Search

Greg Bardsley

Category

beer

Aw, man … Those guys have all the fun

Talking about Jed Ayres and his Noir at the Bar buddies.

This weekend Jed brought in yet another impressive group of transgressive-fiction writers for his ongoing Noir at the Bar series of readings in St. Louis (I think the name pretty much describes what happens). If the uncensored details on Facebook, Twitter and the blogosphere are any indication, the night was packed with the kind of storytelling that would make a parolee blush. Jed pretty much sums up the night up here.

Anyways, reading about these events makes this old man wish for younger days, when I didn’t have to think abnout the kids and The Suits and geriatric realities when considering a cross-country road trip.  So I am left thinking of Ayres, Bill, McBride, Phillips, O’Shea and the rest of that lot — with all their fun and games — and I mumble to myself, “Those guys have all the fun.”

You like depravity, you dirty little thing

Yeah, I know what you like. You like to read that sick shit. And you’re wondering if that guy over there — that seemingly normal guy over there enjoying his coffee — is capable of concocting the same kind of disgusting, perverted and trangressive stories that percolate through your skull each and every day. Well, guess what — maybe he is. Maybe he’s just like you, with a mind in the gutter.

Hell, if you pick up the latest edition of Out of the Gutter, the “modern journal of pulp fiction and degenerate literature,” you will see that you and I are not the only ones with bent imaginations. There’s some seriously great (and sick) fiction up in that piece — so far, I have really enjoyed stories by Jed Ayres, Vicki Hendricks, Charlie Stella, Jordan Harper, Sophie Littlefield, David Cranmer, Randy Rohn, Matt Louis and Nicholas Korpon, and I’m still reading.

Apparently, you and I aren’t the only ones who like the sick stuff. Bookgasm just weighed in with a nice review of OOTG; it also included some favorable words about my story, “Headquarters Likes Your Style.” [Hey, I never said I was above shameless self-promotion.]

Elsewhere, the depravity continues unabated. Plots with Guns came out with yet another top-shelf edition chock full of great stories — be sure to check them out. …. And I recently learned that Jen Jordan will include my story, “Hotshot 52,” in her upcoming anthology, UNCAGED [Bleak House Books], which hits bookstores this summer. 

And finally ….. Speaking of people who write fucked-up shit, I met Jed Ayres for the first time tonight. I’m in St. Louis for work, and he was gracious enough to take in a few pints with me. After the second round of beers, we both expressed relief that the other guy wasn’t a psycho or, worse, an asshole. With this Internet thing, you never know.

I”ll leave you with the list of authors to be included in UNCAGED. With this group of writers, I see myself more as the towel boy. Anyone want a towel — or has a wet one they no longer need — just holler.

Pierce Hansen
Evan Kilgore
Tim Maleeny
Nick Stone
Simon Kernick
Christa Faust
Victor Gischler
Stephen Blackmoore
Blake Crouch
Declan Burke
Gregg Hurwitz
Brian Azzarello
Simon Wood
Steven Torres
Allan Guthrie
Martyn Waites
Bryon Quertermous
J.D. Rhoades
Stuart MacBride
Patrick Shawn Bagley
Scott Phillips
Greg Bardsley
J.A. Konrath
Maxim Jakubowski
Talia Berliner

I give to you … Guacamole Gregorio

For so long, I refused to share the secrets of my guacamole success. How selfish. How insecure. How short-sighted.

When the 2008 guacamole season opened, I finally realized just how ugly my secrecy had become. So I decided to listen to all the repeated calls for my guacamole recipe. I decided that, rather than horde my power, I should “open-source” it to the world. On Aug. 1, I would give the world Guacamole Gregorio.

And so here we are. The day has come.

And with that, some things to consider.

First, great guacamole is so much more than a tablespoon of this and dash of that. It’s about the total experience. So this is how I approach my guacamole, and I think it’s one reason I have won my share of guacamole showdowns. In other words, have faith.

No. 1, if you want to achieve guacamole greatness, you need a phenomenal supporting cast. Think of the great legends in sport and the arts. Each has had phenomenal support to help them achieve greatness — Raiders quarterback Rich Gannon had future Hall of Fame receivers Tim Brown and Jerry Rice, for instance, and in the seminal comedy, Old School, actor Luke Wilson benefited greatly from the supporting efforts of Will Ferrell and Vince Vaughn.

So, in the context of your guacamole, it, too, needs great support. First, you need an ample supply of ice-cold Tecate. The Mexican beer (along with some great Latin jazz, which we will discuss in a minute) will not only put you in the right mood as you prepare your guacamole, but also amplify the nuances of sublime guac. Also, you need the highest-grade tortilla chip possible. Mass-produced, wafer-thin chips from Illinois? Um, no. A bag of thick, slightly salted, authentic tortilla chips? Absolutely essential. I recommend Casa Sanchez, which puts out a phenomenal bag of thick chips.

Next, the music. … Since we’re talking about a Mexican dish, I suggest Latin jazz. Specifically, plan your first outing with Guacamole Gregorio for Sunday afternoon/evening (or any Sunday), which is when Latin-jazz aficionado Jesse Chuy Varela airs his world-class Latin Jazz radio program from 2 p.m. to 6 p.m, California time. The best thing is, regardless of where you live, you can join us Sunday via KCSM’s live web streaming site.

With Tecate, great chips and Varella’s commercial-free Latin jazz, you’re ready to make guacamole.

So with that, let’s roll …

Avocados — I can’t emphasize enough the criticality of avocado selection. In short, be prepared to spend some time searching for the right avocados. Feel them. Squeeze them. Tickle them. … What is your criteria, you ask? They should be pretty damn soft. Not gooey-soft, but pretty soft nonetheless. Smell them. Is the aroma ripe and rich, or acidic? Go for the ripe and rich aroma. If you can’t find one that is ripe and soft, take a few and let them sit on your window sill for a few days. … When the moment comes to make your guacamole, remove the skins and the pits, dump the green meat into a bowl and mash them. .. Take a sip of Tecate. … With the Latin jazz popping in the background, dance-walk to retrieve your next item.

Red onion — The red onion is essential. It provides balance, and a sweet kick. It’s a matter of how much you use, but I go with about a handful of finely diced red onions and chuck them into the bowl. I also keep a mound of additional diced red onions for taste adjustment at the end of the process, if needed.

Cilantro — Beware: too much cilantro can send your guacamole over the cliff. It’s happened to me too many times. So use it with restraint. Dice up about a tablespoon of the stems (yes, the stems) and then add a handful of the leaves. Remember, it is best to error on the side of restraint rather than abundance.

Garlic salt — Don’t use garlic powder. Garlic salt adds a sharpness to the guacamole that the powder never will. I use about two teaspoons of garlic salt, but it will again depend on your tastes and sensibilities.

Cumin — Cumin is an essential component of Guacamole Gregorio, but it can ruin your batch if you use too much of it. So sprinkle a very small amount onto the palm of your hand, spread it out with your other hand and release it evenly into the bowl, then mix it up thoroughly. Better to start with less and add more to taste, if needed.

Vegetable oil — A tablespoon of vegetable oil lends additional polish to the texture.

Lemon — I don’t use limes. I find that the lemon juice provides a better balance without the bitterness of the lime. Don’t go overboard. Too much lemon juice will overtake your guacamole.

Noticing a theme here? I hope so. The point is that Guacamole Gregorio is comprised of an assortment of hair-trigger ingredients. At any moment, and with little provocation, one of them can explode in your face and taint your batch. But working in concert together — at the right moment, with friends and family waiting nearby for the first taste, the Latin jazz blaring, a can of Tecate perspiring — these ingredients can combine to create magic.

Here’s hoping you find it.

An announcement …

It is my extreme pleasure to announce the opening of the 2008 Greg Bardsley Guacamole Season.

I know, I know. Who am I give to myself my own guacamole season? Has some kind of guacamole governing board certified me as an aficionado? Do I know if guacamole really is better suited for certain parts of the year? Do I even know what the hell I’m talking about?

The answer, of course, is no.

But the way I see things, if baseball can have a season, if “Desperate Housewives” can have a season, if a theatre company can have a season, and if whales can have a breeding season, then why can’t I have my own season?

And so I choose guacamole.

To start off the 2008 season, I targeted a scheduled night of garage poker this past Monday. At an emotional level, I had been treating my debut outing as if this were baseball’s spring training, looking at the exercise simply as a way to “clear the cobwebs,” or “to stretch the legs.” The poker dads, after all, would be coming for the cards and male-bonding, not for guacamole, so I felt safe. As the hour neared, I was slicing and dicing and mixing and seasoning, having a good old time, mindful of the warm weather, of the cold bottle of Modelo at my side.

When the poker dads showed, I didn’t say much. I just paid silent attention to the two small bowls of guacamole and smiled to myself as they were quickly exhausted.

Adding to my glee, the next day, a friend and I visited a newly found Mexican-food joint, where I had a phenomenal chile-relleno experience.

[Long sigh if contentment] I love guacamole season. I guess it’s because that, along with the great food, guacamole season means fun, laughs, cold Mexican beer, friends and family, warm weather, sunny skies and Latin jazz.

And who could possibly have a problem with that?

Postscript: Several of you have asked repeatedly for my recipe. I’m afraid that, even in today’s open-source world, I’m still not ready to share it. Maybe later in the season I will share it, or maybe I never will. But I will offer a tip: You are doing your guacamole a disservice when you pair it with a mass-produced, paper-thin chip. Authenticity, my friends. Authenticity.

I hereby declare ….

By the power invested in me, I hereby declare this day, Nov. 7, the end of the 2007 Guacamole Season.

As I sit here looking at the overcast skies, I am reminded that all good things must come to an end — the youthful beauty of a rose, the brilliance of a sunrise, the innocence of a child, and yes, even the wild success of a phenomenal guacamole season.

So as I reflect on the past year, I realize that I’ve grown. As many of you know, I learned this year to embrace the finer subtleties of the guacamole craft. I learned to use a little less of “this,” and a lot less of “that.” And thanks to a hotly contested guacamole showdown at work, I even added a new ingredient to my personal recipe (again, don’t ask; I ain’t gonna tell you).

But alas, the 2007 season is over. Two recent batches of guacamole came out very poorly, forcing two awkward and unsuccessful attempts at culinary improvisation at our household. Apparently, November avocados are best left for sandwiches and salads.

Yes, my children, soon the wind will come. The rain will fall. The frost will descend on the West Coast. Darkness will envelope us. But keep that chin up. One thing will lead to another, and before you know it, the warm months will return, the avocados will be ready, the salsa music will be shaking, the Tecate cans will be perspiring, and a new season will be upon us.

I’ve been fooling myself

The past few years, I’ve been cocky about two things: my ability to sleep-train a baby and my success with homemade guacamole.

Last night, I came plunging back to reality. Last night, I realized I wasn’t quite the man I thought I was. Last night, my guacamole delusions shattered into a thousand little green globs.

You see, I’ve made a big deal about my guacamole. I’ve puffed my chest and sighed contentedly. I’ve nodded in silence as friends and family tasted my guac and widened their eyes in delight.

But now, I’m questioning all that. Maybe people have been humoring me. Maybe friends and family have been too kind to tell me the truth, too kind to tell me my guacamole isn’t really that special after all. Maybe I’m just a big joke.

It all happened last night. I came home, and my wife mentioned casually that she’d whipped up some guacamole. On any other day, this would have been a blatant attempt to strip me of my power, akin to her saying, “Honey, I think there’s a leak in the bathroom, so why don’t you stay here with the boys while I go crawl under the house?” But on this night, I was starving. I was thrilled to see the guac sitting there on the kitchen table.

And let me tell you, it was phenomenal. My eyelids lowered. My brain melted in pleasure. My mouth was on drugs. And I wanted more — more more more. Nancy smiled to herself and went about her business.

Then I realized. I realized Nancy’s guac was better than anything I’ve made in a long time — maybe better than anything I’ve ever made. Hers had the personality that I love in good guac, but it wasn’t trying too hard. It contained nearly all of my secret ingredients (don’t ask, because I won’t tell you). But there was a light-touch sophistication that my guacamole has lacked. This guac was like a symphony, and mine suddenly seemed like a one-man band on “America’s Got Talent,” some needy freak with eight different instruments attached to his torso.

“This is beyond anything I’ve ever accomplished,” I said, taking a pull off my Tecate.

Nancy was at the counter with her back facing me. She adopted the gentle, motherly tone she’ll use with the boys at critical moments. “Well,” she soothed, “I just think the best thing about guacamole is the avacado.”

You see, Nancy likes my guacamole. And she likes my ingredients. But she has told me over the years that maybe I need to take it down a little. Maybe I don’t need to put so much of “this” and so much of “that” in my guacamole. I agree with her, but at the end of the day, when I’m there at the counter and I’m doing my thing, and the Latin Jazz is playing and my can of Tecate is open, and I’m having a grand old time there slicing and mashing and sipping, I can let it go too far. I lose myself.

Thinking about it last night, I wondered if there were any parallels between my guacamole and my writing. After all, isn’t it funny that I have learned that sometimes it’s better to tone down my fiction, that a little “personality” goes a long way? I shuddered at the thought. How deep does this problem go?

 

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑