My new food love: Crispy spinach candy

Ginger Chicken with Crispy Spinach, originally uploaded by squirrelattakk.

Popeye would definitely not approve. Crispy spinach is not only crispy, it's sweet, permeated with sugar, but I cannot get enough of it. The local Vietnamese place serves a version accompanied by shrimp or chicken in a peanut sauce. I've also had it paired with a chicken in a mostly soy sauce and Flickr shows it accompanied by Ginger Chicken.

Have you eaten crispy spinach? Did you get hooked? Here's a recipe.

Why do servers put their hands on cup rims?

Sometimes on my morning dog walk, I stop by the Van Houtte's coffee shop near my house and pick up a coffee to go. Their filter coffee is better than the stuff at the Starbuck's across the street and they're a Quebec establishment so I prefer to give them my business.

The way it works is that they give you the cup and then you go fill it up at the urns. But almost every time I've been there, the server who hands me the paper cup puts their hands all over the rim and then all over the lid including the sip hole. Now, I am not a germaphobe by any means, but this is just ridiculous.

It's one of the most basic rules for food servers, especially when they're also handling money. And it's not as if it's any more difficult for them not to put their hands all over the rim and lid.

Depending on my state of mind, I either ignore situations like this and suck it up (metaphorically and literally) or, occasionally, I decide to say something. Yesterday, I said to the girl, "Please don't take this personally, but you just put your hands all over the rim."

Well, of course, she took it personally and then looked at me like I was a crazy woman. Clearly, she had never been trained not to put her hands all over the cup.

Since this was the umpteenth time this had happened to me at this particular Van Houtte's, I have decided to blog about it and officially complain to company management. And until, I get a satisfying response, I'm returning to Starbuck's, one of whose good qualities is that they train their Baristas not to do this.

News Alert: I get rid of Fonzie at garage sale

Fonzie with his new master Denis. And yes, Denis was vetted as thoroughly as he would have been if he had applied at the SPCA for a cat. And no, he is not taking Fonzie to an animal testing/torture lab.

Today, I am having a garage sale. And the reason that I'm blogging during the middle of it is because I forgot to double check that the ad actually made it on to Craig's List. And, well, it didn't -- until this morning when I started wondering why business was so damned slow.

Anyway, as garage sales go, I have some decent stuff on offer: boxed sets of 24, tween girl lit, the Sexual Life of Catherine M., handcuffs, a complete set of Harry Potter until someone stole the last two books when I ran upstairs to do something else, a wicker picnic basket, attractive handbags, etc.

And then I have some of the stuff that I've failed to get rid of at garage sales past and wasn't quite ready to give away: an old-fashioned girl's costume from the Shaw Festival, ski boots, some framed flower prints and a framed Tom Thomson, also a print although I have been asked if it was an original.

The flower prints, a gift, are not now and never have been my style. While I still love the Group of Seven, the frame, which I had done ages ago, was a mistake from day one and always bothered me. At this point, all I wanted was to get rid of the pictures and take whatever I could get.

A guy expressed interest but balked at my prices. Remembering that my sale motto was "priced to sell" I finally settled on $20 for the three of them.

And then the guy's friend started admiring my much-despised cat, Fonzie.

"He's available too," I said.

"You're kidding," he said.

"No," I said. "We're moving."

"You wouldn't send him to the SPCA, to death row," said Fonzie's admirer.

"No," I said. "If I were capable of doing that I would have done it long ago."

And then I gave an honest evaluation of Fonzie's character. "He's low maintenance. He needs to go outside. He's not good with children. And he bites," I said just as he bit down on his admirer's hand.

"Oh, that's nothing," said his admirer. "We have a big house in the country with lots of cats."

"He'd be happy there," I said as I pointed at Katya's house. "The woman who lives there has 12 cats and he visits all the time."

"Hmmm," he said.

"I can throw in his cage," I said.

And to his friend, I added: "I'll throw in those pictures. Free."

Negotiations followed. We exchanged phone numbers and e-mails. I took photos which I'll post later. And Fonzie left for a new home in the country where one of his new cat companions was, apparently, picked up at an estate sale a few years back.

"You just never know what will happen at a garage sale," I said as Fonzie and the guys departed.

"It was destiny," said Denis, his new owner.

Farewell Fonzie!

And they all lived happily ever after.

Because it's Friday...

...I made this Wordle that goes back to RTK's roots. If you feel like it, make one and send it to me or send me the link. But be warned, it's addictive.

My cat hates me as much as I hate him

My blog post about how I hate my cat Fonzie draws regular traffic from others who hate their cats. And some of them, it seems, have it a whole lot worse than me.

For example, Penny wrote:

My daughter left Mushue with me while she was moving and promised she would pick him up in 2 weeks. That was 10 years ago. She won't take him back. He is 15 lbs of pure black and the meanest thing I have ever seen.

He is so very picky about his food. The bowl has to be filled all the way to the very top edge for him to eat it. If it gets below the rim He stands there and meows till you fill it back up. And don't even think of moving him out of your chair where he has plopped his fat butt. Or else you are going to get your face torn off. He has bitten me while I was asleep because he wanted to sleep in the bed and wanted me to get up.

When he decides he wants to lay someplace he will knock everything out of his way. He has pushed my dishes out of the cabinets before.

I actually moved when he was about 2 years old and this cat found me after 3 months he just showed back up. I can't give him to any one else as he is evil and no one wants him. I can't take him to the shelter because he is not adoptable.

I have layed in bed and thought up ways to get rid of him. I have thought of stepping on and squishing his head. I have thought of feeding him anti-freeze. You name it I have probably thought of it. I have suffered so bad for the past 10 years. I just don't have it in me to actually harm him.

And Debby, another cat hater, wrote:

I absolutely can not stand my cat either. I got her over 8 years ago from a shelter. I called them a month into it saying it just wasn't going to work and they made me feel like a low live animal hater, so I kept her. They told me her nervousness was because she was a shelter cat and it would go away in time. It hasn't. I can barely pet her, and if I tried to pick her up she'd take my left eyeball out. She's ruined all of my furniture, because I thought declawing was cruel.

I've made the decision to find her a good home this year, but I still feel really guilty. But I just can not go on like this, she is driving me crazy. I have another cat (another rescue cat) that I got 18 months after and she's fine. I've had pets all of my life and never had a problem like this.

It's good to know there are others out there that also don't feel the love for their cats.

So looks like my hating is helping others in need, enabling them to step out of the closet and confess. Time, then, to up the ante.

Last month, the black cat next door, who often gets confused with Fonzie, was attacked by a vicious off-leash dog, whose owner just shrugged it off and walked away, leaving Yuki dying in his front yard. My neighbours rushed the cat to the vet where he was put down. The hit-and-run dog has never been found.

But when I heard this disturbing news, all I could think was, "Damn, why wasn't it Fonzie?"

In fact, Fonzie has pretty much left home this summer, and forged relationships with the two of the craziest women on the street. He's moved back in with Katya (a pseudonym), where I'd forgotten he'd temporarily stayed once before. And, even worse, he's taken to hanging with Emilia (another pseudonym).

Emilia is the one whose ex-boyfriend smashed the car with a golf club in the middle of the night last summer. The social workers are over at her place constantly, but what's she most worried about? Not her poor daughter , nope. She's concerned about the welfare of my cat and the fact that nobody loves him. Today, as I stepped out the front door, she was sitting on my porch feeding him.

It's partly my fault since I had hired her to keep an eye on him while I was away for a few days last week, sparking gossip among the neighbours about how any pet owner could be so irresponsible as to leave her animal in the care of the most dysfunctional family on the street.

But Emilia's cheaper than the vet, Fonzie's happier than he would be in a cage and it gives the neighbours stuff to talk about. If only I could offload with Emilia's family forever when we move.

The problem is my reputation would never recover. Looks like Fonzie is taking revenge on me.

How to exit a limo -- the old-fashioned way

Hello everybody -- if there's anyone still out there.

Since we've been gone, one of the most searched for RTK items has been this photo of Ethel Kennedy and all her kids.

Well, recently I stumbled across this Jackie Kennedy photo and thought how perfectly it illustrated changing times so I'm sharing it with any of you who remain.