New Food

Apparently, my discriminating palate has gained the attention of a much broader 909 audience than I had thought, so I have to step up my game. Because I am a very refined gourmet kind-of-guy, I have developed a complex nightly routine: I ride my bike to a grimey take-out and order what has to be one of man's finer culinary masterpieces - a chicken football. A guy on base called it that and said it was the best thing ever. It's simply a roasted chicken (and by roasted, I mean probably soaked overnight in a vat of butter, salt and pork fat, then barbequed) wrapped in a giant hand-made pita and served with a container of garlic mayonaise. They cost only 900 fils - or about $2.50.

I ate my chicken while watching Team America DVD that a friend lent me. It was gut busting funny and everything, but I got a bone stuck in my throat while laughing during the part when Susan Sarrandon and Tim Robbins got riddled with bullets by patriotic anti-terrorist sympathizer puppet super heroes. I'm going to recommend a "boneless" chicken football.

The Dino?

I thought I had heard it all, but my niece just passed this to me. She's full of 909 pride. Something about Farmer Boys too - says its the "Mercedes Benz" of fast food. I'm kind of old school so I kind of prefer the ole' "Datsun B-210" of fast food - Bakers. You can usually find me there camped out next to the parking lot dumpster in my Red Rocker Standing Hampton tee and 501s with my Papa Baker combo and a 40 of OE. Of course that's after hanging out in the back room at at Dave's Records, trying to catch a glimpse of the new specialty merchandise in the glass case.

...and Their Response

Big Day...

Race Guy

Nice man came by today to chat. Goes by name of Geoff Bodine. He drives around in circles really fast and gets paid to do it. I told him that I know alot about race car driving myself, because in my real life, I drive a car called a Mach Five in exotic and exciting foreign locales with a hot chick named Trixie riding shotgun. Except substitute "real life" with "in my dreams, cuddling my stuffed race car." He suddenly forgot he was "double parked" and cut his visit short after I asked him how cool it was to use the "A" button on his steering wheel and jump right over cars in front of him on the race track.

Anyway - great of him to come out to the AOR to meet and greet the troops. He left an autographed picture, so first person to respond gets it. NC readers - I know you want it.

Ric's, Continued

As I write this, I'm back at Ric's having some of the very best nachos ever and washing it down with a VB. I know I've mentioned this place before, but I'm running out of blog material so I had to come here to get inspired.

This place is a shady crossroads of U.S. military, backpackers, mercenaries and contractors with a mix of Philipino-inspired Mexican fare, burgers and steaks. In the last twenty minutes, the music loop over the stereo has been Lynard Skynard, some techno-version of a Cher song, Garth Brooks, an indecipherable Asian dance tune and CCR. NBA highlights on the several big screens, guy across from me carving something into the table with a buck knife. Hard charger getting friendly with what looks like a Russian hooker in the glow of a Miller Light sign in the corner. Wait'll he gets the bill.

Its dark and smoky in here and it smells like beer mold. The walls are covered with flags, mostly from the Coalition of the Willing - and Texas, and one big black one with a skull-dude with a knife in his mouth that says "surrender the booty," and one with a dragon doing something really bizarre to a centaur. Lots of grafitti too - can't repeat most of it since this is a family blog, but some artwork near me is from a Major Hughes who hunts IEDs and says, "enjoy life to the fullest and go with a bang!!" Another gives sage advice: "never leapfrog a unicorn." Friggin brilliant - must be Army.

If the dude's remains weren't distilling in a six-foot hole, I'd expect Hunter S. Thompson to fall through the door any second. They could really use Patrick Swayze with his mullett and a chain-smoking Sam Elliott working the door here too.

Exploring

Went back to the souq first thing this a.m. to get my new custom-tailored jacket (perfect) then bought my wife a birthday present at a little Indian street vendor before heading off to a nearby town that my Lonley Planet book says to visit for a look back in time "if you feel brave." little shops and 19th century hovels built of crumbling masonry in a sprawling maze of dusty six foot wide walkways. I would have had to leave breadcrumbs to find my way back, but I was able to hear the call to prayer from an old mosque to get my bearing when it was time to head back. I just knew to speedily exit stage left when I saw the black flags that signify the hard core Shiite areas with people that would like to give me a quick haircut.

The Souq

Ok - so you all know, this and the last two posts are all about stuff I did on Saturday. I figured that since I have no life, I would milk it out over a few posts. Most days are just like today: I get out of work, go to the gym, get on my bike and find cheap food at a dirty little hole in the wall to take home and eat on the floor with my hands. Tonight it was a baked chicken in a massive pita thing-a-majigger.

So after the bike shop and the fort, I went to a large outdoor market in the center of town called a souq. As far away from a modern mall as you can get, it's a hot, dusty and busy maze of narrow 19th century walkways and streets with small outdoor shops selling toys, vegetables, meats, clothes, nuts, sheesha pipe tobacco and various colorful regional textiles. Smells are a mix of sweet tobacco and incense. Aggressive shopkeepers shout out how good of a deal they can give you - "very nice Rolex for you, boss. Special just for you today." Close your eyes and it's Tijuana. Many very poor people combing the area, enough where I had to be extremely aware of people around me. I took a couple side tours behind the stores to see that many people live in crumbling old stone and wooden shacks, probably with not much in the way of plumbing.

Visiting Saudis still drive their Mercedes' through the walkways, with inches on either side, so they don't have to walk in the heat. Though the temps were over 100 degrees, many women wore black full length abayas. Old men sat together in the shade smoking sheesha. I'm kind of, but not really, getting used to the call to prayer now, and men run to the old mosque at the souq when it sounds.

I spent about an hour in a big store selling Persian rugs of all sizes, some made from tribes and others made of silk by skilled artisans. I stopped in one of the many tailor shops that looked like it had a better selection of fabric than most, picked out a nice English cashmere wool and ordered custom-made blue blazer. They even walked me over to another shop that just sold buttons and I picked out a local design. The jury is out on the end product, but it was cheap, so I'll have to report back. Although there was alot of food vendors, I am ashamed to say that all I bought was a bag of cashews and a few bottles of cold water.

Fort

I like forts. I was really good at building them and stocking them with dirt clods and throwing them when I was but a wee 909er. So when, on the way back from the bike shop, I saw a sign for a historic fort, I couldn't pass it up. Overlooking the Arabian Gulf, it was a sprawling array of moats, tunnels and living quarters - and lots of steps. It was well over 100 degrees, but a dry heat today so not bad. Not a sign in sight. I even asked the military guy posted there what the story was on this place. He didn't know. I asked him who built it and when. He didn't know. I asked him what the name of this fort is. He didn't know. In the small village right outside the fort's gate, they spoke English, but no one knew what the hell the fort was doing there. WTF.

When I was driving out, I saw a huge sign that said the site was a designated "United Nations World Heritage Site." Then it all became clear. Remembering ole' Bob Barr's fight against UN world domination, I could see what he was talking about, in that clearly the one-worldists had duped the natives by dangling cash and seized this land (a military base no-less) to establish a beachhead for further UN land grabs. Further, it was clear that the UN had erased the memories of those at the site and, I am sure, "re-educated" them in one of their camps to want universal healthcare and open borders.

I had to look the place up later to find that it was a 16th century Portuguese fort. Then I popped in my "Red Dawn" DVD and screamed "Wolverines!!!!!" from my flat window.

Broken Bike

The other day, my chain fell off my new red bike on my way to work, and it did it more and more. Then I looked more closely and my rear sprockets were flapping all around, and if that weren't enough, there were only six sprockets when there were supposed to be seven. I took it back to the store in town and he neither had the missing sprocket nor the tool to tighten what was there. He said I had to take it to the main store about 30 miles out of town, or wait a few days for him to take my bike and send it out for repair. So after eating take-out from Ric's (delicious eggs scrambled with jalapenos, onions, cheese, grease and tortillas and a 20 ounce black coffee). I went today on my only day off and the British guys running the store were very apologetic and fixed it all right on the spot. Because I think I need to work something about food into this post, I stopped into a Lebanese place a few blocks away for lunch. Had something with chicken in it - at least it tasted like chicken. Had some hummus too, and caught up on Prince Harry and his girlfriend in the Middle East version of "Hello" magazine.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

First, before I get into the really exciting stuff, I bought a new bike. Red one. It's about time because my shoes are full of dirt from walking everywhere. And since traffic in the this place is a cross between that in Washington DC and Tijuana, my mountain biking/traffic dodging skills are finally paying off. These guys just figure you're one of the TCNs, which are considered less than human here, and cut right in front of you. I'm wearing a helmet for the first time ever.

Cuban cigars, bottomless champagne, even a more bottomless buffet line (for those of you back in the 909 - no, the waitresses were not bottomless too), an international crowd of drunks, and an all-Filipina classic rock cover band - all a quarter mile in the sky. Sounds like your kind of party, right? Friday (my Saturday) after work, a few of us did the buffet at a new hotel and had an absolute FEAST. From an earlier post, remember my reference to the crowd from the Star Wars bar scene? They were all at this brunch - drunk. Really drunk. Of note were the Irish guys that had been up all night drinking on the plane and transitioned smoothly to this event so they could keep the alcohol flowing - and jumped up on stage, interrupting a great Asian-girl rendition of "Sweet Child of Mine," to perform "Walking in Memphis," while groping the stage girls and French kissing each other while parading with a giant bronze sheesha pipe they must have stolen on the way to the meal. This was just wrong on so many levels, especially since I have always liked that song because it was playing when I turned on the car stereo as I left the 909 to drive cross-country to relocate to Memphis.

I woke up this morning on my only day off, celebrated Paris' jail sentence and the panning of Britney's idiotic "Rehab-Furlough Tour 07", then walked over to Ric's (see related previous post) for some huevos rancheros and beer to celebrate the big day, especially because it is historical fact that once the Mexicans beat up on the French, they all sat down and celebrated by eating eggs and beans and washing it down with a sixer of Corona served by an 70 lb Filipina waitress. Good. Really good stuff. Then I put in some time at work and went to the gym and worked out legs.

Ok - thousands of you are likely wondering why the hell I have a picture of a scraggly old tree leading into this post. Day was still young, so I borrowed the beater Kia station wagon (smelled like camel B.O.) that the cleaning people use to make their rounds so that I could go see this famous tree, which I think is the only tree here. It's supposed to be the site of the Garden of Eden, so I drove WAY out of town into the desert to see it, listening to a radio station that plays middle eastern cover band renditions of American 80's and 90's top-40 hits. The roads here don't have signs and the map didn't have names either, so I was pretty much just winging it. After driving about two hours, I ended up in the middle of the largest rock quarry ever - with a rodeo of HUNDREDS of gravel trucks racing around me. Wrong place. But I wasn't lost, because guys don't get lost. I never made it to the friggin tree and I copied this picture of some chick's blog who must have had a better map than I did - but likely you all have fallen asleep from boredom before I got to this point in the story, just like my wife does at home, and didn't notice.

I would tell you about how I next went to Trader Vic's because Frank the intel guy recommended the rum, but then you all might think all I do here is eat and drink - so I won't. I hear the pasta with macadamia nut pesto is awesome though.

Food

Yep - I seem to focus alot on food - hard to come accross a decent bite these days. I moved into a new flat tonight then looked for a nearby restaurant. After making my way through the drunk Russians trying to beat up my flat manager I made my way to - Bennigans! I had to walk a half mile in the dirt in the dark to get there. Nothing like a grease sandwich and boxed wine to get your fill for middle America food. Because I can't have too much to say about ops, I just pretty much talk about food. Unfortunately, because I had to move tonight, I had to pass up an invite to go to a very popular - and huge - buffet at one of a couple 5 star hotels in town - they even have a paved road in front. Maybe next week.