Welcome To Curd-Ville

I visited Wisconsin last week and had a delightful experience. The weather for America’s Dairyland was predicted to be 80 degrees and sunny, so I hopped on my motorcycle and set out for the the north woods, about 500 miles away.

Wisconsin is a beautiful state to ride in because you never know what you’ll find around the next corner. Cheese curds are made with a combination of curds and whey, just like Little Miss Muffet used to enjoy. Then, they put them in a machine and knock the whey out of them so all you have left is the curd. It’s a chunky little thing and I figured, “How bad could it be?” 

Cheese curds are not a silent food. They squeak when you eat them. It sounds like you’re eating a mouse. To wash down your curds, you order a beer, and when you combine the squeak of the cheese with the noise provided by the beer you have the makings for a Wisconsin One Man Band.

The goal on this trip was not to chow down on curds, but to have dinner at a remote restaurant in Manitowish Waters. The Little Bohemia Inn was built in 1929 as a restaurant and vacation lodge. In 1934, their most famous patron paid a visit.

John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, and the rest of the gang were looking for a place to catch a little R&R. Robbing banks and going on the lam can really take it out of a gangster and the boys just wanted to rest up. They booked rooms at the lodge through a mutual acquaintance of the owner, but at check in, the owner’s wife recognized Dillinger and freaked out. After a couple of days, she called the FBI and informed them of the location of Public Enemy #1. 

The FBI decided to raid the lodge and finally nab Dillinger. They rode up the narrow drive when another car approached for the other direction. The feds blasted away at it and shot three people who just had dinner. 

The shots alerted Dillinger and the gang, and a massive gunfight ensued. Sin

 

ce the thought never occurred to the FBI to surround the building, the gang escaped out the back and eluded capture once again.

Today, the lodge is only open as a restaurant, but they preserved Dillinger’s room along with the bullet holes in the walls and windows. It was also featured in the 2009 Johnny Depp film, ”Public Enemy”

On my way back to Chicago, I passed by one of only four unique places on the planet. In the small town of Poniatowski, sits the center of the northern hemisphere and the western hemisphere. It is know as a 45-90 mark, being 45 degrees latitude from the north pole and the equator, and 90 degrees longitude from Greenwich to the International Date Line. The other three 45-90 spots are in China, the Pacific Ocean, and the Indian Ocean so I figured I had better stop to see this one.

I walked down a path through a soybean field to a large orientation marker at the exact spot. I stood on that spot and waited for a divine message from the universe. I waited and waited and then it came to me. I felt my life change. I had a craving for cheese curds.

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OF MICE AND WOMAN

Mice are cute little creatures when they come in the form of Mickey, Minnie, or Mighty, but in reality, they are disgusting germ carrying rodents that occasionally find a way into
your house. Whether you live in an urban, suburban, or rural setting, you will eventually get mice in your abode. And if you get two mice, you will soon have 100, and the only way to stop them is by extermination. Usually, you can rid yourself of mice by setting traps and generally, one or two traps are sufficient to take care of any mouse problem unless my wife sees one.

She was in the kitchen the other night when she espied a furry pest scurrying across the floor. The mouse disappeared down the basement steps but it was clear that war had been declared. I told her it was her fault for not letting me have a pet boa constrictor. You could just put the boa in the kitchen at night and your mouse problem would be gone by morning. She wasn’t listening to me and went to the hardware store to stock up on weapons.

When I was young, I heard the axiom, “Build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door.” I never did this because the mousetrap I used seemed to function well, and quite honestly, I don’t want a beaten path full of strangers showing up at my door. But this sage advice was heard by many others and those people have come up with numerous ways to catch mice. My wife bought them all.

In addition to the traditional spring traps that catch mice and break fingers, she got little mouse houses that the mice enter, expecting a meal, and wind up getting sealed inside. She also returned with glue boards which are very sticky surfaces that mice walk onto and can’t get off. And we got some new and improved snap trap that doesn’t require any mouse touching for disposal. 

She then set her traps in any place a mouse might go. Many were set in the basement and on every step leading to the kitchen. She also placed them all over the kitchen in case the vermin made it up the stairs. Then she turned out the lights and waited. 

The next day she had a mouse in the mouse house trap, but the trap was gone. This is just great and I’m sure we’ll find him just like we find the one egg nobody can find at Easter. It will make itself known.

The next day she caught two that didn’t get away, and two more in the garage on day three. Since then, not a mouse has been sighted and not a trap has been tripped, but the traps remain in place, all over, just in case.

Have you ever gotten up in the middle of the night in need of a beverage or a quick nibble. Sure you have. And since you know your way to the kitchen, there’s no need for lights. You open the fridge door, pour yourself a glass of juice, close the door, and step back, onto a glue board! You half hop, half hobble back to the bedroom, spilling your juice along the way. The words that followed were not fun words, but then there is no f-u-n in mouse. 

Most of the traps have been removed but the war is not over, and at least I’m eligible for the Purple Foot award.

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ME AND FOOD. A LOVE/HATE RELATIONSHIP

I am a big fan of food and I know what I like. I am by no means a foodie in that I like
normal food. I have never had quail eggs poached in Hungarian spring water, served with shaved kale sprouts and crushed monkey nuts, and I don’t want to.

I prefer food that I recognize, like steaks, chicken legs, and Coco Puffs. In fact, I will eat almost anything that I recognize with a few exceptions. For instance, I recognize the existence of beets but I opt to stay as far away from them as I can. My mother loved beets and made them quite often. I tried them once and threw up red. Never again. The Russians make a cold soup out of beets called borscht, which I believe they invented to feed to prisoners in the gulags.

I also steer clear of sardines. I know they are seafood – which I enjoy – but they taste more like the bait used to catch real seafood. I also don’t eat avocados. They are quite delicious, especially when transformed into guacamole, but if I eat any, it’s off to the emergency room to deal with a sever allergic reaction. It’s the green food that actually turns me green.

Poi, the Hawaiian side dish is off my personal menu. I’ve tried it in Hawaii and found it to be very aptly named because after the first taste, you spit it out and go “Poi.”

I am not fond of lamb. I don’t care for the taste no matter how much mint jelly you use to disguise it. I confine my feelings about lamb to the lovely wool they produce but I wouldn’t want to eat that either.

Perhaps the worst array of barely edible foods of which I want no part are offals. Offals – which taste awful – is the name given to otherwise unrecognizable internal organs of animals. This includes things like the liver, kidneys, spleen, bladder, stomach, appendix, and pituitary gland. Once, while visiting Germany, I ordered offals off a menu written in German and wound up with fried cow teat. There was not enough beer in the country to get rid of that taste.

I have often mused about what I would have for my last meal on death row, if I were ever wrongly convicted, like The Fugitive. It is said that a prisoner on death row is allowed to order anything they want as a last meal. If that was the case, I would order a filet, ribs, lobster, french fries, a few burgers and a 5 gallon bucket of tapioca pudding. I probably wouldn’t finish it all but I would eat until the point where I was so full that I would grasp my sides and yell, “Just kill me.”

Coincidentally, Just Kill Me is the name of my new podcast. subscribe for free on iTunes.

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How’s Your Job? If it’s better than these, you win.

If your job is worse than a waitress who told the chef to spit in the food; or acrocodile tour guide who lures the crocs with a chicken on a stick; or if you are part of the small group who never had sex at work; we want to hear about it. Send a job description to Justkillmeshow@gmail.com. You could win a ty-shirt!

Episode 25

 

4:45 Deleted Scholarship

7:03 Please Spit On Burger

9:06 Crocodile Tour Guide

12:42 Elon Musk

14:40 Sex at Work

17:08 Soccer Panties

18:59 Worst Job Of The Week

22:26 Wrap Up

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Who’s Your Daddy? A Salute To Fathers

This week we learn that Japanese fathers want nothing to do with toddlers; guys who don’t have kids but have monkeys instead; Bad gifts to get dad including their own flamethrower; the miracle of donkey milk, and much, much more.

Episode 24

 
2:46 Japanese Fathers
4:05 Monkey in Home Depot
5:32 Monkey on a Car Thief
7:12 Bad Father’s Day Gifts
11:08 Home Flamethrowers
12:20 Too Large
14:15 Donkey Milk
19:00 Wrap Up
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