How Green Is My Card: definitive!

Actually, it hath a greenish cast. The banner across the top - the one that says "United States of America Permanent Resident" - is emphatically green, a sort of currency-green if you know what I mean, and the whole thing is complected in that direction. So that's quite pleasing, really.

Also, I can haz Green Card. Every breath I take is legal use of oxygen, every step is fair wear-and-tear on the infrastructure. So now all I need is an infusion of that legendary American energy, the get-up-and-goishness to drive off this rather European fog of existential despair that has been clinging to me for a while now. That would be nice. Maybe I'd actually get something done, rather than huddling in corners whimpering that I can't do this...

...Should I wear a tinfoil nightcap also?

So I have a British wallet and an American wallet. Apart from the simple convenience of swapping one for the other as I cross borders in my wild jetsetting international lifestyle, the reason for this is twofold: (a) it was a retail opportunity - I could buy Shiny New Wallet! before old wallet was worn out; and (b) Shiny New Wallet! was absolutely designed to hold a passport as well as other wallety things, and I did need that.

Also, Shiny New Wallet! has one of those transparent your-identity-card-goes-here pockets, for which I have never had a use, because being British and a non-driver non-employed-person I have never had an identity card which would fit there, nor the need to exhibit it.

Things change. My mode(s) of thought went thuswise: "Ooh - Shiny New Green Card! will fit transparent pocket in Shiny New Wallet!!" -- "Ooh - maybe I don't need to carry my passport with me any more, now I have Shiny New Green Card!?" -- "Ooh, maybe I should read the actual literature that came with Shiny New Green Card! to learn this sort of thing?" -- "Oh. Phooey."

The first thing I looked at in the little pile of actual literature? Was a piece of paper that said "Please use the enclosed sleeve to store your new Permanent Resident Card". And the enclosed sleeve? Rather than being transparent and Shiny! is the very opposite: it is densely paperific, and all over the front it says "We recommend use of this envelope to protect your new card and to prevent wireless communication with it."

Wait a minute, whut? The protective blandness of the thing is merely disappointing, but - wireless communication? Are they telling me my green card is hackable? And they know it's hackable, and I'm supposed to rely on a fold of paper to protect it, rather than fancy Government electronic security measures...?

Pshaw. (And I'm still leaving it in the transparent window in my wallet, so hack away...)

Fats (not Domino, tho' you could all fall like ninepins)

People, you should be here at this hour...

So my poor Karen who experiences shudders of fear and loathing at the very mention of offal organ meats has been instructed to eat them once a week. So in a startlingly-generous, not-at-all-self-interested gesture I thought I'd try to recreate the salad of confit'd gizzards that I had in Paris, that I obliged her to try, that she said wasn't actually too appalling. Chicken gizzards are easy to find here (tho' once defrosted, they turn out to be gizzards and hearts, but hey: I'm not complaining); so I bought some, and went to find a packet of lard because we can't afford goose fat.

Um, people? Where does all the lard go? It doesn't appear to be on grocery shelves...

On the other hand, pork back fat is; so I bought some of that and set out to render it myself. For science Karen!

Either the rendering-temperature is higher, or else I should've trimmed it more carefully, or else it just isn't like rendering beef suet. I ended up with a bowl of lovely white lard, yes - but also with a panful of bits that had nothing more (they said) to give.

So for sheer greed science! I tossed a scoopful into a hot pan, slapped a lid on and sizzled until crispy.

A scatter of salt, and - oh, yes. With a cold beer, and never mind the greasy fingers: this is a snack fit for any pub in any country, and a fine way to celebrate exile. Om nom, as they say, nom. *goes back to do it again*