Bud

 Way back in the twentieth century, 1990s, I had a satellite shop in Elkhart Indiana. I had rented a small house and commuted back and forth from LAX to Saint Luis and then from STL to South Bend on a puddle jumper. I was married at that time to a TWA flight service manager and flew for free on TWA  with my employee family card. The card was just like a credit card. It was green and made of plastic and was the same size as a garden verity credit card but had no bank affiliation.

Every two to three weeks I’d take the red eye to STL. From STL I’d fly on TWE, TWA express,  to SBN, South Bend. Normally I’d stay in Indiana for a week to ten days and fly back to LAX. From STL I’d fly standby on a TWA Boeing 767. More often than not my friend Bud was the pilot. The 767, or 67, in pilot talk is wide body jet that carries 269 passengers verses a 47 which carried 366 folks. Both airplanes are wide bodied planes with 7 across seating. The airlines really loved the 67s because they only had two engines verses the 47s four engines. Do the math. TWA eventually went out of business but at that time they were still in the fight. One of the tricks that thy used was they took delivery of a bunch of  13 airplanes that Boeing  had leased to Aeroflot, the Russion airline. The Ruskies had defaulted on the planes and Boeing had to repossess them. By the time Boeing got them back the planes were in pretty sad shape. They had minimal maintenance and a lot of the on board electronics were made in the Soviet block.  My wife used to tell me about the troubles that she and the other flight attendants had to cope with. Worst of all were the Bulgarian built VCRs that showed the onboard movies. The pagers for service seldom worked and the interior lights were prone to regular failure.

One day I was flying back to LA on a flight from Saint Luis in a window seat. The lady sitting next to couldn’t get her reading light to work so I pivoted mine over to her to use and settled down for a mid afternoon nap. I asked her  if she had complained to the captain and she said that she hadn’t.  Just as I was nodding off, I heard Bud’s voice. I opened my eyes and there was Bud standing in the aisle in his TWA captains uniform complete with all of that gold trim. He said he had paged me on the intercom to see if I made it aboard his flight and I hadn’t responded. The downside of flying non-rev was after the paying travelers were all seated the non-revs got what was left. Flying from TWA’s hub in STL to LAX always flew fully seated. Fortunately for me my wife Nancy had a high seniority  number.  I told him the intercom was nonworking and this poor lady sitting next to me couldn’t get her reading light to work. I suggested he should write these things up on his Aircraft squawk sheet. He suggested that we grab a bite to eat when we got back to Long Beach.

When he headed back to the flight deck, the lady next to me said “You weren’t kidding about complaining to the captain were you”.

I really hate cilantro.

 Thirteen years ago I went on a typical rant about how much I hate cilantro. Well it’s thirteen years later and, guess what, I still hate the vile stuff. Only now I know why. It is part of my makeup. It’s in my  DNA. Ed, my older son, gave me a DNA test kit for my birthday and one of the traits that they asked my about is “Do you hate cilantro?” It turns out that there are loads of us who hate the crap and it’s because of some quirk of our genes. None other than Julia Child hated the stuff also. Who new? Ina Garten doesn’t like it either. I seem to be in some pretty company. I not only on my plate or even worse in my mouth. I don’t want to be in the same time zone with it.

Isn't this modern world wonderful?  If my salty language offends someone , my wife will say "He's been this way ever since he's had those two strokes. 

If I say something that is politically or socially incorrect, she'll say "He really has no filters anymore".  Does anyone really think that I ever was politically or socially correct? To paraphrase my second wife  "He may be an asshole but knows what fork to use." Now that I have cleared up this very important issue of the age. You can resume living you’re life again.

 

 

Buon Gusto

 

We had dinner tonight at Buon Gusto restaurant in Huntington Beach this evening. We have been going there for the last six months, or so, and we’ve come to really like the place. The owner, like every good Italian restaurateur, is usually roaming around the dining area and schmoozing with the customers. I asked him the other evening if he knew about another Buon Gusto that used to be in Belmont Shore. He said he used to own it. I told him that I thought Tina and Vito owned it. He told me that he had bought it from them.

I had known Tina and Vito for over forty five years. Our office was across Second Street and I was in BG three or four times a week to get a sandwich or if I was working late some spaghetti. I went in one evening and Tina said she would make mean Italian flag dinner. I had no idea what an Italian flag was but I’ll try anything and I knew Tina so I was sure that she wasn’t going to poison me. The IF turned out to be a plate of pasta with red sauce and white fettuccine sauce and green pesto sauce side by side. Just like the flag of Italy. I loved it and it is now one of my signature dishes that I make when I want to impress someone special.

About ten years later they moved their restaurant to Pacific Ave. in down town Long Beach when everyone expected downtown Long Beach to be the next boom tow. I didn’t get downtown much then and I still don’t but when I was I’d go get a bite at Buon Gusto. I went in one day and there was a new server on duty. I told the gal I wanted an Italian Flag and she said “What is that?’ I told he to go back to the kitchen and tell Tina that some guy wants an Italian Flag, she’ll know. A few minutes later Tina came out front and said “Don how are you?” I felt like I was part of the In Croud.

Back to the Buon Gusto in Huntington beach. There is a vast menu with many good choices. The portions are large and the prices are very fair.

You know what Arnie said “I’ll be back”.

Karma is a bitch

 About 1993 we got a contract to build what was then the world's largest thermoformer to make pickup-truck bed liners. This beast was 43 feet wide and 10 feet wide.  The sale price was $450,000 and it was double-ended with robotic loading and unloading. The machine was going to be shipped to Elkhart Indiana and the buyer sent us 33% to start construction and we began building. When the progress payment the second 33% was due the buyer came out with the check and wanted see the progress. He showed up with his "machine building expert to assist" us on the construction. It quickly became apparent that this guy didn't have the ability to put together an Ikea bookcase. He was as they say in Texas all hat and no cattle. We were nice to the blowheart and after three days they headed back to Indiana. Much to our relief. 

Six or seven years later, I opened up a second shop in Elkhart. I was then married to a TWA flight attendant so I could fly for free and had rented a house in Elkhart and bought a diesel Chevy Suburban that could go through the snow like a Sherman tank. I was working on a Saturday and needed to buy a few bolts so I drove over to the local Home Depot. When I was checking out I paid by a check from the local bank in Elkhart. The checkout guy wanted to see "some ID" so I got out my driver's license which was from California. He, the clerk, wrote down my address and then commented that he had actually been in Long Beach years ago to buy a vacuum former. I had on a baseball cap and sunglasses. I took off the sunglasses and tilted the brim of my cap and we both recognized each other. He asked if I was still building machines and I said that I was. "Here in Elkhart" he asked? I told him that I had a second shop here in Elkhart because there was a concentration of about 300 machines within 100 miles due to the large concentration of RV and travel trailer builders in the area.

He sheepishly asked if I was hiring. Sheepishly because he apparently knew what an asshole he was when he was at my shop. I was tempted to tell him to go screw himself but quickly remembered to be kindly and told him not right now but to give me his phone number. Of course I tossed his number in the trash when I got back to the shop. 

There but for the grace of God go I. There was nothing to get by belittling him. Besides I thought Karma already beat me to the punch.

Airline chow

I don't know if I am repeating myself but I woke up this morning thinking of Trader Vic's Malay peanut chicken. Never heard of it too bad. I have had many really good dishes in my long existence. A lot of Italian, some Japanese and German and a few French meals but TV's Malay Peanut Chicken is in my top five. 

Like the old lady on Golden Girls used to say, picture this. In 1975 I'm flying at 30,000 feet in a United 747 to Japan. I flew a lot back in the seventies but rarely flew on United Airlines. I favored Continental and TWA back then but a United flight was my only option. I could smell the aromas wafting from the galley. The flight attendant, actually they were called stewardesses way back in the stone age, and asked me if I would like the beef tips on noodles, yum yum or the whatever the hell the standard airline fare was back then or the Malay Peanut Chicken. 

Malay Peanut Chicken did she say? I had no idea what Malay Peanut Chicken was but I did know that United Airlines probably wouldn't try to poison paying customers, so I opted for the Malay Chicken. I devoured the peanut chicken like a man who hadn't had anything to eat in the last month. I really liked it. Actually I loved it. 

After the meal service, I strolled aft to the galley put on my best smile and turned my charm control dial up to 10 and asked sweetly "Who in your organization do I write to get the recipe for that wonderful chicken?" The attendant smiled sweetly back at me and extended her arm over my shoulder and said "You really liked it?" Before I could assess just what in the hell had happened she handed my this orange  8 1/2 X 11 card with the recipe printed on it and said "Just little old me." It was the culinary coup of my life. When I got back to my boat, I tried the recipe as it was printed out. The next time I tried making it again which was the next day, I fine tuned it a skosh. Now whenever I want to impress someone with my culinary prowess, I make my piece de resistance. I call it the peanut butter chicken. When I ask Ed my first born son, what do you want me to make for dinner. He shoots back, without any hesitation, the peanut butter chicken. 

As Ed is so fond of saying, "The apple never falls too far from the tree." 

 

I love my car.

 

When I was 17 years old I swore that someday I would own a Corvette. Ten years ago I was going to buy a newer car for myself to augment my pickup truck. I almost bought a Corvette but I knew that Sadie my spoiled Golden Retriever wouldn't take to a two seat car. She made numerous cross-country trips in  the pickup and she liked to snooze in the back seat of the truck. Instead I bought a 2001 BMW E-46 325ci silver convertible because it had a back seat.  Sadie loved the car, my girlfriend loved the car and I adored the car. I had the car for about five years and it had 135,000 miles on it when I bought it. Maintenance cost was  somewhat high but it's the price one pays for anything of beauty that you really love. After putting another 30,000 thousand miles on my beauty, the transmission went south. A replacement or repaired transmission would have cost more than I paid for the car so I got a one year newer 2001 silver silver BMW 325ci ragtop. The new car was nearly identical in looks and driving pleasure but didn't have the leather heated seats, big deal, I live in SoCal. It didn't have the high end audio system either but it was still pretty nice. They don't put crap at the factory in Germany. About five years later my former girlfriend, now my wife, came home and said some idiot in a rental van hit the car. She said, like the Black Knight in Monty Python, that it was only a scratch. My heart sunk, I was going to kill this moron. She said "See it?" I said "no I don't". It was truly, only a scratch. Being the car was twenty years old, the insurance company elected to "Total" the car and give me fair market value and they did just that and took away my little Teutonic beauty. Off we went to find a replacement and  guess what I got. A 2001 silver BMW 325ci convertible. This one has the heated leather seats and the premium sound system and no one that I know that this is the third car. They look so much alike. Do I love the BMWs? If you were to bet, play the favorite.

It's a jungle out there.

 In 1968 after eight years in the Navy I was discharged at the Naval Station in Seal Beach. The "Career Counselors" on the ship kept after me to stay in. They said that there was a "recession" going on and I wouldn't find a decent job on the outside. After leaving the ship, I went to a phone booth to call my wife to come pick my civilian ass up. When I picked up the handset I heard a clunk and over a dollar in change dropped into the coin slot. It was an omen. I knew right then that everything was going to be just fine and it was.