Grill Sunday Quotes

Hey, check this weirdo out." Hi was inspecting a bust on the mantel. "This face is ninety percent eyebrow. What do you want to bet he owned slaves?" Scowling to match the carving's expression, Hi spoke in a gravelly voice. "In my day, we ate the poor people. We had a giant outdoor grill, and we cooked up peasant steaks every Sunday."

Hey, check this weirdo out.” Hi was inspecting a bus on the mantel. “This face is ninety percent eyebrow. What do you wanna bet he owned slaves?” Scowling to match the carving’s expression, Hi spoke in a gravelly voice. “In my day, we ate the poor people. We had a giant outdoor grill, and cooked up peasant steaks every Sunday. “That is General Clemmons Brutus Claybourne, you twit,” a voice said dryly. “He commanded two companies during the Revolution, before dying at Yorktown. You might show a little respect.

On Fridays they had pizza from Tomasina’s and on Saturdays they grilled steaks and on Sundays it was always Chinese takeout. But then the Chinese place closed down, and Tommy took up with Angie, and .

the bushes no more. I stare up at the looming, lit, downtown skyscrapers, the Transamerica Building, Grace Cathedral and Coit Tower spearing black skies beyond crooked hills, the Bay Bridge’s running lights behind me like an airport landing strip, Alcatraz and the Golden Gate, the roaring Pacific leading to the Great Highway’s abandoned beachheads where the Boys of Belvedere and I used to stay up all night building giant driftwood sculptures and setting them on fire at dawn, dancing like Indians, and I know nowhere I go can compare to this place, because nowhere else can offer me what this city has, standing on 22nd and Mission, two o’clock on some random Sunday afternoon, fat, orange sun splashing, the mango, melon, and papaya peddlers on rolling carts camped beneath the giant Woolworth’s sign, the Mexican panadarias baking empanadas, rich, wheat breads, taquerias stewing al pastor and grilling carne asada, onions and avocado and horchata, greasy spoons carved into alley walls and indie beaneries brewing pungent coffees, the bead and trinket stores with their Jesus and Mary candles for 99 cents, the outlandish drag queen fashions in the Foxy Lady display window,

Returning to Bath, Dahmer moved in with his father and stepmother. However, it was not long before his excessive drinking got him in trouble with the law. In October 1981, he was arrested for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. His dad tried to get him some help and introduced him to Alcoholics Anonymous, but it didn’t take. Thoughts of his earlier deed refused to go away, and his drinking caused conflict in the home. To appease his wife, his father suggested Jeff move in with his paternal grandmother in West Allis, Wisconsin—a working-class suburb of Milwaukee. His father felt it would serve two purposes: Jeff could look after his grandmother, who was getting on in years, and with him gone, there would finally be peace in their home. Dahmer’s move to Wisconsin was the beginning of some real soul searching. His grandmother was a very religious woman. He loved and admired her and felt she could help him get control of his life. She was kindly, loving, and tolerant, and she had a quiet serenity about her that he craved. He felt that religion might provide a way out of his predicament. They discussed religious matters, and he began to accompany her to Sunday service and weekday Bible study. This kept him sober during the day, but when Grandma retired for the evening, he began to drink again. He knew he had an alcohol problem, but felt his need to drink arose from the horrible memory he carried with him. He could never get it out of his mind. No matter how hard he tried, the knowledge of what he had done stayed with him.

I’m pretty sure that this is the guy I met the night before Easter in 1989. You see these?” He picked out Polaroids depicting a severed penis, a black male’s scalp with a large Jheri curl still attached, and a painted skull. “These belong to him.” This was the first time he kept his victim’s body parts. He met Anthony Sears at closing time in front of a dance club called La Cage. He was with a friend, a white man, and after accepting Dahmer’s offer to come home with him, the friend gave them a ride to 57th and National. They walked the remainder of the way to Grandma’s, and Dahmer gave him the drink mixed with Halcion. He had sex with him before and after death. On Easter Sunday, while Grandma attended church, Dahmer dismembered the body by severing the flesh, keeping the individual’s scalp, genitals, and skull. He wanted to preserve these body parts, so he went to a hardware store and told the clerk he was interested in drying and treating a wild rabbit pelt. They informed him that acetone would do the trick, and he purchased some. After cleaning the body parts, Dahmer treated them with the acetone for preservation. “It actually worked quite well, as you can see from the pictures. When they were dried, I wore his scalp. It helped me to fantasize and remember the night I was with him. I could suck on his penis and masturbate.

Dahmer explained that most of his pickups occurred on Friday nights. That way, he could keep the body around and have sex with it until Sunday evening, when he cut up the body. The trash men came early Monday morning and took away everything. At times like this, he just cut up the body into fillets to throw out and placed the disarticulated skeleton into the rubber trash container with the acid until it became sludgy and then he could flush it down the toilet.

She'd make all the ingredients individually for her kimchi-jjigae," he went on. "Anchovy stock. Her own kimchi, which made the cellar smell like garlic and red pepper all the time. The pork shoulder simmering away. And when she'd mix it all together..." He trailed off, tipping his head back against the seat. It was the first movement he'd made over the course of his speaking; his hands rested still by his sides. "It was everything. Salty, sour, briny, rich, and just a tiny bit sweet from the sesame oil. I've been trying to make it for years, and mine has never turned out like hers." My anxiety manifestation popped up out of nowhere, hovering invisibly over one off Luke's shoulders. The boy doesn't know that the secret ingredient in every grandma's dish is love. He needs some more love in his life, said Grandma Ruth, eyeing me beadily. Maybe yours. Is he Jewish? I shook my head, banishing her back to the ether. "I get the feeling," I said. "I can make a mean matzah ball soup, with truffles and homemade broth boiled for hours from the most expensive free-range chickens, and somehow it never tastes as good as the soup my grandma would whip up out of canned broth and frozen vegetables." Damn straight, Grandma Ruth said smugly. Didn't I just banish you? I thought, but it was no use. "So is that the best thing you've ever eaten?" Luke asked. "Your grandma's matzah ball soup?" I shook my head. I opened my mouth, about to tell him about Julie Chee's grilled cheese with kimchi and bacon and how it hadn't just tasted of tart, sour kimchi and crunchy, smoky bacon and rich, melted cheese but also belonging and bedazzlement and all these feelings that didn't have names, like the dizzy, accomplished feeling you'd get after a Saturday night dinner rush when you were a little drunk but not a lot drunk because you had to wake up in time for Sunday brunch service, but then everything that happened with Derek and the Green Onion kind of changed how I felt about it. Painted over it with colors just a tiny bit off. So instead I told him about a meal I'd had in Lima, Peru, after backpacking up and down Machu Picchu. "Olive tofu with octopus, which you wouldn't think to put together, or at least I wouldn't have," I said. The olive tofu had been soft and almost impossibly creamy, tasting cleanly of olives, and the octopus had been meaty and crispy charred on the outside, soft on the inside.

Shakshuka with Feta and Mint I started noticing many restaurants serving shakshuka and said to myself, “Hey, I can make that at home for much cheaper and way better.” Turns out I was right! It’s a North African one-pan tomato and egg dish that is perfect for a lazy Sunday morning. You can’t mess it up. Tip When a recipe calls for canned tomatoes, make sure to only buy Italian San Marzano canned tomatoes. They are grown in the rich volcanic ash from Mount Vesuvius and have the best flavor. To watch a similar video tutorial for this recipe, search “FlavCity shakshuka” on YouTube. Ingredients: - 1 green bell pepper, sliced - ½ cup red onions, diced - 4 cloves garlic, minced - ¼ cup roasted assorted bell peppers - 1 teaspoon smoked paprika - 1 teaspoon cumin - ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper - 20 ounces of canned tomatoes, chopped - 4 eggs - ¼ cup feta cheese, crumbled - Fresh mint, minced - Parsley, minced - Kosher salt and fresh pepper - Olive oil Preheat a twelve-inch skillet over medium heat along with 1 tablespoon of oil. Add the green peppers, onions, ¼ teaspoon salt, and a few cracks of pepper. Cook for 12 minutes or until the veggies are soft, stirring often. Add the garlic and cook for 3 minutes. Add the roasted peppers, paprika, cumin, and cayenne pepper and cook for 1 minute. Add the chopped canned tomatoes with juice along with ½ teaspoon of salt and a few cracks of pepper. Bring to a simmer and cook until the tomatoes have reduced and the sauce is somewhat thick, about 15–20 minutes. Turn the heat to medium-low. Then use a spoon to make indentations for the eggs, and crack the eggs directly into the spots. Season the tops of the eggs with a pinch of salt and pepper, cover with a lid or sheet pan, and cook for 7–10 minutes or until the egg whites are set. Remove from the heat, garnish with the feta cheese and herbs, and enjoy! You can use the keto pita bread recipe to dip into the tomato sauce. You can even char the pita bread in a hot grill pan to make it crusty. Storage and reheating: You can store the shakshuka in the fridge for three days and reheat in the oven.

I spent most of Sunday hiding, pretending I had food poisoning to keep Agnes from grilling me on what I was doing on Peter’s lap. If it was just as simple as saying, “Well, sis, I was dry humping the shit out of him, and it was awesome, thanks for asking.