Gratitude is always free-range.

Tea: Double Orange Chocolate Truffle

Music: Redbone, "Come and Get Your Love"

Time: Night.

I was prepared to unleash some serious snark when I saw this post on WalletPop's "Fantastic Freebies" blog.

This big smelly corporate poultry concern (A Yahoo! search using the keywords "Tyson chicken pollution" turns up ... wait for it ... 189,000 results.) was going to teach people how to be thankful for their food?

But I took a look at some of the examples posted -- everything from the flippant (Bart Simpson's "Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub" to the beautiful ("Now that I am about to eat, O Great Spirit, give my thanks to the beasts and birds whom You have provided for my hunger, and pray deliver my sorrow that living things must make a sacrifice for my comfort and well-being. Let the feather of corn spring up in its time and let it not wither but make full grains for the fires of our cooking pots, now that I am about to eat.")

And I thought, "Why not take a longer look?" So I clicked.

Reminding people that each meal is a grace and a cause for gratitude won't undo years of abysmal stewardship. But disliking the messenger is no reason to disregard the message.

Long Distance Cravings

Tea: Blood Orange, iced.

Music: Chicago, "25 or 6 to 4"

Time: Evening.

Apologies for the lapse. The leg went bad again yesterday, although it's doing better today.

I got a "You need to hear this" call today. For the next few minutes, I listened to the recitation of the menu from a Jamaican food stand in New York. (This kind of thing happens to me on a fairly regular basis.)

And you know what? Now I want street food, too.

I want the carnitas you can get from the stands in Liberal, Kansas. I want Mexican ice cream (grape, please) from Puerto Anapra. I want fried fish from the truck that used to set up outside my old office.

And boy, do I ever want jerk chicken, escoveitched fish and beef feet from a stand in New York ...

It Came from a Land Down Under (and Nobody Chundered)

Tea: Irish Breakfast

Music: Men at Work, "I Can See It In Your Eyes"

Time: Night

(Yeah, the obvious song was just a bit too obvious, y'know?)

My son, who returned home from Australia tonight, managed to smuggle in a packet of Vegemite in his pocket. (I'm really not so sure that's illegal, but I didn't want to dampen his chuffitude at pulling off the deed.)

I've never had Vegemite before. That's reason enough to try it in my book. So three of us gamely spread some of the stuff on bread and took our bites.

"Bleah," said one. "INteresting," said another. "I'm not having any," said a third.

Me, I didn't mind the stuff. Salty as anything, but not bad. The big strike against it, I suppose, is that it's now under the Kraft umbrella. When it comes to food, I'm not a gigantic fan of multinationals (although Mezzo Mix and Lift are among the allowable hypocrisies. Exceptions must be made.).

My son snickered through the whole process.

"I can't believe you like that stuff," he told me. "I can't stand it."

I wouldn't make a habit of eating it -- but it's one more item off the list of things to try before I die.

Anyone want to smuggle me in a durian?

Heartfelt (and Heart Consumed)

Tea: Vanilla Lapsang.

Music: The Beatles, "In My Life"

Time: Night.

Father's Day is still more than a week away, but my son will be in Australia on the 15th. So tonight, we staged an impromptu early celebration.

It all started while we were cleaning the gutters in anticipation of tonight's predicted thunderstorm. Somehow, the topic of organ meats came up.

The women in the family, who were away at a carnival, do not want such delicacies. We XY types beg to differ.

My son has had tripe and mountain oysters. Before tonight, he had not had beef heart (although he's consumed a few of the turkey variety during various holiday seasons). We started talking about heart and kidneys, and how tonight would be an ideal time to try one or the other.

With only one functional car, though, that meant a one-mile (each way) walk to the nearest market that sells organ meats on a regular basis. I've been dealing with a tweaky ankle, as you all know from my recent whining, but it's been feeling better.

The final piece fell into place when he said, "I'm buying."

So, long story short, we found both heart and kidney at the market. We flipped a coin and came home with the former. (Got away cheap, too -- heart is just 99 cents a pound.) On the way back, we talked about the ethic of nose-to-tail eating -- the idea that one can and should make use of every edible cut -- and about the fun of adventurous consumption.

There are all sorts of ways to cook heart. (One suggestion -- to stuff each chamber with a different ingredient -- sounded delicious but would have taken more time than we had.) We decided to do it the way my late father -- who died when my son was five -- liked it. While he picked mulberries from the tree in the back yard, I put potatoes on to boil (for mash) and started slicing the heart into thin strips.

(First, though, I peeled off the tallow and rendered it in a skillet, for use in pan-frying the meat. Transfat, schmansfat ... we wanted flavor.)

I dredged the slices in flour, seasoned with kosher salt, freshly cracked pepper and garlic powder. Then I fried them in the skillet (cast iron, of course). The drippings formed a base for gravy, which went over the mashed potatoes.

And yea, verily, it was good -- and not just from a food standpoint. It was a way for my son to learn more about a grandfather he knew for only a short time, and for me to remember my father.

Sometimes, ghosts at a table make for an uncomfortable dinner. In this case, though, the third diner -- in spirit -- was more than welcome.

Artful Evening

Tea: White Grapefruit, iced

Music: Eric Johnson, "Cliffs of Dover"

Time: Night.

I went to an art opening tonight -- the fourth I've attended for Beth Sauer, whose colorful acrylic and watercolor work I really like. I'd put up a link, but I don't have a site.

However, I'd recommend going to Blue Bird Bistro, at 1700 Summit, and going upstairs to take a look.

While you're at it, check out the menu. Blue Bird, which was pretty much vegetarian when I moved to town, has changed in the past six years and is now a prime destination for ethical omnivores. Many of the ingredients are locally sourced, with an emphasis on organic foods and sustainability.

(Plus, I have it on good authority that the bar pours both vodkas -- Most Wanted and Fox -- from High Plains Distilled Spirits near Atchison, Kansas. This is a good thing.)

Art, food and drink. Yeah, I'd say I'm covered for the night. Go get you some.