Tag Archives: food

Mitch Returns: The Mitchening.


Like a punchy aging boxer with financial troubles Mitch has come out of blogging retirement. Why now, you ask? The people of Earth need me. Like Jesus did after his final performance, it was time to let the blog rise from the dead. Actually, there really is no good reason other than I had an itch to write that needed to be scratched.

There’s going to be some changes to the format of the blog. First, the name of the blog. Over time the old title “Mitch Being Honest” just grew old and tiresome. I tried a few new titles on for size but none I was happy with. Then, I figured if the blog is about all things Mitch why not just call it “Mitch.” Simple, clean, easy to spell and remember. If one name is good enough for Cher, then God damn it, it’s good enough for me.

Over the next few weeks there will be some cosmetic changes to the site but frankly I hate dealing with crap like that so bear with me, it could take months before you actually see these changes.

The blog will still be mainly about all things Mitch and whatever the hell else I feel like writing about. My romantic relationship will still be off limits for two reasons. 1. That relationship is only between me and my lady and should remain that way. 2. I’ve written about dating and relationships to death and I am bored with writing about those topics.

Coming soon! If there’s one thing I love, it’s wine and last weekend after a few bottles I was ranting to the GF how I hate pretentious wine reviews like this:

An intense red, showing concentrated flavors of dark plum, kirsch, dried beef and baker’s chocolate flanked by sublime notes of tobacco leaf and ginger. The powerful finish is filled with sanguine details for it’s low $125 price. Only 5000 bottles made. Best paired with smoked venison with a light walnut glaze, served with a understated caviar pate…”

Let’s face it, as a normal dude who has fully embraced his bachelorhood I am never going to eat that kind of food, let alone ever cook food like that at home. I’m more apt to make some Manwich sloppy joes with a side of canned beans than haute cuisine.

I’ve been drinking wine for years, managed a wine boutique, and have taken numerous tasting courses. At best, I can pick out three to four flavours, tops, and two scents maybe on a good day if I was downwind and my allergies weren’t bugging me.

Not to mention I have never smelled half the bullshit adjectives they mention in pretentious wine reviews. Kirsch? villagepeople-branson's best reservationsWhat the hell is kirsch? I don’t know what kirsch is but I’m pretty fucking sure I’ve never smelt that. Dried beef? I don’t care what dried beef smells like. I don’t want to know nor do I want to smell anything in my wine that sounds like the title of a lesser known innuendo laced Village People song.

As well, a $125 dollar bottle of wine is out of my pay grade so a review like this is as useful as my arts degree. So I came up with a solution. Wine reviews for normal people, who drink normal wine, with a normal price range of $10-$25ish. Simple, no bullshit wine reviews. As an added bonus I now have a rational, viable explanation for my weekend alcohol abuse AKA “blog research.”

So keep an eye out for that feature coming soon…maybe Sunday… if I’m not too hungover.

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I’m Back Baby! And People I Can’t Hang With.

Greetings faithful readers! No time for pleasantries, let’s get to some housecleaning. Yes, I took five months off from writing. Do I feel recharged? Yes. Am I chock full of writing ideas? No. Did the break help? Yes. Am I psyched to be blogging again? Kind of. Did I miss it? Sort of.

Yes, I do realize five months ago I “retired” from blogging but like many a professional athlete who walked away from the game there was still some stuff in the basement that needed to get out. So I’m back to writing on a “semi-occasional-whenever-the-hell-the-mood-strikes-me-without-feeling-guilty-that-I-have-to-write-sporadic-basis.” If Jesus can come back after his most famous final performance well, then so can I. You read that right, I just totally just compared myself to Jesus.


Will I regale you once more with more comical tales of my amusing dating hijinks and absurd relationship sagas? Hell no. Two reasons. One, I’m bored of talking about that and as I said numerous times in the past Mitch Being Honest was never intended to be about dating it just kind of evolved into that. Two, I met someone quite lovely and out of respect for her and our relationship I’m keeping it out of the blog. It’s been six months and just like when a pitcher is working on a perfect game in baseball you don’t mention the pitcher is working on a perfect game lest you jinx it.

Housecleaning done, let’s get to it.

Five Random People Mitch Can No Longer Hang With.

(Disclaimer: person can come in either gender but for sake of example I may choose one gender pronoun because I am a really lazy writer).

“You know HOW bad that is for you” guy: There’s always that one person who has to mention with a mild disdain just how bad the food you are eating is for you. They always make the “where is that weird smell in my kitchen coming from” disgust face while they say this. Then they start to mention all the healthy just as delicious alternatives. Look, first off, I know how bad the food I am eating is, I’m not a moron. The fact is I just don’t care. I know your healthy food alternatives are good for me but if I wanted that I would have chose that in the first place. When I was a kid my parents said when I was an adult I could eat whatever I wanted, they may have been sarcastically saying it but God damn it, I waited all my childhood to get to that point in my life and I don’t intend to waste that victory. Now, if you’ll excuse me my Reese Pieces, BLT with double extra bacon (BBBLT? B-cubed-LT?) and Bourbon on the rocks breakfast is getting cold.


“Sensationalist Social Cause Facebook” gal: We all have that person who bombards our Facebook feed with sensational shocking photos of abused kids/dogs/cats/people/nature and the like. Personally, I have no problem with being passionate about a cause. Just be aware that not all of us are as passionate as you are about your cause and the last thing I want to see is a graphic explicit picture you posted about your cause that causes me to lose my appetite for my breakfast Froot Loops whilst I persuse my Facebook.

 “I don’t watch TV let alone OWN a TV” guy: Fine I get it, you’re more intellectually evolved than the rest of us because you choose not to watch TV but you don’t have to be a smug bag of dicks about it. You could just say “I don’t really like TV, I prefer reading” if you say it that way it’s more diplomatic and I may be more inclined to ask you about your reading habits and look at that, we have an engaging conversation. Say it the smug bag of dicks method and I just want to throat chop you with a book about the History of Television.

 “Joggy Joggerson” gal: They went for a jog… They are going for a jog…Once on a jog…This occurred to them on a jog…let them just check their resting heart rate because you know, they jog…the ancient mayans invented jogging…this energy bar is good for their jogs…they’ll get on the Henderson account file right after their lunch jog…sore from their jog but a good sore because you know, they jog…jogging is more than exercise its a lifestyle commitment to jogging…let them just stretch at their cubicle because the hammies are tight from the jog…


 “That’s what THEY want you to believe” guy. There always that person in our social circle who feels that some vague anonymous “THEY” are out to screw with us. They are ever vigilant for “THEY” and their grifter ways but not this person, they are onto “THEY”.

“Yeah, I got this coupon for my next oil change, $10 off”

“Whoa. Hold up. Thats what THEY want you to think.”

“What? They want me to think I’m getting $10 off? But I am getting $10 off, I’m paying $10 less than the last oil change I got there.”

“Exactly. THEY want you to think that…”

Well, it was good to get back to the blogging thing. See you soon.


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Life Lessons with Mitch Lesson 82.71


*Assuming a price of $5 a pound, that is the pounds of bacon I could have bought with the money I spent to get three dates in seven months from my now cancelled Eharmony subscription.


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Ponderances With Mitch 2: Ponder Harder. (Originally Published April 9, 2011)

You wanted the best! You got the best! The hottest advice columnist in the world! Mitch! (I got to stop listening to KISS when I write.) That’s right it’s sequel time. The triumphant return of Mitch trying his hand at being an advice columnist because you demanded it! Well not really, no one demanded it, but I’m writing it anyways. It’s time for “Ponderances with Mitch 2: Ponder Harder.”  

Mitch, I recently began working out and started watching what I eat. I don’t diet per se but I do watch what I eat. Here’s my problem, when I go out to eat at a restaurant it’s extremely difficult to find healthy options I can eat. What do I do?

In the past four months Mitch has hopped back on the workout train. Running four times a week, pushups and abs the other three. The result? A loss of 25 lbs and Mitch is feeling pretty damn good about getting his sexy back and the resulting side effect of the reemergence of the once lost “Mitch Swagger.” Why am I telling you this? Well, for no other reason than to brag about my sexy coffee coloured gluteals and to fish for compliments. Back to the original question, I’m in the same boat, I don’t believe in dieting. My approach to eating when you’re working out operates thus: 

-Eat when you’re hungry. Eat until you’re satisfied; not stuffed. Don’t eat when you’re not hungry.

-Here’s a revolutionary idea; don’t eat crap food. Your mind? Blown. I know! You’re welcome.

-Restaurant rules: If it’s deep fried, battered, covered in cream sauce, slathered with cheese, and features bacon o’ plenty or any combination of the preceding, its’s bad for you, very bad for you. As well be wary of any portion upsize deals that feature the phrases “mega”, “sumo”, “lumberjack”, “galactic”, “colossal”, “long haul trucker”, and “you stopped trying to be physically attractive to any potential sexual mates a long time ago” size. 


On the other hand, sometimes, when you’re going out for dinner with family and or friends is a burger and fries really going to kill you once in a while? No. It’s when you eat that every day is when it’s going to kill you, or the diabetes, whichever comes first. 


-Mitch, every time I work out at the gym, I’m bothered by guys hitting on me or trying to get my attention. Its so old. I just want to workout. What do I do?

-So let me get this straight. You’re upset because the opposite sex finds you attractive? I’m not seeing a problem here. First, would you rather the have the exact opposite problem and be invisible to the opposite sex? I would kill to have your “problem” (and I use the term loosely). I’m Native, six foot two, brown skinned, 245 pounds with a shaved head and piercing black eyes, I scare the bejeezus out of most white women. I can barely make eye contact and a smile with a passing attractive woman without her averting her gaze and clutching her purse tightly (or possibly reaching in for bear spray). Second, if it’s so much of a “problem” aren’t there gyms solely for women? Unless… you’re into native dudes….how you doin? I’m Mitch…


-Mitch, I’m a heterosexual male in my late twenties. The majority of my friends are female and in their early twenties. I have a lot of female friends. Many of them want to sleep with me no strings attached but I want a relationship. This is getting to be a real problem. What do I do?

You ungrateful bastard. 

Well, again I must say “Ponderances with Mitch” was yet another smashing success. as I said last time, I never promised good advice, helpful advice, or useful advice. Just advice.

No need to thank me, I’m an idea man, it’s what I do. 

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Painful Hands, Eye Gouges and Flying Donairs (Originally Published October 9, 2010)

Greetings, faithful readers. After a brief hiatus I am happier than a poo flinging monkey with incredible aim to be writing again. Let’s get right to it shall we? Here’s your dose of all things Mitch.

First, there was the nerve damage flare up in my hands. I’ll sum it up with my hands hurt like they were on fire and I could’t even hold onto a piece of paper without grimacing in immense pain. I consequently missed two weeks of work. I’ll pause here for you to make a lame masturbation joke. During my two weeks away from work I rehabilitated my hands with the assistance of my chiropractor and extremely hot, like I mean hot hot hot, as in “I want to throw her on the acupuncture table and make fiery passionate 90’s bad erotic thriller movie sex scene on late night cable TV love to” hot acupuncturist, my hands were starting to improve. Still no real answers as to what was causing the issues but I got an neurologist appointment coming up soon, and Ill keep you all posted. 

After two straight weeks of appointments I was happily walking home with Little Mitch from the grocery store after a popsicle run. It was a beautiful Friday and I was enjoying a sunny fall day with my son. I was thinking to myself. “I’m so happy to be done all those appointments…” before I could finish the thought, all of a sudden a sharp pain emitted from my right eye and I was temporarily blinded. I hunched over in pain and resisted every urge not to rub my eye in fear of making it worse. When I regained my senses I realized what happened. A thin tree branch just in my peripheral blind spot was jutting out onto the sidewalk at exactly my eye height, and I walked right into it.

The next morning I was at my “under the radar, two glasses of wine, hot” optometrist (how do I end up with all these hot health care professionals?) with a scratched cornea. I ended up with an eye cream, and an eye patch, that made me look like a James Bond villain. If I was a Bond villain, my name would be “Vas Deferens” and I would talk with a bad foreign accent and slight lisp “Thoooo… Meester Bond…teal me zeee planth for de TestiCleeeez layther….” 

I finally got back to work this past week. The weird thing is, missing two weeks of work sucks. It’s not like I was on vacation. I never thought I would say this but I’m actually happy to be back at my day gig. When I was on the disabled list my days consisted of appointments with my chiropractor and appointments with my “want to make sweaty monkey love to you” hot acupuncturist. Let’s just say it’s a good thing I was laying face down on the acupuncture table because every time she would touch me the sundial was saying it was high noon.  Then I would come home for a brief few minutes to take a rest and then leave to go pick up Little Mitch from kindergarten. Repeating this day after day for two weeks got real old real quick. I can now see why people on disability are prone to depression. I couldn’t help out around the house, couldn’t play rough and tumble with Little Mitch, and my energy level was low from my hands constantly hurting. You really start to feel useless and frustrated with your body. You feel like your body has decided to betray you. You’ve become an unwilling passenger in a mechanically unsound vehicle. 

After a few days back at work I was feeling pretty good about myself. I was feeling useful and productive again. My hands are only about 90% right now but I am managing the pain and my physical limits effectively. My eye was feeling better and I was coming home from a follow up appointment with my “kind of hot” optometrist who seemed really flattered when she caught me checking out her back side. She was a lot friendlier after that. What can I say? I like to boost self esteem in others, it’s a gift. Mrs. Mitch was at work, and Little Mitch was having dinner with his Papa so I decided to grab some take-out on the way home. 

I was walking home cradling my donairs in my left hand, holding them the way one would hold a plate of food; open hand palm up, food on top. I crossed the street to Chez Mitch and stepped onto the curb. I quickly discovered Mother Nature played another cruel trick on me. I stepped onto what I thought was flat ground but was in reality a huge divot covered with leaves making the ground appear flat. I rolled my ankle and was pitched forward off balance. My work bag went flying four feet to the right and my donairs went flying four feet to the left and Mitch went four feet up the middle. It was a spectacular fall. A cacophonous symphony of flailing arms, legs, work bags, leaves, dirt and flying food. I landed with a sickening sliding thud. The result? I scraped my nerve damaged hand and caused it to flare up again, with incredible nerve pain. I had a twisted ankle, and was the proud new owner of a swollen knee complete with limp as an added bonus. I’ll sum up the rest of my evening with ice bags, Advil and Tylenol 3’s. I shall now add the tree gouge in the eye and the flying donairs incident to “Reasons why Mitch hates being outside” list. 

So that’s what’s being going on with Mitch lately. A few other quick updates, we finally gave in and got cell phones, and Mrs. Mitch passed her drivers exam and is now licensed to drive, and Little Mitch has a school girlfriend. 

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Life Lessons With Mitch Lesson 218

Evidence that I listen to my therapist but I don’t really hear what he is saying.

Dr. C: “It’s only once you open up and take what people are giving you, that you in time, will give something back.”

Mitch: “You just described what happens when I eat bran muffins.”

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Life Lessons With Mitch Lesson 213

As a kid I remember my parents faux-threatening me with “When you grow up you can eat whatever you want for dinner, until then eat your potatoes/carrots/cauliflower Mister, or no video games!” when I didn’t like what was being served.

Well, at the ripe age of 34 that time has come, and I’m making good on your empty threats, Mom and Dad. In your face!

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The Curry Train (Originally Published June 10, 2010)

I was in the lunch room the other day enjoying the company and conversation of my coworkers when the topic turned to ethnic food. A coworker of mine, asked another co-worker, what she was having. She replied that she was having curry, and explained the finer points of curry, the actual dish not just the spice, and the topic turned into Indian food in general. I was asked if I like Indian food. Being the honest man I am I replied “No, I just cant get used to curry.” The coworker who was having the curry, who is also of East Indian descent, summed it up rather well when she said “You either love curry or you absolutely hate it there is no middle ground.” Another coworker asked me if I like curry, to which I replied my idea of ethnic food is Taco Bell, and cue the laughter in the lunch room. “oh so you’re a meat and potatoes man then?” she responded. 

This got me thinking “am I a “meat and potatoes man?” I wouldn’t say I’m a meat and potatoes man, to me that implies that seven days a week you merely, eat meat and potatoes. My god I’m starting to sound like that cranky old fart on 60 minutes. Actually deep down I secretly like Andy Rooney but I would never admit even if I was being water boarded at Git-mo. To be honest I like to think of myself as having a wide and varied food palette but there is certain ethnic foods I don’t like. It seems to me that there is a polarizing thinking when it comes to ethnic food, you either love it and you’re hip or you don’t and you’re branded a “meat and potatoes man.” Where is the middle ground in this? 

I am sorry I tried but I just can’t get on the Curry Train. Wouldn’t it be great if they re-booted Soul Train and called it Curry Train? It would be just like Soul Train but with a East Indian slant. They would have all those cool Indian dance routines like at the end of “Slumdog Millionaire” and a super funky host named Raj Cornelius? No need to thank me, I’m an idea man its what I do. Before anybody accuses me of being racist I assure I am not. I really do dig Indian culture and love watching Indian music videos on Saturday mornings, Mrs Mitch can vouch for that. I’ve even learnt some dance moves I’m just waiting to bust out if I ever get invited to an Indian wedding. This probably won’t happen anytime soon seeing as my entire circle of friends are as ethnically varied as an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. 

Whenever you tell an Indian food devotee that you don’t like Indian food they always have one of two responses  A) “Oh, man you just haven’t tried really good Indian food.” (and for some reason they need place special emphasis on the ‘really’ of  really good  like reeeeeeaLLLLLy) or B)”You just need to try true ‘authentic’ Indian food  to really like it.” (complete with a head bob up and down on the true to  emphasize the ‘truth’ of it) I’m going to lay some truth on you and I do apologize if this sounds a wee bit angry. First, when you say either response A or B you sound like a complete condescending A-hole. Second, if I don’t like something, I don’t like it, lets just accept it and move on don’t try to convince me why I should like it. Nobody would ever pull this with a bologna sandwich, “You don’t like bologna? Oh man, you just haven’t tried really good bologna sandwiches. You just need to try true ‘authentic’ bologna sandwiches to like it.” I’m sorry, I just can’t like curry, a spice that smells like a cross between body odour, and a garbage dumpster on a hot day doesn’t appeal to me. 

If you fall within the age range of twenty to thirty five I theorize there are 3 types of ethnic food that are trendy right now. 

1.  Indian food.

2.  Thai food.

3.   Sushi.

Frankly I’m not a fan of any of the three categories. I really don’t have a reason why I don’t like Thai or Sushi, I just don’t. Yet heres the problem with these three categories. It’s Saturday night and you and your spouse are going out with your other couple friends…

“What do we feel like?”

Mrs. Mitch: “Ohhh lets do Thai!” 

Couple male friend: “I could go for Sushi”

Couple female friend:“The girls at work were raving about this new Indian place.”

Mitch: “Hey, how about pizza?”

Silence; and they all shoot me the “B minus” look, you know that look your teacher would shoot at parent-teacher interviews, “Mitch excels in English and I gave him a B minus but he could be a  solid  A student if he actually studied” as she half smirks, raises her eyebrows, and slightly nods her head up and down. That’s the look they all gave me. What happened to pizza? When did it become so lame? Pizza was once the golden boy of Saturday night. Now pizza has become that  B-List backup friend who was once an A lister but got really drunk at your last party puked in your kitchen sink, made a clumsy pass at your wife, and then lost his balance and fell into your shower while taking a whiz and ripped the shower curtain down in the process but you still hang with him out of pity when all your cooler friends are busy. 

Don’t even get me started on Samosas. Okay you twisted my arm, Ill give you Mitch’s Samosa Theory. You’ll probably notice I have a lot of theories. I’m thinking about adding a glossary page of all my theories on the blog. Next time you go to a Heritage Ethnic festival, take note of how many of the vendor tents sell Samosas. It’s like every country has Samosas. Japanese Samosas, African Samosas, American Samosas, Russian Samosas, Thai Samosas, Prussian Samosas, and Vatican City Samosas*. Really you are all serving Samosas. Are you even trying anymore? This is so not worth 8 food tickets at $1.25 a pop, and look you’re serving hot wings how ethnically diverse! 

*Technically Vatican City meets the criteria of what constitutes a country, who knew? Thank you Google for that useless tidbit.

No need to thank me, I’m an idea man its what I do. 

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