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September 11, 2021:

THE GREAT AMERICAN FOOD MIX-UP

Bruce Kimmel Photograph bk's notes

Well, dear readers, I am sitting here like so much fish, listening to Bernard Herrmann’s score to the motion picture Psycho, because it perfectly describes my earlier mood at the Great American Food Mix-Up of 2021. Picture this if you will: A hungry me decides on Popeye’s for food. I’m in a fine mood having just picked up the envelope I’ve been hoping would arrive. I go to the bank and get out of there relatively quickly. I go to Popeye’s, still in a fine mood. It is 2:30 in the afternoon when I enter the store. For reasons I will never figure out, there are a lot of cars at the drive-up window. And there are three people in front of me inside. The couple currently at the counter are ordering four meals, with so many specific sauces and drinks and sides that it’s taking a very long time. The next person is quick, so I step up. Instead of taking my order, though, the person at the counter takes four orders from people at the drive-up window. Sensing that I’m about to climb over the counter, he finally takes my order – my usual two mild breasts. He asks my name, and I reply with my first name. It’s not a hard first name, really, and I always say it clearly, with special emphasis on its first letter. He hands me my receipt, which has the name Chris on it rather than my name. Good job. I sit and wait for ten minutes, and finally they call Chris. It’s the right size box and so I figure all is well and I leave and make the drive home. There is a lot of slow drivers on the road so the five-minute drive takes about twelve minutes, as I cannot get around them. I get home, enter the home environment, and open the box. Inside, I see one chicken leg and one thigh. I was, at that point, miffed, extremely miffed. I have a choice – just throw it in the trash, lose the six bucks it cost, and go get something close by, or drive back and get what I ordered. I opt for the latter and my miffed is turning viral at this point and I am beginning to feel like Norman Bates. It takes another twelve minutes to get back there, due to Friday crazy drivers. The first think I notice is zero cars at the drive-through. I walk in the store where there are zero people. So, apparently two-thirty is prime time at Popeye’s. I walk up to the counter. The gal senses I am miffed as I put the box on the counter. I hand her the receipt and ask her to tell me what I ordered. She reads the receipt and says, “Two mild breasts.” I said, “Excellent. Now, tell me what’s in the box.” She opened it and looked, and I couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking, so I just said, “That look like two chicken breasts to you?” She didn’t actually acknowledge it, but said she’d get me the two breasts, which she did. She offered to let me keep the first box, but I don’t do dark meat and I’ve grown not to like chicken legs. I left, endured a fifteen-minute drive home, and finally ate my damn meal, which thankfully was good. This section was easy to write whilst listening to Psycho as its underscore. And thus, you’ve heard the tale of The Great American Food Mix- Up. Frankly, I would have preferred the tale of The Randy Vicar and the Corn Dog.

The movie I watched was a classic and interestingly, I’ve really only seen it all the way through twice – The Third Man, starring Joseph Cotton, Valli, Trevor Howard, and Orson Welles, directed by Carol Reed and brilliantly photographed by Robert Krasker. I think it’s safe to say that The Third Man is a completely one-off motion picture – there’s really never been another movie like it, save for some lesser lights attempting and failing to copy its atmosphere. Everything about it is unique, from the opening narration, to the zither score by Anton Karas (including the famous Harry Lime theme), to the fact that star Orson Welles doesn’t make his first appearance until sixty-six minutes in, but what an entrance he has. In fact, he has only one real scene of any length, and I think all his screen time added up wouldn’t be much more than fifteen minutes, but he makes a hell of an impact. Cotton is terrific and so is Valli and so is Trevor Howard. The atmosphere is thick, the sets are amazing, and everything just somehow works, thanks to a really well-written and wonderful screenplay by Grahame Greene. I also got some frozen yogurt with chocolate sauce and almonds and ate about a third of it. Pretty good.

Yesterday was a mostly okay day save for The Great American Food Mix-Up. I thankfully got nine hours of sleep, got up, answered e-mails, and then headed over to the mail place, where happily the envelope I’ve been waiting for was waiting for ME. I banked, then we had The Great American Food Mix-Up. After eating, I had a telephonic call, and then watched the movie, and the rest you know because you know the rest, except that I’ll be finessing the commentary before getting to bed by one-thirty.

Today, I’ll be up when I’m up, I’ll relax and then we have our stumble-through at three. After that’s done, I’ll eat a little something, and then I’ll rest my voice for the rest of the evening, whilst I watch, listen, and relax.

Tomorrow, I’ll sleep in, and then just rest my voice and relax until it’s time to get ready, after which I’ll mosey on over to Vitello’s for sound check. Then I’ll have a small Caesar to tide me over until we eat after the show. Then we do our show. Afterwards, some of us will go downstors and others will go downstairs. I will, of course, have a full report for you. Then next week is very busy with all manner of things to do, meetings and meals, and whatever needs doing.

Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, be up when I’m up, relax, have a stumble-through, eat, rest my voice, and then watch, listen, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: What food misadventures have you had – the ones that really irritated you? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, hoping there’s no more of The Great American Food Mix-Up.

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