“The same,” he replied, paused, then added, “more better.”

“Both more and better?” I asked.

“Nope, just more better,” Allen. “It’s my new concept for a new year.”

The same, more better. I don’t think I like the “same” part, but who couldn’t love “more better?”

“A beautiful palindrome of a year,” he agreed.

“I never thought about that,” I admitted. “I suppose this is the only palindrome year we’ll ever see.”

“I suppose that’s true for anyone born after 1991,” Dr. Francis replied.

Oops. I should have known better than to have tried to discuss numbers with Dr. Francis.

Heineken put that philosophy into practice at the company his grandfather founded in 1863. That’s why Heineken beer tastes like beer-flavored water, and that same approach is why over ninety-nine percent of beer “brewed” in the United States tastes like beer-flavored water. The corporations that concoct such weak alcoholic pablum long ago figured out that it’s cheaper to sell warmth, a “lifestyle,” snob appeal, or any other concept, than it is to make good beer.

There’s really not much more to say about a man who dedicated his life to spreading watery beer throughout the world, so I won’t.

I read an article—actually, more of a love letter—on Marmite by Laura Barton that made me reconsider my assessment. My failure to appreciate Marmite may be a failure to understand the essentials of an aesthetically-rewarding Marmite delivery system.

Spreading Marmite is an art form. It has to be done thinly. In fact, not just thinly, but t-h-i-n-l-y.

T-h-i-n-l-y? Feh!

“Define ‘very good,’” she requested.

“Worth plagiarizing,” I replied without hesitation.

Since my well-intentioned friends can’t argue with that, they erroneously suggest that I have no long-term investment policy. They wouldn’t say that if they knew about Hanna and Rivka.

The twins are my retirement plan. Ever since they were born, I keep telling Hanna and Rivka the same thing whenever I see them. “Some day you’ll meet an old man named David Rinehart. You’ll let him sleep in your garage, and you’ll bring him a beer before bed every night.”

Argentina just defaulted on a hundred-and-some billion dollars of loans, a shady Texas oil company just went more or less bankrupt costing investors billions and billions of dollars, and lots of other traditional investments are in tatters. On the other hand, Hanna and Rivka are in fine fettle.

“Mom, I’m not forty-six,” I said. “That’s a lie spread by the terrorists who would destroy our way of life.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Really,” I replied.

“Well, now you know how I feel,” she responded. “Those same vermin have been spreading the malicious rumor that I’m sixty-five!”

My mother and I agreed that we should never let the facts obscure the truth.

1. Pasta and vegetables

2. Rice and vegetables

3. Order a burrito at a Mission taqueria

I’ve never felt hindered by my limited kitchen repertoire; I could happily live on my tiny menu for the rest of my life. I’m very conscious, however, that some of my guests have a higher culinary entertainment threshold, so I decided to start off the new year with a new cookbook.

I decided to avoid popular cookbooks; what’s the point of serving my guests the same things they’re eating everywhere else? That’s why I was delighted when I stumbled across Favorite Recipes of Famous Outdoorsmen, an elegantly slim volume published in 1949 American Gas Machine Company, of Albert Lea, Minnesota.

The American Gas Machine Company made “Kampkook” and “Kabinkook,” the predecessors to lightweight backpacking stoves. And what better way to sell stoves than to provide delicious, woodsy recipes?

Thanks to Favorite Recipes of Famous Outdoorsmen, I now have recipes for Braised Muskrat, Boiled Reindeer Head, Possum and Taters, Broiled Starling on Toast, Beaver-Tail Soup, Muktuk, and more.

Since a good muktuk recipe is hard to find, I’ll reprint one from the cookbook. (I tried to get proper reproduction rights, but the American Gas Machine Company seems to have vanished.) Anyway, here’s the recipe:

Muktuk is the outer covering of the whale. It includes the white skin, approximately 1-2 inches (2 1/2 - 5cm) thick, plus a thin pinkish layer immediately underneath. After taking blocks from the whale, leave 2 days hanging to dry. Cut into pieces 6 x 6 inches (15x15cm). Have water ready to boil. Cook until it tests tender when pierced with a fork. Keep in oil in a 45 gallon (206 litre) drum after it is cooled. Store in a cool place and you will have muktuk all year. Most Inuit prefer to eat muktuk raw, as it has tender-crisp texture and tastes like fresh coconut.