Observations on the Best Food Show on Television

As unrepentent carnivores, Mrs. Large Fierce Mammal and I have small tolerance for those among the Great Unwashed who see nothing wrong with eating meat while at the same time idiotically attempting to expunge their "sin" by repeatedly reminding everyone in earshot of how bad or guilty they feel about it. We have the utmost respect for anyone who makes the choice to go vegetarian or vegan, provided that they have done so for reasons they honestly believe to be sound, that aren't motivated by a need to follow trends, and extend in turn the same degree of respect in our direction while they watch us eagerly savage our leg of lamb. Word of advice: all carnivores can, do, and will bite if provoked, particularly when feeding.

I have personally met a woman, parent of an elementary school aged daughter, who disclosed to me that she fed her child meat in the interests of good nutrition, while at the same time hiding its dark origins from her. She thought it was fine to encourage her daughter in the belief that meat was something made at the grocery store, and then packaged on white foam trays; all to protect her from the evil reality governing most life on this planet: that for one thing to live, something else must die. In addition to all this bullshit about farm raised meat we have the furor over hunting. It isn't necessary to look far before finding someone who will buy farm raised meat at the grocery store while condemning the practice of hunting for food as barbaric. At least in these parts, this attitude is most often directed at the hunting of deer that are seen as cute, beautiful, peaceful forest creatures intended by God to be enjoyed rather than killed. Bullshit. The deer is a herbivore that exists in Nature as part of an ecosystem. Among the biological imperatives that govern its existence are two biggies:

1. Reproduce with the most prime specimens of your kind that you can find; and
2. Be aware that you and yours are not at the top of the food chain.

Best efforts to accomplish item 1 will not always result in offspring that are fit to survive long enough to pass their weakness on to future generations. Good news though. They are the ones closest to the grim realities of item 2; specifically, if you aren't at the top of the food chain, there is something in your environment that can and will kill and eat you if you aren't vigilant, fast, strong, or lucky enough. So contrary to non-hunters who like to claim that the "poor deer" is no match for the human hunter with his rifle. The fact is that the hunter is pitting himself against a quarry that evolution has imbued with an absolute oneness with its place in the scheme of things. It lives its life not in the expectation of being hunted, but in the certainty that it is being hunted at every moment. This is a far cry from the mass production farm cattle that live their lives viewing people as a source of food and care, only one day to find themselves herded onto trucks or train cars to arrive at a place that smells of fear and death. However humane the method of killing, the animal is still killed. As a predator I have no moral objection to swift, humane slaughter, but killing a large animal is not pretty, and regardless of the method used, carries a violence in its essence that will shake the weak minded. So tell me now; is it nobler to eat the meat you had the balls to kill with your own hands or to essentially take out a contract on some animal you've never personally engaged by having someone else do the killing for you so you can persist in posturing that you have personally evolved beyond that? Buy meat at the market, but do it with your eyes open, and take unflinching responsibility for being the animal that you are.

The absolute and, without reservation best food and cooking show on television at the moment is Chef Gordon Ramsay's The F Word. Foul mouthed, and with a face like a boot, Ramsay is an incredible talent with a professional drive that at times approaches being a force of nature. Mrs. LFM has come to regard him as hot in the extreme, an opinion I'm inclined to share, attracted as I am by capable passionate people.

Among other entertaining segments, the show never fails to educate in the realities of food acquisition, whether it be hunting deer, raising lambs for slaughter; following them from birth, through raising, to slaughter, and ultimately to the plate in Ramsay's F Word Restaurant; to scuba diving for king crab. A father of four young children; Megan, twins Jack and Holly, and Matilda; segments illustrate his efforts to bring them up with an intimate knowledge of where food comes from by doing such things as intimately involving them in raising turkeys for Christmas dinner. This is a show that comes highly recommended with complete endorsement from the Large Fierce Mammals.

But it's not all education. I'll close today's post with a segment of The F Word featuring British journalist James May that has to be our all time favourite to date. No controversy. Just fucking hilarious. If you don't follow the show, get off your ass and do it.

Solomon Kane: A Large Fierce Mammal of Fantasy

Robert E. Howard
1906-1936

Most people are familiar with the character Conan the Barbarian, created in literature for the pulp fiction market by Robert E. Howard, and later popularized by the films of varying quality starring the current Governor of California. Howard was a prolific writer who delved heavily into a number of genres including westerns, boxing, and what has come to be known, mostly due to his efforts, as sword and sorcery fantasy fiction. To this day Howard is still one of the most read authors in fantasy, and his work is never hard to find as it continues to be reprinted.

Howard was a brooding soul who balanced a brilliant talent with suicidal tendencies that, along with untreated bouts of chronic depression, had haunted him from an early age. His light was snuffed out when he took his own life on the morning of 11 June 1936, but ironically and sadly, it is this dark side that gives his work an allure shared by few others.

My personal favourite among Howard's characters is Solomon Kane, a fanatical puritan driven to travel to the most vile shitholes of the 17th century world, snuffing out evil wherever he finds it. A fundamentalist of the most radical sort, Kane is compelled by a head splitting combination of righteous spite and self-loathing, and now he's coming to a movie theatre near you in a film adaptation directed by Michael J. Bassett starring British actor James Purefoy. Purefoy is an excellent choice for the role of Kane, having more than amply exhibited his ability to project all the required traits playing Mark Antony in twenty-two episodes of the late HBO miniseries "Rome".

The film has long since gone from rumour to announced reality. Little snippets of information, from spoiler alerts, to concept art, to previews of promotional posters, are appearing all over the internet like crocus blossoms peeking through the snow. I'm hoping for a good treatment of the work here so the crystal ball is staying warmed up. I'll leave you with an early release poster that's making the rounds. As usual, click on the picture for a better view.

Variations on a Theme

Each of the axes in the following shots started life as a small hand axe pretty much identical to the one held by the kid above. A commonly encountered hand tool, they were often forged by local blacksmiths by folding a flat plate of steel around a mandrel that created the eye for the handle.

This one was made by my friend Peter Thompson from an axe he happened upon at a yard sale. If memory serves, he bought it for $2.00. As you can see, he ground off the kid, and everything else that didn't look like the effect he was going for, reshaped the strike face at the back, and welded on a striking head. The finish is cold bluing, although the piece wore a simple patination for a number of years. You can get a better view by clicking on the closeup shots which will expand to slightly larger than life size.

A couple years ago I found another specimen hanging rusting on the wall of an old barn and sent it along to Thompson with my own vision of what should happen. The spectacular result appears below.

I specifically wanted to retain the rough from the forge appearance and as much of the original maker's markings as I could. The finish is also cold bluing. All in all, a very lively and handy version of a four lugged chopping axe that I will be field testing during the 2009 hiking, camping, fishing, hunting, and all things woodsie season!

I'll finish with a shot of the two together with Thompson's bush knife, all sitting atop a whale skull that was a gift from Hurricane Juan. Once again, click the picture for a better view.

The Mouse That Roared

Installing a new computer mouse isn't exactly rocket science, but should it be life threatening?

The mouse on my computer went to shit a few days ago, giving me a double click effect for single clicks with increasing frequency, so I installed a new one today. Imagine my amazement as I read the first sentence on the installation documents that came with it: "WARNING! Failure to properly set up, use, and care for this product can increase the risk of serious injury or death, or damage to the device or devices."

Coming as they did in the wake of such an ominous pronouncement, the installation instructions were a bit anticlimactic, essentially consisting of:

1. Connect the mouse to your computer.
2. Use.
   
3. There is no step 3.
   

Nevertheless, we're taking no chances here so everyone's on high alert until further notice.

Sleeping With the Elephant

Addressing the Press Club in Washington, D. C., on 25 March 1969, and in reference to the relationship between Canada and the United States, Pierre Elliott Trudeau said, "Living next to you is in some ways like sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly and even-tempered is the beast, if I can call it that, one is affected by every twitch and grunt."

As a student of world politics observing the differences between the Bush and Obama administrations, it has become obvious to me that only one man on the planet has succeeded in capturing the true essence of each. This man is none other than Hugh Laurie; fellow member of the British Commonwealth and star of the celebrated TV show House, MD.

Confident as I am in the intelligence of my readers, I shall explain no further and leave you to agree with me as you watch the following offerings.

In this first performance, assisted by Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie captures the essence of the Bush administration; whether he, in his genius, knows it or not.


Next, Hugh Laurie gets to the heart of what I personally also understand to be the crux of the Obama plan, both for the US and the world. This song really speaks to the workin' man in me.


Obviously Hugh Laurie is the personification of enlightenment.

Polish By Marriage: The T Shirt

If this was my shirt it would say, "YIPPEE!!!!" on the back and everything after "WIFE" would be covered in exclamation points.

Die My Dear? Why That's the Last Thing I'll Do.

I took the title of this post from among the many wise and witty utterances of the immortal Groucho Marx. He also said, "I intend to live forever, or die trying."

Of no surprise to my readers will be the disclosure that my brand of humour veers sharply toward the dark side. My dance card of funeral attendance over the years includes both my parents, four uncles and one aunt, an assortment of friends and the parents of others, and that's just the humans. If memory serves, I have also officiated at or otherwise participated in the last goodbye to five dogs, one horse, one cat, three hamsters, at least six birds of various species, a similar number of reptiles, and one monkey. Species be damned. Grief is grief.

As I've gone through the grieving process myself, and watched others do the same, it has become clear to me that, in the end, the power and joy of a life well lived is not diminished by the final footnote that it came to an end. That grief is a path leading to a place where, without trivializing our loss or assuming a pretense that the one departed isn't missed, we can once again think and speak of them fondly and often, without spontaneously melting into a weeping puddle of goo. That their lives will have meaning as long as those of us who remember still draw breath.

I often tell stories of my father, Lawrence Whynacht (above left with Joey), and employ his common expressions such as, "Like picking fly shit out of pepper with boxing gloves on," when speaking of a task that was very difficult to do. His influence in my life is felt daily, with joy instead of sadness, and yet since his burial the only time I have returned to his grave was the day we placed my mother beside him. That's not him there. Those are his remains, and I need no monument to remind me of what his life meant to everyone who knew him. In fact as his son I am, in the most powerful and fundamental of ways, a living monument to him.

I am motivated to reflect on these things because, five years ago today, another fine man, a fine friend, and most importantly a fine parent, whose life touched mine in a way that has forever filled me with gratitude beyond the bounds of mere language to express, died in Halifax after a mighty battle with cancer. Ryszard Stanisław Kleszczyński was the father of my beloved Diana.

Izabella, little Diana, and Ryszard in 1982

Born in Kłodzko, Poland on 2 June 1950, Ryszard was a professional engineer, tennis player, musician, and avid camper. A man of great intelligence and humour with a razor sharp wit, Ryszard possessed an effortless and classic style in his manners that only the term "old world" can adequately describe.

First and foremost though, Ryszard was a family man. A devoted husband and lover to his wife Izabella; a proud and loving father to his two daughters, Diana and Dorothy, the latter of whom will give birth to a daughter of her own in a few weeks from the date of this post.

Diana, Dorothy, and Ryszard

Ryszard loved the outdoors and regularly took the family camping in Kejimkujik National Park for weeks at a time. Having been raised on a farm, he took a practical, no-nonsense approach to life, but never forgot how to relax ...
... have fun ...
... nor the importance of keeping romance alive.
As an engineer he valued motivation, clear thinking, and a drive to succeed. He cultivated these values and delighted in how they took root in Diana. Look at his face in the following picture, taken at Diana's Grade 11 honours ceremony. If that's not a father busting a gut with pride I don't know what is.

Here again we see the effect in evidence as Ryszard dances with Diana at her prom, something that in my day we called a grad dance.

Once more for good measure, here is a photo of Izabella, Dorothy, Diana, Michelin representative Nancy Bell, and Ryszard taken at Diana's high school graduation. Diana had graduated with honours, top of her class, with a $20,000.00 scholarship to Dalhousie University, and had won the $8,000.00 Michelin bursary for scholastic excellence which was presented to her by Ms. Bell. No wonder Ryszard often looked at Diana and called her Magnavox, the company motto of which was, "Smart. Very smart".
Here's some local news coverage from the Bridgewater Bulletin (click on the image to enlarge it):

In his last days, Diana and I spent a lot of time travelling back and forth from our residence near Lunenburg to the QEII hospital in Halifax. We had moved to Corkum's Island in September 2003 and due to his illness he had never been able to visit us there.

During one of those last visits he asked to speak with me alone and said, "I have heard you have a big house."

I agreed that we did and he nodded his head. Raising a finger and gesturing toward the door where Diana had just passed out of sight, with a slight smile on his lips he said, "If you ever hurt her, I will haunt that house."

Well, I never have, but still think he haunts our house anyway, just for fun. In fact, this was one of the reasons we married on All Hallows Eve 2008. To the many who have asked, "Why Hallowe'en?" I have always replied, "Because some of the most important guests are dead, and that's the only night they could come."

The eagle is a bird that features prominently in Polish heraldry. On the day of Ryszard's death, as Diana and I drove home across the Corkum's Island causeway, a breath taking bald eagle flew low across the road in front of us. It, or one just as big, has often been seen in our vicinity on many occasions thereafter and I can honestly say that in all the time I've spent outdoors in my life, eagles were never so much in evidence as they have been since.

I've enjoyed telling these stories about Ryszard, and I'd be lying if I claimed not to have shed more than a few private tears of joy in celebration of the life of an exceptional man as I wrote them. In closing, dear and loyal readers, here's an appropriate animated gif Diana created some months ago that I believe will speak for itself. Click here to view it.