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Posts Tagged ‘Barry Fig’

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Dude. Here’s the rules:

1. Guard your food at all times. If you can, keep your paws on it. There may be a cat around.

2. Try to cook only when the humans are out of the house. They try to interfere and will not let you take that stick of butter you so desperately need for the recipe.

3. Tenderize everything. That’s why we have teeth. Chew chew chew. Practice on the furniture if you can get away with it. Remember, chewing is how you get down to the best part, the bone.

4. Taste as many things as you can. This will develop your palate. Human’s faces, car tires, any piece of plastic in the street. Try it all. Do not let the humans see you eating poop. They simply do not have our finesse of taste development.

5. Manners count. Lick yourself only after meals and keep your drooling for purposes of making friends, not seasoning the food. And always remember to lay on the feet under the table of the people who really matter – the best feeders! Rrrrrufff! Ruffruff! Grrrrrr.

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Hi, I’m Barry Fig. It’s been a wonderful New Years and I’ve had a great time.  Even though they forced me to wear this outfit.

I just wanted to say a few words, dudes. I used to be a human being too. But somewhere along the way while I was trying to make the world’s biggest cheese doodle, something happened and here I am.  A dog. And now a dog dressed up like a flying pig.

I tried to hang around with everyone at the New Year’s party but they pretty much kept throwing me bits of chicken from their plates and making coo-coo noises at me. I wanted to talk, dudes. I needed some serious communication to happen.

Nobody realized a thing that was sort of important. I’m not just here for the food. Food is great, but it’s only a part of it all. Chicken alone, no matter how great it is, just doesn’t cut it.

I used to like to cook, when I was a real dude. One day this chick showed me a poem that really pissed me off because it was sort of anti-cooking. I couldn’t stand her after that. Even though her legs . . . well, nevermind, dudes.

Here’s the start of the poem.  It must be wearing pink that made me remember it today.

All over America women are burning dinners.

It’s lambchops in Peoria; it’s haddock

in Providence; it’s steak in Chicago;

tofu delight in Big Sur; red

rice and beans in Dallas.

All over America women are burning

food they’re supposed to bring with calico

smile on platters glittering like wax.

It really pissed me off when this chick told me this poem because, well . . . it was like a slap in the face. I like to eat. I like to be cooked for. I can’t imagine anyone not loving to cook for me. Or, I guess – I couldn’t at the time, dudes. It didn’t make sense.

But wearing this pink costume and begging for scraps, and getting the scraps which were pretty damn delicious but nevermind it simply wasn’t what I wanted I wanted to be taken seriously – this poem came to my mind, guys.

What I’m saying is, take me seriously, even though I’m cute and wearing fluffy pink stuff. Talk to me like I was real, like I was one of you.

I’m not just here for the food.
Yours,
Barry Fig
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The poem What’s that smell in the kitchen by Marge Piercy can be found in its entirety here on Google books as excerpt from Arlene Voski Akavian’s book Through the Kitchen Window.

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When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away:
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.
Charles Kingsley

………………………………………………………………………………………

Dudes, it’s that time again.

I remember how, when I used to be a real live human guy that is, what the Christmas season was like.

I was always trying to find excuses to avoid shopping with my girlfriend, never knowing what to do about gifts, the parties at work (which I don’t really want to talk about rrrrrrufffff!), the food, the cookies, the lights that always kept falling off the tree and the tree that always kept falling sideways in the middle of the night . . . .

I don’t envy you guys who are human. No way. It took me some getting used to, being a dog – but I gotta say it’s great. I’ve learned a lot of stuff and since you guys haven’t been lucky enough to somehow become a dog like me I gotta tell you the good stuff.

Forget the gifts. I know you want to. I know you probably have anyway. Forget the parties – the hangovers aren’t worth the look down the receptionist’s low-cut Santa Claus and Reindeer sweater while pretending to admire the embroidery work on it as she reaches over the punchbowl to get another Ritz cracker topped with that weird ham spread.

But don’t forget the tree. Dudes, the tree is the thing. And as a dog, I gotta tell you the best thing about it.

You can pee on it.

Have you ever gone out into the backyard on a cold winter’s night just to pee on an evergreen tree? This is a holiday activity worth doing, guys. It’s not only about the stars in the sky, the possums dragging around nearby, the cat you’re really into for no good reason you can think of who lives next door.

It’s about how high you can aim. Take a sniff, know your opponents (they’ve left their mark, guys) and aim to beat their score.

Nothing like it, dudes. Nothing. like. it.

Remember, the holiday season comes but once a year. Be a dog. Make this tree a part of your holiday.

Damn, it’s so much better than a mall.

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It’s a Guy Thing with Barry Fig

Dudes. Listen there’s the coolest thing I figured out. Well I didn’t really figure it all out myself because foodvox was there but I was there too and even though she actually did the thing I figure I was a part of it. If you know what I mean. It’s gotta be my influence.

It’s Shakespearean foodisms, man.

Look – here’s the one foodvox wrote the other day when someone asked her about whether she wanted pulp in her orange juice:

To pulp, or not to pulp, that is the Question:
Whether ’tis Nobler in the minde to suffer
The Tummy Aches and Growlings of outragious Undigested Fruit Chunks,
Or to take Armes against a Sea of Acidulous Juices,
And by opposing end them: to swallow, to drink
No more; and by use of a good cheesecloth and strainer, to say we end
The Heart-Burn, and the thousand Naturall Fartings
That Flesh is heyre too? ‘Tis a consummation
Deuoutly to be wish’d. To swallow to drink,
To taste, perchance to digest; I, there’s the rub,
For in that swallow of orange chunk, what dreams may come,
When we haue tossed off this entire glassful,
Must giue vs pawse. There’s the endless chewing of chunk stuck in tooth
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would beare the Muffins and Scones of time,
The Chefs wrong, the poore mans Contumely,
The pangs of dispriz’d Cooking, the Waiters delay,
The insolence of the Maitre’d’, and the unsated hunger
That patient merit of the Foodie takes,
When he himselfe might his Quietus make
With a strained orange juice?

It’s like, you know, the answers to anything can be found in the things this dude wrote, dudes. It’s like, you know – playing a Beatles song backwards. Awesome. Awe-f’ing-some.

Check it out. Here’s one I wrote:

The quality of porkfat is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the hot pan beneath: it is twice stirred;
It stirs him that gives and him that takes:
‘Tis meatyest in the meatyest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His scepter shows the fat of immediate frying,
The attribute to butter and majesty,
Wherein doth saute the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy, and evoo, is above this sceptered fry-up,
It is enthroned in the hearts of chefs,
It is an attribute to Top Chef himself.

Merchant of Venice, dudes. Mer Chant of Venice. Old Will rocks. And ya gotta admit he knows his food.

Gotta run. More of these to do. If you happen to do one yourself, let me know guys. Share it with me. Just post it here.

So much to do – so little time.
Ciao.

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It’s a Guy Thing with Barry Fig

I gotta tell you, it’s been a bad week. First that chick at the Farmer’s Market I told you about (why’d she have to be like that, dudes? Why?) and now this.

A couple of days ago my bud Stu Shotzy was over. We went four-wheeling and got kinda messy so he went to get cleaned up

Stu

and as he was drying off I tossed him a beer and he shook and jumped so hard both at the same time trying to catch it that somehow water went flying all over the place and hit an electrical outlet and everything went dead. Fried. Gone. Kaput.

Not him, dudes. He was alive. It was the kitchen that was dead. The fuses or wires or whatever got kiboshed.

I’m going to pick up a “How To” book this week so I can fix it but in the meantime – well I gotta tell you. It’s been bad. Hardees’ six times a day is wearing me out. It’s not like anything else is going good either.

Worst off all is my current project. “Barry’s Big Doodle”. I’m having a lot of problems with that. The damn thing isn’t working right. As you can see.

But crisis creates opportunity. So I’m looking on the bright side. I found a video on how to cook without a kitchen

made by this guy Chef Nam so I’m gonna try that later today. Listen. If the guy’s a chef, I trust him. It’s gotta be good.

The other really great thing I found at the grocery store were these really cool limited-editions of Jello. Three flavors even – pina colada; margarita; and strawberry daiquiri! I can use the microwave at work to make those. Can’t wait.

But that’s my week, guys. Full of problems. But in problems there’s opportunity.

If anybody has any ideas for my doodle, let me know.

Additional resources: Jello Confronts the Depression. (From the Gallery of Regrettable Foods)

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Barry Fig will be joining us weekly with “It’s a Guy Thing”. When asked if there was anything he’d like to add to this introduction his only comment was “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe later.” Barry is known for his attempt to build the world’s largest potato chip (sadly, there were some mechanical issues). His current project is “Barry Fig’s Big Doodle” where Barry is aiming again for his place in posterity by making something big – this time, the world’s largest cheese doodle.

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