<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958</id><updated>2009-11-21T22:15:01.553-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Nobody's Poet</title><subtitle type='html'>The Official Column Site of Robert St.John</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>213</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-4903414245247012643</id><published>2009-10-09T09:07:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T09:51:37.295-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I did it. I made it 30 days without eating meat, no seafood, either. A lot of you out there didn’t think I could do it. In the beginning, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. Now it’s over and, after today, I can start writing about something other than my intimate relationship with vegetables. This navel gazing has gotten old, even for me, who has spent my entire writing career navel gazing. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/4903414245247012643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=4903414245247012643' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4903414245247012643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4903414245247012643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-did-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-2428880681667758203</id><published>2009-09-28T10:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T10:53:57.652-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Remember to Eat Your Fruits and Vegetables     It’s a Christmas Eve feeling, this thing I’ve got. Remember when you were seven-years old and couldn’t wait for Christmas morning— so much so, that you couldn’t sleep the night before. That type of anticipation and excitement is rare for those of us who have passed the third grade. There’s an anticipatory energy one feels at </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/2428880681667758203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=2428880681667758203' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/2428880681667758203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/2428880681667758203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/09/remember-to-eat-your-fruits-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-4599991664847581539</id><published>2009-09-21T12:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T13:25:30.965-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Zombies, and Skydivers, and Bears, Oh My      Welcome to day 21 of my 30-day journey into vegetarianism.  I have learned a lot over the last three weeks.  I have learned that there are many in-the-closet vegetarians out there, and if one writes about becoming a vegetarian, they will out themselves. They’re like zombies in a low-budget horror movie. When the sun goes down the</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/4599991664847581539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=4599991664847581539' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4599991664847581539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4599991664847581539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/09/zombies-and-skydivers-and-bears-oh-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-834339520126181409</id><published>2009-09-14T10:04:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T10:22:43.352-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Life Through Spinach-Colored Glasses     Welcome to day 14 of my 30-day excursion into vegetarianism.  Here are some observations from the other side.  Observation 1.) I’ve actually become a carbotarian. As long as it doesn’t have a face or a tail, I’m eating it. Pancakes, French fries, bagels, hash browns, nachos, Cap’n Crunch, and cheese pizza all have one thing in common—</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/834339520126181409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=834339520126181409' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/834339520126181409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/834339520126181409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/09/life-through-spinach-colored-glasses.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-4388831720732911182</id><published>2009-09-07T09:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T09:40:08.500-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  The Unlikeliest Vegetarian Part I     Welcome to my life as a vegetarian, day seven. Strange things are happening.  I am living life as a vegetarian during the entire month of September. I am eating nothing with a face or a tail, and believe it or not, I’m still alive and breathing.  The following is what I have learned, so far, as a neophyte vegetarian:  1.Cinnamon rolls </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/4388831720732911182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=4388831720732911182' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4388831720732911182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4388831720732911182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/09/unlikeliest-vegetarian-part-i-welcome.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-9090820784584749193</id><published>2009-08-31T10:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T10:35:31.424-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Vegetarian II     I write this on the eve of one of the most daunting and challenging days of my life.  The sword of Damocles is dangling above my head. I am encompassed by a sense of foreboding and live in fear that much wailing and gnashing of teeth is looming just around the corner.  Our country might be in the worst financial straits its seen since the Great Depression, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/9090820784584749193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=9090820784584749193' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/9090820784584749193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/9090820784584749193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/08/vegetarian-ii-i-write-this-on-eve-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-7474983719595701133</id><published>2009-08-24T10:37:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T10:37:47.786-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  I am about to be a vegetarian.  I’m not going to be one of those I-still-eat-chicken-and-fish vegetarians. I am going to be a die-hard, I-eat-nothing-with-a-face-or-a-tail vegetarian, a hardcore vegetarian, a no-turkey-with-my-tofu vegetarian.  For the entire month of September, I will abstain from eating beef, pork, poultry, fish, or seafood of any kind— nothing with a face</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/7474983719595701133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=7474983719595701133' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/7474983719595701133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/7474983719595701133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-am-about-to-be-vegetarian.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-9131403847926589032</id><published>2009-08-24T10:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T10:36:47.974-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Canned Peaches  My friend David invited me to lunch at his club in Jackson. The club was nicely decorated and comfortable. In one room there was an upscale buffet and in another a salad bar.  I don’t eat at many buffets. Actually, since my neighborhood Thai joint changed hands, I don’t eat any buffets. I have nothing against them; it’s just a personal quirk.  As I was </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/9131403847926589032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=9131403847926589032' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/9131403847926589032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/9131403847926589032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/08/canned-peaches-my-friend-david-invited.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-3396460242227999638</id><published>2009-08-10T10:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T13:15:50.743-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  The St.John International Culinary Field Trip of 2009   I just took a trip around the world with my family.  We ate in Italy first, then Japan on the first night, followed by Mexico, India, Austria, Viet Nam, China, Cuba, Morocco, France, with a few stops in different regions of America and at friends and family’s homes along the way. We were supposed to eat in Spain and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/3396460242227999638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=3396460242227999638' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/3396460242227999638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/3396460242227999638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/08/st.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oA-AiE66EbY/SoA9C0bNN6I/AAAAAAAAAnQ/dDfQnvgCMsg/s72-c/IMG_0276.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-3038340789969363547</id><published>2009-08-10T10:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T10:25:32.495-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Culinary Field Trip- Day One  Tuesday, July 28, 2009 at 8:42am  We hit Birmingham around lunchtime. I had a quick business meeting and then we went to Bottega for lunch.  I am a fan of Frank Stitt and have eaten at Highlands Bar and Grill, often. The meals have always been great.  Bottega was an overall disappointment-- slow, unconcerned service, long waits from the kitchen,</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/3038340789969363547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=3038340789969363547' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/3038340789969363547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/3038340789969363547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/08/culinary-field-trip-day-one-tuesday.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-4373397570731556657</id><published>2009-08-03T08:22:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T08:24:25.701-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  The Little ThingsSomeone, somewhere once said something about “the little things.”  I don’t know who it was, why he said it, or what publication it was printed in after he said it. I don’t even know if it was a he. Maybe it was a she who talked about the little things in life. Nevertheless, I know that many times, the little things aren’t “little” at all.  My maternal </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/4373397570731556657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=4373397570731556657' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4373397570731556657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4373397570731556657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/08/little-things-someone-somewhere-once.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-3246052791158899326</id><published>2009-07-27T05:50:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T05:50:32.020-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Family VacationToday I leave on a 10-day old-fashioned family road-trip vacation.We are loading up the family truckster and embarking on a 2,500 mileexcursion that will take us through Nashville, Asheville,Winston-Salem, and up to Washington D.C. with the ultimate goal oftaking my kids to see Paul McCartney in concert. We’ll spend a fewdays in our nation’s capital and then swing through </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/3246052791158899326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=3246052791158899326' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/3246052791158899326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/3246052791158899326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/07/family-vacation-today-i-leave-on-10-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-4052885292496052583</id><published>2009-07-20T12:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T12:25:40.784-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  The French Laundry II     For years I have said that if I were ever asked to choose a “last meal,” I would select my grandmother’s leg of lamb.  With all due respect to my late grandmother, I am amending my last-meal appeal. Sorry, Mam-Maw, my last meal is coming from the French Laundry  The beauty of eating a last meal prepared at The French Laundry is twofold: I would be </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/4052885292496052583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=4052885292496052583' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4052885292496052583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4052885292496052583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/07/french-laundry-ii-for-years-i-have-said.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-4134522855539731937</id><published>2009-07-06T09:22:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T09:23:50.638-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  The Dinner of A Lifetime     In 2006, I invited three friends to join me at The French Laundry, in Yountville, CA, for what would turn out to be the dinner of a lifetime.  The French Laundry is widely considered the nation’s finest restaurant, a reputation it has earned over the course of the last 15 years. I wrote about the meal and the subsequent column turned out to be a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/4134522855539731937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=4134522855539731937' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4134522855539731937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/4134522855539731937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/07/dinner-of-lifetime-in-2006-i-invited.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-5577703465563637898</id><published>2009-06-30T13:45:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T13:48:55.699-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Hunger at HomeFor over 25 years, the primary focus of my professional career has been food.In my personal life, food has played a major role, falling just behind faith, family, and friends.I create, prepare, and sell food for a living. When I’m not working, I’m traveling, eating, and writing about traveling and eating. I eat a lot. When recognized while out of town, I’m often asked, “Aren’t you </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/5577703465563637898/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=5577703465563637898' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/5577703465563637898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/5577703465563637898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/06/hunger-at-home-for-over-25-years.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-5540791262903523050</id><published>2009-06-21T20:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T20:37:49.171-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Let the Riots Begin               I’m no Nostradamus, but I am about to make a bold prediction: Within a matter of days this country will witness a take-it-to-the-streets rebellion and massive, frenzied uprising like we have never seen.  Be warned: These riotous insurrections will occur instantly, without notice, and will quickly spread across every town and community in </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/5540791262903523050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=5540791262903523050' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/5540791262903523050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/5540791262903523050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/06/let-riots-begin-im-no-nostradamus-but-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-7150596733837365311</id><published>2009-06-15T18:00:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T18:06:32.061-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Tennessee Top TenMy wife and I dropped the kids off at summer camp in Arkansas and then spent a week eating our way through Tennessee (summer camp for adults). Here are the top ten culinary highlights from the journey.10.) BBQ Memphis— Actually, I had planned on eating bbq in Memphis, but we arrived too late and everything was closed. However, the night before in Hot Springs, AR, we ate at a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/7150596733837365311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=7150596733837365311' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/7150596733837365311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/7150596733837365311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/06/tennessee-top-ten-my-wife-and-i-dropped.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oA-AiE66EbY/SjbTlKOOxYI/AAAAAAAAAnA/QCB_i2jSffw/s72-c/DSC01859.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-8229138673623217905</id><published>2009-06-07T09:55:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T09:56:52.390-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  The Piney Woods Challenge     Yesterday I drove a carload of kids— under the age of 12— on a seven-hour trek that ended in Arkansas’ Ouachita National Forrest so they could attend summer camp.  Early on, the van was relatively calm. Most surprising, the van was quiet. I think it’s because my wife packed the snacks. The kids were munching on pita chips, cheese crackers, and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/8229138673623217905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=8229138673623217905' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/8229138673623217905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/8229138673623217905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/06/piney-woods-challenge-yesterday-i-drove.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-3272876776267535421</id><published>2009-06-01T10:13:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-01T10:16:07.831-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Praline BaconFor the last few months I have been hearing about a dish called “Praline Bacon.”It was popping up in conversations, in emails, on websites, and inmagazines. I had never heard of Praline Bacon, so I took these randomoccurrences as a Celestine suggestion, and made a decision to lookinto this strange new food product.Of course, it didn’t take to much inner dialogue to convince myself,as</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/3272876776267535421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=3272876776267535421' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/3272876776267535421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/3272876776267535421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/06/praline-bacon-for-last-few-months-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-1503646922877311633</id><published>2009-05-25T10:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T10:06:14.585-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Is That A Piece of Cornbread In Your Pocket…     My grandmother made the world’s best biscuits.  She passed away 20 years ago and I have been trying to replicate them ever since. Her biscuits were small, light, and slightly salty with a hint buttermilk. She never followed a recipe, yet they were consistent every time she made them. I could eat a dozen over the course of a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/1503646922877311633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=1503646922877311633' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/1503646922877311633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/1503646922877311633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/05/is-that-piece-of-cornbread-in-your.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-8058579668983154191</id><published>2009-05-18T09:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T11:13:24.052-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>James Beard Foundation Awards     A couple of weeks ago The James Beard Foundation Awards ceremony was held in New York to honor the nation’s best chefs, restaurants, cookbook authors, and food journalists.The James Beard Foundation Awards are the Academy Awards of the food business and my home state of Mississippi was represented well.John Currence, chef/owner of City Grocery in Oxford, Miss </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/8058579668983154191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=8058579668983154191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/8058579668983154191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/8058579668983154191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/05/james-beard-foundation-awards-couple-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oA-AiE66EbY/ShGHI2zY0GI/AAAAAAAAAmI/jKFTe_Zz9FA/s72-c/sidebar-img-4_0.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-1452043721490004907</id><published>2009-04-27T11:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T11:33:15.129-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  I Am Not On Al Gore’s Christmas Card List     I stirred up a lot of trouble when I was a kid.  Possessing an overactive imagination and a hyperactive disposition, I was responsible for a fair share of the havoc created in and around my school and neighborhood.  Most of the parents in the neighborhood had, on at least one occasion, found the need to admonish my actions and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/1452043721490004907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=1452043721490004907' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/1452043721490004907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/1452043721490004907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-am-not-on-al-gores-christmas-card.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-2198202275445177042</id><published>2009-04-27T11:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T11:24:02.190-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  Pizza        Yesterday I ordered a pizza online.     I didn’t get in my car, I didn’t pick up the phone, I never even spoke to anyone. I just logged onto my laptop and 30 minutes later, I was shaking crushed red pepper flakes over my thin-crust pepperoni.     The ordering of the pizza and the ingredient selection was easy. Once I made my choices, the website told me that my </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/2198202275445177042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=2198202275445177042' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/2198202275445177042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/2198202275445177042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/04/pizza-yesterday-i-ordered-pizza-online.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-7124838765373244202</id><published>2009-03-30T13:10:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T13:12:40.387-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>SaladsThe weather is warming and salad sales in the restaurant are booming.I like salads, but I am not an entrée-salad eater. I like a salad as a small course or as a component or accompaniment to a main course.When I am entertaining friends at home, I rarely serve a salad. Sometimes at lunch, I might throw together something quick and uncomplicated, but mostly I opt for soup in lieu of salad.My </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/7124838765373244202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=7124838765373244202' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/7124838765373244202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/7124838765373244202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/03/salads-weather-is-warming-and-salad.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591958.post-1726616522083740398</id><published>2009-03-30T13:10:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T13:10:48.018-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Dinner Party ConversationWATERCOLOR, FL— The older I become the more I appreciate substantive dinner party conversation.I am on the second leg of a Spring Break sandwich that started in the rapidly melting Spring snow of Colorado and has ended on the sugar white sands of the Florida Panhandle.I am here with my family on a dual mission: First, to take the obligatory family break from school and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/feeds/1726616522083740398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5591958&amp;postID=1726616522083740398' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/1726616522083740398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5591958/posts/default/1726616522083740398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nobodyspoet.blogspot.com/2009/03/dinner-party-conversation-watercolor-fl.html' title=''/><author><name>Robert</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09115473978026912663</uri><email>robert@nsrg.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18188543646266092704'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>