perfect-homemade-chili

[perfect-homemade-chili]

352 “Four Mysteries and Some Recollections”

This post is a brief tangent, some recollections growing up in the hills and woodlands of New Hampshire—though I couldn’t appreciate it fully at the time, looking back I find a lot of my natural inspiration coming from these periods, reflections on my childhood and nature. Like playing ‘Manhunt’, a sort of hide-and-seek mixed with tag played outdoors in the woods at night wearing camos and facepaint, or listening in awe to stories of American Indian trackers who left no marks or made no sounds walking through the tall grass. We really were a bunch of idiots—making aerosol flamethrowers or exploding bottle-rockets while fishing at a lake, yet these still are some of my fondest memories. I’ve found truth in the words of Transcendentalists, especially Thoreau and Emerson, who believed we ‘only see so much beauty as we carry,’ and that those who run away, or youths who think to find culture abroad, in Europe or elsewhere, ultimately cannot run away from themselves. (Though, as counterpoint, and middle ground, Emerson also concedes that occasional travel is like a good tonic that helps shake up routine, shifting surface-areas like tectonic plates to rattle up gems lying in wait within.) I envy not the man who has traveled widely but the man who is at home, drawing from the wells of beauty and inspiration, wherever he goes. Though one cannot help but wish to travel to the past sometimes. I wonder if nature holds the key to some of history’s most enduring secrets or surprises. Just during a backyard stroll in the woods of New Hampshire, finding a frog on the road smaller than the nail on my pinky—finding translucent, perfectly round red berries on a hedge that resemble embryos or fish-eggs—or that weird-looking film at the mouth of ponds and streams, a sinister laboratory green, which my neighbor claims is pollen, but in my imagination seems more like frog- or bugspawn in the same way sharks aren’t in public swimming pools, reminds me when Emerson suggested Thoreau made new discoveries everyday in his walks in nature—i wonder if they too hold the answers to such historical mysteries as these four I’ve been thinking about: 1) how did Hannibal cross the Alps with forty war elephants and still arrive in fighting condition? 2) what is the secret to Da Vinci’s claim that he ‘uncovered a way for humans to live underwater without food for weeks,’ 3) what exactly did Pope Leo say to Attila that made the Hun warlord, who would surely have conquered the western world, turn in his tracks without a word or second thought? 4) what is Tesla’s solution to ‘infinite energy,’ —atmospheric static, natural radio- or electromagnetic radiation—by which he claimed to have already succeeded with prototypes? Perhaps I will reflect on more memories and mysteries in another post. Meanwhile, I end this post with another fond recollection from an early morning stroll—

“Crisp November; they say NY never sleeps but, when it is so quiet and refreshing in the early winter morn, you could almost imagine the city sneaking a snooze after a sleepless night. The chilly but refreshing breeze reminds me of New Hampshire in the woods, one particularly sociable morning at that holy hour (at break of dawn) when I think animals silently convene to gossip about people--

[left-side of road; deer in front of a rabbit.]

Deer: "...so I was like, Bobby, ya gotta shed those antlers; I don't care how they make you feel, you gonna get caught in the branches one of these days and--OMG MRS. PIPPERSQUEAK--DON'T MOVE. Don't be alarmed, there's one of 'em bipeds right behind you..."

Rabbit: "HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP does it see us."

Deer: "...I don't know, it's just standing there, grinning like an idiot. Maybe if we stay really really still it won't think we're here..."

[10 mins later, down the road like some western showdown...]...a large chubby porcupine approaches me on the other end of a dusty road. The porcupine, with height disadvantage and lower vantage-point, sees me too late--it jolts in surprise. I try to say hi, but it makes a quick detour to the left, its chunky butt wiggling over the rockwall while a hindleg kicks futilely in air before managing itself over. So cute. Anyway—“

——beverage#004——peppermint milkshake. This is a treat from my boarding school days: homemade milkshake using a blender, with milk (probably can sub with oatmilk), vanilla icecream, a few of those cheap peppermint candies they put out in bowls at hotels and reataurants and, if you’re feeling naughty, just a bit of vodka or rum; alternatively in lieu of the peppermint some baileys or kahlua might be acceptable also. But the peppermint candy, broken into little specks in the milkshake, adds a nice texture and flavor. Off topic, and this is second time I’m mentioning this—I’ve been a huge fan of adaptogenic hot chocolate (specifically ‘macacchino’—cocoa mixed with maca root powder, from Organic Traditions); the combination makes the cocoa tastes extra rich and umami, i feel like my tastebuds have tastebuds. It is such a great invention. It tastes like if cocoa were grown in wet caves fed on escargots from sultans… why has noone hired me to be a copywriter yet.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

353 “Two Types of Thinkers.”

I found myself very touched recently by a short clip about space travel via understanding of modern physics: that, if we were to move, like particles shot across the hadron collider nearing 99.999999% speed of light, distances shrink by a factor of 7000 to the observer (to the proton of the hadron collider, a distance of 27 km to 4 meters) and in theory, could reach distant galaxies like andromeda in less than a minute and yet—to share that knowledge or experience, 4 million years would have already passed on Earth. It reminds me of Kepler’s quote: “God has waited six thousand years for an observer like me… what’s waiting a century before a reader to understand me.” Just recollecting these tidbits, full of story potential, move me deeply—and feel somewhat a similar despair, how many of history’s truly greatest minds or characters are simply hidden from the stratum of common admiration—Bavo Lievens, Swedenborg, Meister Eckhart, Jonathan Edwards, Nagarjuna—how momentous for all civilization, yet isolating in private experience, these individuals must have felt in their travels across space and time, upon otherwise inaccessible knowledge. For the rest of us, the seemingly vast web of knowledge and insight, especially at the philosophical and literary level, is quite contained within the 300-400 names you’ll find most commonly referred to in virtually every preface, introduction, review etc: example, just off top of my head—greek/roman myth, hesiod, homer, ovid; fairytales, grimm, andersen, perrault; 11th century persian poets, hafiz, saadi, ferdousi, rumi; whimsical 18th-century writers, Irving, Swift, La Fountain; spanish writers, cervantes, borges, marquez; roaring 20s, Hemingway, Eliot, Joyce, Stein; French writers, Hugo, Maupassant, Balzac, Simenon; realist russians, tolstoy, chekhov, dostoevsky; american southern writers, faulkner, carver, o’connor, hannah; fathers of scifi, verne, wells, dick, asmiov etc. The world of philosophy is decidedly smaller, and its major proponents fall generally into two types—“those that speak from within, and those from without.” —Emerson. This is in reference to deep spiritual/transcendent insight, which is a flickering light and muse which the poet or literary writer uses for inspiration, and yet for real philosophers—excluding the obscure ones that are too advanced and out of reach for the common pleb mind—is for all which they write, if they write at all. And the greatest challenge—yet I can think of nothing more pertinent or relevant today—for true readers, writers, and thinkers of art and literature, is to be able to distinguish between the two types so they can learn the real from false. Without it, all philosophy and insight rests on very low standard, foolishness and ignorance, regardless how ‘intellectually brilliant’ a writer might be at simply writing—some thinkers without: descartes, john locke, david hume, freud, most existentialists (exceptions kierrkegard, heideggar, jaspars), proust, schopenhaur, voltaire, wittgenstein… on the other side, those with actual spiritual insight who wrote—spinoza, zoroaster, parmenides, heraclitus, plato, plotinus, tsong khapa, dante, emerson. There are also many notable writers who were touched by the spiritually gifted—rousseau, kant, goethe, plutarch, shakespeare whose works refer to it or are inspired by it, while they may not have it in a constant strain themselves. For the aspiring writer, artist, philosopher, or any person who wishes to realize the treasure that is their human and divine potential, there is nothing more important than to associate with the right type of minds only.

For example, Schopenhauer was a gifted literary writer—but to follow any of his writing on philosophy, or worse, to be exposed to spirituality or buddhism through him, —or Poe, or Marx, or Hume, i.e. people with zero insight or spiritual cultivation, is probably one of the worst things one can do for one’s own realization. Maybe even doing nothing would be better, to not be tainted. Plenty of reasonable talented literary writers fall in this category, but make very bad philosophers—Sartre, Borges, etc. One problem for these well-intended but futile personalities of the past is reference and exposure—for example, after spending decades writing religious treatises, Thomas Aquineas had an actual spiritual epiphany near his death and realized all that he hithertofore wrote “was like so much straw.” Carl Jung, on his deathbed, read translations of Zen by Charles Luk and said, basically… “damn, this is what I’ve meant to say, but it says it so much better.” In our age, gifted with libraries and data at our finger tips, we find ourselves cheated and swindled instead by those who regulate and control the information or worse, fall prey to contemporary tastes with no eye for what is actually real or even good—most people only know names, how they sound, what they perceive they represent, instead of taking time to actually know anything about it—and the truth is, most of these famous names or writers are really not worth reading at all (for example, most of ‘20s writers were utter crap… really, they had so little to offer intellectually, morally, with zero spiritual cultivation and are such a stain on mainstream culture… imagine their works being passed down, shaping our tastes, being used in classrooms… it is maddening; though one notable exception, Sherwood Andersen, who was like a writer’s writer to those other clowns, and his ‘Winesburg Ohio’ is probably one of my favorite works from that era, and in general) but that is a topic for another time.

——-bowl#002——-no joke, for the past month maybe I’ve been eating 3-4 days a week this delightful ‘Portobello Road’ bowl from Avo in nyc; i sub out the chicken so it is fully vegan—kale, brown rice, portobello mushrooms, avocado, hummus, cashew parmesan, I add sweet potatoes and chili flakes and sub out the spicy mayo for tahini sauce. It is really good. The hummus/mushroom/sweet potato mix is rich and filling, and the kale sneaks in to add some greens because kale is intolerable otherwise. If you’ve only had store-bought or costcos hummus btw, you should try authentic hummus at least once in your life—it is incredibly rich, flavorful, smooth… if chili were the main oc on some knightly adventure, hummus is his archenemy-turned-brother-in-arms in the third act to fight side by side against their common enemy, —evil airplane salad.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

354 “Crumbling Monoliths and Invisible Ink.”

Yikes, it seems from our last post I had unwittingly opened a can of tuna that overfloweth like those bottomless pools from fairytales, and now I’m forced by the unburdening of my mind to devote at least the next half dozen posts to briefly touch on what I had mentioned: correspondences. A lot can be said about this lost art. No, I don’t mean those ghosted emails that in medieval days would be like so many sad dead pigeons. I mean most legitimate schools of mystical thought believe physical reality, our very world and its objects, peoples, histories are merely flowing symbols of the works of Days. Sort of like I suppose how we imagine childhood cartoons differently (more vivid) than they were, or the same photographs look different to us at different ages of our lives—what we see always is the karma—the object itself has no intrinsic meaning. To this effect, one might consider photographs or images are all twice removed from reality—a representation of a representation, and why it is described that sages don’t dream and, should they choose, make their likeness impossible to capture by photography. As Lord Francis Bacon (crap, another rich topic—high level rulers, including Lycurgus, Solomon, Marcus Aurelius, Lincoln—note to self) describes, ‘prophecy is history,’ removed from time. I will mainly expound here ideas from American Transcendentalism, Swedenborgism, Platonic thought, and Zen (itself based on Taoist mysticism and pure buddhism)—

Our oldest myths, it is believed, are not works of fancy or fiction—they are revelation, and the meaning they convey is ‘correspondence.’ Just as the pyramids were even further from a distant past to Cleopatra as Cleopatra’s age is to ours, the old myths we know from say Homer or Hesiod were probably not invented by them, but recollected… like how Confucius cites the legendary sage-rulers from Shang and Zhou dynasties. Some of the most striking myths for me, off the top of my head: Mjolnir, the hammer of Thor, is perfect in every way except its handle is too short and can only be held by one hand; Icarus’ plight, fell because he flew too high too close to the sun and too low to sea instead of the middle way; Pegasus, the winged horse of hero Bellophron, himself the son of Sisphyus (who is cursed to push a boulder up a mountain for eternity), with horses generally connoting knowledge, and a winged horse for spiritual knowledge, overcoming the chimera; and one of my favorite, Athena, goddess of wisdom, bursting out fullclad from Zeus’s head. I’d like to share my thoughts on this last one, but perhaps for another time so patrons feel less like they are scrounging questionable pizza crust from a madman. Of course these legends, perhaps full of revelation or meaning, are often obscured by the limitations and degradations of their respective civilizations—and always take the color of such, for example the warlike gods of the once barbaric North. Why am I talking about this. Oh yeah. So in every materialistic age, as ours, a natural counterforce is the rise of superstition and black magic, which, however intended, are always a distortion and perversion, dissolution of the revelation, and has in every age been cause to that civilization’s demise (like egypt, greek, roman, assyrian, babylonian, ottoman, chinese, etc). I mention this also as disclaimer that we here at the Farm never, ever write but for sake of entertainment, we do not presume to any old verities or such by inspiration, only as paint for our doodles. It is our hope after we finish this arts and craft project do dedicate our life to deeper reading in these matters—the works of Swedenborg, buddhist sutras, etc. The highest reality can never be written, only by proxy or analogy (which is also what physics is… “deep and fortunate analogies,” —Einstein) and though most of Swedenborg’s works are couched in biblical imagery, his work on the symbolic forms of animals is highly intriguing and full of rich background for a serial series of ours on fantastic animals—

Actually, one of the most respectable writers on Swedenborg, James John Garth Wilkinson, himself wrote for example a treatise on the Human Anatomy and its Connections (as symbols) which was one of the primary inspirations for Thoreau’s own Walden. The subject of transcendentalism deserves many more posts but, to touch on it briefly—one common misconception shared by many americans today is that Thoreau’s Walden or Emerson’s Nature are about natural history or environmentalism or whatever… Noooo! This is blasphemous, and almost as bad as the poozers who think Shakespeare’s sonnets were written to a mistress or a gay lover, rather than his ‘divine-self.’ Emerson deserves many more breadcrumbs of his own. Thoreau’s Walden is, on the surface, an exposition on ‘how he lived, and what he lived for,’ spending two years alone in the woods, but its true beauty that generally flies over people’s heads is how deeply symbolic it is. Actually, one of the best pieces of writing I always read again and again is Emerson’s eulogy of his friend Thoreau—a very touching and clean literary work besides, it alludes more explicitly to some of these mystical aspects in a more approachable way. Every society and culture must meet at last only qualities suitable to their own, and it is only by the greatness of the transcendental movement that a Lincoln could exist or be appreciated. Luckily, in our age, the best book I’ve ever read on such matters, that makes living even in our dreary age rise to its quest-potential, is Bavo Lievens’ The Mind Experiment in which, specifically, chapter 2 on the Buddha’s life can also be read symbolically and sheds a lot of insight into the cultivation path in general. Yeah I will clean up these posts one day, i just have too much still to do. Procrastination out.

——beverage#003—saw a cool homemade cola recipe online recently with just four ingredients—cilantro crushed with lemon or lime, sugar heated to caramel consistency, mixed with carbonated water. I don’t usually drink soda (because of vanity for my health, more than anything) but the cilantro lime mix sounds so intriguing, and in general i appreciate all simple things.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

355 “Blogskill Unlocked.”

it seems in preparation for our grand quest we have uncovered a few more corners of this ugly starfish to give our blog definition and meaning. We thought foremost out of consideration for the reader’s time to limit our quest to a more symbolic 365 total posts—this way, we can allocate roughly 30 posts per general topic, which off the top of our head might include ‘General Stuff,’ ‘Random Stuff,’ ‘Unsavory Stuff,’ ‘Sexy Stuff,’ ‘Metaphysical Stuff,’ ‘Arts & Crafts,’ ‘Eastern Philosophy,’ ‘Western Philosophy,’ ‘Storywriting,’ ‘Why Longboarding Is Better than Skateboarding,’ ‘Literature,’ ‘Poetry,’ ‘Occult and Supernatural,’ ‘Buddhism and Meditation,’ ‘Classical Music,’ ‘Natural World + Animals as Symbols,’ ‘History and Bios,’ and leave 5 posts for that destined denoument of our legendary chili recipe—which, given how online recipes are usually organized, seems fittingly proportionate. We toyed with the idea of injecting even more method to our madness by adapting some tagging akin to how Thomas Jefferson organized his private library (later adapted by Melvil Dewey in developing the dewey decimal system used now as basis in libraries worldwide) under three broad categories—Philosophy (includes all moral, aesthetic, technical, logical, scientific discourse), Memory (all historical, nonfictive biographical, factual works…) and Imagination (all poetic mythic or fanciful works) but… it became clear mere seconds later this would undermine the very framework of our blogging—namely, as litterbox for the hairballs of our mind without trying attempting to untangle them. So this is why we are keeping to 365 posts so, a) we don’t contribute too voluntarily to the insufferable glut of the world, b) this is a good general length for a published work or cohesive whole while still straddling between manageable and niche. Now, the reader might wonder, what do we have to offer that is so unique yet universal, timely yet timeless, shameless yet necessary? How do we compare with bloggers before us—with the cleverness of Cicero, the political astuteness of Thucydides, the impartiality of Xenophon, the grandeur of Livy, the heroism of Plutarch? Simple. By drawing the entirety of our blogging under the relatable metaphor of a quest for a chili recipe. By the way, one idea we have why biblical descriptions of angels look like such terrifying giga starfish (you know, those thousand winged/eyed super saiyan monstrosities) is because they are seen through the fourth dimension aka hypercube. However this is just fanciful invention and not symbolic correspondence, we shall discuss the difference in the next post.

sandwich#003—-i kind if want to try a breakfast toast i read about recently, ‘custard yogurt toast,’ whisking egg with yogurt, spreading on toast and baking with some cinnamon, sugar, and fruit. Knowing me i will probably just eat cinnamon.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

356 “…Stuff as Dreams are Made of.”

In just the same way as legendary lumbermen might clear out a heavily wooded wilderness to allow such noble community-spirited enterprises as coffeeshops, shopping malls, iHops, saloons and barbershops that specialize in beards to flourish, I am beginning to wonder if the effects of a sage, a truly wise soul, extend far beyond their immediate intercourse and relations. i have peppered much of this blog with fantastical and cheeky elements of fancy, but, seeing beneath the humor, I propose my ideas and private experiences with the upmost sincerity. One such experience - or rather, class of experiences - have, for more than a decade since, left a profound impression on my mind and life-trajectory, on my morals and values as a human being. I once shared acquaintance with a wisest man I’ve ever met—he was more than just the friendly, perfect sagely relation, more than the sum of his advice and company. The fact is, I distinctly remember, even being in his presence—walking around, doing tasks, at leisure, etc—was something sublime, like being in some field of purified energy through which unusual, prophetic and happy circumstances happened. I think it is an experience that anyone who has truly met and exchanged with a saintly figure can attest to, but incredibly hard to pinpoint or describe. I will attempt, for sake of my own sanity and record, to draw some correlations together to paint a picture. Firstly and, as necessary component in framing this concept, one must consider the possibility of what ‘consciousness’ actually is—i do not believe, nor can it be scientifically proven (rather, many suggest the opposite) that it resides in the brain alone. In fact, according to the beliefs of the most credible thinkers and philosophers and mystics, it may be more appropriate to think consciousness does not reside in matter, but matter resides in consciousness—as John Archibald Wheeler, the astrophysicist who coined the term ‘blackhole,’ called—“IT in bit.” The idea that all matter is linked in some inextricable, unfathomable way is an idea that extends to the ends of all fields—call it ‘uncertainty/Heisenberg principle’ (Einstein/Heisenberg, physics), ‘causation,’ (David Hume, modern philosophy, aka fake philosophy—topic for another blog), ‘butterfly effect’ (chaos theory), or described in the characteristic clunky-poetic German fashion, Nietzsche—“…One should use “cause” and “effect” only as pure concepts, that is to say, as conventional fictions for the purpose of designation and communication—not for explanation.” (Beyond Good and Evil, psychology; though specifically he is challenging notions of both freewill and ‘fate.’)

…so, of course, the line of this logic must entertain that the substance of thought is no different. There are some compelling scientific studies in this regard, including the discovery of a strange sea-animal that through maturity settles on the sea-floor and turns into a sponge-plant thing by eating its own brain (suggesting brain is for motor skills only—clever, but I do not agree—probably it is more like a harddrive)—and also some biological anthropological study of apes or monkeys separated by geography suddenly arriving at the same use of some tool without intermediary contact… but I do not remember the source. But even just considering such natural wonders as a flock of birds or a school of tuna moving in concert without colliding like some magical Indian traffic-jam, all seem suggestive of some sort of hive-mind at play. I think most inventions, whether consciously or subconsciously, including works of (good) fiction in the form of ideals, seek to express such realities just beyond the veil of our understanding—and there is no better analogy than the invention of the internet itself, which is literally like some sort of space in shared consciousness. Interestingly, in a particularly convincing case of psychic power I saw online or on TV once, the psychic man describes it almost as if “…tapping into an internet” and he hears the information he seeks.

Now, truthfully, there is no doubt in my mind this phenomenon exists, and is in fact within the reach of most people, though in different degrees. I’ve witnessed it firsthand on numerous occasions —meditation adepts who clear their mind can literally hear the thoughts of others; I believe basic empathy practiced through periods of devoted compassion is an early stage of this natural human ability. There seem marked differences between natural spontaneous shared thoughts and those contrived by own’s self, though this digresses from the purpose of this post. I mention all this because in the recent years since the health decline of that wisest man I’ve ever known, I’ve found it more difficult to connect to Spirit or clarity through prayer or meditation than ever before… as if god has forsaken man. I wonder how much of what I connected to was channeled through the ‘field’ of high-level individuals to begin with. I will close out this post by raising one more curious point—about psychic readings. As someone who has probably wasted maybe close to or more than 12k usd in recent years on this field, here are my conclusions—i do not doubt there exist individuals who are sensitive to such things whether by training, some propensity carried over from a past life, or both—or that the ability to foretell the future or read thoughts are possibly interrelated, as all arts are—but to what extent? I am troubled by the inconsistency and general level of these readings, even from top psychics—at best, I genuinely do not know if they are actually seeing the future, or reading into the fantasies or thoughts of the client at a more basic level. This, coupled by the financial interest and professional pride that prevent honest dialogue or progress in virtually every field, makes me hold these services with reserve, despite my serious belief that much more than we know can be opened by the doors of these ancient practices, windows into subtle metaphysical laws or supermundane facets of existence that have disturbed and riveted every consequential mind since antiquity.

snack 001–chili pistachios. Okay, this is almost not fair. And you can buy them unshelled? In case of a biblical flood, I would build an ark, ditch the animals and take two tons.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

357 “Some Heat.”

The consensus of both Montaigne and Whitman—that is, opinions of a most rational skeptic (loved by even Shakespeare) and a most frenzied poet alike, suggest that the youth of man, when properly employed, can extend until the age of 50. (For this reason, Montaigne actually suggests men not to have children until then… anyway). I suspect life after 50, however young one may actually feel, is merely a necessary karmic transition to a new season. This is why we see some people in their 80s as sprightly as if they’re 60, or a 60-year-old as warped or bent as a centennial. What is old age, after all, but stubborn stupidity? It is remarkable to me that long ago, the wisest man I’ve ever known had already postulated that, after the millennial generation, life expectancy of humans will begin to shrink again; I did not consider it fully at that time, but I have now come across this observation in modern scientific literature. So while I still feel young and can afford to make some heated social remarks, I’ll add some real-life flavoring to this stew. At the apex of material physical comfort, we have sacrificed too much our spiritual health—we have basically lost our minds. Many of us I suspect do not even know virtue is: integrity, honesty, basic civil decency and respect—subscribing instead to such trendy platitudes and foolish fads, that now people can actually talk about ‘men having rectal births’ or forcing videogame mascots to be transgendered with a straightface. The people who espouse these things are the real lower class—not the actual poverty-stricken people of society. These are the same people who yell feminism, but ostracize and demonize men; who proclaim mental health issues, but refuse to see how their own textbook narcissism or self-indulgent phoniness is cause to emotional pain or disturbance and precedents all around them; those who chant the name of god, but lack basic goodwill or good faith and, not just unable to distinguish between criticism or insult, would rather dig deeper into their own false convictions to spread their poison to rest of society. I think one most notable and pervasive effect in these new trends is in gender relations.

In my private experience, having contracted dozens of freelance individuals, the most glaring predominant trend is that men are more likely to butt heads with my vision, at least initially, but they will see through a terms of service most honorably; women, though easier to work with at first, are most prone (though of course with exceptions) to either welch on commitments with basically zero sense of honor or responsibility, or take up the most petty or punitive stances, never logically, but always emotionally and under some false guise of reason—the type we see caught cheating, speeding or shoplifting, then play and act the emotional victim. I think a big part of it is because, having seen mothers treated unfairly and out of concern for daughters, we have generally spoiled our women of all real and honest expectations. But most women really do not reason the same way as men, and never have. It is entirely foolish to believe we are all built the same way, and not a single credible psychologist would say otherwise. It is an unpopular opinion these days, but someone should say it: why do you think every serious sage of antiquity who founded a monastic community, from Pythagoras to Jesus to Buddha, was reluctant to initiate women into the spiritual fellowship? (Buddha proclaimed it would bring ruin to Buddhism earlier by tens of thousands of years.) It is all too common for men and women alike to wish to think themselves modern or sophisticated, so they jump on the latest progressive bandwagon like dei or feminism or take upon some political stance far removed from their reasonable realm of responsibility without any due consideration to longterm implications, natural history, hidden agendas… and act basically contrary to their intention, by being superficial and unnatural. Having witnessed these trends firsthand, first at boarding school 20 years ago, and now seen how these indoctrinations and policies have undermined truth and merit, smearing the best of industry, culture and legislation—even the credibility of our science and research, it is insane! —every aspect of society has suffered, not least those it claims to protect. And should we lack the foresight to consider this now in the short-term, no doubt few will be prepared to grasp the ruin it will bring to more spheres of private life, for all parties involved, in the longrun. 

—-sandwich 003—breakfast burrito. Once upon a time, there lived a respected Egyptologist (lol) who was digging around the pyramids and the sphinx, trying to uncover how chili made these early architectural feats of wonder possible. He grew hungry and began digging into a breakfast burrito instead—you know, with eggs, beans, avocado, pickled onions, tomato relish and maybe some cheese or sausage and ham when, all of a sudden, he spilled some chili from his breakfast mug (because why not) unto his burrito… “Burrito, with chili inside?… that’s almost too good to be true.” And it was. Because the secret service got wind of it, decided that such invention would disrupt too many food industries, ruin too many restaurants, upset the balance of world’s structures of food too much (are we still using ‘food pyramids?’) that they poisoned the poor Egyptologist that very night, burned all his research, filed all burritos under the misleading inventory of sandwiches and, for good measure, discredited all Egyptologists for rest of eternity so that this secret will never surface or be taken seriously ever again. The end.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

358 “Lost Treasures.”

But like, why chili…? Thank you for asking, because it implies the existence of other great and wonderful lost treasures of the world which, in contention for our time and pursuit, justifies the irreplaceable worth of our research on chili overall. We will examine three such lost relics/treasures below that currently tickle our imaginations, and will likely suggest more in the future— 1) Tesla’s papers/research on infinite energy—I genuinely believe this exists, is fully articulated, with a solution that might be resoundingly simple (for reasons to speculate in another post) but, considering its potential to disrupt geopolitical spheres/energy grids on a global-scale, no wonder it is “lost.”

2) Shakespeare’s collaboration with Fletcher, the lost play Cardenio—Fletcher (of Beaumont and Fletcher fame) is, like Ben Jonson, a top-tier Elizabethan playwright often overshadowed by Shakespeare’s ubiquity, and I would barter my annual Netflix subscription to see their collaborative effort once. By the way, some people (including late British barrister/buddhist scholar, Humphrey Christmas) believe Shakespeare did not exist, but was a pseudonym for Francis Bacon or a group of writers, including Jonson and Marlowe, etc… and yet, there is a very funny tidbit about Shakespeare, that the playwright in real life dressed quite bizarre/provocatively for his time… and an inscription (unless it is an inside joke) by Ben Jonson on Shakespeare’s first Folio, next to his portrait, basically writes “don’t judge this dandy by his appearance, but by the substance of his work.” Lol.

3) The last treasure I hope will be rediscovered is the lost Lives of Plutarch—okay, there are many, so this is kinda like wishing for more wishes… But I have reason to believe at least a few are not actually lost, like Tesla’s papers. Think about it—some of the lost Lives are among the most illustrious/celebrated of history—Heracles, Epaminondas, Scipio, Meander, Hesiod, Pindar, Leonidas, Augustus, Claudius, even friggin’ Nero…? it just doesn’t make sense, when we miss these but still have the lives of Otho and Galba (who? Exactly.) I have an awesome farfetched whimsical conspiracy theory for this—that maybe some Lives, especially Hercules and Hesiod and Epaminondas… maybe even Orpheus at some point?… were stolen and kept from the public because of occult or alchemical secrets they may otherwise divulge; the story of Hercules (like the timeless Journey to the West) was deeply symbolic of the meditative/cultivation process… and Orpheus is known for journeying into the underworld and escaping… so. Someone call Robert Temple to the job.

If it seems like we are making circles with dead pizza-crust, please remember you can always take a break by visiting our Farm, where secret treasures await behind unimposing rustic pastoral charm… (some working imageries): a cool lake nestled in mountain cliffs and evergreens and, hidden just below its silent surface, tall columns and lost monuments of temples and sculptures, remnants of a forgotten city; a stately courtyard full of fruit trees surrounded by a thorn-hedge, hiding a basement laboratory for occult gastronomy and alchemy; a cozy campfire in a dark forest, out of which beats more pungent than brimstone and more dank than swamp-planet X2693 sometimes escape; a magnificent library with tall windows and winding staircases, with secret titles that, when pulled in order, open a secret door to a balcony overlooking the world.

—sandwich#002—Florentine-style sandwiches are world-famous and were among my fondest memories during my study abroad before I was asked to leave for making shady deals with Moroccans. I recently happily located a branch location near where I live in NYC, All'Antico Vinaio. Some iconic builds that I’ve rediscovered include a) lardo, gorgonzola, truffle honey, b) salami, pecorino, truffle honey, c) mortadella, stracciatella, pistachio cream and pistachios, d) salami, pecorino cream, artichoke cream, spicy eggplant… and of course prosciutto combos, which most people already know, like mozzarella/basil/tomato (caprese).

[perfect-homemade-chili]

359 “Golden Mouth.”

Back to chili. You may recall from our imperishable breadcrumb (#361) the notion that true virtue imbues one with supernatural grace and power, and why modern societies stifle us all of our inner worth and true potential. “An honest man is the noblest work of God,” proclaimed poet Alexander Pope. It is no small coincidence why, of the ten Buddhist proscriptions, three of them deal with right speech. It is a subject we take most seriously, having witnessed firsthand the transformative powers of absolute virtue and sincerity… is why the Indian sages of yore would rather die by the sword than lie to Alexander the Great—why mystics East and West (including one of Socrate’s more obscure/radical students, Cratylus, who communicated by gestures only) undertook lifelong vows of silence; Paramahansa Yogananda, in his Autobiography of a Yogi, refers to one metaphysical aspect: that those who persist in speaking truth only can bring all they say into reality. One folkloric example, the ‘golden tongue,’ that comes to mind is the beggar-emperor Zhu Yuan Zhang, founder of Ming dynasty in China who, it is said, as a youth, suffered terrible-smelling oozy sores/ulcers on his head—yet, was endowed with a ‘golden mouth’ that could bring his utterances to reality, including such fantastic notions as statues and broomsticks to life. This demonstrates that oftentimes the first example to come to mind isn’t the best, as he was also known for injecting the faces of his thirty-seven concubines with mercury to preserve their beauty in preparation for his death, then bringing them with him to the grave. Also, like, why didn’t he just utter his pimples away…? Anyway. Even if the proclamations of saints, sages, wisemen, mystics of antiquity seem far fetched today, some super-vague personal anecdotes might just sway you over. I first began a path of spiritual purification over a dozen years ago. One of the first things I did was keep a character-journal—like Benjamin Franklin—and record daily any and every incident of dishonesty or fibbing, the point being to eliminate lies—white, small, accidental, whatever, everything altogether. Even today I can count on one hand I think the number of times I’d actually neglected to read through a Terms and Conditions when it was “required”—(once was for using Uber; I needed to call my parents a ride on short notice). My conduct was far from perfect, but I really, really gave it my all—which, combined with other things (meditation, celibacy, etc), radically changed my life-experience in ways that can only be described as sublime. Many cultures even if they no longer openly admit it believe in physiognomy, that one’s actions and deeds physically alter one’s appearance, for good or ill—I’ve been told I was unrecognizable, but the blessings were even more unusual and intangible than mere appearance. It is pointless to say that we should all strive to be honest, natural, and considerate in our all dealings, everyone knows this, but… I think if people really knew even just an inkling of what secret untold power each of us can connect to, and pursue it in earnest, not only would the world change overnight, but we can also each vastly improve our life-experiences also.

—sandwich#001—I can’t think of a single sandwich that would not go great with chili. In fact, if you’re lazy like me, even a slice of bread will do just fine. One type of bread I’m absolutely crazy for these days is ‘sprouted’ bread. I first tried it simple, lightly toasted topped with avocado, onion, tomato—it tasted so rich and sweet and magnificent. To describe, the bread tastes so fresh, like it is “alive” …which is both a wonderful and disturbing thing to say about bread.

Now many years later, with a mouth inured by mouthwash and a tongue that has srirachaed too much… I find solace in Daves Killer Bread, though I’m pretty sure every insider at Dave’s eating fresh loaves must think mighty fools of us grocery-shelf chomps. Sidenote, I sort of suspect Dave is a mob-boss hiring ex-criminals running a bread ring. There is more that could said so if anything should happen to me the reader has been obliged to bear witness.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

360 “Shaw Gives Einstein a Crouton.”

It is really a shame that the following toast—ha! pun intended—is so difficult to find online except in video format, and even then I’m not sure if either version is complete—and actual printed copies are a rare collector’s item selling for over $2000. So I’m including this bit of pigeon-trap I found in Safire’s Lend Me Your Ears—

George Bernard Shaw Salutes His Friend Albert Einstein:

‘Napoleon and other great men were makers of empires, but these eight men whom I am about to mention were makers or universes, and their hands were not stained with the blood of their fellow men. I go back twenty-five hundred years, and how many can I count in that period? I can count them on the fingers of my two hands.

Pythagoras, Ptolemy, Kepler, Copernicus, Aristotle, Galileo, Newton, and Einstein—and I still have two fingers left vacant.

Even among those eight men I must make a distinction. I have called them makers if the universe, but some of them were only repairers. Newton made a universe which lasted for three hundred years. Einstein has made a universe, which I suppose you want me to say will never stop, but I don’t know how long it will last.

These great men, they have been the makers of one side of humanity, which has two sides. We call the one side religion, and we call the other science. Religion is always right. Religion protects us against that great problem which we all must face. Science is always wrong; it is the very artifice of men. Science can never solve one problem without raising ten more problems.

What have all of those great men been doing? Each in turn claimed the other was wrong, and now you are expecting me to say that Einstein proved that Newton was wrong. But you forget that when science reached Newton, science came up against that extraordinary Englishman. That had never happened to it before.

Newton lent a power so extraordinary that if I was speaking fifteen years ago, as I am old enough to have done, I would have said that he had the greatest mind that ever man was endowed with. Combine the light of that wonderful mind with credulity, with superstition. He knew his people; he knew his language; he knew his own folk; he knew a lot of things; he knew that an honest bargain was a square deal and an honest man was one who gave a square deal.

He knew his universe; he knew that it consisted of heavenly bodies that were in motion, and he also knew that the one thing you cannot do to anything whatsoever is to make it move in a straight line. In other words, motion will not go in a straight line.

Mere fact will never stop an Englishman. Newton invented a straight line, and that was the law of gravitation, and when he had invented this, he had created a universe which was wonderful in itself. When applying his wonderful genius, when he had completed a book of that universe, what sort of book was it? It was a book which told you the station of all the heavenly bodies. It showed the rate at which they were traveling; it showed the exact hour at which they would arrive at such and such a point to make a eclipse. It was not a magical marvelous thing; it was a matter-of-fact thing.

For three hundred years we believed in that Newtonian universe as I suppose no system has been believed in before. I know I was educated in it and was brought up to believe in it firmly. Then a young professor came along. He said a lot of things, and we called him a blasphemer. He claimed Newton’s theory of the apple was wrong.

He said, “Newton did not know what happened to the apple, and I can prove this when the next eclipse comes.”

We said, “The next thing you will be doing is questioning the law of gravitation.”

The young professor said, “No, I mean no harm to the law of gravitation, but for my part, I can go without it.”

“What do you mean, go without it?”

He said, “I can tell you about that afterward.”

The world is not a rectilinear world: it is a curvilinear world. The heavenly bodies go in curves because that is the natural way for them to go, and so the whole Newtonian universe crumpled up and was succeeded by the Einstein universe. Here in England, he is a wonderful man.

This man is not challenging the fact of science; he is challenging the action of science. Not only is he challenging the action of science, but the action of science has surrendered to his challenge.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for the toast? I drink to the greatest of our contemporaries, Einstein.’

—tech#001–It seems inevitable that any dream of chili must conspire at some point with that artifact known as the instant-pot, aka the swiss army knife of the lean kitchen. One-pot cooking is not just a culinary breakthrough, it is a way of life. There is literally nothing more efficient or versatile, or worthy of the title ‘chili container.’ It reduces traditional cooking times by 70%. It makes soup. It makes bread. It sautés. It turns monks into astronaut-djs. And when fans asked the Korean inventor (who I think is named Dr Light, that guy who invented Megaman) listened, and now… it makes yogurt too. You know that red robot-dog sidekick (“Rush”) that follows Mega everywhere and turns into a trampoline/jetboard/underwater scooter? An instant-pot is what Megaman transforms into in real life.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

361 “Leavening the Pot.”

…for every 10, 100, 1000 honest capable statesmen, we are lucky to find a single sage… I mean lumberjack. Historically, they’ve always operated behind the scenes, a godsend to every prince and every abled king—as a Socrates to Alcibiades, an Anaxagoras to Pericles, an Aristotle to Alexander, a Merlin to King Arthur. Kings are, ultimately, still made of blood and bone—but someone truly virtuous, to the point of exerting supernatural force (the long forgotten reason why sainthood in the Christian tradition once required proof of miraculous ability), is crystallized spirit. But it is neither the place, nor within the scope of this food-blog to entertain such fanciful notions as the mysticism behind statecraft and realpolitik. (Though, we highly recommend the former Czechoslovakian president Vaclav Havel’s 1990 New Years Address, as a particularly moving and heartfelt speech to churn blood to chili.) Actually, according to the wisdom of ancient philosophy, (in particular Daoism and Confucianism) people should strive for office and honor only when society is not fundamentally corrupt—in turbulent unruly confused ages, it is better to retreat and cultivate individually, lest one gets swept up in the shitstorm and deform their best nature. I don’t want to be a pessimist (really, I don’t), so while there is a lot that can be said about the state of things, I think it is fair to just point out that when commerce has overtaken the legislative sphere to the extent that corporations make liars of us all—for example, how many people actually read every terms and conditions that ask to be read before they sign?—it is time we question whether the law in place is really sufficient to defend the best interests of its people, or even to uphold basic decency or conscience. What do John Adams (founding father of US), Adam Smith (founder of capitalism), and Confucius have in common? Answer: they each specifically believed and stated that the law and their contributing frameworks (constitution, capitalism) only function properly, and were meant and designed for a ‘faithful and virtuous’ people, and none other. Confucius elaborates further that ‘to attempt to govern people by law entices them to swerve or bend it to their own crookedness; rather, reform them by ritual…’ —as the extremely witty Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw once joked in a toast to Einstein, “(Newton) …knew the one thing you cannot do to anything whatsoever is make it move in a straight line.” (For some reason this toast is hard to find in print, which is a huge shame. I will for the sake of chili transcribe it in the next post.)

—dessert#001—spaceage brownies. Every chili needs an rival, so we’ve decided chocolate is its archenemy. The history of chocolate proves itself worthy to this title, rich in lore, fascinating in trivia, and most importantly, for the sake of contrast to chili, there is no shortage of spaceage innovation when it comes to this delectable treat. Our recent favorite is the ‘mochi brownie’—it is like egg custard turned into a brownie, it is unbelievable. You can find it in Crumbs nyc. They have perfected the art of the brownie into venerable rocket-science—their reinvented squares, btw, have literally the perfect thickness to size, crunch to moist-fudge ratios… they are a blast. More chocolate? Yes please. From Fresh and Co, a cacao pudding with—get this—chia seeds!—a most unusual but perfect contrast of texture, the rich chocolate and tapioca-like beads. Maybe I should write a blog about chocolate. If I ever give up being an artist I’d like to be a paranoid king like Mithridates, except I’d inculcate myself daily with chocolates instead of poison.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

362 “Nobility of Character.”

Our last entry raises the obvious dilemma… but, oh esteemed narrator, wherefore be lumberjack blood so noble to invigorateth the spirit like chili? And I should say: how would I know? There are few if any lumberjacks alive today. Now there are many who pose as lumbermen but, as the great modern philosopher Spongebob once prescribed: “It is not the beard outside, but the beard inside, that counts.” Luckily, being the esteemed historian that I am, I can say with confidence the answer to such heavy ponderances have long been answered by the greatest moral reformers of all time: Confucius and Plato, founding fathers of civilization of the East and West, respectively. True aristocracy, as they both agree, is neither hereditary nor French: it is nobility of character—

I’d like to inject a bit of whimsical folklore to add some flavor: the Argentinian fabulist Borges once wrote the following in his Book of Imaginary Beings—“…The Lamed Wufniks. There are on earth, and always were, thirty-six righteous men whose mission is to justify the world before God. They are the Lamed Wufniks. They do not know each-other and are very poor. If a man comes to the knowledge that he is a Lamed Wufnik, he immediately dies and someone else, perhaps in another part of the world, takes his place. Lamed Wufniks are, without knowing it, the secret pillars of the universe. Were it not for them, God would annihilate the whole of mankind. Unawares, they are our saviors…”

It need not be said he was refering to Lumberjacks, as often is the case that historical names give evidence to some long forgotten fact, and what could ‘Lamed Wufnik’ mean other than those who ‘nicked the wolves?’ Okay jk, it is Jewish—still. In food-blog terms, if I am turtle-soup, then I postulate the existence of legendary men who are chili-paste made of broiled phoenix and fried Cerberus. No—maybe ghost peppers and turmeric, because a saint made of flesh is an oxymoron. Point is, they are not men—they are moral colossuses (colossi?) who by virtue of their purity and integrity, uphold the pillar-beams of the sun and guard the shadowy gates of Hades. It is easy to find examples of great personalities. All great nations and structures, after all, were once founded on the shared dreams of just a few good men—the founding fathers of the US, the architects of the information age, the Roman proconsul, early Hebrew prophets, the development team of Chrono Trigger. Individual personalities are mere specks in the dessert of time (I know what I said). Are we not all enchanted by the elegant austerity of a Marcus Aurelius, the spiritual beauty of a Baldwin IV (the leper king), the humble nobility of a Lincoln, the farsighted pragmatism of a Lee Kuan Yew? Yet every statesmen (…okay, benevolent dictator, in some instances) of the highest caliber could only exist within a framework that allowed for their expression—in Buddhist terms—it is impossible to recognize greatness unless we have greatness in ourselves, and every society finds at last expression and organization only that which is fitting to its own karma. None of these leaders could be exemplary without the underpinnings of silent hands to whom these leaders themselves worshipped—lumberjacks.

—drink#002—virgin singapore sling. Speaking of Lee Kuan Yew, I remembering having a refreshing non-alcoholic Singapore Sling a few times on an asian airline, maybe Cathay…? that I particularly enjoyed. I think the recipe included sparkling water, rosewater, lime, grenadine?—probably not. Ginger beer? I’ve never really cared for the taste of liquor but lately I’ve found some fantastic zero-proof bottles (Ritual Zero Proof) that, when mixed with ginger ale or a light soda, really bring out the exquisite profile of some of these drinks—smoke, cinnamon, oak, caramel, pepper of whiskey, for example.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

363 “…Unexpected, Therefore Closer.”

All groundbreaking research like tasty recipes were once challenged by those in want of foresight and taste, and our quest upon such lofty aims must invariably greet doubt and scrutiny. So we ask this: what do pacemakers, post-it notes, penicillin, pouched tea, play-dough and piranhas all have in common? Besides foremost the red-herring that they all begin with ‘P,’ they were also all discovered by accident. Such fact is irrefutable evidence that sometimes the most direct way to a solution is paradoxically the most obtuse. Which is to say, we will not shy away from methodology that may revolt traditional chili-enthusiasts. To prove our point, we will begin by tracing the fascinating origin-myth of this dish—

It all begin at the dawn of civilization. Lumberjacks, pitted against werewolves. As deities preside, as they often do, over events of great effect, so too did the old gods take sides in this epic struggle of astronomical proportion—Apollo fifing on with his bagpipes, Athena dragging her iron-knuckles, the lamed Hephaestus leading the brigade. Armed with axes and beards on one side, canines and cunning on the other, neither would prevail until finally, Aphrodite, finding wolf-pups ‘oh so cute~’, pledged her chastity to the wolfmen in support. To everyone’s surprise, her divine protection undermined instead the wolfmen’s will, and they somehow lost. Thus defeated, the wolves were shaved and effeminated by the lumbermen and driven across the pond, where they now to this day call themselves ‘Frenchmen.’ The lumberjacks, legends say, celebrated by bathing in whiskey then performing a naked dance (the inspiration behind Satie’s gymnopedes) and, at last, feeling sorry for missing the party, Zeus and Ares imbued the celebratory feast with thunder and fire respectively—and chili, of course, was born. This is the undisputed first known record of this dish, and though the exact rendering was unfortunately lost in the great conflagration of the Library of Alexandria, the roundabout lesson here is clear—

Sometimes the fastest way to solve a gordian knot is not by untying it, but cutting through it. Chili runs invariably, ubiquitously, in the veins of all true lumbermen as blood flows in ordinary mortals. So perhaps, we believe, one method to uncovering its secrets—nay, the most vital method—is… to recreate the chemical and constituent parts of lumberjack blood.

—drink#001—matcha tea with milk. It’s one thing to appreciate tea, quite another to be a tea-snob. To proclaim one can differentiate the difference between good tea and bad doesn’t demonstrate class or taste—only how spoiled and removed one is from common experience. Nobody cares, really, that your tea is worth more than gold in weight, and I hope I never turn into one of those people who criticize the tea prepared for them. Matcha might mix like children’s ovaltine but I don’t care. With some coconut or oatmilk, it is my preferred choice for a cozy break… next to goldenmilk lattes and cocoa/mushroom hybrid hot chocolates. Mmmm.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

364 “Campsite Protocols”

It is only natural that the reader, you, should question the format, style, perimeters and, indeed, general purpose of this exciting enterprise. We shall therefore establish guidelines in the form of a brief orientation before setting-up camp—listen up!

See that ticker/countdown next to the title of each post? That, dear friend, refers to the # of raffle-tickets we have remaining as we shoot bravely, blindly at the wall of prizes inside this metaphorical Carnival of Fate in search of perfect homemade chili—breadcrumbs. Yes, that’s right. We are sacrificing the last of our measly ration in spite of our growling stomaches to leave behind a legacy for all posterity a trail of our discoveries, insights, and wisdom… all in good faith to escape the tent of wacky mirrors and uncover the sought-after chili recipe before we run out of crumbs. For there is nothing sadder than a dry sailor’s biscuit or soldier’s crust without dip.

The food-related items/tidbits described at the bottom of each post are like sidequests within a sidequest, a journal into our gastronomic life, aka, what we fantasize would pair well with chili—which, if you haven’t already figured out, is everything. We feel this is the least concession we can make to justify this food-blog which isn’t really a food-blog, for an anticipated chili recipe that will probably not be forthcoming.

—stew#001—African Tomato-Peanut Stew. Probably the only tasty thing African cuisine has to offer. No I’m not being mean, because I will equally say the only contribution the US has made to food is racist white southern cooking, the secret ingredients of which are heart attack with a side of diabetes. But wow, tomato and peanut butter soup… it is exactly as it sounds: one of those pairings that don’t make sense until you think about it.

[perfect-homemade-chili]

365 “Follow the Crumbs.”

Greetings, brave adventurer. Thank you for joining us on our journey into the lost continent behind our backyard. If you are here, then you already know we have undertaken this quest into the heart of the unknown in search of that legendary ‘nectar of the gods,’ aka ambrosia—yes, that’s right: perfect homemade chili.

One mark of civilization is man’s attempt to reverse-engineer this dish across cultures and the seas of time. Though, we dare say, few have managed to capture its quintessential mystical essence and protean charm: namely, a dish so versatile, it can serve as comfort food, hearty stew, lipsmacking sauce/dip, and… dare we imagine? Dessert. Now, many ancient societies have alluded to it: Aztec molé sauce, Hindu curry, even Biblical mana are timeless proof of its ubiquity on the minds of all the most capable connoisseurs of fine foods—yet, few have offered to peer undaunted into its Typhon face in one bold stroke of a tidy food/journal/shameless self-promoting adventure-blog… until now.

Our adventure—wild beasts and untamed poultry, rare spices and ancient legumes, aboriginal secrets and shining discoveries besides, must take into account tens of thousands of years of anthropological study, ethnographical study, historical study, creative interpretation and license, subtleties in the art of craft or flair and the fine nuances of ingredients—select ingredients—fresh ingredients—alternative ingredients… not to mention, philosophic debate on what chili actually is, by what it is not—refreshing “chill” beverages. See what we did there? Poetic contrast. So, in the true spirit of any authentic online recipe or food-blog, rest assured the actual preparation/instructions will not be forthcoming without a terribly long and exciting story. We are glad for you to join the ride.

—bowl#001—cilantro lime chicken-bowl, courtesy of JustSalad. "regenerative brown rice + kale, corn, feta, braised chicken thigh, spicy harissa pita, pickled onions, black lentils, avocado." Modification: with tzatziki sauce (yogurt cucumber) instead of cilantro lime vinaigrette.