A mighty wind... Oh!

Sometimes you find great cleaning products in the kitchen, and sometimes they find you.  More often than not, cleaning products come from the same company, offering an array of various cleansers, degreasers, hand soaps, etc.  Sometimes when whom ever is in charge of ordering fails to order something correctly, somebody gets to go shopping.  Though I’m at a loss as to how this ended up in our kitchen, because there isn’t exactly a whole lot of glass to clean.

Most glassware gets run through a sanitizer, a large machine capable of cleaning and sanitizing a hefty amount of glassware at once.  Typically most food service employees aren’t allowed to drink from said glassware, mainly to avoid contamination due to spillage, or even worse, having a glass (or plate) smash into pieces, sending little bits of glass into the food in the prep stations.  Then one gets to throw out a whole lot of food.  Having a guest bite down on a shard of glass is not good for the reputation of the establishment.

To the person that came up with this product’s name, I salute you.  Brilliant play on window, and wind oh! that oh! for oh! my god, this name is awesome.  I would probably buy this product due solely for the name, regardless of how this cleaner performs, because I’m just that kind of person.


Like frisbee, these lemons are ultimate.

There ain’t no messing with these lemons.  They are the last, the maximum, the ultimate.  Lemons.  Much like the sport of ultimate frisbee.  There are few, if any, things that can top this.

Actually I’ve only played ultimate frisbee once or twice, if I can remember correctly.  I wasn’t that into it.

But I do like the design work here.  The ribbon background is a nice touch.  The lemon looks damn fine, graphically presented in a straightforward manner with subtle touches of texture.  The flower brings it on home, which at first I thought was just decoration, but actually lemon trees do produce a blossom.  I learn something new everyday.

I also like the simple color scheme.  Green and yellow, perfect for lemons (or limons, if you’re a Sprite fan).  I also like the incorporation of the neutral cardboard color in the background of the piece.  Using what’s there, or not actually there, and creating something out of nothing.

Yep.  Definitely a buy.

The onion and its natural predator.

I think I’m learning things about onions I never knew, at least in terms of how various packagers portray their product.  For one, location.  I’m finally actually thinking about where various vegetables come from.  Given certain stereotypes I learned growing up, one might suspect that Idaho merely grows potatoes.  But alas, Idaho seems rife with onion production.  Good job, Idaho, for breaking through some boundaries.

Also, that eagles want something to do with onions.  I’m assuming that something does not bode well for the onion.  The eagle represented here seems to have that poor onion in a grip with its talons, and given the way the head is bent down, as if going in for some pecking.  I typically thought eagles were birds of prey, (according to popular folklore) but hey, maybe when pickings are slim, they go vegetarian.  Onions would not be my first choice, though.

Then again, we may be going for some national pride connection.  And who doesn’t like, LOVE America?  Communists, that’s who.  But the yellow mountains and red sun do kind of throw me off a little.  Are we on planet Krypton?  Or perhaps its a representation of Jupiter, as the lines in the sphere kind of make a little red spot, like the great red storm on Jupiter.  I’m reaching here, I know.  Sometimes I try to take these images too literally.  I just sometimes find myself wanting to know why, and what the artist was thinking.  Curiosity, that’s all.

Some days I think about the afterlife.  I’m hoping there is one.  And that it’s a sweet one.  For example, I hope there’s a series of giant rooms like galleries, where you can wander around and see how much stuff you produced in life.  I really want to know, when my life is said and done, just how many onions I’ve cut up.  And in the gallery will be a massive mound of onions, all the onions I’ve touched, so I can see just how many that is. Or how much ketchup I’ve consumed, in a large vat.  Or beer, etc.  I think that would be awesome.



Jumping and clicking your heels over bacon.

Not feeling the witty this week.  Also have been in a sort of slump with new produce producing exciting culinary art finds, so today we’re going with the tried and true imagery of modern man’s depiction of bacon in the work place, specifically found on our kitchen’s mop bucket.

Though I’m hard pressed to figure out exactly why the mop bucket in the kitchen would be chosen as a prime spot for the depiction of bacon.  I would not eat bacon from a mop bucket, unless absolutely desperate, or it was the last bacon on Earth.  Hell, I try my damnedest to not even go near the mop bucket, much less touch it, or use it.

Alas, let’s face it, if there is something that can be universally understood across many cultures, languages and divides, it’s bacon.  At first I thought the little figure was somehow falling into bacon.  Was this a warning?  I cannot possible see how falling into bacon would be a horrible thing, unless you were a vegetarian, or if the bacon was still blazing hot (that grease can burn!).  Or perhaps the act of falling into bacon might somehow soil the bacon, possibly rendering it inedible (doubtful.)  At most, the bacon might soil the clothes you were wearing.

But then it dawned on me that the little figure is extremely overjoyed, resulting in a jump complete with clicking heels, and arm outstretched as a victory salute.  Hell, yes!  We’ve got bacon.  Especially three large slabs of bacon, compared to the figure’s body size.  That’s some mighty bacon right there, folks.  I’d be jumping for joy, too!  Though not necessarily over the top of the bacon ( I might land on it.)

Still, I think I’m on to something here.



"Aaaaannnd in this corner, the returning... ah, I'm not sure what you are."

Something about this guy alarms me.  I probably would not like to meet this fellow in a dark alleyway.  Not that I spend much time in dark alleyways, nor would like to meet several people in a dark alleyway.  I do not think they are conducive to the friend making process.   I don’t think it’s his enlarged torso/head with no neck that I find unappealing.  Or perhaps he merely is a giant head with arms.  It’s the smile attached to the face that I find off putting the most.  I imagine his smile to be in a permanent grin, mouth always open, maybe a result of years spent getting pummeled in the ring.  Also, his eyes almost appear feminine, or more like something from a Japanese anime.  Although I do imagine his voice to be oddly, high pitched, yet soft, which is also kind of unsettling to my imagination.

Coming up in this blog will explore the concepts of pride, that many companies associate their produce with ‘pride.’  And there’s nothing wrong with that.  Competitively speaking, one should promote the product with a positive sense.  The positive message here, being that these potatoes beat the other brands.  They are the champions, they have fought the tough battle, and have triumphed.  Of course you should buy produce from the winner.

I’ll admit I’ve never been fond of sports, especially boxing.  I’ve also never been particularly fond of fighting in general.  While that type of aggression is usually attributed to males, as a male, I just don’t get those urges.  Sure, I’ve wanted to punch people at times, mainly annoying, douchebags, but typically I’ve been able to refrain from acting on those urges.  Except for that one time in sixth grade.  But Tony R., I’m sorry, you deserved it.  That hail mary pass I caught on the playground was magnificent, and since it was pretty much the only touchdown I scored on the playground field, I felt a little celebration was in order.  You didn’t have to push me around.  And then I hit you.  Hard.  In the eye.

But I digress.  I get sad when I think of professional boxers, and I’m not sure if I would personally choose to use a boxer to represent my product. All those years spent training, honing their bodies, only to be dealt blow after blow to the head, with subsequent brain injuries and decreased mental capacities to follow.  I mean, have you seen what happens to them?  Maybe I’m looking too deep into this one.

"My friends, you bow to no one..."

The king is dead.  Long live the king!  Or so the saying goes.  But behold, in his magnificence, the king of yams.  This guy really reminds of something out of a Jim Henson movie.  I can almost hear the high, squeaky regal voice, referring to himself in the royal “we.”  Although I do have to question his lack of legs.  Not because yams possess legs, as they don’t, although sometimes we may stumble upon a slightly deformed sweet potato, but because if you focus on the picture, and imagine how thrones have a space for one’s buttocks, you’ll realize this cajun king is sort of propping himself up via the armrests and his trusty, royal scepter.  His “body” is not in a seated position at all.  And not to play too much on the maleness here (as the gendering lines up on this one), as obviously a king is usually male, and he does have a stately goatee, but his head is vaguely penis shaped.

Still, “It is the fool’s prerogative to point out that the emperor wears no clothes, but the emperor remains the emperor and the fool remains the fool.”  He’s royalty.  I’m not.  I wish I had a bitchin’ cape and crown.  Surprised he has no elegant rings, though.


Speaks for itself

And sometimes we find the art not on the box, but on the individually wrapped product itself.  I kept repeating the phrase to myself over and over again, winking and giving the thumbs up to no one.  Sometimes I do that when I find myself alone in the kitchen, which doesn’t happen very often (though I liken it to a peaceful, snowy night, when the sounds of the environment around me are muffled, and I feel like if I just sit still, it’s like I’m the only person left in the world.  Although not quite, because I am still at work.)  I am one of those people that occasionally talks to myself.

I suppose you could also substitute the phrase as a catchphrase for any kind of zany, Kramer-like character on a sitcom.  You know, the moment when they break the fourth wall and look at the camera to acknowledge the viewer, and then they drop their patented schtick.  The lettering also kind of resembles something from out of the seventies as well, like this gem from popular folklore.

Anyways, this is as close as I could get to something Turkey related, (this image is for a chicken, by the by) as of tomorrow evening I’ll be on vacation, and not able to post until Sunday.

Have a great Turkey day!

Something tells me these aren't "free range."

I love the full picture displays.  Someone actually spent some time on this image, although I’m wondering if that is indeed the actual house that the original plantation had, or merely a generic representation.  I have not had the pleasure of spending any time on a plantation, or hardly any time in the South at all, so I can only rely on my stereotypical imaginations I’ve gleaned from the movies I’ve seen dealing with the South.  But this seems to sum up the picture in my head just right: White house, white fence, some sort of trees all around, though they didn’t show any of the fields, which I’m assuming exist.

Also of note, no artistic renditions of the product itself.  Which makes me wonder if they reuse this painting and merely replace the product name.  This is the plantation brand, and I’m assuming they carry more than one kind of produce.   Given most of the yam advertising, most yam producers tend to show some sort of representation of their product, some successful, some not so much.

Things have been rather busy in the kitchen during the last week, and this week coming up looks to be more so.  Although I have to remember I have a short week, because I decided to put in some time off for the up coming holiday (partly the reason for the busy business).  Four day weekend, coming up!

Finally, the onion in its natural habitat.

Hmmm.  Something suspicious here.  I’m going to have to wait until work tomorrow to investigate this further, namely that label on the right that due to my awesome photography skills is somewhat unreadable.  But I do believe that looks like the state of Idaho on the label.

Though I could be wrong.  Geography is not my strong suit.  I still cannot locate Potatoes city anywhere (see previous post).

Perhaps though, this blog is finally beginning to uncover something here.  Though I happen to reside somewhere in the Midwest, I would like to point out that certain states are known for intense rivalries.  Growing up in the state of Chicago, I have vague memories of people blatantly hating on Wisconsin.  Particularly in the form of those who drive automobiles, disliking those that drive automobiles from other states.  Then again, that could just stem from my father, who explained everyone else’s bad driving habits by the state license plate on the other person’s car (“oh, they’re from _______, that explains it.”)  Insert any state name there, nobody knows how to drive, according to my Dad (who got a ‘C’ in driver’s ed; we know because we found his old report card.  And he’s a lousy driver.)

Another culprit in the state bashing other states category is the great sport of hand egg, otherwise known as Football.  For instance, the Bears vs. Green Bay, or on the college level, Michigan vs. Ohio St.  People almost shed blood over this sort of thing, and I’m really wondering what was the original cause of all of these rivalries.  Is this some sort of natural human phenomenon, that we’re programmed to have a distrust of our neighbors?  Did one team severely beat the other team, and its been head to head ever since?  Did some Model T driver from one state cut off another Model T from a different state, and thus condemn us all to follow in the footsteps of these ancient prejudices?  Does every state just kind of collectively hate Ohio?  Seems that way.

But I digress.  West coasters, you’ll have to inform me.  Does Oregon consider Idaho to be Eastern Oregon?  Are there state rivalries on your side of the America?  And are these onions being used as a low blow in some classic state vs. state brouhaha?

And I’m finally glad to see some onions presented in their natural habitat, with some tools of the trade thrown in for good measure.  Though the matching blue of what I think is a river, and of the shovel and pick there, kind of makes me cautious.  Shovels aren’t made of rivers!  Again, I’m guessing that’s actually just saving on the ink cost.  And I’m not going to mention any sort of hidden communist agenda, because I really didn’t think that the pick and the shovel resemble the hammer and sickle at all.  They’re blue, anyways.  Sheesh.  That would be Unamerican.

(And I hope my blatant sarcasms and critiques aren’t coming off as condescending, or being ill-natured.  I truly do appreciate all of the artwork I come across in my daily workings.  And yes, I know Chicago isn’t a state.)


Ah. So that's where that is.

This is probably one of my favorite artistic renditions of all time.  To quote my old friend, Hank Thoreau, “Our life is frittered away by detail.” (and further on) “Simplify, simplify.”

As much as I enjoy some of the brand name art that goes to great lengths to create an identity and purpose for the product, something about this one cuts through all the nonsense, the literary references and the anthropomorphising of vegetables.  Here it is.  Plain and simple.  The town of Potatoes welcomes you.  You see, it’s right there on the map.  You can’t miss it.  Considering that according to this map, there is only one town in the state of Washington.  And can you guess what is grown there?

I would probably live in a town named Potatoes.  I’d shop at the Potatoes General Store.  And I’d be the proud parent of a Potatoes middle school honor student.  Yes, I would lead a good life in Potatoes, WA.

Except that I can’t find it on any map.  Google maps did not produce any results.  Feeling a little let down at the moment.  Have I been lied to?  Deep in my heart I know it exists.  Good thing I have some mashed potatoes in the fridge.  That will cheer me up.