Showing posts with label Emmylou Harris. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Emmylou Harris. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 29, 2025

Cowboy Candy

 



Cowboy Candy? Wait, what? Jalapenos? Yes, exactly. Here at the Compound we're going green and growing our own food, and part of this means jalapenos. But here's the thing, These plants, by the grace of God, produce an abundant harvest; so many peppers, so what to do? Candy those homegrown bad boys. Here's how.




Raise many adorable jalapeno seedlings. Watch them spout and grow, and then transplant them to the ground of your compound. Good, honest, down to earth work. Then water them and watch them grow, like a gardener. No kidding, in time they'll start to flower and bear fruit, peppers. Harvest those peppers and behold the glory of God's creation as you do. Then?

Boil up a cup of cane sugar, a half cup of apple cider vinegar, add 1/4 tsp of mustard seed, celery seed and turmeric and 1/2 tsp of kosher salt. Bring all this to a boil and simmer for a few minutes as you slice up a 1/2 pound of peppers.




Add the jolly peppers to your simple syrup, let 'em boil for a few minutes until vaguely shriveled, then transfer your garden grown goodness to a mason jar using a slotted spoon. It's not hard, just do it. Next step, simmer the spiced syrup for four or five minutes and then pour it on top of the peppers in their specially sterilized jar.

Somewhat in awe of this garden-to-mason-jar progress, stand back and have a glass of cold white wine, you've deserved it, and let the syrup simmer for a few more minutes. That done, pour it over the peppers in their shiny, glassy jar. Well done, let it rest, like the good Lord on the Sabbath, then seal up the jar, put it in the fridge and wait for a couple of weeks.




Net result? I tell you, dear friends, total awesomeness. Word to the wise, don't touch your eyes while you're at it.

Cheers,

LSP

Sunday, September 18, 2022

Sunday Sing Song

 



I used to do that until... I didn't.




Let's hear it for the beautiful and remarkable Emmylou.




Willy, you may be a nasty old hippy from Abbott, but we love this song. And thanks for fixing up the courthouse, good man.

Μακάριος,

LSP

Thursday, August 12, 2021

Tulsa Queen


Perhaps you scorn Emmlou. Go right ahead, and I will fight you, physically. So will the monkey. And he's hard. You have been warned.




Your Pal,

LSP

Friday, February 26, 2021

Jukebox Friday

 



Yes, it's Friday evening and time to spin up the jukebox. I'll go first, and because today's been all about lawyers, guns and money, here it is.



Jim asked for Steve Young's Tobacco Road. Great song and a good call.



Nothing wrong with Pancho and Lefty either, thanks, RHT. I like Emmylou's version.



And Brig requested Waylon and Jessi's Storms Never Last. What a great choice.



With a H/T to Jim and WSF, here's the original Big Ball's in Cowtown. Have we devolved since 1949? Sure looks like it to me.



On topic, this one's for LL, who's focusing on the Great Reset and life in the Hive. Sorry, arcology. Do you remember the tale of Babel? Let's hear it for Hawkwind.



Rock on,

LSP

Friday, January 10, 2020

Crazy Storm



Texas is big and so is its weather. When it's hot it's really hot, like an oven. When it storms it really storms and that's what happened tonight. We were at the Four Seasons, no, not that one, this is a different place, the one next to Internet, Sweepstakes, Fun Time, then crash, down came the rain. 




You could hear it pounding on the roof above the stained acoustic tile drop ceiling while sheet lightning lit up the sky beyond the Seasons' barred windows. There it was, our Old Enemy the Weather venting its fury like a thwarted Presidential Candidate falling on Mook with outstretched talons. 

The ride home down a black ribbon of half-submerged asphalt was dramatic enough but uneventful, I took it slow and so did everyone else. Smart, who wants to hydroplane in a near zero viz stormfront?




Still, it was good to get back to the Compound. I set up on the porch as lightning arced across the sky, rain sheeted down and tornado warnings flashed on the phone screen. Thunder's rocking the house now, Elite Hotel's playing on the jukebox.

Will anything be left of this town tomorrow, will it be washed away like so many futile Bloomberg millions in Virginia? Only time, and a new dawn, will tell. 




For now, we stand to, cleaning weapons, sharpening kukris, loading magazines and throwing last year's broken furniture on the fire.

#2A,

LSP