are you ready to.... watch?

In preparation for our viewing of the SB LIV, we decided to make some boiled shrimp and a remoulade dipping sauce.  Way back in 2018 we visited the local Tobacco Barn Distillery (watch for their tasting room to open!) as part of a “tour” we “won” in some gala auction.  After we did the tour, we went back to our host’s home where we were served lovely wine and what we thought was a delicious “remoulade” sauce that was different from your usual Catsup/Worcestershire/horseradish/hot sauce stuff and they were kind enough to share the recipe for what we refer to it as:

I’ve made it before, but never with the “Creole Mustard” ingredient (horseradish substitute).

These days we keep Amazon Prime in business, sometimes 2 items per week, so I decided to get Zatarain’s mustard and since we were boiling shrimp for the remoulade, also ordered their “Shrimp Boil” while I was at it… easy.. click; add to cart; buy now; what could be more convenient?   So, clicked on Creole Mustard, and the shrimp boil.

Too quick to click!

Well, within the two days, a package arrived at the door, and it seemed heavier than what I would have thought for a little jar of mustard and shrimp boil.  Well I opened the package to find

Wowsers!  That looks like a lot of boil.  But you usually use a lot, until I read the directions!

It dawned on me I might have been a bit hasty in clicking… Fortunately it is not liquid,

7

So I think I can bust it up and cryovac smaller portions.  Will last longer than I will!

Anyway, naught to do but plunge ahead.

First the minced garlic and used a shallot for the “green onions”:

Then assembled all the dry ingredients (cut back on the cayenne) and a little less Paprika

Then combined the liquids (I had the end of my house made Tarragon Vinegar)

And whisked it and assembled all the ingredients

On to the food processor (not quite sure why instructions say do the garlic and “onions” first, but hey, I'm an engineer, not a chef)

Added the rest and pulsed then ran for a bit.

Finished product:

That done, moved on to the shrimp (Insert Jumbo Shrimp joke here)

Not trying to process 50 pounds of the little crustaceans, I winged it with a scant tablespoon (leaving only say, 10 years worth in the jar!)

After leaving the shrimp in the boiling boil for a scant minute off heat, into an ice bath and Voilá.

An aside, I never have known a “boil” to affect the little buggers.  Always taste like….shrimp.

All that was left was for the Plongeur— oh, wait that’s me!

So at last we assembled the fruits of our labor and settled in to watch the “big game”.  Actually, it was a good game, and the team I was rooting for (really Andy Reid).

Go Chiefs! Notice “son of Shanny” getting lots of flack.  The parade was in KC today, FOJTY was not able to work it or attend it..

Anyway almost time to

DFD

“when there is very little else to believe in, one can still believe in a loaf of fragrant, homemade bread”

Anna Thomas 1948

lagniappe: was disappointed in the "barn" remoulade this time.  A bit hot, not a lot of tarragon came through.

talk about a thing or two

Let’s see… anniversary dinner or an additional rant?  Guess we’ll start out with a rant, and finish on a high note..

Heard a thing or two

An alert reader correctly pointed out that I left out the Farmer’s Ins. Co., ad campaign of “We know a thing or two….etc,”.   although a bit much sometimes, they are kind of imaginative and seem to have corralled Rickey Fowler to help…plus they seem to have a lot of funds to spend, like dumping concrete on a red sports car, somehow getting Turkey Vultures to land on a guy’s car, etc.  Might put them just behind Geico and ahead of “Flo”.  And there’s still the USAA exclusive club for the service side, and I won’t go there

Another (untouched) genre is the annoying season ending car commercials; led by the Toyota-thon with that cloying, grinning female.  Won’t go there either

56 and counting

We celebrated our anniversary Saturday night with some friends at Ruddy Duck Seafood and Alehouse on St George Island.  Arriving at our table, this was waiting for us.

(Veuve Clicquot)

Along with a lovely (unpictured) Charcuterie Board of a variety of cheeses and meats from Chef Russel.  We grazed the board and toasted with the bubbly.  Despite my admonition of “no gifts” nobody listened and brought us some much appreciated things anyway

Clockwise from left, a jar of (home-made) hot Berry Cherry Pepper Jelly which will be used to make the southern delicacy “Red Jez”; some choice chocolates from Heritage Chocolates in Leonardtown (plus a Starbucks gift card which will be worn out soon); and a charming little “Flag Teddy” from the House of Representatives shop

We finally ordered some food, I had grilled swordfish over a lovely “local” succotash (corn, squash, peppers, etc.).  MFO had fish and chips.  None of which are pictured, a sign the feeder was totally enjoying the occasion, sparked by the bubbly and a “Moody Manhattan” nicely executed by Sophia behind the bar.   A lovely evening and will stick with us for a long time. 

While there are other local venues that serve up good food, there is (IMHO) no place that provides the complete experience as does the Kelley’s establishments.  They know how it’s done.  They’re a real asset to our community, and not just to the dining scene. 

And, although you’ll never see a MJ on their tables

you can still

DFD

(which is routinely ignored at the Ale House – the time’s they are a-changin’)

Quick addendum to rants:  watching the US open tennis, just saw another "upset) with the number 13 seed take out the number one seed (Osaka), making it yet easier for Serena (yes, not a fan) to march to the championship.  The highest seed left in her bracket is 5th; the rest being in the teens.  Might as well just give her the trophy now.

And was kind of sad to see “Djoko” have to “retire” from his match because of the shoulder.

This and That and vindication/Rev A

If you read the feeder as originally posted, this should replace it.  somehow they screwed up the sizes of the actual pictures from the actual article

It’s been a while since I devoted ink to “rants”, and these all don’t qualify, they have that flavor.  

We're Number One! 

What is it with the American Psyche that drives sports fans to a seemingly insatiable desire and fascination of “who’s number ONE”.   In the wee smalls, one of my defenses for the demons of the night is to listen to Sports Talk Radio Shows from one network to another.  Granted, they are eager to fill their time slot somehow, but they feed the American beast by endless debates as to whether LeBron or Michael is the GOAT, or Brady and Montana.  Who the he** cares? They’re all talented athletes (or atha-letes as one host says) and can’t they just co-exist without designated one as the “Best” ever regardless of decade or whatever.

One of the last refuges from this mania has (to me) been in the world of golf.  You can watch a tournament on the weekend (the recent Open Championship) and just enjoy that event, and when it’s over, it’s over.  On to the next.  Okay, there are occasional comparisons of stats (Tiger/Nicklaus) but palatable.  Well, that has now changed.  Now, every weekend when Tournament du Jour coverage starts it begins with a statement like “CBS Sports welcomes you to the Ridge Open, part of the season long race for the FEDEX cup!!”; now you can’t just enjoy the competition without continuous screens showing the cup points and standings.  The only reason the “regular season” exists is to see who is eligible for the FedEx Cup, The SUPER BOWL, NBA playoffs, or World Series. The other night one of the sporting talking heads urged his listeners to call up and say why or why not their NFL team would be in the playoffs!!  I am not sure but I don’t think game one has been played, and scrimmages (OTA’s as they’re called) have just started. Ridiculous!  Makes me ill and takes the enjoyment out of watching weekly competition for what it is. 

Press One if...

Okay, enough of that..second aggravation.   The other night we were hosting some friends over for dinner, and I picked up my (Android) phone to look at contacts or something, and upon pressing Contacts, a green box appeared around it and the phone said:  “You have selected contacts, to continue you must double click the box, or long press to (do something)” OMG what have I done? Same for anything. I couldn’t make it stop.  Panic set in, my worst nightmare, a phone that took 2 minutes to do anything!  After flailing around unsuccessfully, I called my contact with MFO's phone at the local Verizon store and, bless him, he answered, and said I had apparently somehow turned on the TalkBack feature.   "It’s pretty involved to turn it off, but if you call Verizon at 611, selecting option 4 they can do it over the lines".  Okay, I’ll try.  Press phone icon “you have selected the phone icon, press it twice to continue or long press..”  finally was able to call 611 to get the “welcome to Verizon please enter your Verizon pin number”.  Crap! I never use it, let alone know what it is.. took shot (you have entered 6 green box, 3 you have entered three (green box), and finally “That is not the pin associated with that account, please try again later”.  Click. A few tries later it asked me to briefly describe why I was calling… “Stop phone from talking back”   “I don’t understand you, let me get someone to help” finally an actual human answered and we stumbled through the process.  Do you know it makes a difference (at least in that mode) whether you scroll with two or three fingers?  By this time my heart rate was a million, and my nerves were in shreds.  I hope I never get in that mode again.  Once again the phone proves to be much smarter than its owner.  Kind of tainted my whole evening.

Well, well well

Okay, I want to finish on a upbeat.  Alert and longtime “Feeder Reeders” know that I continually have harped over the years on proper behavior when in a restaurant.  You also remember that the food writer/critic for the Washington Post (Tom Sietsema) sometimes deviates from his weekly reviews of restaurants to comment on similar subjects.  Last Sunday, I found this synopsis from one of his on-line chats:

I found the article extremely interesting

The “cleaning up” part was about the growing practice of presenting “naked tables” (i.e., no linens) even in dressier restaurants with silverware resting on bare surfaces, and the cleaning of same.  Wiped down?  Disinfected?  It was surprising to me how many people objected to this practice and lengths they go to for removing them from the table top (hence the cartoon above)

“Showing up” was discussion on whether or not you should return the call from restaurants that go to the trouble to dial you up and remind you.  Some places actually release your reservation if they don’t hear back.  Are you obligated to confirm your booking!  Polite manners would be to call the restaurant only if you had to cancel, otherwise it should be understood you are planning to fulfill your commitment. More interesting discussion

But, But, But what really got me was his third subject (Does Tom read the Feeder??)

Reiterating things I have railed about for years – apparently sharing the opinion with Mr. Sietsema (and the WaPo fashion editor)

Interpreted for readability  Somehow blogger screwed up my pics from the actual article.   They would read:

“My pet peeve is men wearing ball caps in dining rooms, which didn’t go over very well with a chat participant who claimed to be seated at the upscale Fiola while wearing jeans and a hat.  He called my annoyance “Disrcriminatory” without providing any details.

Call me prehistoric, but removing one’s hat indoors demonstrates respect.  Was I missing something?  I took the matter to The Post’s esteemed fashion critic, Robin Givan, who settled the matter to my great satisfaction when she responded via email that “unless that dining room is at an actual ball park, I say take off your cap”.  To me, keeping it on just makes you look like you're ready to flee the scene at any moment.

Givan added, "it's a little like sitting in a dining room with your sunglasses on.  Take them off, stay a while

In other words

Another part of the Feeder’s definition of his DFD has always been to dress in accordance with the restaurant which he also addressed:

T-shirt and cargo shorts at the Inn at Little Washington is not going to match the décor; someone in a tuxedo at McDonald’s similarly clashes

It is gratifying to me that I am not just some loonie howling in the wilderness but have others (far more into the “scene”) than I that share similar opinions

Other short notes

67 years ago (1952) today marked the opening of the linking of Maryland's Eastern and Western shore from Annapolis to Kent Island.

Rumor has it that there is much activity on the long awaited restaurant in Leonardtown on the other corner of the old Café Des Artistes (sigh)

And as Tom and I would remind you

DFD

Many things ( NOT shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax— Of cabbages—and kings)

Being a long time docent at St. Mary’s City, “specializing” in the reconstructed brick chapel of 1667, I often talk about the  the long history of the Chapel.  Well, when the colonists constructed it, in the (late) 17^th century, Notre Dame had stood tall for almost 500 years.  Fortunately, we were able to visit it a couple of times and what a calamity for not just Christians, but mankind in general.  Reports of what was lost continue to roll in, hopefully some of the irreplaceable items may have survived. 

So, despite an undertone of insignificance, we’ll plunge into mundane Feeder topics..

Eggs live on

People have been asking about expanding my egg repertoire beyond Turkeys and Exotic Chickens.  Particularly eggs from Ducks.  Okay, well another educational experience for the feeder ensued.  I had thought I would have to find a cute little boutique farm with a gentleman farmer harboring his loving brood (mixed metaphor there) of ducks producing delicate, perfectly formed restaurant quality eggs.  Well, in response to some inquiries, I got several “well, you ninny, they are sold at the farmer’s market at Hermanville Road and 235!” (so much for bucolic searching) and a friend volunteered to get me some. 

Duck lesson one: Duck Eggs are not hard to come by.

Lesson two came when I received a half dozen of them.  My city boy perception of duck eggs were that they would be smaller than the chicken variety.  Well, here’s a side by each:

Which is Daisy’s and which is the hen’s product?

Answer:

Duck Lesson two:  (These) duck eggs are at least the size of Chicken eggs; go figure.

Lesson three: the crucial taste test…. Another throwdown!

Again ducky on the lefty

Fried up in Mr All Clad

Followed by brother chicken

And plated both

Neither MFO nor I could notice any marked difference in mouthfeel (love to use that word), color, or taste.  Both pretty good.  I was preconditioned to give the duck a “Ptooie” after another good palate reported she had to pitch hers into the woods as being inedible.   Hope hers was not “just bad”.

Duck Lesson three: there is no significant culinary difference in Duck and Chicken (Or turkey for that matter!)

So I’m afraid that I have to pretty much give an across the board “okay” to Chicken, Turkey, and now Duck eggs.  Take what is easy.  Comments welcomed.

The Aliens have landed! flesh eating growths on the loose!

Nope. here’s the status of the Moody Mushroom Farm:

Day 10

Oh, Beans!

a close out for the long, long, time readers with a good memory (and sports junkies):

Remember what this signifies?

Yep, it is my traditional “Final Round of the Masters” snack.   Salted (yes menu breaker) and jelly beans.  The beans are authentic Brach’s, but the peanuts are NOT the Planter’s Cocktail Nuts from the blue can, rather Whitley’s Virginia peanuts.  Still a great pairing (ha ha)

WARNING THE FOLLOWING SPORTS REPORT CONTAINS RARE POLITICAL CONTENT 

(please skip freely)

Well, while the snacks were semi-traditional, the golf tournament was anything but.  Alert (Sports oriented) readers will know that after N years, it is believed all is forgiven for Tiger and he’s now larger than life in his quest to “Return to Glory”.  A snip from the San Francisco Chronicle:

“Everyone, even the president, needs a pal. President Trump is so pleased for his golf buddy Tiger Woods that he wants to give the comeback winner of the Masters the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian award in the land.

Ugh, for several reasons. Save it for true cultural and social leaders. Give it to those who are morally inspiring as well as accomplished, meaning not Tiger. Hand out fewer to heighten the power of the award. Skip your friends and think of the nation”

The feeder has to make a (rare) politically oriented observation (although alert readers may sense my leanings): Everything our President does these days is with the sole purpose of building a voter base for 2020, you think honoring T has ulterior motives? 

I have never been a “Tiger Fan”.   I do make a distinction between his ability with a golf club and the man.  He is a phenomenal golfer with skills never seen before, and deserves all the credit for his play (GOAT??), but not (IMHO) his personality.  Many people seem to believe he is entitled to win a major for what he’s overcome medically. Show me the score, man; go earn it!

Anyway, the heads will change their tune from “will Tiger ever win (a major) again?” to “will Tiger now “Catch” Jack?” 

Okay enough for today

Despite the last entry hope everyone has a joyful Easter season

DFD, and don’t forget NMMJ!

Addendum and in the hopper:

what in the Hell is a Maryland Crab Cake?

what's different about these "burgers"?

 

Pigskins, Pickin' and Crying in Nashville

Well, did you get your fill of hype and football yesterday? Or better yet, did you get your fill of great food?   I have often thought that the real function of the Super Bowl was (aside from a few psychotic folk) an enabler for people to get together, have appropriate food (which must include something orange) and enjoy each other’s company.  The game itself is secondary (IMHO) to the opportunity to have a social gathering.   Some of my favorite memories of “the game” involve not the sport (who’s playing again?) but the chance to have fun and eat food like Jambalaya and Gumbo.

In a bit of variance to what I just said, I am a bit confused over all the Social Media postings like “what a boring game” and “a waste of my time”.  Another symptom of the seemingly insatiable American belief of: “the higher the score, the better the game”.  They should be watching the NBA, and the three-point festival that the league has turned in to.  Certainly there is no wonder at the lack of popularity of (European) Football/Soccer in this country. 

Lastly, I somewhat also understand and appreciate the sentiment of the NOLA Saint’s faithful, but seems to me boycotting the event is a bit much.  Despite sentiments running high, I do not believe their team was entitled to win the NFC championship.  Certainly the “no-call” as it has become to be named, was a factor but there were other opportunities after that incident. 

Our celebration (food) included simple yet appropriate fare, a Jambalaya

And a "riff" on a Southern Classic, Red Jezebel:

The true classic Jezebel would include club crackers, but being the culinary adventurer I am, I exchanged those for Ritz, with the circular shape echoing the similar form of the red pepper jelly…. In reality I didn’t have any club crackers!

Enough.  March Madness is just around the corner.. End of what (kind of unintentionally) turned into a rant.

Let’s chat a bit more about food, more specifically: “regional food”, dishes that are kind of associated with geographical locations.  Barbeq/cue is the typical example that leaps to mind, with all the regional variations found in the meats, sauces, preps, and so on.  One such category that I knew existed, but not much about was “Nashville Hot Chicken”.  Well, the February 4^th edition of The New Yorker had an article called “Letter From Nashville” providing 6 pages of three column text relating all anybody would want to know about Nashville Hot Chicken which has now achieved cult status.  The Prince Family is accredited with the genesis of it, and eventually led to their (legendary) restaurant: “Prince’s Hot Chicken Shack”.

The current owner is André Prince Jeffries

Like several foods that (inadvertantly?) turned into classics (Reuben sandwiches, "Buffalo" Chicken Wings) there is a story behind the genesis of Nashville Hot Chicken.  According to Prince family history:

“Andrés great uncle Thornton Prince III, was a (sic) handsome pig farmer and fond of women.  One Saturday night, he dragged home late, angering his girlfriend.  The next day Prince asked her to make his favorite food, fried chicken.  The girlfriend complied, but with a furious twist: she saturated the bird in Cayenne and other spices.” 

No doubt, Prince was expected to suffer, and he did, but he also enjoyed the experience.  He began replicating the spicy fried chicken and selling it on weekends, out of his home, and eventually opened a small restaurant, the BBQ Chicken Shack, which became beloved in the black community. 

When he died in 1960, the restaurant got passed around to various relatives, eventually landing with the granddaughter of one of his brothers, Jeffries.  She made improvements, and installed the “heat guide” allowing customers to choose from: plain; mild; medium; hot; Xhot; and XXXHot.  Stories abound about people like Sean Brock and (the late) Anthony Bourdain, trying XXXHot Chicken, and of course it today’s technology there are YouTube videos of the experience.

It is always served on two slices of white bread with a short stack of dill pickle chips held in place by a toothpick.

The (prestigious) James Beard Foundation gave the restaurant its America’s Classics award, which honors “timeless” establishments serving “quality food that reflects the character of its community”.   Alert readers just may, think about some parallels between the Beard’s concept and the Feeder’s “Just Right” designation.

Since the reputation and cult following of Nashville Hot Chicken has spread, “imitators” abound:  400 Degrees; Bolton’s; Hattie B’s; Helen’s Hot Chicken; Pepper Fire to name a few.  A few are expanding into becoming a Mini-Chain.

The original location of Prince’s suffered a fire in late December that still has the original Ewing Drive location closed, but their other location on Nolansville Pike is open.  It is slightly bigger than the original shack, and apparently has a slightly expanded menu.

The recipe for the original spice blend is a closely held secret, no cameras allowed, the kitchen is walled off from the eating area, etc.  Of course good old YouTUbe has multiple videos proclaiming to show how it is made..  Have not looked.

Anyway, if any of the loyal readers have experienced Nashville Hot Chicken in some form, let the Feeder know.  With his sensitive institution, it is highly unlikely he will never personally experience the dish..

According to some stories, DFD for eating the XXXHot might include a change of undergarments..just a sartorial hint about

DFD,

And I earnestly hope they eschew MJ

Killin' Time

Well, it’s about 30 minutes to kickoff of the first of two NFL division champion ship games.  First is Rams/Saints in the Super Dome, then Pats/Chiefs in KC.  FOJTY scored some tickets to that one, so with arctic gear and oxygen they’ll be watching.  Be quite an experience for him.   Apparently whole town is nuts over the Chiefs and the young phenom Patrick Mahomes and interesting he’s up against the GOAT (according to some) Tom Brady.  One end of the spectrum to the other. 

So what does the Feeder do to kill time (which is now clicking away)?  He counts JELLY BEANS!  (or a Brach now calls them “Classic Jelly Bird Eggs”).   Sorry, they’re BEANs!  As you may remember, he is conducting a highly technical study of the contents of every bag o’beans.   A gift bag last week brings my totals to 869 study beans in the six bags “tested” (i.e., eaten).   Each bag contains 9.25 ounces of the little sugar bombs.  I have been looking for some order or commonality to the contents.  Guess what?  Nothing has stood out or emerged so far.   The only consistency is that there are eight colors in every bag: Orange, Green, Yellow, Pink, White, Blue/Purple; Black; and Red.  Their distribution in each bag appears to be random.   As an example Red had 12, 20, 16, 12, 5, and 7% of the beans counted, which resulted in 12.4% of the total.  It may be that things are evening out, with O(range) @ 13.6%; G @ 10.4%; Y @ 12.5%; P @ 10.2%; W @ 11.4%; B @ 10.7%; B @ 18.8%; R @ 12.4%.  And I repeat: am I an engineer because I’m this way or I’m this way because I’m an engineer?

But my objective has been accomplished.  The game is about to kickoff!

I might make mention that we joined a little group at Elements (Eatery and Mixology) Friday night for dinner.  The food at the hands of Chef Bobby Metcalf was outstanding, especially my Halibut with sun dried tomatoes, capers and green veggies.  The house was pretty full, so you should go one of these days.  

and for God's sake
DFD

and you don't have to worry about NMMJ here!  they're nowhere to be seen!

let the game begin!

Here and There..

What a weekend for the French!  Yesterday was Bastille Day, and today the French team plays for the World Cup, the world’s most prized trophy in sports (with a trivial nod toward the Stanley Cup and the commercialized Super Bowl of (American) football), which I watch as I type (resulting in many errors)..

Been accumulating a few things to pass along, not necessarily food related, but maybe of some interest.   There’s was also three rants, which I will whittle down to two, saving the most negative one to the last, lest you stop reading. 

 Livin' on the Riiiivvvver

We start with the passing scene in our “back yard”, i.e., the Patuxent River.   Mostly we see all sorts of things, like boats

Who sometimes “raft up” and have fun

these were waiting for the fireworks on the 4^th

And besides pleasure boats there are “working boats” like our friend “Miss Marleny”, a tug who lately seems to cycle between Cove Point and the river side of Town Creek.   Always pushing a load of various “stuff”, the purpose of which is not clear to this office

And we also look up to see other things plying the air thanks to nature

And man

And then above all is one of the more interesting things we can do (isn’t this riveting reading?) is watch the clouds (insert Joni Mitchell tune here).  I suppose I could somehow make a time lapse out of these, but all were taken with my feet remaining in the same space within a span of just few minutes

It’s brief life span brings to mind one of my more favorite Shakespearean quotes (from Macbeth): “life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage… and then is heard no more”

a bit dramatic perhaps, but it is something we see and will never see again.

One things the stormy kinds of clouds bring out are the avid sailors

Tomate 

Speaking of nature, she brought us some wonderful bounty (courtesy of our neighbor) of seasonable veggies (she has long since learned not to offer Zucchini or eggplant – it’s just me)  

Still life with vegetables

Okay, if you haven’t fallen asleep yet, we’ll dive into the cesspool of some (two) rants.

Sandwiches

I think I’ve touched on this before, but there are now a series of commercials for Firehouse Subs that are headlined “enjoy more subs, save more lives” and of course they mean enjoy our subs.  Features some guy who claims to be a NY fireman dressed up in firefighting gear, who explains that by buying their subs, you are contributing to saving lives because a portion of each sandwich goes to their foundation to buy lifesaving equipment.  Turns out they donate 0.13 percent (.0013) per sandwich  (a five buck sandwich generates 0.0065 cents) so a sale of 1000 sandwiches would generate a whopping six and a half cents.  A million sandwiches would get 65 dollars.  That’s fine, but what really gets me is that they tell me I should eat their sandwiches purely out of patriotic duty because I want to save lives.  Not because they have a good product.

Sports - Wimbledon

Which has just concluded with Djokovic holding the championship trophy by beating a very nice kid (Kevin Anderson) in straight sets, who got there by eliminating Federer in a fantastic 5 set match, and “Djoko” reaching the final by besting Nadal in a classic match. Wonderful tennis! 

BUT then there is the Ladies side of the draw (rant begins here)

I have always admired and respected Chrissie Evert, but I have lost almost all of that after this tournament.   From beginning to end, all she did was extoll how wonderful Serena was, coming back after she had her kid, and said she should win another Wimbledon, to prove she is the GOAT. 

Well, then along comes Angelique Kerber, who beat Serena in the championship match in straight sets.  And Chrissie had the audacity to say, “well, Serena didn’t have her best game today”. Translation: the only reason Angelique won was because Serena was off that day.  Not because she played better tennis, just Serena lost it.  Sorry Chrissie, I’m off.

And somehow (he continues) Serena is now being held up as a monument to all women and mothers.  She was quoted after the match saying “to all the moms out there, I was playing for you today!”  Gee, thanks Serena.  And isn’t this the same woman who told a line judge she was going to “stuff a tennis ball down your throat!”?

Okay, I’ll lay off.  There is no doubt that she is the best woman tennis player today (and yes,maybe all time), but just don’t think she deserves to be representing all mothers everywhere.   

Well, that’s all I got today, and end with the constant reminder to

DFD and NMMJ

Viva La France!