Hack Your Sandwich

You walk into a restaurant, they show you to your seat and hand you a menu. You open it, scan the various categories, and see several things that look appealing. Then when the wait staff comes, and it can go one of two ways. You tell them your selection, then continue the conversation with your companion or fiddle with your phone. Or you say, "I'd like the chicken, but can I get it with sauce on the side?" Or "The shrimp looks good, but can I get it on pasta instead of on rice?" Or "The fish? Can you grill it instead of frying it? And can you have the chef use oil instead of butter? And can you go light on the breadcrumbs? And instead of broccoli can I get just a salad on the side?" You might call those substitutions, but in the vernacular of the day they are menu hacks. (Note that is a reference to the menu, not you, though your server might feel differently.) 

There are two distinct schools of thought about this. One is that the chef has designed a dish to taste and look a certain way. Like a puzzle with interlocking pieces, each element plays a part, and changing any one changes the whole. If what he or she has created is not to your liking, then just order something else. The other school says that I'm asking you to cook for me, I'm paying for it, and it should be done the way I want it. Besides, any good cook should be able to adapt the ingredients they have to make an appetizing dish. So why not ask them to use their skills? Like most things these days, adherents of one side think those on the other are unreasonable and should be deep fried.

Most establishments and patrons fall somewhere in the middle, asking for small accommodations, and willing to make them to keep the customer satisfied. But with fast food restaurants it's not so easy. They have very specific procedures and ingredient lists which make customization difficult. However, while you can't easily change those ingredients, you can recombine them to make unique offerings. And that leads to McDonald's latest campaign: Menu Hack.

The idea is to formalize some fan favorite combos through a single order. Note that these are DYI: order the hack and you get multiple items that you then have deconstruct and rebuilt. There's' the Hash Brown McMuffin, giving you an egg sandwich with a hashbrown to put in the middle. The Surf and Turf combines a double cheeseburger with a Filet-O-Fish sandwich. And the Land, Sea and Air goes that one better, combing a Big Mac, a McChicken and a Filet-O-Fish. Lobster and NY Strip this is not.

Other quick service establishments do the same thing, though they build it for you. Oddly enough, while they don't publicize these creations, many have well known not so "secret" menus that codify these Frankenstein-esque creations. At Taco Bell, you can ask for a Cheesarito, which is melted cheese, taco sauce and scallions rolled up in a soft tortilla. At In-N-Out Burger, you can order a Flying Dutchman, which is two slices of cheese between two burger patties, and no roll. And while you can customize your drink however you want at Starbucks, you can also just ask for a Cold Buster, which is made of half steamed lemonade, half hot water, and a teabag each of Jade Citrus Mint green tea and Peach Tranquility herbal tea.

It's not just chain restaurants that have these secret creations. At Flip Sigi, a Filipino fusion restaurant in the West Village in NYC, while it's not listed, you can order a Filipino Underground Crunch Wrap, made with braised short rib, kimchi fried rice, Mexican cheese, shredded lettuce and homemade salsas wrapped in a flour tortilla. Or head to Le Cirque in Las Vegas. You won't find it printed anywhere, but if you ask nicely you can order the "Ultimate Surf-and-Turf." It features Japanese kobe steak with a perigourdine sauce topped with foie gras and shaved truffles, accompanied by a two-pound butter-poached Maine lobster tail in a lobster sauce, topped with lobster caviar and edible 24-karat gold leaf. It also has an ultimate price of $325 per portion.

Which leads to this. The next time you hear about Russian hackers, stop and think: do they mean computers or caviar?

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Marc Wollin of Bedford hacks his turkey sandwich. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

A Weddingish Celebration

Hard to believe, but it's finally here.

Last year, Allison and Dave, we gathered online for your wedding. While I (and I'm sure many others) had their doubts, it turned spectacularly well. Pandemic aside, many who might not have been able to travel to an in-person event, including kids and older relatives, were able to join. And where I thought we would "socialize" after the ceremony for just a few minutes, it was many hours later that we signed off, having "table hopped" from breakout room to breakout room, meeting and introducing friends and family that might not have connected in person.

Still, as we've all come to realize over the past two years, while most are very adaptable and managed to connect and function in ways we never before imagined, there is a hunger to be together. Be it work or play, there is no substitute for a chance to connect in person, with a real handshake and a real hug. And so this weekend we gather as one, not for your actual ceremony (we did that!), but for a "weddingish" celebration.

In some respects (and I know it didn't seem that way at the time) you are luckier than many: you get two bites of the apple. Most couples have the ceremony followed immediately by the celebration, and that's it. It's one and done. They rarely get to see the same crowd together again, rarely get to be the center of attention more than once. The next time in their married lives that all gather for a big family event or significant happening, it's likely to be a birth or graduation, and the focus is on someone else. A couple's next opportunity to be the focal point, if they are so fortunate, might not be until their 25th or 50th anniversary. And by then the roster of original attendees has likely changed significantly, thinned by time and distance.

Not so here. You gathered us all at the starting line, and now basically the same crew has reformed down the track. We get to both check in, and to cheer you on your journey. Indeed, we as audience members are also fortunate, for our fellow watchers are now not new to us. We now all have a connection and history together, and so can catch up versus get introduced.

As to you, you come to this party with a year under your belts, and perhaps a greater appreciation of each other and how you will make your way in the world. All those rosy colored aphorisms that we recited last year are no less true, but they are now tempered and tested by the last 365 days. You no longer have some idealized dream of how wedded life might be, for you have lived it. Hopefully you've had more "for better" than "for worse," and that balance will continue.

And hopefully you've also gone further done the road of figuring out the keys to your own lives together. In spite what Tolstoy wrote in "Anna Karenina," while all happy families may be alike, they are alike in different ways. What works for me or another doesn't necessarily work for you. And while you had plenty of experience as a couple before you got officially hitched, it's different when your names are together in a formal manner. 

If nothing else, this one-year pit stop gives you a chance to remind yourselves why you did what you did. It's easy to go with the flow, and get caught up in all the minor details of life. Consider this a chance to reevaluate why you took the step you did, and to recommit yourselves to going forward together. 

And so call it want you want: a first anniversary party, a rededication ceremony or a weddingish get together. The name matters less than what it is. From our standpoint it is a chance for family and friends to say again in person what we did last February online: we love you, we're thrilled for you and we wish you the best the world has to offer. And since all indications are that this once-a-year thing will work out just fine, should we put this in our books for next February as well? 

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Allison Hess and Dave Wollin are finally doing it formally this week in person. Dad's/Dad-in-law's column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Most Like It Hot

The essence of bipartisanship is to try and find the common ground, and then work from there. You do that whether you are negotiating election security, infrastructure or taxes. The trick is finding those things on which all can agree, however inconsequential they may seem. And with fewer and fewer things appealing to people regardless of age, religion, location or other factors, it's indeed looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. But a recent survey did find one thing where a vast swath of the country does see eye to eye, even if there are pronounced regional differences. Still, the way forward begins with a single step. And so let's put down the hatchets, take our fingers off the Twitter, and come together over this: a whopping 74% of Americans agree that hot sauce makes food taste better.

The survey, sponsored by shopping service Instacart and conducted by The Harris Poll, found that nearly half of Americans dash a bit on their food on a weekly basis  Instacart's own real world figures back up that survey data. The company delivers from more than 65,000 stores across more than 5,500 cities in North America, and has a customer base of over 9.6 million, so its sales reports are more than just anecdotal or opinion. And that hard data says that between December 2020 and November 2021 Instacart customers purchased 444,854 gallons of the stuff. To put that into perspective, that's enough hot sauce to fill 18,536 kiddie pools. 

Not surprisingly, when asked when they use the sauce the vast majority said the dinner hour (81%) while some also used it at breakfast (24%). The top destination was unsurprisingly tacos (66%), followed by burritos (60%), and the generic "meat" (57%). And while we're rarely shocked by anything these days, it's worth noting that some respondents reported that they used on it on chips (30%), popcorn (17%), and even ice cream (8%). 

If you had to name an iconic hot sauce, you might rightfully pick the oldest commercial brand in the country, Tabasco. But while it's still going strong after more than 150 years, the Avery Island product is hardly the most popular. Sriracha, descended from a Thai condiment, has emerged since it was first produced on these shores in the 1980's to become number one in the nation. Frank's Red Hot, the stuff of Buffalo wing fame, comes in at number two, with Cholula at number three.

While sriracha is the winner in 31 states, and Frank's in 14, there are a few regional aberrations. Texas Pete leads in North and South Carolina, while, perhaps no surprise, Original Louisiana is tops in its namesake. Bueno is big in New Mexico, and Burman's rules in Iowa. And in a moment of semantic confusion, Village Hot Sauce is number one in North Dakota, even though it is really a spicy salsa, and even recommends that to give it some kick you add hot sauce to the hot sauce. 

And to prove that contrary to the current thinking that Americans are set in their ways, while 67% are "passionate" about a favorite brand, those folks are open to looking at, or more correctly, tasting new possibilities. In fact, 68% show their situational awareness, and have two or more varieties at home (i.e, Frank's for wings and Cholula for tacos). Furthermore, unlike those who believe in stolen elections, they are persuadable: given the chance, 83% of aficionados are open to trying new brands and switching if they find the new entry agreeable to their taste buds.

But sriracha can barely rest on its laurels. There's a lot of buzz about newcomer yangnyeom, also known as gochujang sauce, a South Korean specialty. Described as "swicy," it blends red chili paste, soy sauce, sugar, rice wine vinegar, garlic, and ginger to get a condiment that is both spicy and sweet. Look for it on the fried chicken from new chain NeNe that is moving into North America as we speak.

While I've tried many, I have to say I keep coming back to Frank's. That doesn't mean that we don't have at least 5 other bottles on the door of our fridge. So while I'm unlikely to give much ground on many issues, if you want to tempt me with another way of looking at chicken wings, at least we can start a conversation.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has found his "hot" tolerance has decreased with age. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Misdirection

"I see dead people." So says Haley Joel Osment in the 1999 film "Sixth Sense," where he plays a kid who sees ghosts all around him. In that respect I am exactly like him, except I see underwear. Or toothpaste. Or rocksalt, glass cleaner or light bulbs. And all because at some point in the last few days I punched up a search page to see the best place and price to get said items, and the cookies took notice.

Neither chocolate chip nor peanut butter, computer cookies are little pieces of code that get generated when you poke around online. Like a dog marking its territory, each web site you visit asks your browser to make note that you've been there and what you looked at, and then reports back to its online masters. That enables you to be treated as a well-known customer, and not have to retype your password every time you visit, create wish lists, and get recommendations and deals based on your shopping habits. 

These days they are hiding in plain sight, though it wasn't always that way. Invented in the mid 1990's by computer engineer Lou Montulli as part of his work for the company that became Netscape, at first they were primarily used for electronic shopping carts, enabling a site to remember what you were browsing for the last time you stopped by. Seemed benign enough, until privacy experts pointed out that they were gathering information about you and your habits without your permission.

Despite the fact that Google is mentioned in neither the Bible nor the Constitution, that led to a groundswell of protests about our God-given right to shop for Preparation H without anyone knowing. And so web sites were forced to ask for permission to make a note that you had stopped by. However, since we're lazy and we hate to be SO inconvenienced as to retype our password one more time, we howled loudly but then clicked "OK" anyways, and we were right back to where we started.

As the online world has gotten more interconnected and central to our everyday lives, those cookies became more useful. And now, instead of just keeping note of the 2 cans of shaving cream in your shopping cart, that info gets sold to any and all comers. And so as you are browsing movie reviews or restaurants or places to go on vacation, up pops banner ads for that shaving cream languishing in your cart back on aisle B. It makes you feel as if someone is watching your every move and reporting back, which is exactly what's happening.

The result is a constant barrage of targeted ads as you wander around. Check on the latest news about Ukraine? Right next to the picture of Putin is a Fruit of the Loom promotion. Browse possible warm weather destinations as a winter antidote? The sun in the beach photo is less bright than the rechargeable closet light that's on sale. Poke around for a recipe for dinner? While you might need oregano and cumin, unlikely you need the promoted rocksalt, which is better used on your walk than your sheet pan chicken. 

Yes, you could use a different browser which purports to keep you anonymous. Or decline the requested permissions as they are presented to you. Or you can practice a little bit of misdirection. I tried that by taking a moment when I was done, and typing "chocolate eclair" into the search bar. While that led me to multiple recipes, it also brought me to a number of bakeries than sold the goodies. I clicked one, then another, and admired the confections. I even added a few samples to my virtual cart, then signed off for the night.

Lo and behold, the next time I signed on, next to Vladimir was a carrot cake. The suggestions for closet upgrades had a great looking key lime pie as an accent. And my portfolio report was accompanied by a pecan pie. I effectively wore a hat and dark glasses as I strolled the virtual aisle. Not that it means much in the big scheme of things: Uber and its ilk still know where I am standing at any given moment. But at least in that particular online session my persona was less boxer briefs, and more chocolate babka.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford knows "they" are tracking him and is more embarrassed than worried. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online a, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.