Monthly Archives:

October 2013

Fall Foodstuff

One of the redeeming qualities of fall is the return to cozy kitchen cooking. In the summer, I ask Andy to do most of our dinners on the grill (and with our impending kitchen renovation I’m hoping the grill will take us into the winter…) but now that the weather is turning, I welcome the heat of the oven as the darkness comes down earlier. This is also the season of the harvest, of the squash and root vegetables, and their earthy, nutty goodness. One of my favorites is butternut squash, and one of the more delectable pairings is that with sage – which has been a mainstay in the herb garden, but goes relatively under-utilized until the fall.

Aside from the grill, it’s the fresh herbs from the garden that I will miss most once the crippling frosts begin to hit. Parsley (flat and curly), tarragon, chives, sage, dill, and basil – it’s been a banner year for the herb garden, and they made such a difference that I’m dreading the long season without them.

Prior to this recipe, I’ve only roasted butternut squash, or cooked it down to oblivion in the service of a pureed soup. Here, it remains largely intact, yet cooked through, in a vegetable or chicken stock, flavored with an onion and some nutmeg, and a liberal sprinkling of salt and pepper.

The recommended pasta was a tagliatelle, but a fettuccine made an adequate substitute – the key to the whole endeavor was the fresh sage. A little bit, chopped up as seen here, goes a long way, so use sparingly. You can also, as recommended in the original recipe, fry up a few whole sage leaves in some olive oil. They go quickly, so watch closely because it only takes a few seconds once the oil gets hot. Dry them on a paper towel then use them to garnish the top of the pasta, along with some freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

It’s a perfect meal for the fall, using the best of the season – butternut squash and sage – and blending them in a straightforward but rich classic combination.

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Piss on This

One of my supposed ‘friends’ on FaceBook reported this Instagram piss shot as ‘Nudity/Pornography‘. Miraculously, this has only happened a couple of times in all my years of posting racy shots.) Usually I’m not bothered by such an action, because I realize that some of my photos tend to push the envelope of what is acceptable on FaceBook. However, this shot? No. There’s no nudity, there’s no pornography. You may not like a picture of a stream of urine (if that’s even what you’re actually seeing…) but there is no way that this approaches porn or nudity (unless a glimpse of toes is now pornographic).

It turns out that FaceBook agreed, and they did not deem the shot inappropriate. Tasteless, perhaps, but nothing that could be characterized in the nudity/pornography category. As for the person who reported it, I have to wonder why they bother being ‘friends’ with me on FaceBook. Because if they’re bothered by this, they’re going to lose their shit over all the other crap that I will no doubt post over the coming years. (Oooh, shit… now there’s an idea…)

Let’s face it, this is not the last time I’m going to be vulgar, crass, and offensive. The only people getting worked up over it are the nameless stalkers who continue to visit my page, and that kind of tickles me. Besides, as soon as someone finds out that something I posted got flagged and removed, they go straight to ALANILAGAN.com to see what it was. You heard it here first.

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Sometimes a Zucchini is Just a Zucchini

The best way to prepare fresh vegetables in season is to keep things simple, letting their original flavor and texture take pride and prominence, as in this side dish of zucchini. The preparation was easy and quick: sauté a small, sliced yellow onion in some good olive oil until soft, then add sliced zucchini until it reaches the level of doneness you like. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper, then top with some freshly grated Parmesan cheese. (Or leave out if you’re lactose intolerant.)

In an effort to eat slightly healthier, I’ve been trying to incorporate at least one green item – usually salad or side dish – into dinner meals. It makes it easier to forego a second helping of pasta or rice.

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Foodgasm

The term “foodporn” is tossed around far too often, hashtagged to death (yes, I’m guilty) and more ubiquitous than the cock shots on my Twitter feed. (Go easy on the Retweeting, peeps.) But in certain circumstances, and for certain meals, the whole foodgasm/foodporn moniker works. Case in point was this sinfully-good sea bass wrapped in prosciutto. I tend to avoid baking fish in any way, because it too easily dries out, but when wrapped in something like prosciutto, you’re safe to bake away. In this recipe from Ina Garten, the sea bass is brushed with olive oil, salt, and pepper (you can go easy on the salt though, given the encasement) then wrapped in ribbons of prosciutto. Baked at 400 degrees for about ten to fifteen minutes, the prosciutto is nicely firm, while the fish remains moist and perfectly done.

The real kicker though, is what goes on top. Boil a stick of butter on medium heat with six sprigs of fresh rosemary for about ten minutes (perfect timing for the baking). Remove the rosemary sprigs, turn off the heat, then add about 3 tablespoons of fresh lemon juice and stir well. Spoon this over the fish and prosciutto just before serving, then top with a sprig of rosemary for garnish. It sounds like a step that can be omitted, but you’d be missing out on the best part of the whole affair. That’s what turns it from simple culinary procreation into a gastro-orgasmic delight.

The Contessa serves this with a collection of roasted autumn vegetables, but since it hasn’t been that cold of late I made a simple batch of spaghetti squash with garlic, salt, and pepper.

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A Simple Snack: Radishes & Salt & a Buttered Baguette

The Barefoot Contessa turned me onto this snack, which she claims is big as an after-school treat in France. I’m less a fan of the radishes, and use them more as a salty accent to the baguette and butter, which to me is the whole point of this exercise. I tried the no-carb thing for a while and it’s just not for me – low-carb perhaps, but any time something is so stringent as to eradicate bread and pasta, well, it’s not going to stick.

 

 

If you’re going to give this a whirl, I’d recommend trying out a few salts to see which one you prefer. I’ve enjoyed pink Himalayan salt in this manner, but for this round a simple unadorned sea salt worked just fine. The only thing I’d avoid is the plain iodized salt that you buy in those big cylinders – it’s just a little too harsh.

The idea of an afternoon snack is something that most adults have come to eschew in this country. We have our workday lunch, then come home and wait for dinner. The art of winding-down has been woefully supplanted by rushing and trying to get everything else done. I don’t play that way (and I realize how much it helps that I don’t have children). I like the idea of a leisurely snack, the notion of a cocktail hour, taking the intentional time to relax. If there’s one less blog post a day, or if we hold off on dinner for another hour or two, it’s not going to make much of a difference – except for a few more moments of happiness, which actually is a big difference.

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When FaceBook Gets Personal

There’s a lot of hate out here on the internet. In fact, if I want to feel really bad about the state of the world and witness the wretchedness of humanity, I’ll stop by any popular blog and start reading the comments section. (You’ll notice there is none here; I eradicated it long ago, not for excessive trolling or negative things, but for lack of meaningful content and discussion. The compliments were always appreciated, but they too began to ring hollow.) For those sites that do have lively comment sections, it seems that more time is spent policing and patrolling how far we can insult someone else before it becomes inappropriate. I hate that, and for that reason I rarely if ever look at the comments on other websites. The same is true on FaceBook and Twitter, where everyone feels it’s okay to say things they wouldn’t dare say to anyone in person.

Yet once in a while, amid all that negativity and the attacks of people who put up animals or celebrities or inanimate objects as their profile pic, a sliver of hope shines through, piercing the dim abyss of abuse and reminding me of the goodness and kindness that is out there – quieter and less attention-getting than the rest of it.

The other day it came in the form of a FaceBook message from one of my friends. (Now, I have a number of “friends” on FaceBook – and I don’t personally know the majority of them, but most are pretty cool and I’ll engage with anyone who is decent and respectful. I’ll also block you if you’re a cunt.)

His FaceBook page is like many others – random candid shots of vacations in tropical places, adorable pics with a criminally-cute dachshund, and the playful poses and broad smiles that come from being surrounded by friends. There is nothing remarkable or astonishing about it – but in that very ordinariness is the beauty of life. Far more, when someone reveals who they are, or a little glimpse of it in a personal message, there is the forging of a connection. Sometimes these are significant, sometimes they are fleeting, but they always mean something, even if it’s just a little reminder that we are not alone in this world.

I am touched by the simple wonder that each of us holds.

This is how his message read:

Hi Alan,

I was talking to a mutual friend last night, and I was explaining to him how you shared your coming out story with me when I was coming out. I’m not sure that I’ve ever told you, but I am forever grateful for your wisdom and support during that time. I was in a very bad place at the time, though few people truly knew the internal battle I was fighting. The struggle led me to become depressed and there were times that I wanted to end my life. After back and forth messages with you I realized that I could have a great life; that I could be like you – loved and admired by so many. That act of kindness on your behalf made a huge difference in my life. I had been waiting until I had the words perfect so that I could accurately express my gratitude. For many years I had a draft letter I wanted to send to you saved on my computer. I was unable to locate it. This message is not nearly as profound as I wanted it to be, but it will suffice.

After coming out to my family and few friends, I was embraced with support. This was something that I wasn’t expecting. Thanks to you, I had the courage to face my fear and to become proud of who I was instead of being ashamed of it. Words cannot express how you changed my life, and I’m very thankful for it. I’m not sure if you even remember, but I do. You changed my life for the better and I just want to make sure that you know.

From the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you.

Bryan

 

I was moved by such a genuine, earnest message. I wrote back and asked if he would be willing to let me post it here, and he agreed. It is done not out of vanity or self-reverence (see the rest of this site for that) but out of a heartfelt wish that we can all treat each other as kindly. This is one of the main reasons why I’ve been doing this for over ten years, and why I will continue to do it for as long as I can. Thank you, Bryan, for reminding me that some things I’ve done have mattered, and for being one of the bright spots in this FaceBook world.

 

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If You’re Into Brothers…

Eww, I can’t even use that post title without cringing, and if you have a brother you know what I mean (and if you have a brother and don’t know what I mean, eww again). Here are the Jonas brothers, who recently gave a cover story interview to Out Magazine. I was surprised – mostly because I didn’t realize Out was still publishing. Less surprising was the fact that this previously-pious (and virginal) group was making the most of their muscles and kissing up to all those supposedly-expendable gay incomes (why can I not have one of those?)

Some of us are still reeling from that ridiculously-hot Instagram shot of Nick Jonas that went up earlier this year, or the way his backside fills out a pair of baseball pants. But let’s not give all the attention to the youngest, there’s also Kevin (the now-married oldest son) and middle heart-throb (in true Hanson tradition) Joe Jonas, who up until now had gotten much of the swooning-adoration.

Does it matter that I still can’t name one of their songs? Not to anyone here.

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Like a Bee in a Blossom

This is the kind of cheeky fare served up hot and spicy on my Instagram account, so follow accordingly. I’m about to hit 1000 posts on that new-to-me social media account (any requests on what the 1000th photo should be? And don’t say full-frontal.) I also invite you to join in the social media cross-pollination that runs across FaceBook and Twitter too, even if this website remains the basic source for most of the original material these days. It’s a social media-mad world, and I feel like Spencer Tracy.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #98 ~ ‘I’m Addicted’ – Spring 2012

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

When did your name change from a word to a charm?
No other sound makes the hair stand up on the back of my arm
All of the letters push to the front of my mouth
And saying your name is somewhere between a prayer and a shout
And I can’t get it out…

The road is dark, but it’s a clear stretch for a couple of miles. It’s still early in spring, but this night is just warm enough to open the windows and slide back the sunroof. I reach my hand into the rush of air, feel it push against my skin then move beyond. I’m driving along the back roads of upstate New York, listening to Track 3 of the new Madonna album, ‘MDNA’. As on all her records, there are a few stand-out tracks that instantly take up residence in the ear, songs that you feel emotionally, viscerally, and all-encompassingly. ‘I’m Addicted’ is one of them. I crank up the volume and the car picks up speed.

When did your name change from language to magic?
I write it again on the back of my hand, and I know it sounds tragic
Fame’s like a drug and I can’t get enough and it fits like a glove
I’m addicted to your love
I’m addicted to your love
I’m addicted to your love…

The same excitement that accompanies the release of every Madonna album is palpable in the air. It will, I hope, always be that way for me. Other passions may ebb and wane, but Madonna has always managed to inspire. This night proves no different. I’m as giddy as I was on the nights that ‘Erotica’, ‘Bedtime Stories’, ‘Ray of Light‘,’Music‘, ‘American Life‘, ‘Confessions on a Dance Floor‘, and ‘Hard Candy‘ were released. And the best place to listen to new music is in the car – in solitude, in motion, in tune with the driving beat.

Now that your name pumps like the blood in my veins
Pulse through my body, igniting my mind, it’s like MDMA (and that’s ok)
Fame’s like a drug and I can’t get enough and it fits like a glove
I’m addicted to your love
I’m addicted to your love
I’m addicted to your love…

Street lights whiz by overhead, the wind swirls madly in and out of the car, and in a way the whole universe is dancing – the stars in the sky, the glistening raindrops left from earlier, and the glowing dashboard. We move together, at ear-throttling volume and break-neck speed, as her voice simultaneously rises and deepens at this, the climax of the whole thing, the whole night, possibly the whole album:

I need this exchange
I don’t care if you think that I’m strange
Something happens to me when I hear your voice
Something happens to me and I have no choice
I need to hear your name
Everything feels so strange
I’m ready to take this chance
I need to dance…

Release, relief, and utter abandon. If I could have lived my whole life like I feel at this moment – a perpetual high, a lofty joy – I might have made something more out of everything. Instead, these occasional Madonna peaks will have to do. I ride it tonight, soaring like the smallest water droplet on the crest of the wind, careening through the night sky in gleeful amazement and wide-eyed wonder. I can’t wait to do it again.

Fame’s like a drug and I can’t get enough and it fits like a glove
I’m addicted to your love
I’m addicted, I’m addicted, I’m addicted to your
I’m addicted, I’m addicted, I’m addicted to your love. 
Song #98: ‘I’m Addicted’ ~ Spring 2012
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Chris Hemsworth and His Bouncing Butt

Though Chris Hemsworth has already been featured here as a Hunk of the Day, this particular GIF of his nakedness in motion has not, so here you go. It’s a tossed salad as to whether this or the GIF of Jude Law’s naked ass is the more enticing. Think of it as a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure, Adult-style, like everything else on this website.

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Another Year, Another Month, Another Link to Nude Dudes

Originally this was to be a recap of the month of September – and it still will be – but having just recapped a week, I don’t feel like rehashing that again, so instead, let’s look at September 2012 – one year ago. I seem to have an easier time in even years. Back in 2012, I was up to my usual mischief, haunting my usual haunts, and dealing with my usual nocturnal madness. It had been a summer encapsulated by the Speedo, but by September I was ready to hang it up to dry.

It was time to get all Sporty Spice with the World Series and the start of football season. (Was that right?)

Reading remained fundamental.

It’s been over a year since I’ve had a massage. No wonder I’ve been such a bitch. Someone pony up a Mandarin gift certificate stat.

I was seeing Madonna again, and remembering my very first time.

But my heart also belonged to Shirley, especially in September.

Working hard.

It’s not easy for me to apologize, not even to Anderson Cooper. But I did. (Thank him for getting shirtless too.)

My current culinary fascination actually began a while back, and it may have started with this Filipino feast. Family has a way of becoming important again in the fall, in every sort of way.

Having neglected a proper write up of this wonderful plant this year, I’m glad I did it back then.

Oh yeah, I was still getting my kit off. Because in September the sun still lingers, and the pool is still open. Far deeper than that, though, was the real nakednessthe kind that strips the soul bare. It makes all the other nudity superfluous.

But it was better when other guys got naked too, save for a few strategically placed hands – like those of the lucky lady cupping Adam Levine’s otherwise naked body,  the lucky lady being straddled by a very naked Prince Harry, the lucky lady being mounted by Ryan Phillippe, the lucky Speedo covering Tom Daley’s bits, the lucky hands of Ryan Reynolds cupping his naked self, and a bunch of Ben Cohen in his briefs, his boxer briefs, and with his huge hose. Oh, we can’t forget The Gronk, this battle of the butts (and its epic GIF rematch), and Jake Gyllenhaal’s naked ass too.

A very dangerous quote.

 And an apple crisp.

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