Lessons From The Salad Bowl

Salinas Valley is the part of California tucked in between Monterey and Carmel, commonly referred to as “The Salad Bowl”. It’s named that because of the high volume of food it produces for all Americans. It’s a beautiful place that I’ve visited several times.

This week, I spent a lot of time driving through the fields while the workers were harvesting, giving me an eye opening front row seat to their process.

Wow, they sure did have a lot of short workers. I’m sure they weren’t children, just short adults. Right?

They were also covered head to toe. Every worker tries to protect as much skin as possible. Temperatures can be breezy and cold, or reach the high 90’s, it doesn’t matter. The safety from the chemicals is what matters. Even still, the average lifespan of these workers is only 49 years.

But, I’m sure those chemicals have nothing to do with it, right?

I’m sure those same chemicals are “good” for you and your family to eat?

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While I was watching these workers give their life for the food on our table, social media (both here and England) filled up with enough hate speech to make a person lose their appetite. What troubles me most about certain populist movements and the intensely nationalistic rhetoric that flourishes is how the conversation of “us versus them” ALWAYS focuses on the weakest among us.

You’re mad that “illegals” have taken a mythical job that you weren’t offered, and that you wouldn’t do, and that you would die from doing before turning 50? And you want to be mad about it, fine. But, why be mad at the person who’s barely surviving? Why blame the person who travels to work packed into a 40 year old school bus pulling port-a-potties that will later remove their own feces.

 “Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.” – Matthew 25:45

Be angry at the actual root of the problem. Who’s REALLY responsible for illegal employment in this country? The 16 year old working the field for a slave’s wage or the multi-billion dollar, multi-national corporation with a fleet of attorneys and lobbyists?

Between the amount of produce being grown with nasty fracked water and this trip through The Salad Bowl, I have further committed to buying from my local farmers and to growing even more of our own produce.

The Importance of Family Traditions

Preparing for the family’s annual summer vacation focuses my mind on the importance of having family traditions.

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Traditions can be daily, weekly, yearly, or longer. We all have daily traditions that we take for granted. Do you wake your kids up the same way every day? Do you put them to sleep in the same manner? Is there a special game you play on the car ride to school? These routines help define our relationship to our children and to the world itself.

One of our family’s weekly traditions is letting both kids eat Friday night dinner in front of the television. Yes, for all of you Screen Time Police Officers out there, you read that correctly, in front of the television. Even further, there’s very little communication that happens besides delivering and replenishing food and drinks. The adults sit off to the side and have “adult” conversation while the toddlers take in the newest Paw Patrol while shoveling a week’s worth of leftovers into their mouths. Judge away.

Traditions can help teach children and others about religious practices as well as pass down behaviors specific to one’s culture. They can also help mark seasonality, which becomes super helpful when living in a place where the weather stays the same throughout the year. Or, traditions can just be a time when mom and dad recover from a long week, and the kids get to ease into their weekend doing something they desperately want to do.

“Hank, why do you drink? Hank, why do you roll smoke? Why must you live out the songs that you wrote? Over and over, everybody met my prediction. So if I get stoned, I’m just carryin’ on an old family tradition.”– Hank Williams Jr.

What traditions do you and your family practice? Are they positive or negative? Are you mindful of them and their impact?

Traditions can also be the suck-o-licious kind, like, packing for a family of four to be away from home for a week, which is what I need to get back to doing.

The Off-Season Of Discontent

At this point in the NFL off-season, diehard fans are checking reports from mini-camp, monitoring the relevant free-agent news (where will Adrian Foster end up?), debating the potential impact of draft choices, and dissecting other roster moves heading into training camp.

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As preseason approaches, most fans are getting excited—but not Chargers and Raiders fans. It’s difficult for Chargers fans to feel sympathy for Raiders fans, and vice-versa. But in today’s NFL, where franchise movement has become a reality, that’s what has happened. Both fan bases have been so jerked around by their owners and the league that these bitter rivals can actually feel sympathy for each other.

Growing up just a short drive from Pittsburgh during the seventies and early eighties when the Steelers were dominating the NFL, everyone I encountered was a Steeler fan. But not me, instead, I became a San Diego Chargers fan. Some of that decision was due to an inherent rebellious nature. But mainly it was because of Kellen Winslow’s superhuman performance versus the Miami Dolphins in a divisional playoff game—January 2, 1982.

I was a kid, I didn’t care about defensive schemes and blitz patterns, I wanted to see long passes and touchdowns. At the time, a typical AFC Central showdown was a 6 to 3 defensive struggle. In contrast, the AFC West games were shootouts. Soon, Air Coryell won me over.

When I moved to Southern California, I drove around with a perma-grin for the first few months. The weather was always beautiful, and everywhere I looked, there were lightning bolt stickers on the backs of cars. And when I tuned in the local AM sports talk station, I almost cried when they dedicated an entire hour show to the Chargers. I was home.

But that was then. Now, it’s another off-season of discontent for San Diego fans.

Eric Weddle after last home game as a Charger
Eric Weddle after last home game as a Charger

Chargers devotees have to not only deal with losing, we also get to spend another season in franchise limbo. Our pertinent off-season updates contain information about how fast the Chargers received 111,000 signatures for their new stadium proposal. We spend our time reading about Mission Valley developments versus downtown developments. We analyze interviews with Mayor Faulconer and study statements from City Council members in hopes of deciphering future support and votes. We even concern ourselves with the current location of bus yards.

At one point, we had to endure the thought of sharing a stadium with the Raiders. Can you imagine any other divisional rivals sharing a stadium?  “No problem Philadelphia Eagle fans, you can keep your franchise, you just need to share a stadium with the Cowboys.”

With the Chargers proposal moving forward, this off-season has brought dread and the occasional spot of promise. Knowing it could be San Diego’s last year with the Chargers leaves a bad taste in every fan’s mouth. But, once camp and the preseason starts, we’re hoping to get back to actual football news.

How is Melvin Gordon recovering from micro-fracture foot surgery?

How is Gordon’s reunion with former badger FB Derek Watt shaping up?

How is Adrian Phillips developing, and will he be able to fill the extra-large shoes of Eric Weddle?

Is the rookie, Hunter Henry, going to be another Hall of Fame Tight End for San Diego? No pressure.

Is Keenan Allen’s lacerated kidney completely healed, and how does he plan to spend his new four year, $45 million contract?

All of these questions, plus other football related ones, will take center stage as we get closer to kickoff. But, for San Diego loyalists, the real question of whether there will even be anything left to be a fan of is what occupies our off-season thoughts.

The Farmers Market Jerk of the Week

I’ve always had a deep affection for local farmers markets. For the past seven years, I’ve spent nearly every Saturday morning perusing mine. As an entrepreneur, I also view the experience as a refresher course on point of purchase marketing and consumer etiquette. Fortunately, I live in one of the sunniest places on the planet (Southern California), making it possible to people and produce watch 51 weeks a year (off Christmas week).

While the long growing seasons provide ample fruits and vegetables, our market also offers plenty of crafts and activities to keep every generation in the family happy. There’s a miniature train ride, popsicles, kettle corn, and balloon animals for the kids. Handmade aprons, jewelry, tamales, and a plethora of artisanal culinary delights for the adults.

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Over the years, I’ve gotten to know every farmer that my family purchases from and many of the customers as well. We’ve developed a level of familiarity that when we skip a week, our absence is often asked about.  To have a mutually beneficial shopping relationship with pleasant people is a breath of fresh air in today’s retail environment where customer service has been forgotten.

But just like produce, a few bad apples can spoil an entire shopping experience. Today, I saw the ultimate farmers market bad apple.

No, I’m not referring to the crowd of foodies taking up half a stall debating which type of radish tastes the most tart, or the young lady who scarfed down an entire plate of samples, only to scurry away when the farmer turned around to help another customer, or the woman pushing a cart that took up 99% of the aisle. We all encounter these types of behaviors on a regular basis. Most only deserve a shrug and a nod to human idiosyncrasies.

I’m writing about the gentleman who didn’t correct the arithmetic mistake made on his purchase of: one bag of green beans, two heads of kale, three avocados, and two bunches of carrots. The twinkle in his eye, his body language, and the single dollar he put back into his pocket told me he definitely knew his total was seventeen, not the sixteen dollars he was charged.

One dollar.

These particular farmers (husband, wife, and daughter) wake up at 5:00 a.m. on Saturday so they can finish harvesting and load their truck. They drive over an hour to our neighborhood, where they will spend the next five hours baking in the sun. They deliver some of the least expensive organic food to their customers before driving home and repackaging their unsold produce. Their fifteen hour day is repeated six days a week, as they attend markets throughout Orange and LA counties.

Not wanting to cause a scene, but wanting to keep my farmers market karma intact, I paid for my veggies, and handed Maria an extra two dollars. “I’ll pick up another head of lettuce on my way out,” I said.

Oops, I forgot the lettuce.

Mary and her family see close to a thousand customers a day. Yes, they’re only performing basic math, but even simple subtraction gets difficult when you’re tired and have several customers simultaneously pulling at you.

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I try to be a good customer; I don’t molest each piece of fruit before putting it back. I’m efficient and courteous while filling my bags. But, I often rely on their arithmetic. I tell them what I bought, and they tell me how much I owe them. It’s simple laziness on my part. Next week, I’ll give them the purchase total right after telling them what I bought. It’s a small change that will probably go unnoticed. But, if it takes just a small burden off of people who do so much for me and my family, then bring on the addition and subtraction.

Human contact has been removed from many of our economic transactions these days. But it’s the personal relationship element, the sense of doing what’s right for your customer and fellow man, that allows lifestyle businesses to remain successful, and for growth companies to scale while remaining true to their core. It’s also what keeps people from being jerks at your local farmers market.

Size Matters in The Sauna and The Voting Booth

I’ve become enamored with saunas thanks to Dr. Rhonda Patrick and her message of how consistent use can produce significant health benefits, including a significant reduction in the rates of cancer. In fact, my family is set to begin remodeling our house in stages, and I hope to have some of the additional square footage earmarked for a home sauna. But, until then, I travel to my local gym’s hotbox almost every day. It’s a smaller industrial unit, but it’s well-lit and clean. Minus the occasional visitor, I have plenty of space to read while increasing my heat shock proteins.

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This morning, I was joined by two other heat seekers. The first, an older gentleman, probably in his early seventies, was the first to arrive. He stood directly in front of the sign displaying the rules of the sauna, removed the towel from around his waist, and climbed to the second tier of benches. He then used his towel for a pillow. As he reclined, he exposed his seventy year old ass-crack to every member in the locker room who would walk past the glass door or enter the sauna.

Moments later, a younger gentleman, in his mid to late twenties entered the sauna wearing his complete basketball uniform—high-tops and all. He walked over to the lava rocks, splashed an entire cup of water over them, passing the sign twice before sitting down. To his credit, he did manage to stay over twenty minutes, even though he remained fully dressed the entire time.

The sign only has six rules— number three is all sauna goers must wear a towel at all times, number five is do not pour water on the lava rocks.

I tried to focus on my novel, but the heat made my mind wander to my upcoming plans for the day. After the gym, I was headed to vote in the California primary for the final day of this cycle’s primary season. (Is there anyone in America who isn’t already sick of this Presidential election cycle?) Then, because of my fellow sauna goers, my mind shifted to how demographics determine our societal structure and our political landscape. If you want to significantly shift societal norms, like the Boomers did in the 60’s, size matters.

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I belong to Generation X, a title so cool that we should have been given X-Men superpowers instead of a latchkey. We have a population range between 70 and 83 million depending on when the generation is counted.

The Baby Boomers (born between 1946 and 1964) currently total just above 75 million people.

Millennials (born between 1980 and 2000) now number over 83 million people, dwarfing even the Boomers.

Gen X’s size, compared to those around us, means we’re destined for a life of political partnership. While we have views that are uniquely ours, we aren’t numerous enough to impose our collective will without partnering with large segments of our fellow citizens— which is good. Perhaps my generation can lead the nation’s political discussion back to a time when we worked with our neighbors instead of throwing partisan mud at them.

As for me, after voting, I negotiated my family’s discussion until the sauna reached the top of our remodeling to do list.

The Other “G” Word

William Klug Ph.D., an Engineering Professor at UCLA, was murdered on Wednesday June 1, 2016. There are several apparent motives, including a poor grade received by the shooter. Professor Klug’s death was one of only 27 gun fatalities on that day; however, his death hit home in a particularly personal way. We had several mutual friends who were impacted. Also, my wife is a professor, and meeting with disgruntled students is a common occurrence in her job. This is also true for most of our closest friends and neighbors.

Given how often my loved ones find themselves in similar situations as Professor Klug, one might expect another post about the state of guns in America. But, this will be about the other “g” word that Americans have become obsessed with— grades.

In this era of Common Core, it’s worth noting that standardized schooling is a relatively new concept in human history. Horace Mann has long been lauded as the person who implemented a consistent learning experience throughout the United States in the early 1800’s. But, it was Henry Ford’s miraculous assembly line and the industrial revolution that followed that necessitated training millions of workers who could stand in line, follow directions, and perform mind-numbing work for eight to twelve hours a day.

The groundwork was laid. Standardized factories meant standardized schools. The playbook for success was passed down from generation to generation, “Get good grades in school and you’ll get into a good college. Get good grades in college and you’ll get a good job. Get a good job and you’ll be happy.” The lesson was simple, good grades unlocked the Industrial Era’s playbook.

While this scenario worked well during the 1800’s and 1900’s, it fails to produce the desired results in today’s economic climate. In case you haven’t noticed, the internet has ushered in the Information Era where manufacturing jobs are done by the lowest bidder (usually an impoverished person from another country), and a person’s economic worth is largely based on their intellectual output.

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The traits, or “soft skills” (creativity, autonomy, teamwork, and project management) needed to navigate this new landscape often can’t be found in our archaic standardized school system. We see the evidence of this all around us, yet many parents only shrug because they feel helpless against the behemoth that is the American educational system.

While the problems and potential solutions to a nationwide educational system are above my paygrade, I know that parents can have an immediate impact on this situation by stressing learning over grades. Instilling a pliable mindset where lifelong learning is the goal, and not good grades at all costs, will help your child to be a high-functioning member of today’s economy, but also in an ever changing one.

Even though he doesn’t start formal school for two more years, the pressure for good grades has already started for my oldest child, and I take daily action to stop this negative mental encroachment. The last interaction I have with him before tucking him in at night, is asking him two questions. What did you do today that was the most fun? And, what was one thing you learned or one skill you improved?

The answers to the questions aren’t important, my repetition is. The nightly subliminal message that he receives before going to sleep is to focus on something fun, and that learning and improving are the true goals.

We live in a hyper competitive school district where the good grade rivalries started in my child’s preschool room for one year olds. Throughout preschool events, when parents talked to me about their child’s milestones, I would see the stress in their facial muscles. They were already convinced that their two year old (Da Da want wa-wa.) was doomed to a life of failure, while some other toddler (Daddy can I have some water?) is obviously destined to be the next CEO of JP Morgan Chase.

The first few times parents cornered me and asked about our parenting techniques caught me by complete surprise. My common retort of “You know he still poops in his pants? Right?” always seemed to leave their thirst for knowledge unquenched.

Whoever’s child eventually gets that dream job of the future, they’ll get there without any talk of their grades. Oh, there will be talks, many that they won’t enjoy. There will be lessons about responsibility, hard work, commitment, planning, executing, failing, marketing, finance, logistics, and how to be a good teammate, coworker, and manager, and thousands of other topics. But, no one will quiz them about their grades.

I find a deep sadness in the loss of a life over something as insignificant as grades. Put simply, at a certain point in one’s life, grades don’t matter—at all.

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How can I be so certain of this with only anecdotal evidence?

I’m in my early 40’s, and for the past two decades I’ve had millions of conversations with friends, family, employers, and colleagues on topics ranging from happiness to death. Further, with the advent of the internet, I’ve witnessed millions of social interactions by friends and complete strangers.  In that time, I’ve seen countless arguments, memes, political debates, pictures of Halloween costumes, and cat videos. But, I haven’t seen one post about someone’s grades (who wasn’t actively in school). Not one.

So, as parents, if we want to instill a new playbook that will help our children thrive and maximize their happiness, focus your message on learning, not grades.

The nation’s thoughts, prayers, and well wishes are with the family of Professor Klug, as are mine.

Watching “The ‘Burbs” in The Burbs is sooooo Meta

My wife and I have a standing agreement that if one of us enjoyed a movie from the 80’s, and the other spouse hasn’t seen it yet, we watch the movie together to share in the other person’s childhood memories, and to add to our own level of 80’s nostalgia.

Yesterday’s dinner conversation morphed from an actual volcano, to an episode of Miles from Tomorrowland about a volcano, to “Joe Versus the Volcano”, to another Tom Hanks film— “The ‘Burbs.”

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I was “The ‘Burbs” veteran, and she was the rookie, but I could barely remember the plot, which is the preferable way to go into a three decade old movie. I gave adequate warnings about the possibility of the film sucking, which is always a risk with media from the 80’s. So, once the kids were tucked in for the night, we hustled to our media room.

For those of you not familiar with the movie, Tom Hanks stars as the ringleader of a group of neighbors with too much time on their hands. These suburbanites take it upon themselves to investigate the “mysterious” neighbors who recently moved in to their cul-de-sac. The movie costars: Carrie Fisher, Bruce Dern, and Corey Feldman.

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Does this movie stand the test of time? That is the question I ask about any movie I revisit from the Reagan decade.

There were plenty of things to like about The ‘Burbs.

Even though the movie has a noir feel to it, the story telling was refreshingly simplistic, as are most movies from the 80’s. Apparently, screenwriter’s hadn’t yet got the message to “make every movie as convoluted as possible”.

The visual elements were authentically 80’s.

The hair was big. No surprise there. But, Corey Feldman’s hair was exceptionally glorious.

The limited amount of technology used by the characters was primitive, even by early 90’s standards.

The movie contained the required 80’s elements of a dream sequence and a music montage.

It’s easy to forget that Tom Hanks was/is a remarkable physical comedian. This movie was a decent vehicle for him to express that talent, and it was nice to see that aspect of his acting again.

While the movie had a few other positive moments, that was about it for the good elements. I didn’t know if my disappointment stemmed from already knowing the answer to the mystery or from the film’s overall quality. I asked “The ‘Burbs” rookie, and she was also disappointed.

Did “The ‘Burbs” stand the test of time?

It was a close call, but unfortunately, this movie is best left in the 80’s.

Tired of Mother Goose? Try Maverick and Goose

As part of his bedtime routine, my four year old insists on hearing a story. As you can imagine, a person quickly runs out of stories. However, I find the easiest way to generate an appropriate bedtime story is to incorporate something from his world into a familiar story.

For example, tonight’s prebedtime activity was trampoline bouncing. So, tonight’s story was a thrilling tale about a very selective trampoline school that had contests among their students to determine who the best trampoline jumper was. There were several students vying for trampoline dominance, including: Ice Man, Maverick, and a funny little guy named Goose.

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Unfortunately for our hero, Maverick, he failed to win the trampoline school’s competition when he deviated from an established bouncing routine and unfortunately broke Goose’s leg. However, our hero learned so much from his mistake that his first post school competition against the Russian trampoline team ended in an unequivocal success.

“Daddy, you tell better stories than mommy.”

“I know son. I know.”

Tomorrow he’s getting the story of a rebellious young preschooler who ends up in a small town where they don’t allow dancing or loud music. Eventually he wins the hearts of the town’s elders and the preschoolers get the dance they’ve always wanted.

Nick Tahou was a Culinary Genius

“There is no sincerer love than the love of food.”— George Bernard Shaw

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It’s impossible to say which trip was the best, but a person never forgets his first time.

It was well past 2 a.m. during my first month of college. I was pledging my fraternity at the time, and too many of us piled into the house secretary’s car for my inaugural trip to the food mecca of Rochester. We didn’t take his vehicle because he was sober. In fact, I’m certain someone else drove. We took his car because he had a station wagon that could hold the most people. Since I was a low-life pledge, I had the pleasure of riding in the far back, stuffed in like a sardine.

After a fifteen minute commute from the suburb of Henrietta, home of R.I.T., we arrived in downtown Rochester. The sardine station wagon was immediately greeted by a slew of pimps and prostitutes. They were more than entertaining, with most of them having tongues as sharp as their pimp’s knives. Our group of drunk and loud Alpha males traded verbal compliments and insults with them as we waited to jam ourselves into an already crowded restaurant.

Tahous downtown location
Tahous downtown location

I was shocked at the number of people waiting to get food at three in the morning. But I soon learned that this level of crowd was normal for this time of the morning. Finally, after only a ten or fifteen minute wait our “plates” were served. Ever since that first bite, it has been a love affair that has lasted over two decades. If I was ever on Death Row, the answer to the final meal question is a simple one.

The Garbage Plate™ combines simple ingredients with a few exceptional ones to make an unforgettable culinary treat. While there were several individual noteworthy items (Tahou hots are fantastic) on Tahou’s menu, the real star was the world renowned Garbage Plate™.

A cheeseburger plate
A cheeseburger plate

The standard building blocks of the Garbage Plate™ are macaroni salad and home fries (the potatoes are cut slightly larger than a nickel).  Customers can choose two sides from: home fries, French fries, macaroni salad, and baked beans. The building blocks are topped with several options, but the two most popular are two cheese burgers (topped with white cheddar) or hots, and then covered with the most glorious meat sauce ever created, with just a dash of mustard and white onion sprinkled on top. While there were hundreds of combinations, there is something magical about the mixture of starchy potatoes and the creamy mac salad that offsets the grease infusion of two cheeseburgers that truly brings the Garbage Plate™ to life.

The Tahou legacy in Rochester lives on. But, unfortunately, new ordinances limit establishments from being open 24/7, and the death of Nick in 1997 still reverberates throughout the organization.

Since I now live over 2,000 miles from my treasured culinary treat, I’m forced to prepare it myself. These days, I’m also on a very limited carbohydrate diet, so the Garbage Plate™ is strictly a cheat day meal for me.

Homemade Plate Ingredients
Homemade Plate Ingredients

Lightly coat a pot or pan with Olive or Avocado Oil. I use a full size Le Creuset pot because I find the depth of the dish reduces splatter when I blend the ingredients. Add the onions and sauté for a few minutes. Add the hamburger and all of the spices. Once you have browned the meat, add the water, brown sugar, and tomato paste. Simmer for 15 minutes.

Use an immersion blender to finely chop the sauce. You’ll probably need to add a bit more water during the blending process.

Simmer for another 45 minutes to an hour, periodically adding a touch of water if necessary. You want it to be soggy, not soupy. I simmer it for several hours because the aroma fills me with an immense amount of joy.

Tahou Sauce Recipe

  •     1 medium onion, chopped
  •     1 pound ground beef
  •     1 cup water
  •     1/4 cup tomato paste
  •     1 tablespoon brown sugar
  •     1 teaspoon black pepper
  •     1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
  •     1 teaspoon chili powder
  •     1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
  •     3/4 teaspoon allspice
  •     1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
  •     1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
  •     1/4 teaspoon salt
  •     1 clove garlic, diced or pressed through a garlic press

Don’t forget about the bread. I prefer a fresh baked loaf of Italian, cut thin. But, if you want to be authentic, you can leave the loaf out until it hardens to Tahou-level stiffness.

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Lastly, you could use another hot sauce besides Red Hot™ to top off your plate. I never will, and you really shouldn’t, but one could.

Thank you Nick, your masterpiece still lives on in the hearts and stomachs of thousands of your followers.

Enjoy.