Rebel Sunday

It's Sunday and that means church, obviously, and a heartwarming blast of the Grateful Dead. Here at the Compound we like Stagger Lee. But that's just us, maybe you like Loser instead. There's no rule.

Also, some readers have been calling for a kind of rebel action in the art world, to overthrow the occult antics of Abramovic and associated degenerate orthodoxy. Here's a solution, old but gold, note chainsaw sculpture.

Good work boys!

LSP

Rebel Son - Bury Me In Southern Ground

Dixie. Carry on.

LSP

Cooking With LSP, Country Style Ribs

"Cooking with LSP?!?" you snort indignantly into an old Jeb! campaign brochure, "You can't do that." But you can, and here's how.

Go out and get a couple of pounds of bone-in country style ribs from the supermarket for around eight or nine bucks. Take a gun, if Nanny allows you to defend yourself like a free man, or woman; I chose a Glock 21, but that's just me. Buy some carrots, celery, onion, garlic, dry white wine, olive oil, apple juice or cider, cider vinegar and tomato paste, grainy Dijon mustard, bay leaves, thyme, chicken broth and dried red pepper. 

Ingredients. Note Spyderco

If you already have these ingredients you don't have to get them again, unless you're all about building fail-safe redundancy into your EOTW (end of the world) food store.

Return from the supermarket and get out a crock pot, cast iron works well, it can go in the oven. Put the pot on the stove at medium high with 2 tablespoons of oil and brown the pork, previously salt and peppered, then place the meat aside. Don't be intimidated, it's not hard.

Shoot The Plate With a Glock

Add 1 more tablespoon of oil, 1 chopped carrot, celery stick and onion to the pot, and cook on medium heat until softened. Add 3 cloves of minced garlic and cook for a further minute, then 2 tablespoons of tomato paste. Stir this up for a bit then pour in that white wine you bought earlier, 1/2 a cup worth. Raise the heat to medium high and scrape up any browned meat or veg from the bottom of the pan. 

While you're at it, turn up the jukebox, perhaps it's playing Thank Christ For The Bomb, or Rebel Son's famous Bury me in Southern Ground. Whatever, you decide, like a Sovereign.

Well done, you've got this far, so have a drink as you look in wonder at the food in the pot. Have several, or not, there no rule.

Meat in, Atogether, Bring to Boil, Transfer to Oven

Wine in, add 1/4 cup of apple cider, 2 1/2 cups chicken broth, 1/2 cup cider/apple juice, 1 tbs mustard, 2 bay leaves, 3 sprigs thyme or dried equivalent, and red pepper. Salt and pepper to taste. Then put the pork in the pot. There, it's altogether. Bring to a boil then cover and transfer to an oven at 325*, middle position. Cook for around 1 hour 45 minutes, removing the lid for the last half hour. 

Scoff

The meat should be fall-off-the-fork tender, if it isn't, return to the oven and cook that pork 'till it is. Take it out of the oven, let it rest for a bit, and serve over mashed potatoes.

Get a Haircut, Fool.

Then eat your scoff like a Warrior. And that's cooking with,

LSP

This One's For LL, Rebel Son

What can we say? Rebel Son.

All for the Cause,

LSP

Biker Eschaton

It's all about motorcycles these days, on this transport blog. There's Lukeya's Norton, LL's Ducati, Fredd's Kawasaki and lots more. This puts me in mind of a biker party I went to, many, many years ago.

There I was, on New Year's Eve, at a party. They were a mixed crew, a couple of Wolf's Outlaws, maybe a Bandido or two, perhaps a Desperado, and there I was, regimental tie, blazer, the whole, "I say, you men, carry on," type of thing.

As the New Year struck, I congratulated the assembled outlaws with a hearty "Happy New Year!" including one ne'er do well who was at least 8' high and 5' wide. "Is it? F***er?" he asked me. I didn't reply, but I stood up (even straighter), looked that ruffian right in the eye, and prepared to die like a soldier.

The leaders of the party saved me, fortunately. "Leave him alone!" they said, "He's Adolf! And he's alright."

And that was that. Why did the outlaws call me Adolf? I'll leave you to ponder that.

Born to ride,

LSP