To answer all of your pressing questions...
DC Wolf-- Dougie was right, fleas are everywhere. Some fleas just have more money. At least downtown I could tell them to piss off. Where I'm at now, I can pretend not to hear them and/or defer them to the floorpeople. If I were working at Wynn, I'd have to kiss their ass. As far as career progression is concerned, I don't really have working at the Wynn on my radar. It may be some folks ideal dealing job, but it's not mine. I suppose some folks daydream about working there, but I don't. In a perfect world I'd be working part time during the day at my current casino, dealing pai gow, dice, and blackjack, and then poker full time at night at a great touristy room on the strip, pocketing about $240 per night in tips. We're not there yet.
Hoya-- Nope, we don't use dark chocolate. Real men use plain old Hershey Bars. Dark chocolate is for metrosexuals, chicks with PMS, and Democrats. I suppose if I were a man of means I could get some purpose made stainless-steel marshmallow roasting sticks from someplace like Williams-Sonoma, Ikea, or The Sharper Image, or if I were more of a hunter/gatherer I'd use plain old sticks from the yard. I fall somewhere in between and took a pair of pliers to a couple of wire coat hangers, straightening out all the kinks, making a looped handle, and leaving the 'corkscrew' end intact to hold the marshmallow secure while roasting it over the coals. I'm quite proud of my handiwork, actually, and Rob even told me that he was impressed the first time he used one.
As far as how they get roasted, I like the slow rotating browning process. I know when it's done by seeing it expand slightly and turn the color of coffee with too much cream in it--that tells me that it's been heated all the way through. Of course, before doing *anything* with the marshmallow, I make sure my graham cracker and chocolate square are already prepared and standing by, ready to receive the gooey toasted goodness. Eddie B is less patient, and prefers to catch his marshmallow on fire, blow it out, and then lay the smoking carcass on his cracker. But he is a Cretin who drinks beer from green bottles, so that's to be expected.
Dougie-- You're more than welcome to come down and poke things with a stick right alongside the rest of us. Just bring a bottle of good rum with you, that's all I ask.
Jay-- Man, where to start? Dark chocolate and a propane grill? You've gone soft, my man. Propane is cool and all, but not for grilling animals. Gotta use charcoal. Kingsford briquettes, to be exact. Hell, we've even turned Butch the dog into a grill snob--We turn on the gas grill, he doesn't give a shit. But when we fire up the charcoal, he comes running and hangs out underfoot, begging for scraps all night. Even the dog knows that charcoal is superior.
That's all for now...
Mikey
PS. There will be no naked bonfire frolicking with this group tonight.
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