreams. . . and maybe even that story, and it’s a true one, of your cousin and that poor, defenseless sloth.”

“How did his wife sneak that sucker into the country anyhow, and what was his name again? Not the sloth, the peterbeast. I’ll never forget the sloth’s name: Roger Waters.

“I guess old Roger couldn’t block the tour in ’87, and he couldn’t stop David Gilmour from carrying on, but still, the guy’s a regular horse-faced genius.”

“The only problem is that he’s kind of a prick. The other guys in the band are cool, but sometimes I regret listening to the ones Rog wrote because he’s the heavyweight champ of shitheads.”

“Just a regular scrotum-lipped, sour-brained weirdo. A real toilet clogger, I think, is a good way to describe him.”

“He hates the fans, and he hates the world, but at least that baboon-faced crooner inspired a young woman to name a friendly sloth before your cousin raped him.”

“And back to your cousin, no, it’s coming to me. It was Rueben! Reuben, the violator! He stole pour Roger the sloth’s innocence, and the thing is so slow, what could he do about it?”

“This is different, and I want you to hear about the dreams ‘cause they’re gonna affect you if the dirtbag up there is playing a sad song,” said Franklin.

“What?” asked Bill with a blank look on his face.

“See, you’re a little interested. I know it sounds nutty, but lately, I’ve dreamed of us walking into apartment buildings like when we make collections, but it doesn’t go very well. And. . . from the outside, the apartment looks a little depraved or evil.”

“You mean I’m in it too? You sick bastard!”

“No, man, it’s nothing creepy. I mean, except for what happens to us every time. You see, we’re walking through the halls, and that’s usually about the same in every dream, but the interior rooms and the song are always different.”

“Last week, the first one I remember was playing Sing by the Carpenters, and while it may look inspirational on the surface, it’s sad and devilish as Hell. We walked in, and the guy wouldn’t pay up or turn off the music.”

“He finally said he’d be back with the money and walked back to his bedroom, and the whole time, that stupid song was blaring through his system at full blast.”

“At least his setup was top-notch. His primary speakers were five feet tall. Well, the little troll strolled back from his bedroom, wearing a Spiderman mask and holding a flamethrower.”

“We both bolted for the door, but he blasted us before we got there. We dropped to the floor and tried to roll out the flames, but he ran over and roasted us again. Then, as we burned, he poured some kind of blueberry sauce over us from a gold saucière. I could smell it sizzling on my back.”

“Smelled like blueberry cobbler coming out of the oven. That’s when I woke up. The crazy thing is that it’s always overkill with these guys in my dreams.”

“Anyway, the second night was Perfect Day by Lou Reed. And on the third, it was Now You’re All Alone by David Hess. On that trip, the killer . . . and this time he was six-foot-five and had long black hair; he charged us and sliced us up with a scythe.”

“At least, that took less time than on Wednesday when a sumo wrestler used a giant hammer. He kept smashing me in the face with the thing, and it seemed like forever before I woke .  . . wait, what are you smiling at?”

Bill chuckled and said, “It’s time to go up there head case. Do you want some earmuffs?”

“No, thanks, but one more thing. There’s always a rabbit in the dreams; sometimes, it’s a chocolate bunny or a calendar with a bunny. It’s never a live rabbit. The sumo wrestler was wearing a white bunny ring with ruby eyes, and besides the hammer fracturing my skull, those shiny red eyes really freaked me out,” said Franklin.

“Who the hell wears a bunny ring anyway?” asked Bill. “Anyhow, I appreciate the warnings, but I’m not afraid of rabbits, sad songs, sumo wrestlers, or psychos with flamethrowers.

“But I have to admit that our target’s apartment over there looks a little off in this rainstorm. You’ve got your number two stashed on your ankle, right?”

“Always,” Franklin said.

Bill looked over at Franklin and snickered at the seriousness of his voice. “Well, good. You wanna share an umbrella, comrade . . . just kidding, let’s go.”

The Requiem

In the elevator, Bill and Franklin didn’t say a word. When the door opened on the fifth floor, Bill poked his head out of the door and looked in both directions. “We’re okay so far, angel britches. And I don’t hear any gloomy tunes.”

They turned left and walked down a dimly lit hall decked out in dark-green carpeting and wallpaper. The crown molding was gold but looked dented and dusty.

“Wow, you have to be an odd duck to live in a place like this,” said Franklin. Deep inside his worried mind, he was happy about the silence.

As they turned the corner, the sound of a solo violinist backed by an orchestra and completing only three notes filled the hallway and made the fake crystal under the light posts on the wall jingle.

The gray and brown hair on Franklin’s neck stood at attention, and his gut sank. “I know this. It’s in the movie, damn it! We’ve got to go, Bill. We’ve got to get the hell out of here!”

The sound of the choir from Mozart’s Requiem Mass in D Minor (VIII. Sequentia: Lacrimos Dies Illa) thundered through the hall and shook the brass light fixtures above them.

“We’ll be fine, man. We don’t even know if it’s coming from his apartment, but I have to admit, it’s not a happy song. Pretty loud, though,” shouted Bill.

He put his hand on Franklin’s shoulder and yelled, “Calm down. It’ll be over soon. It’s right up here. Number 57.”

They were getting close to the source of the noise, and when they reached 57, Bill said, “Uh, sorry, man. It’s loudest right here. Let’s pray for no bunnies.” He pounded on the door and pulled out his revolver.

“Come in, sweethearts! Bout time you turds scraped your way out of the porcelain bowl,” screamed a voice behind the door.

Franklin moved closer so his face was almost touching the door. “Turn that music off right now! We’re not coming in till it’s off!”

“I’m having a moment, so I don’t think I’ll do that. Wolfy helps ease the pain, so you either come in and deal with it or take off! Anus for brains!” screamed the voice with a laugh.

With his face burning bright red, Franklin started pounding on the door. “Turn it off! Turn it off! Are you insane, man? It’s got to be 120 decibels!”

He screamed like a child having a tantrum and pummeled the door harder with his fists. Bill grabbed him by the arm but fell back when Franklin’s head exploded from buckshot and sprayed him with blood and pieces of brain.

The door opened halfway, but Bill didn’t notice as he leaned against the wall and slowly wiped his face with his left hand. A grenade wobbled out into the hall and bounced against the gold floorboard.

“Sorry, Franklin. Should’ve listened,” said Bill, with a tear dripping down through the blood and gray matter on his cheek. He looked at the doorway and saw a Cottontail rabbit, wearing a red collar with the words Belezebunny emblazoned in black, twitching its nose at him. The rabbit took off and dashed down the hallway.

As he sped toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, the force of the explosion knocked him against the door of an apartment. He was stunned but hopped away slowly as the hall behind him filled with smoke and dust.


 The End

Baked Blackened Chicken and Potatoes

One-Pot Meal Without an Instant Pot

The idea for this blackened chicken one-pot meal came from the 1997 edition of the Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer, Marion Rombauer Becker, and Ethan Becker.

You can still find it on eBay, but I don’t think the 1997 version is online. The original recipe includes a small section describing how French villagers used to prepare this dish.

Before going to church, the townspeople would bring their potato and chicken casseroles to the baker to cook. The baker reserved space in the bread ovens for the town’s meals every Sunday.

After church, they picked up the casseroles, grabbed a few baguettes, walked next door for 2 cases of Châteauneuf du Pape, and headed home to enjoy lunch, laughter, and intoxication with their loving family.

The original vinaigrette was bland, and it made the potatoes a little greasy. The basil vinaigrette in my recipe does not include salt and pepper, but the teaspoon of blackening seasoning makes up for it. You can experiment with different oil and seasoning mixtures or rely only on olive oil with salt and pepper.

Ingredients

4lbs chicken breasts pounded flat

1 Yellow Bell Pepper

2 Sweet Banana Peppers

½ cup sliced sweet white onion

6-8 Oregon Gold Potatoes

½ cup fresh basil

4 Tbsp+ 1 tsp blackening seasoning

1 Lime Juiced

1 tsp Dijon mustard

⅔ cup + 1Tbsp Olive oil

Blackening Seasoning (Medium Heat)

1Tbsp ground black pepper

1 Tbsp oregano

½ Tbsp onion Powder

½ Tbsp garlic powder

1 Tbsp paprika

2 tsp salt

2 tsp ground mustard

1 tsp crushed red pepper flakes

¼ tsp Cayenne

  • This makes ½ cup of blackening seasoning, but you’ll only need around I Tbsp for each chicken breast.

Instructions

  • Coat a large (10.5×14) casserole dish with baking spray. Slice the potatoes, bell peppers, and white onions as thin as possible. Arrange the potato slices evenly and cover with bell peppers and onions.
  • Blend the basil, lime juice, Dijon mustard, and 1 tsp blackening seasoning in a food processor for 30 seconds. Add the olive oil slowly until the mixture emulsifies.
  • Coat the chicken with the blackening seasoning and heat 1 Tbsp olive oil in a cast-iron skillet. Sear the breasts for two minutes on each side. Drizzle half of the basil mixture over the spuds and peppers.
  • Place the breasts on top of the vegetables and distribute the banana peppers around evenly. Pour the basil vinaigrette over the chicken.
  • Bake in a preheated oven at 375°F for 70-80 minutes.
  • Set aside on a cooling rack and wait five minutes before eating

The potatoes can overlap each other but try to cut them the same size to cook evenly. You can use Russets, red potatoes, or gold potatoes, but gold potatoes and red potatoes hold their shape, and Russets tend to break apart.

I like the flavor of potatoes with the skin on, but you’re welcome to rip their skin off. This is a meal I try to make quickly, and sometimes laziness gets in the way of my tater prepping duties.

You can use practically any vegetable: tomatoes, zucchini, cauliflower, carrots, or rutabaga (maybe not). The last time I made it I used the red potatoes I grew, but this time, only the banana peppers and basil are homegrown.

Pouring the vinaigrette over the vegetables before adding the chicken ensures even baking and tastier peppers, onions, and potatoes.

Cover the chicken thoroughly with the vinaigrette. A glass pourer helps you estimate how much you use for each breast. I put some banana peppers on top of the chicken and added more dressing, but the peppers get a little crispy on the edges. I like slightly charred peppers (I still cut off the burned spots), but you can spread the pepper rings around and leave them off the chicken.

Several years ago, I interviewed with my left hand for the part of “thing” for the Addams Family movie, but the casting director said I was the worst hand model she had ever seen.

“Too much hair near the wrist, and the hand veins are too prominent and puffy,” she said. “Come back and see me when you‘ve shaved those wrists and flattened those veins. Ok, sweetie?”

That was a disappointment, but my hand had starring roles in a Liquid Plumber commercial, an online Glock handgun ad, a magazine ad for an air freshener that causes impotence, and an online video for a health and wellness supplement that has disturbing and uncomfortable side effects.

After the Thanksgiving Feast, Try Enchiladas

Instead of settling for turkey sandwiches or one of those gut-busting casseroles you’ve seen on a lousy cooking show where they cram turkey, gravy, cranberry relish, green bean casserole, yams, stuffing, and mashed potatoes into a large baking dish, top with bacon, country ham, gouda cheese, balsamic reduction, and Metamucil, you can make enchiladas.

I’m against wasting leftovers and feel guilty when I have to throw away food, but if I’d rather feed my trashcan than consume something repulsive created by Chef Cletus.

One enjoyable alternative to throwing away leftovers is to toss the food (or place it in bowls) into your backyard. You’ll attract the local wildlife that will appreciate a late Thanksgiving feast.

Make sure that the food is in a direct line of sight from your windows. Wait for the bunny, fox, deer, or wharf rat to munch on your bait and take a shot with a high-powered rifle or crossbow.

After a little gutting, skinning, and slicing, you’ll have another delicious meal that you can use to fatten your in-laws before they head back to Key West. The circle of life or maybe the food chain is incredible when you take an active role. Now, back to reality and enchiladas.

This recipe is based on one that my Dad uses to make enchiladas the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t remember the name of the fifty-year-old book it comes from, but I call it the brown 1970s Mexican Cookbook with gold lettering and multiple stains.

I’ve tried several homemade and restaurant enchiladas, but this one is my favorite.

Before trying the recipe, here are a few suggestions:

  • After cooking the sauce, don’t add the sour cream until you’ve taken the pot off the heat. The sour cream will curdle if the sauce is too hot.
  • When you fry the corn tortillas, set the burner between medium and medium-high. You don’t want to fry them too long, or they’ll get rigid and difficult to fold.
  • If you have extra corn tortillas, you can cut them into sixths and fry them for 2 minutes for homemade corn chips. Add salt when they’re still hot.
  • You can use chicken, turkey, or scrambled eggs (the original recipe calls for 7 large eggs scrambled), but I’ve only made them with chicken and turkey.
  • Avoid wearing lederhosen or parachute pants when you’re making enchiladas. An unexpected grease fire can be painful if your britches aren’t fireproof.
  • Seize the day, save the whales, smell the roses (they may be dead after last night’s freeze), maximize your potential, take out the garbage, clean the gutters, spot weld that hole in Grandpa Manson’s operating table, and give fleece a chance.

Turkey Enchiladas

12 Corn tortillas

2 cups shredded turkey

1 cup finely diced white onion

2 ½ cups shredded Oaxaca cheese

1 ¾ cups vegetable or peanut oil

Tomato Sauce

2 large cans whole tomatoes (or 10 to 12 fresh tomatoes)

4 cloves fresh garlic

4-8 Jalapeno rings (or 2 fresh jalapenos)

After cooking sauce, stir in ½ tsp salt and ½ cup sour cream.

Instructions

  • Set your oven to broil and cook the tomatoes, peppers, and garlic on a greased cookie sheet for 12-15 minutes. You can also put them on a lined pan on an outdoor grill set to medium-high.
  • Allow the vegetables to cool for five minutes and blend (in a blender- not a food processor) for 2 minutes. Add the diced onions to an oiled skillet and sauté for five minutes. Set aside to cool.
  • Heat oil in a cast-iron skillet and cook tortillas, one at a time, for 10 seconds on each side. Place the tortillas on a plate lined with paper towels to absorb the excess grease.
  • Heat a tbsp of vegetable in a deep skillet, on medium-high, and heat the tomato puree, frequently stirring, until it begins to thicken. Remove from the heat and stir in salt and sour cream.
  • Set up a cutting board on the counter near the stove. Spray a deep casserole dish with cooking spray and set it aside. With a pair of tongs, dip the cooked tortillas into the tomato sauce and place them on the cutting board.
  • Add 2 tbsp turkey, 2 tbsp cheese, and a tsp of cooked onions to the tortilla and roll into a tube. Place the rolls seam-side down in the cooking dish. You should have 2 rows of tortillas with six in each row.
  • Pour the tomato sauce on the rolls. Top with the remaining 1 cup of cheese.
  • Bake the enchiladas for 30 minutes at 350°F.
  • Serve them while they’re piping hot!

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