Page 146: Can Baptists Dance/Can Christians Drink? And Other Absurdities

In which, krs summons his hellfire self-righteous evangelical anger of Olde.
Non-religious friends -- move on. Nothing for you here.

My old friend Dr. Stephen J. Lucas, former pastor of Highland Park Baptist Church in Austin, once told this from the pulpit: "And the little old lady came up to the minister and said, 'Pastor, can Baptists dance?' And he replied, 'well, ma'am, it turns out...some can, and some just can't!'"

A Certain Someone Who Is An Old Friend of Mine just posted the most asinine thing on Facebook, stating that "That Would Be Like a Christian Drinking, which is Totally Wrong."

Holy Great Ignoramuses, Batman. My Dear. You didn't really say that, did you? Let me illuminate the darkness in that fog-filled head of yours. But buckle up, because it's going to be a rough ride, as it always is when somebody opens up your mind to a wider world and you realize the door to your little broom closet of thought has been nailed shut for years. I know -- it's happened to me many times.

First things first. I have many friends and family members who do not drink. They are not judgmental people and they could care less if you drink or not. Kudos to them and may their tee-totaling lights shine forever brightly. And others have a religious tradition of not drinking, but wouldn't be so crass to condemn those that do. I am not talking about those people.

No, I am talking about Judgmental Nincompoops who like to publically proclaim on a social medium that "Christians drinking is wrong." If these judgers were apple trees, here in my beloved Texas we would be standing in the middle of a vast orchard knee deep in Granny Smiths. I speak to these folks when I say, we will be educating you today in Three Easy, Smart Alecky Points.

Point One. There are 2.2 BILLION Christians in the world, and all but about 100 million drink, best estimates. This means that over 95% of Christians on this planet drink. Catholics drink. Methodists drink. Presbyterians drink. Episcopalians drink. Lutherans drink (a LOT). They officially drink, blessed by their denomination. Many drink AT CHURCH. So in answer to the question "Do Christians Drink," the answer is unequivocally "yes." I do understand you think they aren't "real Christians" because they don't agree with your Little Official Belief List. But if you are a tee-totaling Christian, you are in the very small minority and might think twice about casting aspersions and judgment on 95% of the rest of us.

Point Two. JESUS DRANK. ALCOHOLIC. BEVERAGES. Generally speaking, when the founder of a religion does something, you can do it too! Isn't it exciting? Yes, Jesus drank full-strength Hebrew wine and beer, staples in their Semitic diet for over 3,000 years, and having spent time in Israel working in the very lands Jesus tread, let me assure you that the old Baptist line I was taught in my youth that it "wasn't fermented" or "wasn't as strong as today" is absolute nonsense. Laughable hogwash. Made up baloney to defend an idea that has no basis in fact. But sadly, people love to believe fibs. Don't fall for it, and remember, "the Son of Man came eating and drinking" and was actually called a drunkard.  Catch that? Jesus said that about himself according to Luke 7. He turned water into wine at a wedding in John 2. He drank wine at the Last Supper in Luke 22. I could go on.  Did He do something "totally wrong?"  That sure would wreck the theology books, so perhaps better to agree that your assertion "drinking is totally wrong" is what is actually totally wrong.

Point Three: GOD LOVES BEER. You think I'm kidding? You don't think the Bible says that? Oh, you should quit reading only your few 'lil favorite parts. The consumption of beer was encouraged, sanctioned, and intimately linked with the religion of the Israelites. They were commanded to offer part of their beer to God -- Yahweh, according to the Old Testament, drank at least half a hin of beer (about 2 liters -- a six-pack), and MORE on the Sabbath and first of the month. That is a LOT of beer consumed by God, but apparently, that is just the way He rolls, according to Numbers 28:7-10. As Benjamin Franklin said, "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

So, if you don't want to drink, hooray for you. That's more for those of us who do. And YES, excessive drinking is bad. I have friends in recovery, and they all recommend that people with addictions should never, EVER drink. But you do understand, right? Too much of ANYTHING is bad. Too much dessert: flappy flab. Too much talking on your cell-phone: big bill. Even too much religion: fanatic kook. Even Jesus must be consumed in reasonable quantities, or you end up completely cuckoo. Believe me, I know several people who are.

So, go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for it is now that God favors what you do. (You just read Ecclesiastes 9:7.)

One of my oldest friends, a Baptist minister, recently emailed me. He had heart issues, and his doctor recommended a glass or two of red wine daily as part of his health-up program. "Can you help teach me how to drink wine?" he asked half-teasingly. Dear Boy -- the doctor is in. Cheers!

Page 145: Raw Topic: The One Sided Burger

in which, krs almost talks about Politics AND Religion...


When you start feeling that all is about to be lost, that we are going to Hell in a handbasket, that the forces that threaten us are so dire that it is time for everybody to wake up and realize it absolutely is going to have to be YOUR way, or the highway…

You just became a giant part of the problem.

This is true in politics. And religion. Our ability to work together is something that makes us uniquely human. When we lose that, we are in truly dangerous territory.

"Who is your 2012 presidential candidate?" I asked Dillon. Dillon is one of Kellen's friends, an Old Soul, and we were talking late one night while everyone else was engaged in a hold-no-hostages Call of Duty shootout.

"What?" Dillon clarified. "I don't think I have one. I mean, I don't think anybody can work together anymore. That's the problem."

Right.

If you are a Righty and *only* watch Fox News -- or you are a Lefty and only watch MSNBC -- it is more than possible you only know half the story. And if you have strong feelings about that half of the story that you know, down to your toes, you might be sort of like a divorce judge who ONLY listens to the husband's (or the wife's) side. What kind of judge is that? On purpose, and to make money by appealing to people with firm opinions, neither Fox or MSNBC are truly "news organizations." They are commentary organizations who write stories from a highly politically partisan point of view. Oh, there is nothing wrong with watching it. Just don't expect to be educated on The Other Half of the Story. And don't be surprised if the news you hear there is constantly upsetting you about "them" -- you know, the Other Side and their outrageous nonsense. The one thing I've learned is that there is a Little Truth on both sides, and always ample bullshit as well -- and it's the latter that frequently riles people up. And sadly, some people seem to thrive on being riled up. Happy Life Hint: all that outrage isn't lengthening your life.

If you only listen to one side of the argument, you are like a burger patty that doesn't get flipped. You end up with a bunch of raw bull. This is true in both politics and religion. In religion, so many times good-intentioned people believe that the only side they have ever heard must be the truth -- without realizing that other people of similar faith have well-grounded, valid, & different ideas on key topics.

I avoid one-sided news sources. I'm more of a Truth-Seeker than a Reinforce-My-Opinions-With-My-Kind-of-Propaganda kind of guy.

"Never argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level, then beat you with experience." I am talking about myself. I frankly don't have the depth of knowledge to know exactly how to get ourselves out of the financial predicament the country is in or how to resuscitate the economy, which is why I don't argue about the economy. Economics was the most complex thing I ever studied in college, even beyond Physics. You would be arguing with an idiot if you argued with me, because while I know many of the answers being proposed out there, I have no idea what the real answer is.

As a longtime critic of the federal debt, I am not sure those who just woke up and smelled the coffee (tea?) understand that it may not be possible, unfortunately, to solve both the debt and the economy problems at the same time. That is what the majority of our best economists from across the spectrum are saying.

We'll have plenty of time to talk about this, so let's light up the stove. It's going to be a long economic winter.

Page 144: The LADY ON A CELLPHONE Game

The lady's giant SUV swerved, and it was coming right at us. "She's on a collision course," I shouted. "Number Six -- evasive action!"

"Red Alert! Sound the collision alarm!" Nunzilla bellowed from the passenger seat, and Number Six's klaxon horn blared. The lady swerved back into her lane without even glancing sideways, oblivious to the inches she had come from wrecking us both. As we glared at her, Keaton spoke up from the backseat. "Dad, that's 8! LADY ON A CELLPHONE!"

But more on how to play the game in a moment.

Our dear ladies. How we love you. How we could not live without you. And how you can apparently not live without talking on your cellphone when you drive. We wouldn't notice, really, except for the 25 mph in the 60 zone you're doing, or the cars you sideswipe as you careen all over your "lanes." We don't mind, really. We weren't in any sort of rush at all in the long line of cars behind clueless you.

After all, when one is in control of a 2 ton machine flying down the road, there are some things that MUST be urgently communicated. Highly important, urgent things, such as:

"...then he did this and she said that…"

"...well, SHE said that she didn't, but…"

"...and was wearing this purple thing at least 2 sizes too small…"

"...well, I just talked to her, and she said that he..."

True, sometimes the ladies could wait until they got home to call Her on the cell. But that would be so silly. Because they are going to call Her and Her and Her from home anyway.

Is there a a complete ninny obstructing and slowing traffic ahead of you? ODDS ARE… it's a Lady On a Cellphone!

Oh yes, Men talk on their cellphones, too. Their chatter is even more ridiculous, because the more miles their caller is away, the louder Men yell Because That Helps. Like ladies, they will be totally oblivious to their path of destruction, but instead of driving 20 mph and careening across lanes, their energetic, loud talking will make them blindly aggressive. Like enraged mules. Enraged mules hanging 4 inches off your bumper while braying into their little BellowBoxes.

THE GAME
MINIMUM: TWO PLAYERS, PLAYED WHILE IN YOUR CAR

The object of the game is to find 10 Ladies on Cellphones driving their cars before you find 10 Men.

1. Flip a coin. Heads, you get MEN, tails, you get LADIES. On a cellphone. The goal is to see how quickly you can find 10.
2. Get in your car to go anywhere. Within seconds of entering any major road or street, you will spot the first one, and whoever is LADIES yells "LADY ON A CELLPHONE!!!!!!! THAT'S ONE!"
3. If you have MEN, look for a man on cellphone. They are elusive, but they are dangerous and there. When you spot one, counter with "MAN ON A CELLPHONE! THAT'S X!!" where X is the current count. Try to get out of the way before you are all killed.
4. Continue finding and counting LADIES and MEN ON A CELLPHONE until the first person gets to 10.

99. 99% out of 100 times, you will get to 10 LADIES before MEN. And so when LADIES win, everybody spouts in unison, "LADY ON A CELLPHONE!"

As Little Timmy cried from the backseat of Mommy's swerving Phone-mobile, "God bless us people just trying to get to our destination, every one!!!"

Page 143: Make That to GO!!!

Guilty, Your Honor. It's true. I get freaky at the drive-thru. But let me explain.

A long, long time ago in a Central Texas town in the hills far, far away, there lived a blond headed boy, I'm talking LOTS of blond hair nicely styled and parted down the middle, who slaved away at the local Burger King. And every cretin in town lined up their beat up clunkers for miles and miles at that drive-thru, grinning like bucked toothed buffoons while waiting to mumble their highly specialized orders through the microphone.  After placing that order, they would always say, "Make that To Go!" Really?  You sure you don't want to eat it on a tray right there in the window?  Yes, I was the blond guy with the head FULL of hair.

"I'll have a Double-Meat Whopper with Cheese with MUSTARD, no mayo, double onions, no lettuce, double tomatoes, and four pickles." I am not making that up: that was the exact order one imbecilic lady placed every week. Every order was a nightmare for us booth attendants, as we pushed buttons and pulled levers and yelled back to the kitchen trying to "get it their way." One thing you did NOT have to specify was the ritual stomping the meat patty was going to get on the floor, which was pretty much Standard Operating Procedure by the kitchen staff to reward highly picky customers. Don't ask what happened if you came in close to closing time. And all this while, our cranky, uber-pouty mouthed manager Tammy would run a stop-watch and bark out orders, as policy dictated that drive-thru customers were to spend no more than 3 minutes through the window.

So please understand, I have a LOT of baggage when it comes to drive-thrus, and that baggage is stuffed to the gills with unpleasant memories and gallons of sympathy for the poor kids manning the register for a nickel above Minimum.

So, thus it is when my dear family -- bless their hearts, and make a Catholic sign of the cross here, even if you're Jewish -- gets to the drive-thru and thinks they are the Belles of the Ball, I DO in fact go a little nuts.

"What do you guys want?" I ask, perhaps a bit tensely as we drive into the parking lot.

"Well, I don't know what they have here..." the family says, their voices trailing off.

"It's a Sonic. They have the EXACT same menu they've had since 1957. Not one thing has changed. What would you like -- sweeties??" I ask, forcing a strained smile on the last word. We arrive at the order station in front of the big menu, and I can suddenly hear the clock ticking like a time bomb -- the time bomb attached to my patience level.

The entire family is gawking at the menu board as if it just landed from another planet -- it's some alien thing they could not possibly fathom. Kathy speaks up. "That Number One burger looks pretty good, but I'm not really in the mood for a burger. Now, what is different on that Number Two? Oooh, is that... cheese? Well. I don't want any cheese. I wonder -- do they have a chicken sandwich here? Ewww, I wonder if it's fried. Sigh. Maybe a salad."

I can feel my second molars slowly being pulverized into tooth-dust by my rising industrial-level jaw tension. "IT...IS...THE...NUMBER SIX… GRILLED CHICKEN… NUMBER SIX… WHAT YOU ALWAYS GET HERE…N.U.M.B.E.R.S.I.X."

"Kirk, I don't know the menu here. Now, don't be a butt and rush us! Kids, do you know what want yet?"

Meanwhile, the driver of the car behind us has decomposed into a skeleton and the Order Taker at the drive-thru has gotten engaged -- twice. And maybe voted for the first time (absentee). I have to reset my watch due to a change in Daylight Savings Time. The stars move from Spring to Autumn positioning.

"Guys -- COME ON! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!?!?"

I close my eyes and go to a Happy Place. In my Happy Place, I have a megaphone mounted on my front bumper, one that starts playing a looped recording the very second you drive into the parking lot. "FIVE NUMBERS ONES WITH DIET COKES!!! FIVE NUMBER ONES WITH DIET COKES!" it booms. The window attendant hears it 30 seconds before we even get to the drive-thru, and the sun is shining and there is a redbird.

Back in the real world, The Family has finished reading and re-reading the menu board, so now it is time for some serious thinking.

"GUYS!!!!!!"

"Dad, you get really stressed out at the drive-thru," the kids inform me. I want to place a full order for a French Fried board and beat their little rear ends crimson.

"Kirk, we are deciding!" Mrs. Kathryn says. "Well. I think I'll just have a Number Six, grilled Chicken Sandwich. Now, I don't want cheese on it."

You know what would be damn delicious? FIVE NUMBER ONE'S WITH DIET COKE. Thank you, I'll pull right around. "Make that to GO!!!"

Page 142: "I'll Take Loved Ones for Priceless, Alex"

The soldier was quietly sobbing, and I felt powerless to help him.

I had seen him with his wife and little baby in the line beside me at the airport gate. The little girl looked to be no more than a couple weeks old. He was rocking her car carrier, a giant smile on his face as he stared down at her sweet face and raven dark hair. Going to see family for Thanksgiving, I thought.

About an hour later, I was sitting at the bar working on my laptop when the same soldier sat down next to me. I glanced up at him and he looked pale, his hands a bit shaky. He ordered a shot of tequila. "I ordinarily don't drink like this," he explained, "just have to settle my nerves. Hi, I'm Drew."

"Drew, I'm not your mama. Nice to meet you. Do what you have to do."

"Thank you, sir," he replied. I intended to pay for his drink - these people put their lives on the line for us, and buying their lunch or even tequila shot seems like the least we civilians can do. But I was too distracted and he was too fast. "Have a good day, sir," he said as he hastily left. I wanted to tell him that "sir is my father" but thought better of it. He looked like a kid, maybe a day past 21 if that.

Taking my seat on the plane, I was surprised to see the same soldier headed to the seat beside me. He sat down quietly, and I realized he was crying. No, more than crying, he was quietly sobbing, shaking from head to foot. Oh, his family wasn't traveling with him -- they had been there to tell him goodbye.

After a few minutes, I spoke up. "You okay, buddy? Saw your little baby with you; she is beautiful."

He looked up at me, his eyes red and his face grief-stricken. "I only got to see her for 4 days. She is 17 days old, and I couldn't leave to see her be born. I'm about to be deployed to Afghanistan for a year, and I couldn't leave my training. I just love that little baby and my wife so much… but I've got to do my duty and my job to provide for them. " He put his head down and his entire body was shaking. "I'm sorry, sir…"

I patted him on the shoulder. "It's okay, son. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You're about to make me cry."

I wanted to do something to help him, but nothing seemed to be the right answer. I quietly looked out the window and thought about how I missed my kids. I hadn't seen them in 3 days. The irony was profound.

After a few minutes, he looked up and recognized me, hastily wiping his eyes. "We meet again, sir."

For the next 3 hours, I did the one thing it seemed Drew needed -- listen. He had been in the army for almost a year. He knew that Afghanistan was a dangerous place and he made sure he saw and said goodbye to all his family back in Georgia, "just in case." He was okay with all of that, he said. And his wife had a strong support network, he told me. But his baby girl. "I...I am just not handling that very well. I started to go to pieces back there and I sure didn't want them to see that. I thought that shot of tequila might steady my nerves but it didn't work."

He went on to tell me why getting to Afghanistan was so important. A lot more money. $1100 more a month in "hazard duty." And, $175 more a month because he was away from his family.

$175. So. That is what your family is worth. Oh, I understand, the country is strapped for money already. We need to cut expenses, not increase them, across the board. We are in no position to pay these brave soldiers what their families are really worth: priceless.

I had the distinct impression that Drew was a young man who had grown up in a hurry. After landing in Dallas, he became quiet, and he quickly exited the plane without a word or a handshake. It seemed clear; he had said all the goodbyes he could for the day.

Us, thankful? You better believe it. For so many things. And thank you, Private Drew. We are the luckiest people in the history of the world. On this day of thinking about thanking, we should hug our loved ones with gusto and mean it like we never have before.

Page 141: Chili Pill!

A cold wind blew in from the north, and Mrs. Kathryn had an excellent idea -- a chili cook-off with a small group at the house. "This is a contest,” she emailed. “Let's get some trash-talkin' going on!"

I was all too happy to Reply All and oblige. "Losers, let's skip the B.S. and just hand me the prize NOW. We can throw your lil' stewpots out back for the feral pigs to root around in... if they'll touch the nasty crap. My Bambi chili will RULE!" I had researched award-winning venison chili recipes to the hilt, discovering the winning secret. Shhhh. Don't tell, but here it is. You start with thick slab bacon, so fresh it's practically oinking, then throw in scraps of Bambi AND his mother. Deelish!

Imagine the horror when I discovered Aylin was also planning on some Doe a Deer Chili herself, and had already procured the meat from one of our hairy, mountain manly neighbors, who probably killed the poor creature with his bare hands, or possibly a tire iron. Rats. I was forced to choose something else.

I poured through the International Chili Cookoff Recipes and studied the Texas Terligua Pride award ingredients. The secret of winning became clear. You start with thick slab bacon, so fresh it's practically oinking, then you throw in other meats (and scraps of their mother, if possible). Deelish!

And thus is was that I concocted Fab Five Chili, with five different meat ingredients, along with a half a cup of Jim Beam, just to get the kidney beans tipsy. Oh ENOUGH of the "Texas chili DOES/DOES NOT have beans" brawls; as an eighth generation Texan and a real self-appointed Texas Colonel, if I say it can have some damn beans, matter settled. Plus, it's patently obvious that kidney beans are good for your kidneys; even a blind man could see that.

The Bad Gene acted up for a moment and I considered the novel idea of finding and adding some Viagra to my recipe to REALLY make it stand up against the competition, but decided not to… didn’t want to make the competition too hard for the judges. My friend Paul also pointed out that nobody wants to eat chili that can take 4 hours to go down.

Never underestimate Bob as a serious competitor. He one-upped the email trash talking early Saturday morning. "Five meats? Hey, just heard Chance has gone missing. Hmmm…" Chance is Rich & Christie's dog next door and our beloved Goddog (that's her laying next to the Batdesk when I was dogsitting one day)… she was clearly fine, but the evil dirty trick was done, planting the subliminal suggestion that my ingredients might not be kosher.

But the final insult came during the presentation & serving, when this sign "mysteriously" showed up attached to my pot.

So amazingly, Bob's "Jived Turkey Chili" won by a single vote, edging out my Fab Five Chili by barely a dog's nose. Rich & Christie’s Green Gobblin' Chili recipe came in third.

After the rigged voting, we retired to the Batcave to watch a horror movie of grand proportions called "2010 VH1 Divas," hosted by a terrifying, plastic-skinned monster character named Paula Abdul, who prissed around the stage doing the scariest lip synching the world has ever seen. Then there were stocky women prancing about -- as a stocky person myself, as a policy I never wear anything more than 3 sizes too small – but these ladies looked like they had been poured into their dresses, “and somebody forgot to say 'when.'" The scariest part was when a hideous corpse came to life halfway through the show – they called it The Liza Minnelli – and screeched like a vulture and staggered around the stage with a giant pink zombie sash. We guys screamed like schoolgirls, and the ladies averted their eyes and just prayed. Horrid! Hey VH1, if you are going to trot out that kind of terror, at least put a warning label on the show. We finally had to turn it off when the ghost of Cindy Lauper appeared dressed like a black refrigerator, and assumed a VERY unlady-like position directly in front of the HD camera. Hey, Cindy's Ghost – nice lady ghouls sit side saddle, not all bustin’ out with their legs flung apart like Hoss Cartwright on a mule. It almost stressed us out. Almost.


You stressed? On Overload? Two words for you: CHILI PILL!!!

SECOND/JILTED PLACE
"FAB FIVE CHILI" by krs

4 slices thick slab bacon
1 pound ground beef (90%-95% lean)
1 pound COURSE ground beef (ask at the butcher counter)
1 pound ground Pork
1 pound ground Buffalo (optional but deelishush)
Sea salt & black peper
1 white onion
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup beef broth; 1/2 cup chicken broth
2 - 28 oz cans of crushed tomatoes
1 - 28 oz Rotel tomatos w/ green chili's -- Rotel is a TEXAS TRADITION!
1 - 6 oz. can tomato paste
1 tablespoon Paprika
3 tablespoons Chili Powder
1 tablespoon Ancho chili powder
2 tablespoons garlic
1/2 tablespoon ground cayenne
1/2 tablespoon cilantro
1/2 tablespoon ground comino
2 - 28 oz can kidney beans, drained
1 tablespoon chopped jalepenos (remove seeds)
1/2 cup Shiner Bock Beer
1/2 cup Jim Beam Whiskey
1 tablespoon molasses

Cook the bacon over medium heat until the oil is extracted. Remove bacon and set aside.
Add all the remaining meats into the bacon drippings along with 2 tablespoons of chili powder, 1 tablespoon of garlic, and a light dusting of sea salt and black pepper. Dice the bacon and add to meat mix as it cooks. Brown all meat thoroughly, then drain but do NOT rinse under water.

Dice onion; melt 1 tablespoon of butter in a skillet and brown onion with a small twist of sea salt.

In a large pot, add beef stock & chicken stock with onions & all tomato cans over medium heat. Add 1 tablespoon chili powder and 1 tablespoon garlic along with remaining spices (cayenne, cilantro, comino). Add beans, then add meat, and when chili comes to a boil, reduce heat to medium low and stir in Shiner Bock, Jim Beam, and molasses. Cook 3-4 hours covered, stirring occasionally, over low heat to keep at low simmering boil. Serves 8-10+.

FIRST PLACE
"JIVED TURKEY CHILI" by the Corbins

* 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
* 1 medium yellow onion, chopped
* 5 cloves garlic, chopped
* 1 tablespoon kosher salt
* 2 teaspoons chili powder
* 1 teaspoon dried oregano
* 1 tablespoon tomato paste
* 1 chipotle chile en adobo, coarsely chopped, with 1 tablespoon sauce
* 1 pound ground turkey
* 1 (12-ounce) Mexican lager-style beer
* 1 (14 1/2-ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes, with their juice
* 1 (15 1/2-ounce) can kidney beans, rinsed and drained
* Sliced scallions, cilantro sprigs, avocado, sour cream, grated Monterey jack cheese, and/or tortilla chips, for garnish, optional

Directions

Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onion, garlic, salt, chili powder, and oregano and cook, stirring, until fragrant, about 3 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste and the chipotle chile and sauce; cook 1 minute more. Add the turkey, breaking it up with a wooden spoon, and cook until the meat loses its raw color, about 3 minutes. Add the beer and simmer until reduced by about half, about 8 minutes. Add the tomatoes--crushing them through your fingers into the skillet--along with their juices and the beans; bring to a boil. Cook, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until thick, about 10 minutes.

Ladle the chili into bowls and serve with the garnishes of your choice.

Cook's Note: A skillet's larger surface area reduces sauces faster than simmering in a saucepan.


BRONZE MEDAL
GREEN GOBBLIN' CHILI by the Griffs
Serves 4

4 medium–size tomatilloes
2 tablespoons olive oil
1½ pounds chicken, boneless, skinless and cut into 1 inch chunks
(dark meat gives a richer flavor)
1 cup chopped onion
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 14 ounce can low sodium chicken broth
1 19 ounce can white beans (cannelloni), drained and rinsed
1 fresh jalapeño chili pepper, seeded and diced
1 cup whole green chili peppers (about 4), charred and chopped (if using canned, drain liquid)
1½ teaspoons sea salt
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped
Freshly grated black pepper

1. Preheat oven to 425°F. Place tomatilloes on baking pan lined with foil. Roast 10 minutes or until lightly brown and let cool. When cool, purée or mash. Set aside.
2. In a 6–quart saucepan, sauté onions and garlic over medium heat until soft. Remove from pan and set aside.
3. Add chicken to saucepan and sauté over medium–high heat until sides are lightly browned. Add cumin, oregano, onions, and garlic and stir for one minute.
4. Add chicken broth, white beans, jalapeño and green chili peppers, and roasted tomatilloes. Bring to boil and then simmer partially covered for 1 hour. Chili should have the consistency of a thick stew.
5. Stir in salt and cilantro and season to taste. Serve warm with cornbread.

This recipe can be doubled.

Page 140: Dear Old Mrs. Tucker

Bob sent me this peach of a picture... straight from a Wal*Mart in Texas...

I am including many of the Facebook posts from where I posted "Mrs. Tucker" there; that's what we named her as it seems appropriate.

"This woman is out shopping…in public…with no shirt on. She has her boobs tucked into her pants. INTO HER PANTS!!! I understand that gravity was hard on her but SERIOUSLY!!!"

OH MY SIDES...

Cheryl: one word... YUK!!

Brad: That's funny on steroids!

Jennifer: Was Bob in Canton, Ohio, shopping? That is normal attire at the Walmart in Canton...lol.

Robin: and she's drooling over chicken breasts!

Christy: I can't wait for my boobs to drop like that so I don't have to worry about finding a shirt that matches my pants.

Jeannie: hahahahaha I am laughing sooooo hard. I can't stand it. This is hilarious. I keep picturing what will happen if she bends forward and reaches for a package of "breasts"...

Jonathan: Kirk, your friends had me rollling in the floor. This might start a new fashion trend--the new mini-snuggie. You can actually wear it to the store. It's convenient; you'll never have to buy underwear again.

Mike: STOP talking about my woman!!!!!!

JoLynne: Good grief! is this what i have to look forward to?!

Richard: My eyes are burning!

David Jennings: Please don't drop your keys... please don't drop your keys... please don't drop your keys... please don't drop your keys... please don't drop your keys... please don't drop your keys...

Todd: I'd hit that.

Eric: I think I have seen this lady at the Brownwood Wal*Mart.

Lynette: LMAO!

krs: This delightful lady finally has a name: "Mrs. Tucker!!!!" Well, in her defense... it may look funny, but it suuure do keep "Perky" and "Dimples" warm...