I’m thinking this will be my second last blog post on Just DFACs Maam. There’s not really that much more that can be said about the food and life here, anyway, but I’ll yammer on about it this one last time. My final post will more of a summary along with some general musings on my time here and what it all meant (or didn’t mean)
I know, with only 6 days left to go, some may be thinking “Gee, I wonder if he’s regretting giving his notice”. Well, no. No, I’m not. Sure, I get to see some cool shit on my commute but the asininity of KAF has continued apace and I have to get out of here before I begin thinking any of this is normal. To wit:
The Last Suppers, Breakfasts and Lunches
To start out on a high note, I should mention that at the end of last roto M and I had the best fucking KAF apple pie ever at the Cambridge. It was so good that I felt compelled to approach a guy in a little paper chef’s hat to ensure the baker got his props. Unfortunately, he responded along the lines of “That’s great but I’m just the COMKAF food inspector”. So, consider this your duly deserved recognition, anonymous early December Cambridge pie guy.
I moseyed up to the Cambridge Chippy last week and they were inexplicably offering up Battered Sausage. No, really. They were. Is that a thing somewhere? It appeared to be sausage, dipped in batter and deep fried. Yeah, I know, you can guess that from the name but I thought I should explicitly say that that is indeed what it was. It looked fucking hideous. Oh, and it was classified as Red – Low Performance food. Really? Ya think? Before this, my last roto, my wife told me to be extra careful. “It’s not like one of those cop movies where the guy 2 days from retirement takes a bullet. Life doesn’t work like that.” I laughed. However, as I considered getting a Battered Sausage so I could inform you loyal readers how bad it actually is, Joanie’s words came back to me. “Fuck you, readers.”, I thought.
Oh, and there are more issues with Cambridge’s marketing than just labeling shit wrong. I was bemused by a dessert called a “Rock Bun”. Mmm, doesn’t that sound delightful. So I got one. It was nothing like a rock. Rocks generally have at least some moisture content. Imagine biting into a handful of beach sand. There ya go. Now we share an experience.
To end my Cambridge commentaries on a high note, yet another shout out to Santos, the Omelette King. We eat breakfast at the North Line about 80-90% of the time. But last week, not once, but twice, Santos served up my 3 eggs over-easy as soon as I got into the omelette/egg line up at the Cambridge. My repeated queries of “How the hell did you do that?” were met only with his sly smirk followed by his signature soto-voce mumbling of what I can only guess are Bollywood show tunes. The guy’s a fucking wizard.
North Line, our other primary dining choice, was not without its foibles lately. Once again they demonstrated a complete and utter misunderstanding of the word vegetarian by offering up Bake Fish Mornay for those who don’t consume animals. Is it they don’t know what a vegetarian is or, rather, that they don’t know what a fish is? The most likely explanation is that they just don’t give a fuck. I can relate to that.
I’ve spoken before about the North Line dessert
guard server and his penchant for giving out way to much ice cream. Well, that was nothing compared to the number of cookies he gave me. Does he think all westerners are fucking gluttons? Sure, maybe most of us are, but 19 cookies, even if they’re the small ones,are way too many to expect one person to eat anywhere except, maybe, Colorado, Washington, or Amsterdam.
To end, once again, on a high note, I’ve discovered the perfect sandwich. White bread, toasted, with lots of butter, Philadelphia strawberry cream cheese, and Nutella. The North Line offers all of the ingredients but, I believe, I’m the first to put this delicious melange together. You’re welcome.
Stuff Not to Miss
While reading an article on-line about groups of people in New York City who take up the whole sidewalk and won’t let you pass, A came across a comment in which a reader referred to these folks as Meanderthals. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? I think, if you’ve ever been to the KAF Boardwalk or tried to get to the seating area in the North Line, you’ll agree that Meanderthals is the single greatest word in the English language. Ever! Just a few days ago I went to the boardwalk. Unlike every-fucking-one else there, I had a purpose. Get to the bank machine, get some money and get the fuck outta there. I got stuck behind three US soldiers who managed to block the entire, what is it, like 15-20 foot width of the boardwalk. They walked at a snails pace and chatted inanities I did NOT want to hear as they, snakelike, weaved their way along. At the time, I had to settle for thinking of them as fuckwit, oblivious assholes. Now I can capture all of that with the wonderful succinctness of “Meanderthals” as I did a few days later driving away from the Cambridge. Thank you, Anonymous Comment Guy.
On 18 January, I published The Beginning of the End. Here’s the headline from the 19 January issue of Stars and Stripes.
While watching Chinooks take off and seeing mushroom clouds rising from controlled (and, sometimes uncontrolled) detonations during my daily commute is cool and all, I won’t miss the fucked up vehicles and drivers I see around here. Just a couple of days ago, traffic slowed to a crawl as people passed one of those shitty Chinese-made utility trucks that was creeping along, half on the shoulder. I’m kicking myself for not getting my iPod out for a picture. Their left front tire was shredded and they were driving along on the almost bare rim. That’s not decreasing your repair costs, buddy. And, at the end of last roto, I got stuck behind a forklift that was being driven down the road backwards. The driver was twisted in his seat, craning his neck to be able to see. Surely, there’s an easier way…like maybe going forward? He drove this way, in front of me, for like 20 minutes. What the fuck?
So, one of our guys, GC, was in the Flight Line Security office doing, like, step 7 in the 12 step Restricted Area Badge process, when in walks an American servicewoman. Making chitchat, she asks the FLS guy, “Where you from?” “New Mexico”, he answers cheerfully. “Oh, Texas”, she replies. “Um, no, New Mexico”, he responds…his cheerfulness replaced by a sadness presumably caused by his realization that the decline of the American empire is in full-swing.
Well, that’s it for my regular food and KAF life reviews on Just DFACs Ma’am. Check out my new non-KAF blog at SelfRighteousIndignation.wordpress.com. It’s still a work in progress but I hope ya’ll find it as amusing as you seemed to find JustDFACs.
“My happiest moment is the day they call wrap and I’m free. I’m not looking back.” – Brad Pitt
“I like to skate on the other side of the ice” – Steven Wright