Apparently Ohio has some of the most backwards liquor laws in the country, but this one leaves me with a sort of chest-beating midwest pride:
“In Ohio, the state segments alcoholic beverage sales into what we citizens commonly think of as liquor and beer and wine. You can buy beer and wine in grocery stores, etc. Liquor can only be purchased from the state’s liquor agents. The state defines this distinction by a simple criteria: the percentage of alcohol by volume. And that percentage is 20%.
Now, Kahlua wants to be sold in state liquor stores, next to the vodka, the rum, and most other liqueurs. But Ohio would classify Kahlua’s normal formulation as low alcohol, and refuse to carry it, sending it instead to the grocery stores and UDFs.
So Kahlua’s maker, Pernod Ricard, has to manufacture a completely separate product (separate production run, labeling, and distribution) to satisfy Ohio’s caprice. Kahlua is sold at a higher ABV amount in Ohio so that the state won’t treat this rum and coffee liqueur like a wine.”
Having gone to school in Michigan only recently, this is, sadly, the only Detroit I have ever known. Irregardless, even in spite of its turbulence, Detroit is still a beautiful (in an often dystopic kind of way), fun place, if you know where to look. Most importantly though, despite repeated news reports with cries and claims of collapse, corruption, and violence, you’ll be hard-pressed to find an American heartier or more resolutely hopeful than a Michigander. There are many people, like my friend Paul (I’ve linked to his other site in the past on spicy), who simply will not give up on Detroit.
Hypothetically, I think my own would be a recreation of my family’s Good Friday feast: tuna salad, egg salad, eggplant parm, a cheese tray, elephant ears, and my grandma’s handmade “smashed” bread. Then again, a meal from Komi might just be the answer. Or Citronelle. Or Wings Over East Lansing. It’s clear that I’m not meant for this kind of finite decisiveness. Knock on wood, I’m hoping this won’t ever be a meal that needs planning.
(Addendum: New York Times recently published an archive of inmate’s last words. Movie worthy highlight, “I am taking it like a man.”)
“It is common to joke that someone acting in an eccentric fashion could be locked up in Abbasiya [asylum] and forgotten. Unsurprisingly, most patients I meet there do not find the idea funny”
This is a fascinating map that I stumbled upon, care of my friend Paul (at plainpaul). I had no idea that American war money financed universal healthcare in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Over at Bon Appetit is a smallish roundup of their favorite root beer. I’ve tried a ton, i mean A TON, of different brews over the course of my life, but was pleasantly surprised to see that their list had a few I’ve never come across. My own list would include Sprecher (side note: their cream soda is unreal) although Bon Appetit gets points for including anything Faygo.
The Yes Men do it again with a “special edition” of the New York Post dedicated to climate change. Last year, in collaboration with Steve Lambert, one of my favorite artists, a similar version was created. Distributed on 11.12.08, with a print date of 7.4.09, special editions of the New York Times proclaimed the end of the Iraq War.
Spicy is now back in business after a dearth of internet access in Morocco and in the UP of Michigan. Expect updates coming this week and a brand new face-lift in coordination with my portfolio at nate.spicybiscotti.com. Booooooooooom.
In the meantime here is (a childhood favorite of mine), “the skeleton dance.”
(^One of the less than lifelike and more than creepy mannequins in Rabat’s medina)
Apologies for this deadspace lately. Things will continue to be spotty for the indefinite future (read: two months or so). Right now I’m in Rabat, Morocco for an intensive Arabic program and the internet connection here is unreliable and elusive at best. I hope to drop some more content soon in shah allah, but no promises.
… and a bonus conversation: I got a haircut a few weeks ago and this is the story that the barber told me. When he was younger, the barber was a soft drink rep. in mid-michigan. One of his favorite clients happened to be an Iraqi man. His name was Hasid and he owned a convenience store in Flint. His party store had done fairly well, but when the Iranian hostage crisis hit, red-blooded American patriotism kicked in and Hasid was suddenly “Iranian.” The reactions sounded hellish. The barber left mid-michigan around this time and didn’t get a chance to say farewell to his friend. Later in life he was in the area and went out of his way to stop by, but found a different party store in Hasid’s location. It was called “Chico’s” and was draped in Mexican everything. A little disappointed, he went inside to get a drink anyways. Hasid sat behind the counter full of tacos and nachos. On his chest was a name tag that read “Chico.” His wife and children had “latino names” as well. Apparently after the hostage crisis Hasid “became” Mexican. He claimed that after the switch business was better than ever.
