Having had to contend with the aftermath of the deluge, I’ve got a bunch of notes on our meals over the last several days that I haven’t blogged about. I’m just going to rapid fire comments about them in almost point form with no concern for theme or narrative flow and sort of go for a stream of consciousness vibe. Yes, I am compromising my artistic integrity but my mom says I use the word “fuck” too much so I doubt I’m going to be up for a Pulitzer any time soon anyway.
Hey, speaking of the word “fuck” and its effect on art; the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) had a cool radio drama called Afghanada about Canadian combat troops based in KAF and the surrounding FOBs. The show was well done and, while I can’t comment of the accuracy of the outside the wire stuff, it sure seemed to capture the KAF experience pretty realisitically except…the soldiers always said “Frig” this and “Frig” that. What the fuck? When was the last time you heard a soldier say “Frig”. Does the CBC think they’re fooling anyone? Is there even one person in the audience who doesn’t immediately translate “Frig” to “Fuck” in their mind? This childishness taints an otherwise good radio show to the point that I can barely stand listening to it. Just some throwback to ridiculous Victorian prudery Fuck that, CBC!
Signs of the Apocalypse
Do you need signs proscribing every possible disgusting thing somebody could possibly do? Are there really people who blow their noses in the sink? Ugh…
The bottom sign at left is at the Far East DFAC which is now within even my walking distance from our rooms. This is in the area where everyone must wash their hands prior to entering the DFAC. I can only assume that people were unabashedly hoking up loogies into the sink right in front of people about to go eat. Nice. I’m surprised people aren’t pissing all over the floor..after all, there’s no sign prohibiting it.
How about they just put up one sign all over the base? Feel free to use my design, COMKAF.
J, D, LL and I went to the Northline for lunch. They obviously haven’t been consulting with the Monti or IH about how to make chicken wings. They were slimy but they had an excellent sauce so I was tempted just to lick them (I didn’t). LL had what was advertised as a porkchop. Just look at that thing! What kind of hideous deformity did that pig suffer from? D had a Pogo (which he disappointingly called a corndog) noting that the last time he’d “had a corndog was at the Picton fair in about 1978″. Unfortunately, he continued the anecdote right through to the thrilling ending where somebody threw up on the Roundup and, through the vagaries of circular momentum, it covered his date. Apparently, the rest of the date “wasn’t much fun”.
Yes, salmon is a fish; however, it’s a rather unique fish from a taste perspective and everyone else in the fucking world lists it on the menu as salmon. You can get away with the generic “fish” label for haddock, pollock, cod and other indistinguishable white fish. You cannot get away with it with salmon and I’m calling out the Monti on this one. There’s only two reasons I can figure for them labeling it “fish”: either they don’t know it’s salmon which is a minor culinary concern or it’s not salmon which is a much more significant issue for me…if it’s not salmon then what the hell is it? Well, at least it tasted like salmon and pretty damn KAF-good salmon at that.
Oh, and the blueberry crumble? J described it best as blueberry paste with cornflakes. Yeah, avoid it.
Hey, and why is the bottled horseradish sauce brown? That ain’t right.
It was Sunday so we went to Cambridge at J’s suggestion. For some reason he thought saying “Hey, it’s Sunday. They’ll have roast beef” was an inducement for me to go there. The guy obviously doesn’t read my blog. Anyway, like a fool, I agreed.
Shame on you Cambridge! They tried to fool me and almost succeeded. They had sliced the beef super, super thin so when you take your first bite your teeth actually go through it and you think “hey, this is pretty tender”. It is only a few chews later that you realize, “no, this is the same old tough crap. It has the consistency of a superball“. J and I both gave up trying to eat it. Luckily, I had the “Chasseur Chicken” as well so didn’t starve. “Chasseur” means “hunter” in French and it seems a little pretentious for what is just chicken in tomato sauce. Ok, it was good but not French cuisine good.
Surprisingly, the highlight of the meal was the gooseberry pie which, contrary to everything I have ever learned about KAF pies, was rectangular, made in the DFAC and delicious. I could even cut the crust as it presented only a moderate challenge to my plastic knife! Good job DFAC pie guy…but make it round next time. I’d also grabbed a piece of the sticky toffee pudding just in case the pie was of the normal standard…not because I wanted two desserts, mind. I got the stickiest, toffeeist piece from the corner of the pudding (yeah, I know, pudding doesn’t have corners in North America…those funny British and their funny talk!). It was KAF-excellent.
Sometimes aimless rants are cleansing and I could use a good cleanse after having my home away from home inundated with muddy, shitty ooze. Now, please excuse me. My hair is rather long and I need to pee so I’m going to take a shower.
“Integrity has no need of rules” – Albert Camus
“I rant therefore I am” – Dennis Miller