When a young man's thoughts...

My mother is mad for portraits. She has always wanted one of me, one time (just one, gentle reader, just one) I actually visited a portrait studio, to look into the state of affairs that is portrait photography.
Long story short: my mother did not get a portrait.
However, I'll always remember something the photographer told me. He said, "Son, back in the day, men would have a portrait taken anytime they felt good about themselves. Buy a new hat, get a portrait. Haircut? Portrait". Something to that effect, in any case. To sum up: Feel good? Portrait.
I'll go out on a limb here, and suggest that maybe digital photography has changed this axiom somewhat. It's spring, here. I read somewhere that Canadians own more summer clothes than winter clothes, despite winter being the harsher, longer season. Something about denial, if I remember correctly. Could be, gentle reader. Could be. It's spring here though, and I don't care about the particulars.
And spring makes me feel good. So, armed with a digital camera, I took some self-portraits. I sure as sugar didn't do much of that during the winter.

Sunny day. Not Friday, though

 More pics inside.

WIAT - Casse Croute Edition

My uncle's long awaited casse croute (a frites-stand, in local English; a snack bar in standard English, according to Google) opened in the land of my ancestors (where, you may have guessed, some people, but not all, speak French, after a fashion). It's actually a cantine, which I would also translate as snack bar, although I've heard the English in those parts call it a canteen, which barring the military origin, makes some sense.

In any case, it did not take me long to try out his frites (french fries, for the terminally French impaired) and one of his hamburgers (No translation here, if you can't figure that one out, you are on your own).

More photo, and details (both juicy!), after the jump.

What do I have in my Pocket? Part II.

There are a lot of things I like in this life, and pocket squares are some of those things. Hand made goods are as well. Repurposed items also. Imagine my delight, Gentle Reader, when I was presented with four brand new pocket squares, hand made, from repurposed material, as a gift. Brilliant. Thank you, A. Wonderful.

Details and photos to follow...

Indeed...

"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats."

-H. L. Mencken

Killing and Grilling - A special edition of WIAT

Warning: Graphic photos ahead...

Ah, Summer. It's hot here on the island, no doubt about it. Not long ago, A. suggested we do something nice. I figured, "It's summer, lets grill something." It just so happens that I know she likes grilled corn, and an increasing awareness of lobster led me to choose it as an accompaniment to said corn.

Ful disclosure: I am not the world's biggest fan of lobster. 

My family, on the other hand, loves it, and at least once a year, sometimes more, my uncle will arrive with a cooler full of 2-3 pound monsters.  When I was a young boy, this feast would most often take place at my Grandparent's house in Gaspe, with newspaper spread on the table, and carpenter's hammers to break the shells, and the lobsters straight from the wharf. Lobster juice everywhere. Good times.

Lobster has been on the radar. On a recent trip to Metis, my fatherland, A. and I shared a lobster roll. It was good, and, it was my first. I've had shrimp rolls, but never lobster. I hear there are some good ones here in the Old Port, but I haven't found them yet.

Anyway. Lobster on the brain, and I decide to grill one up, something I have never done before.

Serious Eats did a piece on lobster rolls the other day, which included a philosophical foray into the morality of killing lobsters.

I was comforted/encouraged by this, and I knew that A. has some experience killing lobsters in a professional kitchen. At worst, I figured she could walk me through it/take over if I panicked. Emboldened, I purchased two very nice specimens. And I killed them. With a knife. Fun times.

I later described the experience to my mother (who hung up on me when I had told her my plans the day before; my uncle buys his lobster pre-cooked, clearly) as grim.

Tasty, but grim. I'll likely get over it. I'm with the Serious Eats fellow on this one.

More pics (all taken by A., who has some talent at these things) inside the Hall...