Archive for February, 2008

Fat Tuesday Bliss

Tuesday, February 5th, 2008

By Jeffrey Petts

Fat Tuesday – better known as Paczki Day to those of us in Detroit – is upon us again and every year I’m driven slightly mad by the incorrect use of the word “paczki”.

Right off the bat, paczki is the plural form of paczek. As mouse is to mice, paczek is to paczki. You wouldn’t call a group of mice “mices” so why does paczki become “paczkis”? (It shouldn’t.) So, today you should say, “I had a paczek with my coffee,” or maybe, “On the way to work I stopped and picked up a box of paczki.” Both of these are the correct use of the proper term.

While we’re at it…

Very few seem able to pronounce the name properly. Look closely at the words paczek and paczki. Do you see the letter ‘n’ anywhere in either word? Nope. It’s not there. I don’t care how many times the Detroit Free Press phonetically spells the name “POONCH-key”, they’re wrong every time. This all derives from a seldom-used letter in the Polish alphabet that is written as the letter ‘a’ with a tiny (often overlooked) hook on the bottom. This changes the pronunciation of the letter to something akin to the ‘ow’ in the word pow. A more proper phonetic spelling is “POUCH-key”. (The ‘cz’ in Polish is the equivalent of ‘ch’ in English, and we all pretty much get the ‘ki’ as ‘key’.) “POW-chek” would be the singular version.

(For the record, the ‘a’ with the hook isn’t pronounced exactly as I stated, but that’s close enough to earn the respect of any full-blooded Pole. Anyone familiar with that dreaded little hook knows what I mean.)

Now we know when to use each word, we’ve learned how to pronounce the words, now let’s examine what is an actual paczek.

In an attempt to empty their pantries of foods that are given up for Lent, Polish mothers would create magnificent pastries crammed full of fruity goodness. An old school paczek can boast up to 2000 calories and weigh half a pound. (Oh yes, my friends, I’ve seen the glory of Hamtramck in action. One or two of these monsters could sideline the most prolific of eaters.)

For the most part, the absurdly huge pazcki are of the past. Most bakeries focus on 600-800 calorie versions not much larger than your average jelly doughnut. The real difference between your run-of-the-mill doughnut and a paczek is in the filling. Sure, raspberry, strawberry and lemon are standard fare. Custards and chocolate fillings are a distinct American influence. But if you look very carefully, you might be fortunate to cross paths with a prune (yes, prune) or marmalade. Follow the old timers around Hamtramck and maybe you’ll find one of these little treasures in a back alley bakery. Then you’ll truly know (and appreciate) the bliss we Poles have been enjoying for generations.

And for the love of the former pope, don’t call them “POONCH-keys”.

Want to read more? Here’s a link: Paczki.

59:59

Monday, February 4th, 2008

By Jeffrey Petts

Editor’s note: Mondays are intended to be for Craig Dumas and his Grizzly Woodsman articles, but I’m taking the reins today for some Super Bowl ranting.

I’m a little bummed today. Not because the New England Patriots fell short of perfection – I’m a fan of the team but even the best of teams lose games. Though I was hoping to witness something for the first time in my lifetime – an NFL team going undefeated for an entire season – it was not to be. The New York Giants played spoilers to perfection and left me, and New England, wanting. But that’s why they play the games and why winning tastes so sweet; because losing is a bitter pill to swallow.

Fans can blame Patriots players for their failings. Randy Moss certainly didn’t impress with his lack of effort for a few balls late in the game. (Less than 30 seconds in the game and you don’t even jump for either bomb thrown your way?! Everybody was watching. Show some effort.) Moss gave the Pats a great season… and almost nothing in the post-season.

The offensive line should take a few hits here, but Brady took them all last night. I’m no mathematician but five large men should be able to block four. Maybe not every time, but most. On too many plays, Giant rushers were able to race at Brady unabated. Though the G-Men deserve some credit for mixing up schemes and for inspired play, much of the reason Brady was on the ground for most of the night was because blockers didn’t, well, block.

And just because his offensive line came up short doesn’t mean my boy Tom Brady gets a free skate in this game. He had a chance to go to the highest plateau in the storied history of the NFL. Not just being a quarterback with four rings, but being able to stand alongside Joe Cool atop the NFL pantheon.

When Brady drove the Patriots the length of the field, I said aloud, “If they win, Brady just put his name up there with Montana.” But something felt off. I realize – in hindsight – that the Comeback Kid wouldn’t have needed his defense to close the door. Joe wouldn’t have given the ball back with so much time on the clock. Montana would have led his men on a march to victory that would have left the Giants with little time and few options. You know, kind of how the G-Men left the Pats with 30 seconds and the length of the field to drive.

One more gripe about my guy Brady. SPEAK UP!! If I’m gonna knock Peyton Manning for his lack of leadership skills when things turn south, then I’m not letting Tommy off the hook when his line suddenly forgets how to pass block. Even though Joe Cool was known for his composure under pressure, I’m sure when guys weren’t pulling their weight, soft-spoken Montana would pull the offender aside and give him an earful. Maybe Tom should have spent less time wining-and-dining his O-line in those old Visa commercials and more time teaching them blocking assignments.

But all this can be put aside. I can rationalize it all. Moss’ seeming lack of effort could just be proof the Oakland Raiders knew what they had when they cut him. And choreographing a gritty ballet can’t be easy for five 300-pound men. As for Tom Brady… maybe Joe Montana deserves to sit unparalleled for a bit longer. There’s nothing wrong with being almost as good as Joe Cool.

No, my ire is saved for one man alone: Mr. “60 Minutes” himself, coach Bill Belichick.

Last year, when the Patriots blew an 18-point lead in the AFC Championship to the Colts, many critics felt the Pats didn’t play an entire game. Belichick make it his mission to get his team to play the entire game through to the end. “60 minutes” became the mantra. When the Patriots were destroying teams in the first half the season, “60 minutes” came to mean an unmerciful barrage of offense and defense. Only the final gun would stop the onslaught.

However, when the game was lost with the last Brady pass bouncing on the turf, Belichick was headed to the locker room. He’ll probably say that he didn’t realize time was still on the clock. That his being in the locker room was an oversight, not a slight. He wasn’t fleeing to hide.

But we know better.

Three separate times Belichick has had the opportunity to bask in the glow of a Super Bowl victory. Last night was time for the opposing coach to have the last laugh. Unfortunately, the sleeveless sweatshirt had fled the scene rather than man-up and be happy for someone else. Had Belichick stuck it out for that last second, he would be the gracious loser. Instead, leaving that one tick on the clock made him into a poor sport.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m a Belichick fan. I like that he’s arrogant and evasive with the media. But you’ve got to take the good with the bad. He’s been given the moniker of “genius” when the Patriots are winning. “60 minutes” would – should – have been the title for his how-to book had the Pats won. Instead, it will be the gameplan nobody followed.

Especially not the mastermind behind it.

Gambler’s Corner: Super Bowl Edition

Friday, February 1st, 2008

By Joe Moskwa

Super Bowl XLII
Sunday, February 3, 2008
New York Giants vs. New England Patriots

Looks like we’re a couple of days from kickoff, and I’ll admit it – I can’t wait. I’ve got one of the best cooks in the world at my house this Sunday (that would be ME), a great team of drinkers, eaters, and laughers, and then after about six straight hours of goofing around and stuffing ourselves, they’ll kickoff a football game!

Now it’s the biggest game of the year, but what can I really say about it? I mean, what can I talk about that isn’t already being beaten like a drum? So you know what I’m gonna do? I’m going to let you listen to all that stuff on SportsCenter or in your favorite newspaper. Why should I repeat the undefeated and dynasty and Eli Manning and Brady talk? There’s really no point.

Okay, TWO sentences. That’s all it gets. Sentence #1: The New York Giants are getting 11.5 points. Sentence #2: The Giants will either win the game OUTRIGHT, or they will lose by 17+, so pull a “Joe” this Sunday and spend your money on hooch and yummers and yummies and munchies and not betting.

What are “yummers” and “hooch” you may ask? Well, you’ll have to see on Sunday if you want to know. You know, at my gathering. Hint: If you have enough hooch, you’ll start to make up words like yummers and shishka-baloney. Here, try the filet-of-pattay. A-la-mode even.

Some of the conversation WILL make sense though. Like when I start to reminisce about Super Bowls of years past. I grew up in the ‘80s, and my biggest and fondest memories are of watching Montana and Elway play. Sure, the Broncos always lost, but those two QBs were money, and they dominated the entire decade. The only thing I didn’t like was about how the adults wouldn’t stop rambling about Bart Starr and Terry Bradshaw. Bradshaw, Starr, Bradshaw, Starr, Steel Curtain, Starr… GRRR!!! Please be quiet, you are interrupting Joe Montana’s drive! I just wanted the ramblings about these dinosaurs to stop. I was certain that Bradshaw wore a leather helmet and was probably dead. Since all my uncles that talked about it were bald, these games must’ve been played in the 1800s. Which makes me realize, that NOW, my KIDS are going to start saying: Dad, stop talking about Joe Montana, he’s probably dead and we are trying to watch Tom Brady win his eighth Super Bowl. Now pass the cream-of-salami banana-split dip.

(Filet-of-pattay and salami-banana dip are just things I make up when I make something REAL, ask someone to try it, and they say “what is it” before they bite. Don’t you hate when they do that? Just try it!)

Drinking games that WILL be played this Sunday during the game at my house:

1) A round of Jello shots every time the camera shows Peyton and Archie sitting together.

2) All the women chug half a beer every time the word “undefeated” is mentioned.

3) All the men chug a whole beer every time the word “dynasty” is mentioned.

4) A round of Jello shots every time the ‘72 Miami Dolphins are mentioned.

5) Mandatory Jager bombs for the people that I choose whenever Junior Seau winning a ring after 33 years in the NFL is mentioned, whenever sixth-round-draft pick is mentioned, and when the “possible” stat of two brothers both winning a Super Bowl is mentioned. Either the announcers will have nothing to talk about, or we’ll be wearing out a few healthy livers on Sunday. Yikes!

I hope everyone has a blast this Sunday. I’ve got to head out now and stock up on Tums and Tylenol.

Editor’s note: I put a figurative gun to Joe’s head and forced a pick out of him.

PICK: Take the G-Men and the points (+11.5).