C.I.A. Soup

Brewed up a butternut squash soup last night, extending the winning streak of the above-depicted C.I.A. cookbook. So far, there's nary a bad recipe in the tome. I augmented the butternut by adding some Lyle's Golden Syrup, and pulled it all together with the immersion blender, which is the universalizing life force.

The Elephant & Butter, by the way, has been taking longer than usual sabbaticals in order to plan other things. A great pork cheek caper is in the works, though.

Sweet and Carbonated Vernacular

The Elephant and Butter was reared to call it soda, but vacationed in pop territory. Seems like everything can be precisely computed in map form these days. I guess this means we're pretty close to knowing everything.

Jennie, I'm Beginning to Lose Faith in the Human Race

{Above: Samak Sundravej, whose career was cut short by food.}

A number of years ago, The Elephant and Butter became stranded overnight in the Denver International Airport. My flight had been canceled due to weather, and sensing the opportunity to have a new vantage on life, I decided to sleep in the airport rather than take a bus to a motel. It seemed rather romantic at the time. I would get to watch the late-night cleaning crews. I would get to bathe sparingly the next morning in the men's room sink. Perhaps even, I thought, I would meet a fetching young lady who also had been stranded, and we'd talk effortlessly until the sun emerged from the eastern plains.

These wispy thoughts soon disappeared, though, as I ended up spending the night trying fitfully to sleep on a row of hard chairs. My only companions were two senior citizens--a husband and wife. The wife tried to make the best of the situation, but the husband was extremely angry at his airline, but also at the world, and he didn't mind sharing some of his vitriol with me well into the early hours of the morning. His name was Jennie, and he explained to me that he had known since World War Two that life was tough. As he explained it to me, at one point in the war, somewhere in the European theater of battle, he found himself secluded with a soldier friend in a foxhole of some sort, in inclement weather, and they both watched as some machines of war crept forward to kill a great many people on the other side of the battle line. His friend turned to him and said: "Jennie, I think I'm beginning to lose faith in the human race." Having conveyed this story to me, Jennie turned around and went to sleep on a bank of chairs behind mine, using his windbreaker as a blanket.

That utterance comes to mind as I read the news today, which is full of oddity. The Thai Prime Minister just resigned because he hosted a cooking show. Meanwhile in Fresno, some dude broke into a house, rubbed spices on a couple of sleeping people, and smacked one of them with an 8-inch sausage. I can't pretend to understand this world.