Public Service Announcement: Art of the Dutch Oven

Hello everyone. My name is Uncle Lewis and welcome to my first EVER blog post. As some of you know, I am a huge supporter of Aunt Bethany. I have known her for over 8 years and fall more and more in love with her with each day.

In a point of my life that is at its darkest, Aunt Bethany’s blog has been a ray of sunshine and a source of inspiration. I look forward every day to breaking away from my life just to read her thoughts and admire a woman who can do it all. This blog is another way to glance into the wonderful mind that is Aunt Bethany. I have constantly been impressed with her style of writing and her sense of humor. Reading the comments from all of you, I know I am not the only one.

We have tossed around the idea of me doing a guest post for some time, but I am NOT a writer, nor do I pretend to be. So, at the risk of having this post being horrendous, I give you a P.S.A. on the art of the “Dutch Oven”, in hopes it will make you smile and stick around while AB takes a much needed break. Don’t go far, she will return very soon, totally recharged and ready to wow us all with her intelligence and wit. For my part, I promise not to make this a habit!

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P.S.A. #2:  The Art of the Dutch Oven

Where did the term “Dutch Oven” come from?

A Dutch oven is a cast iron cooking pot with a tight-fitting lid. The heavy lid fits so well that steam cannot escape the pot while it is cooking. All the ingredients in the pot are cooked at the same time, trapping juices and aromas together while it bakes. According to Wikipedia, the Dutch were far more advanced than the English at cooking in this style. An Englishman named Abraham Darby went to the Netherlands and took this cooking style to America where it was patented.

Through the years, the term Dutch Oven has taken on a different meaning. The definition remains:  a chamber to seal in juices and aromas in an enclosed space…but the application has evolved.

The new wrinkle often appears when two people really love each other. There comes a point in a great relationship where the happy couple becomes very comfortable with each other. Walls are broken down, couples become more relaxed, and nothing can be hidden. So many wonderful things happen at this point in the relationship… and some NOT so wonderful things happen. There is one fact that seems to evade our thought process as a relationship evolves. Remember… everyone poops!

More than that, everyone toots.

I care not who you are…at some point air must come out of your body, and there are only two exits. So, when two people get comfortable enough with one another, they share even the deepest, darkest things. They have such a desire to share everything…even their aromas. Thus, the art of the Dutch Oven was born.

Again, according to Wikipedia, a Dutch Oven (a.k.a. a “covered wagon”), is a toot chamber created by pulling a blanket over someone’s head and breaking wind, typically not to the delight to the partner.

Depending on what type of food is consumed, you can name your Dutch Oven accordingly…examples include:

• White Castle Dutch Oven
• McDonalds Dutch Oven
• Bean Dip Dutch Oven
• Beer Dutch Oven (especially bad the next morning)
• Extra Hot Chicken Wings Dutch Oven

Sometimes Dutch Ovens are done on accident…sometimes they are done on purpose. The act is not only limited to just the bedroom… and it is not always at the expense of others. It is totally possible to Dutch Oven yourself!

Examples of places you can be sealed up in your own poison are:

• Space suits
• Deep sea diving suits
• Your own car
• In the doctor’s office while you wait for the doctor
• A cube or office at work.

I have heard rumors of shopping at “Bed Bath and Beyond” and being Dutched Oven by a loved one while walking down the aisles, but this is technically NOT a Dutch Oven because of the open air.

Both parties in a relationship are open game for such displays of love. In some cultures, once you Dutch Oven a loved one, you are technically considered married.

The most important thing to remember is that it is a display of love and devotion. It is a sign the relationship has taken a step in the right direction. It shows a level of comfort between two people, a level most couples strive to attain. It should be welcomed with open arms and intense cuddling afterward.

It should not be met with disdain or comments like:

“Uncle Lewis, that is just plain nasty, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Or

“If you do that again, you are going to be sleeping on the couch.”

Or

“How can you tell me you love me then try to kill me?!?”

Remember, it’s the smell of love in the air….

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What’s My Line?

A good name can get you far in life.  Apple.  Elvis.  Madonna.  Nike.  But, a great tagline can get you remembered.  I am not a crook.  You like me, you really like me!  I’m lovin’ it.   Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

In the Blog-O-Sphere, you need to have a great title to attract readers to your sight.  Even with posts, you must be creative, witty, and informative when labeling each and every article.  “A Post About Doctors” is not nearly as fun and enticing as “Turn Your Head and Cough.” A great title can help or hinder a sight from rising to great heights.

When thinking up a moniker for your site, however, there is a sub-title which can be applied, as well.  This is called the tagline, and it serves to offer another label to define your blog.  The taglines I’ve seen have typically been humorous, or even straight to the point.  A blog about travel.  A site for mothers.  Straight from the horse’s mouth.  Over the river and through the woods. A few more words to leave you with to give the blog more character.  Simple and effective.

For the past 2 months, Miracle on 32nd Street has exhibited a very festive holiday theme, which was retired for the season this past Monday.  I also updated my blog picture, opting to also store away the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree logo until next November.  I’m beginning to take down the rest of the holiday remnants, which will be completed by the end of the week, but there is one item that leaves me scratching my head:  the tagline.

Easy as Apple Pie

I’m easy….

I'll see you in the bedroom as soon as I can stand up.

No, no Uncle Lewis!  Put your pants back on!  I’m not THAT kind of easy.

Now, where was I?  Oh yes…I’m easy, meaning “easy to please,” especially when it comes to food.  Little Caesar’s Hot-N-Ready pizza, Quizno’s subs, McDonald’s milk shakes…I find gourmet pleasure in the simplest places.

The luck of the Irish starts with the Shamrock Shake.

Now, I’m not saying that I don’t have refined cuisine tastes, either.  I adore a smattering of sushi, a fine glass of Riesling, and a raspberry hazelnut cheesecake with Chambord for dessert.  I’ve had the good fortune to dine at Bobby Flay’s restaurant, savor thin crust flatbread from Italy, and cherish a well made risotto.  But, I’m easily satiated when it’s just me, myself and I at home.

I realized today, however, that my diet staples may evoke confusion amidst even the least finicky.  I didn’t ponder the oddities that fill my kitchen weekly until I had a friend over for lunch today, and attempted to offer him a favorite delicacy of mine.  Allow me to elaborate!

Item #1:  Freezer Pizza Because I a.) live alone, and b.) have a deep affinity for all things pizza, I wind up with an ample amount of leftovers.  Living in NYC for 2 years and being a college student for 8 has taught me one thing:  waste not, want not.  It became habitual for me to take leftovers, place them into Ziplock containers, and file them away in the confines of my freezer, ne’er to be seen for weeks, months, and sometimes years.  I guess you could say that I have the Mary Poppins Freezer:  I can stick my hand inside of it and literally pull out any dish from any cuisine…it’s a bottomless fridge of wonder.

I don't need a spoonful of sugar...just give me a bottle of wine.

“A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.”

And now, ladies and gentlemen, may I present a post based on nothing, with entirely no aim or final destination!  Hold on…it’s going to be a bumpy ride!

Our first stop finds us pausing at our friendly neighborhood McDonald’s.  On Sunday, I eagerly visited the fast food giant for one reason and one reason only:  the McRib sandwich.

The McRib sandwich is not a traditional item on McDonald’s menu.  It only makes an appearance once in a blue moon (great, now I want a beer…), so you gotta get it while the gettin’s good.  However, the gettin’s wasn’t so good on Sunday.

Watch out, she's gonna blow!

Nay, gentle reader…this is NOT the crime scene to a Law and Order:  Special Victims Unit episode.  However, it’s clear that something did indeed die here.  When I anxiously opened the box to waft the first fragrant odors of my barbequey prize, my eyes were met with the remains of a Civil War re-enactment that went terribly wrong.  BBQ sauce oozing along the entire bottom of the container, and some of it even had tried to escape.  Instead of saying “Mmmm, I can’t wait to dig in,” all I could think was “Can we get some gauze over here?!?  We’ve gotta apply pressure to the wound!”

You’ll also note that the McRib patty itself was also trying to escape the steamy confines of the sandwich bum.  It was almost like a strapping 6’3” young man had been forced to sleep in a child’s bunk bed, legs dangling over the side in awkward glory.

By the time I “attempted” to finish my sandwich, my hands were covered in BBQ sauce, making me feel more like I had just done an autopsy on NCIS.  Apparently, McDonald’s is fully aware of the hazards their sandwich brings with it.  The Big Mac does not require clean-up assistance.  Nor the hulking Big & Tasty, whose burger patty takes up a whole zip code.  But the McRib?  It comes complete with your very own moist towelette:

Clean up, aisle 4!

(The sad thing is…I actually needed two of these…)

Old McDonald had a farm (and now my money, too)

Well, folks…it’s official:  the season of giving has begun, and Ronald McDonald is the proud owner of my first $1 bill given to a charity this year.  And you’d think, with all that money, he’d at least be able to buy some new clothes (I mean, c’mon…red and white stripes are so 1973).

Today’s RAC was supposed to involve me surprising a friend with a cold, refreshing Mocha frappe from McDonald’s.  If you haven’t tried a McD’s frappe, let me take a minute to perform another RAC for the day by telling you to run and try one.  It’s like someone took the silkiest cream from God’s dairy, combined it with the purest coffee beans from Juan Valdez himself, and blended it together with Santa’s own ice supply.  It’s a mini vacation in a 12 oz. plastic cup (complete with caramel or chocolate drizzle).

My intended RAC, however, did not end up being my official RAC for the day.  Why did I change my mind, you ask?  Because of Angel, McDonald’s employee extraordinaire* (no lie, her name really was Angel, unless the “o” in “Angelo” got scratched off somehow, but, seeing as how she was a girl, “Angelo” really wouldn’t have applied…unless…)….

(*=I say extraordinary because, frankly, I prefer to think of the employees who wait on me to be the best workers McDonald’s can find.  I’d rather not imagine Billy Joe Ray preparing a Big Mac for me if I think he’s got lice, an equal amount of missing teeth and fingers, and a less than sub-part work ethic….and dirty hands…and a cough…with phlegm.)

Moving on!  It’s a long and complicated story of how I met Angel.  We crossed over obstacles to meet one another, and spent years of our life writing back and forth, until that fateful day, we met on the Titanic and swore to “never go hungry again!”

Actually, I can’t back that up…but I will say that it took an enormous amount of time to actually make contact with Angel.  The good madam in front of me at the drive-thru must have been shopping for the Three Bears, because it took about 4 minutes to complete her order.  On top of that, she was multi-tasking:  placing an order while getting the contents of the order from somebody else on her cell phone.  How courteous!  It only took her 3 minutes longer than the average American drive-thru-ee.