sweasel.com

So? Is it unpacking time now? I hope additional cabinetry has been added in the intervening 400 years. Something I noticed about the french chateaus I visited many years ago was – insufficient (IMO) kitchen cabinetry. I kept wondering where lady Demedicci(sp?) kept all her poisons.

Is that a small weasel or a large keyboard? Assuming the weasel is small, shouldn’t there be a ‘Warning: Weasel not shown to scale’ message? What if I’d been misled by that image into thinking weasels were small critters, only to go for a stroll in Weasel Woods and get savaged by big, honking, angry weasels? Naturally, I’d expect reparations and somebody to blame (for my own misfortune, and frankly – stupidity), and much as it’d break my heart, I’d have to sue you into oblivion. Inevitably, I’d get your new old house, and then I’d have to sue you for giving me a house that I keep cracking my head on. And so on.
By the way, I’ve just made some chili with 1 orange-red Scotch Bonnet chili (variety of super-hot Habañero), and wouldn’t you know it, forgot to wash my hands after chopping it up. One thing led to another and now my left notsril feels like I’ve snorted some nuclear fuel. Which is all rather ironic since I promised myself I’d stop snorting nuclear fuel. The high is negligible and the tumors are a pain in the ass (and wherever else they appear).

All around the Coastal Property
Old Badger chased cute weasel
Weasel smacked her head on the door
Bonk! Falls down Weasel!

Half a bottle of Gordon’s Gin
Half a bottle of Tonic
Mix it up and make it nice
Bonk! Falls down Weasel!

Minions try to make clever posts
But never post any thing witty
That’s the way the Blog business goes
When Off! Goes our weasel!

That happened to me once, Gibby, except that not only did I pick my nose, I also rubbed the underlid of my eye. The rest of that day sucked.

Not sure what kind of pepper it was, but it was orange-red and hot. Probably a Badgerbugger Estate Rectum-Reamer. “They getcha comin’ and goin’.”

Gibby –

As I recall, you’re not even an American, let alone a Texan.
(Please correct me if I’m wrong, Pardner)
What the hell are you doing making Chili
(which is really OK by itself to be honest)

But more importantly What the HELL are you doing with Scotch Bonnet Habaneros????

Do you have a license to handle those thing?
Be sure to post photos if your nose falls off!

Ok, and I believe that the miniature weasels are referred to as Weasettes, or “Pocket Weasels”, although I could be wrong as usual.

Nope, I’m not Texan, or even American. Hell, I’ve only been to the US of A once and that was as an eight-year-old with my family to Florida. I’m a native of this small, wind-swept rock in the north Atlantic you probably haven’t heard of called the – get this! – United Kingdom.
Actually, I’ve got a Scotch Bonnet plant (C. chinese) on my windowsill, and it seems to be doing quite well. It, unlike the Birdseye and Japapeño chilis, didn’t flower this year, but I’ve no reason to suspect it won’t next year.
Aren’t foreigners allowed to eat chili? That’s a shame. It’s good, honest food. The kind of food that appeals to me most.
Also capsaicin makes a great weapon. And in a country where guns aren’t a constitutional right, you have to be inventive.

Japapeño=Jalapeño…

McGoo, you had one too many ‘c’s –> de Medici.

Gibby, I always told my kids (okay, it was my husband) that if they kept picking their nose, their heads would cave in. Came close, didn’t you? See?

PnB – Ah! Thanks much. I did a yahoo on the family name and it still wasn’t clear which spelling was correct. So I adopted the tried ‘n true attitude of “I made the effort, so screw it! Who gives a water buffalo’s rectum!!”

Gibby – Making and eating chili is the right of any man regardless of country of origin. Hell, truth be known, it’s really more of Mexican origin than Texan (but I can’t say that real loud around here. It’s a point of Texan-pride, you know.) Observe that we say “Tex-Mex food rather than Mex-Tex”. I’m sure that you have some English/Irish food naming equivalency, lying(sic) around somewhere. But back to Chili.

It simply surprised me as I didn’t the know that this delicacy (which can only properly be made by a slightly drunken man) had sailed across the stormy Atlantic.

It’s perfect Chili weather here today, cold and rainy. I believe you’ve inspired me and I shall attempt some of my own tonight.

Oh! One final question – beans or no beans in your Chili?

Lokki – you tricksy Texan. Asking the definitive Texas chili-lovers question.

Ever notice that – as you’ve pointed out – Texas always comes first? (Well, duh, of course you’ve noticed. That was a rhetorical question.)

I mean – TEXarkana, TEXoma, TEXico, TEXaco? No – forget about that last one. Well, maybe not.

And – BTW – I like beans in really hot chili because anything that burns that badly departing should at least make some noise.

I put red kidney beans in my chili. The only area – if I’ve understood it correctly – in which I’ve strayed away from tradition is using beef mince rather than chuck steak. The only way I can ‘grind’ chuck steak up is by blending it in a food processor. That tends to work pretty well, but it’s a chore and occasionally it turns the meat into mush. And beef mice seems to work nearly as well anyway.
By the way, I heard on the news just now that they’re seriously considering culling badgers to try to prevent the spread of TB in cows. Not good news for Uncle Badger.

And beef mice seems to work nearly as well anyway.

Goodness. You British are weirder than I thought.

(Just kidding!)

Huh? What’s the matter? You don’t like mice? They’re rich in protein…and fur.

Blending beef mice?

Squeak Tartar, comin’ up! Want whisker powder on that? Mild or ‘rabid’?

That’s as good as Track Rabbit!

The whole thought of mincing mice is scary no matter what definition of mincing you choose to use.

Beef mince. Is that shredded beef or the equivalent to our ground beef?
I wouldn’t recommend ‘mice’. The gristle(brrr)and bits of bone can be a shock to the teeth when they unsuspectingly chomp on them.

Uh oh.

Brixton anywhere close, yer Stoatlyness?

Maybe I am confused (it wouldn’t be the first time). Minced meat is meat that goes through that thing (a mincer – not that sort of mincer) that sort of farts it out as thin, stringy lengths. Maybe minced beef is indeed ground beef. Am I wrong in thinking that chili is meant to be sort of chunky, rather than having small, uniform-sized pieces of meat?
As i recall, Weasel and Badfer have moved away from London, where Brixton is. In any case, if I were in Brixton, I’d be more concerned with getting shot (for no particular reason other than the shootee felt like capping somebody) rather than ladybirds.

http://www.dealsdirect.com.au/p/meat-mincer-solid-stainless-steel-design/

Gibby – at the risk of confusing things further, your link and photo of the mincer brought back a memory of childhood for me. Mom (gourmet cook – no shit) had several meat grinders, on of which was like the one on your link. When she wanted “ground” beef she installed a final blade/slicer in the front of the grinder (right behind/inside that gridded exit). When she wanted “minced” meat for Christmas pies, she did not install this final cutting/squishing stage. It made the minced meat somehow more “stringy” when raw, although it wasn’t when cooked. But it did end up subtly different.

I haven’t thought of that grinder in decades. Wonder where it is? Attic?

Oh, the United Kingdom and the United States – Two nations separated by a common language –

What you are calling minced meat,
we Yanks would call ground beef.

However, for us Yanks, Mincemeat would make odd tasting Chili.

As for your actual question, I prefer to use Skirt Steak sliced across the grain of the meat rather than hamburger or ground meat. When I have time, I like to sear the steak on a very very very hot grill before slicing it up for Chili.

In double checking the ‘separated by a common language’ quote I came across a couple of interesting example. I have to confess that I didn’t even know about the ’embarrassed American in the UK example below. Fortunately, I have a very boyish ass and no fanny!

Example of an embarrassed Brit in the US
Sitting at the bar, pencil in hand, struggling with the New York Times crossword, the Brit yells “Hi there, anyone got a rubber they can lend me?”, and wonders why he is getting many odd looks.

Example of an embarrassed American in the UK
An American girl was at a party in London, but was suffering from some discomfort in the tight pair of jeans she was wearing, said “Geez, I got this terrible itch in my fanny.” and wondered why the conversations all around her had stopped.

Note to all – I had only two links in the explaining American mince meat and Skirt Steak, but got filtered. I shall attempt to repost without the offending links.

Oh, the United Kingdom and the United States – Two nations separated by a common language –

What you are calling minced meat,
we Yanks would call ground beef.

However, for us Yanks, Mincemeat would make odd tasting Chili.

As for your actual question, I prefer to use Skirt Steak sliced across the grain of the meat rather than hamburger or ground meat. When I have time, I like to sear the steak on a very very very hot grill before slicing it up for Chili.

In double checking the ’separated by a common language’ quote I came across a couple of interesting example. I have to confess that I didn’t even know about the ‘embarrassed American in the UK example below. Fortunately, I have a very boyish ass and no fanny!

Example of an embarrassed Brit in the US
Sitting at the bar, pencil in hand, struggling with the New York Times crossword, the Brit yells “Hi there, anyone got a rubber they can lend me?”, and wonders why he is getting many odd looks.

Example of an embarrassed American in the UK
An American girl was at a party in London, but was suffering from some discomfort in the tight pair of jeans she was wearing, said “Geez, I got this terrible itch in my fanny.” and wondered why the conversations all around her had stopped.

Lokki, here is a link – any ol’ link:

http://www.atomfilms.com/film/made_meat.jsp

And here is another one:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaFZTAOb7IE

Now – all that was done was the http:// crap was deleted from the front-end of the links. Let’s see if it works.

It did.

Now go to the blackboard and write 100 times, “I will not fish for shrimp in the South Woods without Lord badgerbugger’s permission.”

Heh, fanny.

I will not troll for shrimps in the South Woods without Lord badgerbugger’s permission.

But never mind all that. Look up the meaning of Fanny in Brit-speak

“Heh, vulva?”

Hey! I resemble that!

I think Weasel re-wrote Akismet’s template or rulebook to either “fuck wid Lokki” or “give McGoo a pass”. Or both.

And all this time I thought she liked your poems best….

I thought, while I was making wee,
Of a poem – lovely as can be
Who’s lyrics sized the moon and sky
As nothing ‘pared to my lass’s thigh!

Her thund’rous bosum doth strain a man
I often wished I’d had five hands.
But seeing this – my muse’ result
She beat me bloody – as a pulp.

*****
Covington skipped – or would have skipped, had he been twenty years younger – towards the back walkway leading behind the looming and formidable Coastal Property Mansion, looking for the kitchen. Pausing to watch a sea otter limp rapidly past the servants entrance towards the deep and forbidding woods to the south, he noted – not for the first time – the abundance of sea life here. “Odd. ‘Ere we be’ close to the sea – I knoo’ that. But it be’ six miles by me’ own pacin’ an’ further to the seaco’st proper. That be’ quite a hump fer a sea otter. An’ roond trip, as well!” Thinking no more about it, Covington idly scratched his loins – dislodging a few black and white hen feathers – and continued his casual meander. From the wood in the south he heard the faint,mournful wail of a foghorn and the cheerful tinging of a trawler’s bell.

He was in an especially good mood this morning. Having recovered from yesterday’s bus ride – and subsequent gin-bottle bonking – , he’d spent that evening at the Inn of the Crotchless Panty in the small village of Poo On The Heath to the east, just west of Squatterswurst – the county seat. The inn was every bit as rowdy as her recalled, and now accepted Visa. He had made serious inroads into their stock of wheat beer the previous night and intended to continue the effort that evening. “It’s an ill wind that…er, …well…soocks. I’m oonly supposin’ in that regard, y’know? Never actually seen a soocky wind. Sounds daft.” He mumbled to himself – he being the only one present.

” ‘Ere you are!” spouted the scullery maid – popping around a corner near the vegetarian abatoir, “I’ve been missin’ you, you ol’ sausage-nicker’d devil! Noow – wot was that I ‘eard yous’ sayin’ aboot a sooky wind? I’ll show ya’s soom wind, ya befeatherd poltroon!” And with that she dropped the putty knives she’d been carrying and firmly slammed her small but strong right hand over Covingtons ‘Brat vault’, as it were, and giving it a healthy squeeze (“Whaaannnkkkrr”, he mouthed, inadvertently), she reached for his belt. “Coo! Yer drenched wi’ black n’ white Layers feathers,ya ol’ fart! ‘Ave you been at the Dominiques already? Well, no matter! Drop ’em boy-o, an’ I’ll’ ‘ave a word or two wi’ your…”

Things might have gone strangely for Covington then, were it not for the sudden slamming of the kitchen door around the corner.

Backing away from the aroused maid, Covington took one moment to consider: “Sure be’ a bunch o’
corners ‘ereaboots.”, before turning to see Cook Yarbles striding rapidly towards the abatoir – arms filled with lettuce and celery. The scullery maid – seeing what was about to occur in that vegetable charnal house, hurriedly buried her frightened face in Covingtons groin. “Oof!” He gasped. “Pffth!”, she spat, ridding her mouth of a feather, before re-burrowing in with a vengence.

Yarbles was heard to mutter, “Mein zoup, mein zoup, ich machen ze poop!…Ja! Ja!… und a partridge ien ze fur pie! Jaaaa!” Stumbling and dropping one head of Iceberg, Yarbles reared back and – kicking the offending salad condiment squarely – managed to knock it through the window cleanly. Pumping his now-free fist into the air, he exclamed, “Ist zwei points! Ist Gut! Und ze Völkers, zey goes ze verrückt – ze crazy! Jaaaaa!”

*****

Now that there is funny! Heh™

This is not a picture of an Iraq pharmacy either.
http://chadzilla.typepad.com/chadzilla/2007/10/making-vodka-pi.html

Gibby, weasels really are that tiny. Not much bigger than mice, and a good deal smaller than the rabbits they mostly eat. Stoats are a little bigger, but not much.

A fully grown female mustela nivalis is, like, six inches long. That’s the size of a dollar bill, which means nothing to you but I don’t know if British banknotes are the same length as US ones.

Umm…the above was me. Stoopid Uncle B doesn’t do cookies.