Tag Archives: Food

Surreality Released and Your Questions Answered

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My latest book, Surreality, is now available wherever fine books are sold. I thought rather than give you the hard sell again, I’d answer a few of the questions I’ve been getting lately:

Q. Will your book keep me warm during these cold winter nights?

A. If you buy the paperback version I suppose you could burn it for fuel. Though a better idea would be to read it under a warm blanket with a cup of hot chocolate. If you do decide to use it as kindling, you can get the Kindle version for only 0.99 through matchbook.

Q. What’s this Surreality diet I keep hearing about?

A. It would probably be false advertising to call an Irish Eggroll and something called a Gut-Buster a diet, but your tummy will be very happy.

Q. So what’s it like to finally release the book? Is it … surreal?

A. Yes. Yes it is.

Q. Will I like this book if I’m not from Columbus or Ohio?

A. Of course! Even if you’re from … that state up north.

Q. No seriously, I’ve been reading your blog for four years, how do you say your name again?

A. True-bee. On the other hand, if you buy the book, call me whatever you want.

Q. Wait. The dog in the book is named Garfunkel, and you dedicated it to your dog Simon. I see what you did there.

A. Was that a question?

Q. What’s the best pizza on OSU Campus?

A. Fly Pie. Don’t let the Adriatico’s people fool you. Or free pizza. Free pizza is the best.

Q. What if I like this book? Will there be more?

A. Already working on it. I promise there will be another Surreality book before another fractal book. Probably.

Q. What’s next for you?

A. Sleep. Then maybe beer.

Thanks so much to everyone who’s been a part of this book!

—————-

Buy Surreality from these and many other fine bibliotechories:

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Filed under Books + Publishing, Internal Debate 42, Writing, Writing Goals

Surreality – The Irish Eggroll

My main character and I have at least one thing in common, we are both on a search for the perfect Reuben.

My quest began as a combination of family memories of my Grandpa Trube making Reubens and one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants going out of business. It was this little place called Pacific Eatery and it had a combination of American faire and a really good shrimp dish with brown sauce. And the owner, David, made a pretty delicious Reuben. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

It’s a Z Pizza now.

I’m not bitter.

I mean, our neighborhood already has six good pizza places, but whatever.

So far the best contenders have been this place in Indiana and a deli in Cleveland that used coleslaw instead of sauerkraut. But one of the better steps in my culinary journey came from one of my old campus haunts, The Blue Danube.

Behold the Irish Eggroll:

IrishEggroll

That my friends is an appetizer. That’s thousand island horseradish in the little cup. It also happens to be the sandwich my main character eats in Chapter 2.

Despite lacking one of the key components of a good Reuben (a toasted dill rye), the sandwich really holds up. It’s very hot, you basically need to eat all of the fries before it’s at a temperature you can eat without burning your mouth. The dough is flaky so it’s better to spread the horseradish on with a knife rather than actually dipping the sandwich (a lesson I’ve forgotten both times I’ve eaten it). If you wait for the sandwich to cool a bit, it will be solid enough to eat without too much of a mess, but you’ll probably still get sauerkraut juice running down your hand. But it’s not greasy, despite being fried.

The sauerkraut surrounds the corn beef, keeping it moist and flavorful. Corned beef is a tricky meat. Sliced and cooked perfectly it’s pretty good, but it’s also really easy to over cook and make tough. And ratios matter. Too much meat or too little sauerkraut and it isn’t a sandwich worth eating. But the ‘Dube gets it right.

The horseradish is mostly sweetened by the thousand island, and lacks some of the bite of pure horseradish, but it gives a slightly different tangy flavor than what you’d get on most sandwiches.

Pair this “appetizer” with a Guinness draft and you’ve got a good meal. And a backache from the ‘Dube’s terrible booths.

Most likely Keenan’s and my journey will continue throughout the series. If you live in Columbus, OH and have a suggestion I’d love to hear it. I work in Delaware too, and my character might be willing to drive for the right sandwich.

I think it says something about me as an author that one of the ways that I portray local color in my book is through food. Mainly it says that I get to eat a lot of good food for “research.”

Read about this and many other Columbus foods in my new mystery, Surreality, releasing next Tuesday.

Have a delicious weekend.

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20 Ways To Avoid Writing

  1. Sleep: “20 more minutes will make my morning writing session go so much better.”
  2. Read comic books: “Sandman is practically literature, and Fables is good since Once has gone downhill.”
  3. Watch TV: “I can’t believe I’ve let five Parks and Rec stack up on the DVR!”
  4. Play with your dog: “Who’s a good boy!”
  5. Eat Mexican Food: “I definitely won’t be feeling sluggish after eating this burrito. More queso!”
  6. Watch Football: “Is that good enough for you BCS? Did we win convincingly this time?”
  7. Play a video game: “Ooh! New Wadjet Eye on GOG! And a new Indie Royale Bundle!”
  8. Do writingish things: “Let’s reformat this one more time. Time to generate another eBook copy.”
  9. Eat Pizza: “Papa John’s, Donato’s , Belleria, Anges or Pizza House?”
  10. Do a character study for a future book: “I’m going to look at this when I write this book in two years.”
  11. Play with technology: “What’s the right combination of books, apps and videos to have on my tablet right now?”
  12. Delete your e-mail: “Stupid G-mail. Why delete it? Because I have 30,000 e-mails that’s why!”
  13. Eat Chinese Food: “I don’t know what yum yum sauce is but I could drink the stuff.”
  14. Clean up your office: “Or I could just go to a coffee shop to work again.”
  15. Look at Facebook: “That George Takei is amazing. Eau My cologne? Priceless.”
  16. Look at WordPress: “I think I need a new header, and where’s code for a progress bar?”
  17. Look at Sales Stats: “Woohoo! Someone else loves fractals!”
  18. Play with your cat: “Ouch!”
  19. Drink Fancy Beer: “I love a good Scottish Porter. You know it’s good if you can’t see through it.”
  20. Write a list instead of a blog post. “I’m sure no one will mind!”

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Fourth Con Travel Log (Day 2 – Saturday)

Brian said that my description of the day would be “I went to the NSA rally, and I had an amazing sandwich.” He was partly right. I actually had two.

But more on the sandwiches later.

This time the rally was in the middle of downtown Cleveland, on the northwest corner of the Cleveland public square, not far from statues of cannons, and men from 1854. Turnout was … a little lighter than expected. For a while we were worried that it was just going to be the five of us: Myself, the lord and lady Buckley, Josh (the NSA agent from the trailer), and Brittany (wife of the other guy in the trailer who wasn’t Brian). The rally was supposed to start around noon. By 12:15 two others had shown up, out of the 27 or so who said they would come on Facebook.

After a quick walk around the square to look for stragglers, finding no one but a group of revivalists with megaphones, we returned to find our group doubled. It’s possible either Brian’s height, or my mutton chops were scaring them off initially, but two bite patriotic brownies convinced them to stay.

It turns out the intersection of people who will stand in a public square and protest something, and those that will listen to them, is a group of some pretty colorful people. Our initial encounter with the public was a woman in a motorized scooter, who found our resident NSA agent to be particularly adorable (though she did say we were all a pretty handsome bunch for the record). She even asked if he liked to date older women. She talked to us for a considerable period of time, and when asking me for my phone number prompted me to present one of my lamer excuses “I’m not very good with numbers.” That’s right, the guy who wrote a fractal book about mathematical art doesn’t remember numbers. But she didn’t know that, and thankfully the well intentioned lie allowed us to share the public contact info, without getting too personal.

Most encounters were friendly, with only a couple of more vocal hecklers. The ability to hand out flyers definitely helped, as it allowed us to spread the word to people without immediately interfering with their day, though I know in a couple of cases it did prompt people to come back to have a conversation with us. Turns out the privacy issue is one that a lot of the public is passionate about. They don’t want the government looking in on their business, and rightly so.

Our final quorum of 13 was small but effective. We moved to a more trafficked, if sunnier part of our small quadrant, which was at the intersection a couple of crosswalks and along a couple of really busy roads. Many cars, and several buses honked at us, including a novelty horned car that knew exactly how awesome their horn was. A few of us handed out flyers, while others were more in the attracting attention game. I was more in the latter camp, reprising my “My Bytes Have Rights” sign, and generally hanging out in the shadiest part of the corner I, the lady Buckley, and the NSA knight errant Josh could find.

One reality we hadn’t really expected may be largely because we don’t live in Cleveland. The majority of the people who talked to us were African-american. This is not to say that we expected any one group to be more interested than another, because this is an issue that affects all of us, but this was the group that was the most polite, actually took our flyers, and engaged us in conversation. Several even said “God bless” for what we’re doing, which is awesome! Most white people we saw snubbed us, and got along with their day. I don’t really know what that says about anything, but it’s an interesting thing to observe first hand.

Internally we were a diverse group in terms of viewpoint if not skin color, but at least united on the single cause. I think we’re still working the kinks out in terms of talking points, and in terms of length of rally. We were there until three, and my sore feet and sunburned face say two hours might have been better, plus sunblock, but that’s my fault cause I’m a stubborn guy and my wife wasn’t with me.

Brian did a great job organizing this thing, and I was really happy to be able to come out and support the cause again, and my good friend. I write this again after a late night of talking about writing, and how everything went before I am back on the road again home. By the time you read this I will have had my lovely reunion with the little red haired girl, and all will be right with the universe.

Okay now the sandwiches.

The first was a Reuben from Jack’s deli, right on the corner of the public square. On no less than three signs, this establishment advertised “hot corned beef”. Obviously I thought I should go and try the hot corned beef. I got a sandwich called “The New Yorker”. Three pieces of rye bread (so double decker), with Swiss, coleslaw, sauerkraut, mustard and enough thinly sized corned beef that I practically had to unhinge my jaw to eat it. Given the fact that the place smelled a bit like cigarillos and the proprietors did not quite look “New Yorker” I was a little wary of how this would sit, but trust me it was one of the best decisions of my day.

Until the Barley House, our after party venue for eight brave protesters. In addition to much needed Sam Adams and fries that tasted like they were from a state fair, I purchased the buffalo poor boy (though I was equally tempted to buy another Reuben as my companion next to me had done). I was not disappointed by the poor boy however. I’m not even entirely certain I can describe to you exactly what was on it, but I know there was tomato, onion, coleslaw, buffalo grilled chicken, fries, and great thick almost Texas toast style bread. If my jaw had to open wide for the Reuben, it was practically on the floor for this sandwich.

I hope I have you all drooling now. I imagine by the time you read this I will have resumed eating food, as right now additional nourishment seems deeply unnecessary.

One more thing I need to highlight.

Brian is a braver man than I when it comes to walking right up to people and talking to them. There were some characters that had I seen them in a different context I would probably have walked away to avoid them. I’m not saying this is a good impulse, but it’s just the world I grew up in. For better or worse, Brian seems oblivious to these sorts of things, in a not “put on” sort of way. Maybe it’s a different view inside his head, but from the outside he will talk to anyone, and he gets people to talk to him. This is a remarkable skill, one that I only know how to achieve through writing. It was a little thing but we were talking to an older gentlemen, one of the last we were to talk to for the day, as I decided to go with Brian on one of his sweeps of the square. He was wearing a mishmash of clothes, and was a little hard to understand. But he was polite and understood what I was talking about when I mentioned the NSA and the fourth amendment and that whole issue. It was clear that he needed something else though. When Brian finished talking to the lady he had started with he came over, and together we managed to glean that the man had been recently released from the hospital and needed somebody to pick him up. Brian pulled out his phone, and called a number for the guy to get him picked up. It’s a little thing, but most people would walk right on by. Not Brian, and that’s why I count him as one of my best friends.

Well these have both been pretty wordy posts, and I do need to actually sleep before my drive tomorrow. Signing off at a little after midnight in the Buckley dining room, your friend and wandering writer, Ben.

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Forty Minute Story (“Lunch”)

Bilson tapped the top of Marshall’s cubicle. The digital clock on Marshall’s desk had already advanced to 12:05, and he had really been hoping for a moment of piece before the second half of his day started but no such luck.

“What’cha got there, Marshall?”

“It’s a peanut butter sandwich.”

“For lunch! Huh? What, did your Mom pack it for you?”

It wasn’t really a question Marshall thought he ought to answer, instead he deflected. “What are you having for lunch?”

“Flannigan’s, for the third time this week. My team’s not doing so well.”

“Team?”

“Yeah, a little something called the Olympics, Marshall.”

“I’ve heard of them. How is that your team?”

“Boy, you really don’t pay attention do you? Flannigan’s has a special going right now where if you buy a super fries you get a tag with an athlete’s name on it, and if they win you win.”

“Win what?”

“Mostly just free sandwiches.”

“Uh huh?”

Danowitz walked down the cube aisle carrying a white bag. “What’re we all talking about?”

“Lunch, what else? What’s in the bag?” asked Bilson.

“Don’t you remember? It’s national support Chicken Grill-It day! I stood in a line for almost an hour to get this sandwich, but I was happy to do it.”

“What’d you get?” asked Marshall, not really interested.

“Chicken sandwich what else? Hey anyone want my pickle? I hate these things.”

As Roshni walked over Marshall was glad he hadn’t toasted his PB&J.

“‘Scuse me guys I just need to get my Tofu out of the fridge.” said Roshni.

“Tofu!” cried Bilson. “Why they hell are you eating that!”

“I’m a vegan. And tofu is great. You really ought to try it sometime. The taste isn’t that good at first but you put the right amount of Chuck’s Chili Sauce on it.”

Bilson faked vomiting, which really was unnecessary but got Danowitz to laugh uncontrollably nonetheless. “Don’t let me sit anywhere near your cube this afternoon. I’ll need a hasmat suit just to talk to you.”

Roshni laughed raucously, though Marshall suspected he didn’t find the joke all that funny either.

“What’s Marshall eating?” Danowitz asked.

“Peanut Butter and Jelly.” answered Bilson “His mom made it for him.”

“Why are you eating PB&J?” asked Roshni.

“I woke up this morning and decided I wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It’s been a while since I’ve had one, and I like the way they taste.”

“What kind of peanut butter do you use?” asked Danowitz.

“Chunky and creamy. Chunky’s too chunky and creamy’s too smooth but together it’s just right.”

“No, I meant brand.”

“I don’t know, JPG I think.”

“You should really switch to BMP, JPG supports gay marriage.”

“I don’t think a peanut butter supports anything. Except maybe the peanuts suspended in the butter.”

“You shouldn’t eat butter.” Roshni said. “Butter comes from an animal.”

“You’re right, a cow. And cows need to be milked or they’re extremely uncomfortable. If some of that milk wants to join up with peanuts it’s fine by me.”

“Did you get that jelly sponsored by Zascar racing?” asked Bilson.

“Nope. Grape.”

Marshall took a bite of his sandwich and smiled.

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Thank You … Delivery Boy

Thank You .. Pizza Delivery Man.

You bring me disks of food when I am to lazy to cook, or to drive. You adorn my sticks with cheese and give me sauce to dip them in. For I have been working hard and only wish to watch Jon Stewart in peace, whilst life giving sustenance is brought to me, to revive me from the stupor of my day.

Thank you … for not knocking before you open my door. I had been awaiting you with eager anticipation, and I can see that you feel the same way. For I might not have been aware of the hour of your arrival, and you wanted to be sure I heard you. I’m sure you never intended to enter my home uninvited. My screened in porch does certainly look like a place that is really for all to enjoy, festooned with carpets and wicker chairs, with glass tables to set one’s drinks upon. Good instincts in checking if my door was unlocked and walking in quietly. I’m sure you spent many years acquiring them in your … previous occupation.

Thank you … for letting my cat outside when you opened my door. My cat has an explorer’s heart, and jumps at the first opportunity of freedom. I had hoped you would notice her, she lounges in a chair right next to our door. I enjoy trying to reach for her in the bushes or chase her around the yard, while the sustenance you have brought me grows cold. It is an opportunity for exercise and the exercise of cunning, and I really appreciate that at dinner.

I am distressed to learn that you are angry. Perhaps you felt I was unfair when I didn’t feel this was a tipping situation. I hope this note expresses to you my true feelings, and the gratitude I have for your efforts. Treasure it as you would have treasured the two dollars I would have given you, because their time has passed and is unlikely to come again in the future.

Sincerely,

Ben

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