Disclaimer: MG, MS and DG are legally and ethically obliged to inform our readers that we do not unconditionally endorse the postings of a one JK. Please be aware he may urge you to cross a metaphorical rubicon or sit in a cardboard box-cum-trojan horse. You can usually spot him lurking in the high grass wearing an all black Adidas track suit grinning from ear to ear.

DG on behalf of myself, MG and MS

- Napa post forthcoming

Only Built For Cuban Linx II

I POP OFF LIKE A MOBSTER BOSS / ANGEL HAIR WITH THE LOBSTER SAUCE

El Jardin

Greetings. Washington DC was once a swamp. It now supports 600,000 folks and 15 millions pairs of khaki pants, Oxfords, and closely cropped gelled hair. Add to this:

1 cherry tomato plant

1 sweet pepper plant

2 jalapeño plants

2 varieties of thai hot chiles

3 cucumber plants

basil, thyme, rosemary, sage, oregano, sweet marjoram, lavender, and parsley

...and the produce/yuppie combinations become almost unfathomable.

Planting a small garden has been a dream of mine since my days living in Providence two years ago. With the help of my friend over at Fermentation Farm, I finally realized my destiny. I don't expect an overwhelming yield from this small menagerie of plants but was nonetheless happy to install it in a previously underutilized plot in front of my new house.

After weeding the plot and turning the soil, I lovingly transplanted these heat weary plants into the soil and waited to the cool evening hours to water them in, cementing, at least temporarily, their position in front of my humble domicile.

My hope is that the hot, long, muggy summer, will allow my small garden to yield many a fragrant meal. Towards the end of this languid summer, it is my hope that the cucumber plants you see creeping towards the white fence will produce enough fodder for a post on pickling.

-poopusa

Salutations

This blog will serve as a repository for the musings and commentaries of a hearty group of itinerant young lads. Tales of gustatory delights and travel mishaps will lace this blog like penicillium in a cave aged Roquefort. Through this little plot of internet, we cultivate our minds, feed our souls, and fade our domes.