Other than sleeping, the motivation for “doing stuff”1 has been low. Like, old man testies sort of low. Still, I’ve managed to do what I can with the scraps of motivation I have left in me after a month-long illness, a seriously infected cut on my leg, a self-esteem that’s plunging further and further into the nether regions of my stank anus of a psyche, and a winter that shows no sign of releasing its murderous grip from Michigan’s throat.
Three tomatoes are walkin’ down the street.
Papa Tomato, Mama Tomato and Baby Tomato.
Baby Tomato starts lagging behind, and Papa Tomato gets really angry.
Goes back and squishes him and says: ‘“Ketchup.”
—Mia Wallace, Pulp Fiction
I may or may not have mentioned this before, but in the world of beer (in which I am a well steeped lover), Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale just MIGHT be the beer that has retained most of my affection over the years. I could seriously make love to this beer… it has everything I could ever want in a beer and more. I don’t drink it all the time, but GODDAMN, when I do I sort of get all tingly in the nipple and crotchial regions.
That’s it, carry on, a more thorough blog post about nothing is forthcoming.
Later.
Photo: Soiled Chamois file photo from last weekend.
I’m never sure whether to love fruit, hate fruit, laugh at fruit or be scared and run the fuck away from fruit. Jesus H., look at this strawberry! It looks like something they lopped off an old man’s back.
Other than a trip to the gym to work on my glutes and pecs, today was something less than special. Oh well, it could be worse.
Later.
I am a big fan of stouts, I am a bigger fan of imperial stouts, and I am an ever BIGGER fan of imperial stouts brewed by breweries located 1.1 miles from my home.
The Impervious Imperial Stout has been on tap at the Mt. Pleasant Brewing Tap Room my past couple visits. While I hope that it is still there this weekend, I am realistic that it may not be. Impervious is a higher ABV seasonal beer, brewed by a small brewery, that makes is both awesome and sad. Awesome because it tastes incredible and is brewed locally and sad because production isn’t huge and it won’t last long. And if there is one thing that can help a person survive the ice hardened snow and continued cold we’re experiencing this winter, it’s a delicious mind numbing imperial stout.
C’mon weekend! (Or maybe even Thursday night if I’m good).
I would love to fill your heads with tales of racing and long rides, but I can’t. I could probably talk about U.S. Cyclocross Nationals, but cross really isn’t my thing, so I won’t. Instead, I will fill your head with sausages, because lately many have come to expect very little from this “cycling” blog and I aim to please.
Back 1991 or 92, when I used to go out with friends, my beers of choice were Coors Light, Rolling Rock or if I was lucky Yuengling Lager (I know, right?). I would experiment here and there, but it wasn’t easy, I was making shit money and living in a small town in Western Pennsylvania at the time. Hell, if you were at a bar and even ordered something as “crazy” as a Yuengling there was a good chance they wouldn’t know what you were talking about and then probably question your sexual orientation (even though it was brewed just a few hours away in Pottsville, PA). Oh well, when in Rome (or at least a small town in Western, PA in the early nineties with no money) drink shit beer.
This morning I found the above photo of Gianni Motta downing some pasta while racing, and I have to say it makes the perfect intro photo for today’s Cat 5 Cooking post on Spaghetti alla Puttanesca.
Spaghetti alla Puttanesca translates into “whore’s spaghetti ” or what my favorite voluptuous, turned thin(ish) recreational drug using celebrity chef Nigella Lawson calls “Slut’s Spaghetti.” I’m not real sure why slut is better than whore, but I digress. When a dish translates into a combination of pasta and whorism* I’m all in.
Bell’s beers are brewed here in Michigan, but I wouldn’t say they are exactly local (in the 989) with the brewery located a couple of hours southwest in Kalamazoo County. However they are more local than I had though! It turns out that the 2-row barley used in their Midwestern Pale Ale, Christmas Ale (seen in my fridge drawer above) and Harvest Ale is grown just a few minutes from my house on a farm down in Shepherd, Michigan. A farm that I have no doubt passed at one time or another on my rides. Of course I’ve ridden by so many farms, they all start to look alike.
As you can see, the Shepherd wheat field and farm are both depicted on the labels of the Christmas Ale and the Midwestern Pale Ale. It’s pretty neat to know that beer that I enjoy quite often is made with ingredients grown just minutes from my home. You can see more about the Bell’s Brewery Farm at bellsbeer.com.
By the way, Bells’ Christmas Ale is one of my favorites of the season. It’s unusual in that it doesn’t have all the spices that one comes to expect in a Christmas beer, yet the lack of hops and the malts they use somehow give it a bready, candied toffee/carmel-ish taste that is very Christmasy and reminiscent of a Scottish Ale. I didn’t think I would be into it, since I usually like either BIG hoppy IPAs and Oatmeal and Imperial Stouts, but I am digging it.
As you may or may not know, I hesitate to call my riding, time on the trainer and in the gym “training.” I suppose it sort of is, but I think of it more as “doing stuff” so as not to get even fatter… and an attempt to get back to just mildly embarrassing myself on the bike next season (oppose to completely embarrassing myself as I did in 2013). Having once again said that disclaimer of my slackness and douchery I can get to the post at hand…
