MR. DEBONAIR’S GUIDE FOR THE WELL-DRESSED MAN ABOUT TOWN

When putting on your Undershorts,
If knowledge you should lack
Of which side’s against the penis
And which side’s against the crack,
Recall this simple mantra
Whenever you are able,
To help you with those Undershorts
If they should lack a label.
No matter if you’re Asian,
Hispanic, white, or black -
The yellow stain, it goes in front;
The brown stain goes in back.

ASK MR. DEBONAIR

Dear Mr. Debonair,

This thoughtful post by a gentleman who calls himself “Velociman” got me to thinking about the matter of Manly Fragrances. Is it appropriate for a man to use Cologne Water and the like... or is it a Metrosexual Affectation? Inquiring minds want to know.

Sincerely,
Inquiring Mind

Dear Inquiring,

I applaud you for your fearlessness and candor in putting forth your inquiry. But I must hasten to assure you that there is nothing unmanly in the use of materials that impart a pleasant scent. Gentlemen have been connoisseurs of Bodily Aroma Enhancement since before the primitive Neanderthal crouched in his cave and distilled the first precious drops of Bay Rum.

This is not an unreasonable thing, for the Gentlemanly Corpus, left to its own devices, is capable of developing some remarkably offensive pongs. As Velociman states so eloquently, there is a definite value to a gentleman’s use of some sort of Olfactory Palliative, “because otherwise we would be subjected, ad hoc, to the smell of [his] unwashed armpits and unsanitary, shit-begrimed ass cheeks.”

At the very least, one must take it upon oneself to use an effective deodorant and/or antiperspirant after showering - an act that should be performed, generally, somewhat more often than every other fortnight. But beyond deodorant, there are many possibilities for Osmic Enhancement.

Your aromatic should be carefully selected with an eye toward one’s unique body chemistry. Every one of us reacts differently to scent; it is therefore critical to ensure that the scent one chooses does not react with one’s individual pheromonic pallette to create a less-than-optimum effect. If your friend Charlie smells great with a few drops of Old Spice on his freshly-shaven cheek, well and good; but Old Spice may make you smell like an oven-baked turd. The moral: Be sure to test fragrances privately before wearing them in public.

What fragrances does Mr. Debonair recommend? Ahhh, that is a tricky question indeed, involving as it does the delicate matter of Personal Taste. Over the years, as Mr. Debonair grew out of Noob-Fare like Old Spice (Grandpa’s choice!) and West Indian Lime - past Canoe, Aramis, Drakkar Noir, Kouros, and suchlike - he has gravitated towards products such as Antæus and Egoïste - the latter especially apt for someone who is so invested in the art of Self-Aggrandizement. Your tastes may differ (de gustibus non est disputandum), so feel free to douse yourself with Hai Karate! or Old Spice, you shit-smelling old goat. [Or goat-smelling old shit.]

How to apply one’s favorite Stinkum? Mr. Debonair recommends a drop or two - no more! - on the neck below each earlobe. And if you’re feeling especially frisky, a drop at the base of the Penile Shaft, right where it meets the Old Nut-Sack, can spice up almost any putative Romantic Encounter. Enjoy.

ASK MR. DEBONAIR

Dear Mr. Debonair,

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I would love to have a romantic, candlelit dinner with my Significant Other, a dinner that will implant thoughts of love and, perhaps, result in my getting lucky tonight! Can you offer any suggestions?

Sincerely,
Hot ’n’ Bothered

Dear Hot,

Saint Valentine’s Day, once upon a time, was a day upon which to celebrate the affectionate bonds between Man and Woman. Now, I suppose, it has become all about “getting lucky,” as you so crassly put it... but Mr. Debonair is nothing if not obliging, and so I happily offer my recommendations for a dinner that will dampen the panties of even the most obdurate Ice Queen.

Candlelight and chocolate help, but the key to a successful Valentine’s Day dinner is suggestion. Every dish should subtly plant certain ideas in your Dining Companion’s mind.

Let us start with the hors d’oeuvres. The great Casanovas of the past might have suggested oysters and snails - dishes reputed to have aphrodisiac qualities - but that is, to use an earthy term, a load of crap. You want something that suggests manly firmness. I suggest whole, unpeeled carrots, the larger the better, accompanied with ranch or bleu cheese dressing.

For an apéritif, you cannot beat single malt Scotch whisky. It has a smoky, sensuous flavor, accompanied by a high level of alcoholic content. Remember Ogden Nash’s famous dictum: Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker. And to ensure that the right ideas are implanted at every opportunity, may I suggest The Balvenie Double Wood.

The entrée should be something meaty. A manly steak will help get your point across. I recommend a Bone-In Ribeye Steak. It makes for excellent eating, and, as well, gives you the opportunity to ask, “How would you like your Bone-In?”

A fine wine should accompany your Bone-In Ribeye. A Troplong Mondot St. Emilion would be perfect, especially since you could explain (using your most urbane manner) that “Troplong” is French for “Too Long.” Really!

Dessert could be a traditional English pudding, accompanied by hard sauce. A Spotted Dick would fill the bill, but it raises health-related questions that one would be better off avoiding. Maybe a mince pie would be better. With the hard sauce.

Put all of this together, and there should be plenty of huggage and kissage... and the inevitable Juicy Consequences of same. Enjoy.

Best regards,
Mr. Debonair

MR. DEBONAIR CLEANS UP...

...in order to attend a wedding.

A few days ago I promised y’all a Monkey-Suit Photo. Here ’tis:



The wedding - the daughter of our friends Ron and Wendy, who also happens to be the niece of our friend Gary, who is Ron’s brother (got that?) - was wonderful. The ceremony was conducted at our shul, with our own Rabbi Lewis sharing the officiating duties with Rabbi Norry of Shearith Israel.

As for the rest of it, was it a Class Affair? Yes, it was. The rehearsal dinner alone could’ve passed for a wedding reception in 47 states... but the actual reception was a stunner, with over 300 people in attendance.

And as if the many, many Martinis were not enough, the reception featured a vodka bar, from which one could select shots in all sorts of flavors. No chocolate or triple espresso, alas... but I had no trouble finding a few flavors I liked (hic).

The wedding is not nearly as important as the marriage that follows it, but if the High Tone of this wedding is any indicator, the happy couple should be happy indeed.

Update: A nice pic of the Missus with our friend JoAnn.



I’m tellin’ ya, them ladies is HAWT!

SOME ADVICE FOR THE LADIES

From Mr. Debonair, of course.

Whenever you have to wipe your Crack,
Remember to wipe from Front to Back.
If you should wipe from Back to Front,
You risk getting itchy in your Business.

(You didn’t think someone as classy as Mr. Debonair would say “cunt,” do you?)

MR DEBONAIR’S FASHION TIPS

Summer is, next to spring, Mr. Debonair’s favorite season. That is because it is the perfect time to indulge one’s Sense of Whimsy.

You know what a Sense of Whimsy is, don’t you? Of course you do.

SWMBO has one.

Velociman has one.

And Mr. Debonair has one, too. A Sense of Whimsy, coupled with an unerring ability to spot the latest fashion trends...and shit all over them.

Behold: Martini Madness!


Mr. Debonair models his Martini Madness Slacks.

You really cannot appreciate these Fine Pantaloons unless you check ’em out up close:


Little cocktail shakers and Martini glasses!

Perfect for a few holes of golf down at the Country Club, or for tippling after tennis, these impressive machine-embroidered pants - made in some sweaty, God-forsaken country like Indonesia where a Martini is but a distant pipe-dream fantasy to the impoverished factory serfs who produce them - come with an official Letter of Commendation from the Republican National Committee.

Admit it. You want a pair, don’t you? Sure you do.

Mr. Debonair knows.

THE COMPLEAT JACKASS

The Compleat Jackass.

As Mr. Debonair will tell you, you cannot be a Compleat Jackass unless you have a pair of Jackass Pants. Or, in this case, Jackass Shorts.

Each pair Brooks Brothers sells comes with a form for enrollment in the Republican Party...and the local Country Club.

Of course, you cannot consider yourself a Truly Compleat Jackass without that most critical fashion accessory...

Mr. Debonair models the latest in Colander Fashions.

...the Colander!

MR. DEBONAIR’S GOURMET CORNER

Traveling the world in search of the exotic and unusual is Mr. Debonair’s bread and butter. When a rare or unfamiliar dish shows up on the menu, he will, often as not, try it so that he will be able to share the experience with his Esteemed Readers.

Turning up his nose at Scary Food - like Singaporean Fish Head Curry, for example - is not an option. It’s all in a day’s work.

Recently, Mr. Debonair had the chance to savor a really unusual treat: Ocean Oysters.

“But, Mr. Debonair!” you will say. “Oysters do not grow in the ocean! They prefer intertidal or subtidal zones!”

True enough, Mister Wikipediapants. But Rocky Mountain oysters (AKA Calf Fries), while they may be found in the Rocky Mountains, are not oysters at all...and neither are their aquatic cousins, Ocean Oysters.

Ocean Oysters are nothing more (or less) than whale testicles. A delicacy! And big enough to satisfy any gourmand, because the average blue whale testicle is the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.

[The blue whale balzac? Think of a wrinkly raisin, magnified to the dimensions of a small Quonset hut and encased in a thick coating of blubber.]

Cooking one of these Big Boys takes some effort. The usual preparation is to slice the whale testicle into two-inch-thick cross-sections, using a band saw. These can then be subdivided into smaller steaks, each the diameter of a dinner plate. Breaded and fried (in whale oil, of course!), a single Ocean Oyster steak makes a whopping big Dinner Entrée. As with a chicken-fried steak, cream gravy is an appropriate accompaniment.

Now, if only we Americans can get over our silly hang-ups about harvesting and consuming whale protein, we can give them Prime Ribs of Beef a run for their money...

ASK MR. DEBONAIR

Dear Mr. Debonair,

Is it appropriate to trim one’s fingernails at the Breakfast Table?

Sincerely,
Somewhat Disgusted

Dear Disgusted,

In addressing this question to Mr. Debonair, you knew the answer before you even asked the question, didn’t you?

Of course you did.

And I shall not disappoint you. I will state that, unless you were raised by wolves, the only appropriate place to trim one’s fingernails is in the bathroom, preferably standing near a sink so that the trimmings may be easily caught and disposed of.

If one is trimming one’s toenails, it is preferable to find a comfortable seat in the bathroom rather than to trim the nails at one’s bedside, as the trimmings have an unfortunate way of lodging in out-of-the-way places where they may be discovered (with some modest discomfort) with one’s bare feet.

To trim one’s fingernails at table - be it at breakfast, luncheon, dinner, or supper - is revolting. And imagine the possibility of a stray nail clipping embedding itself in one’s food. Even worse, a companion’s food. How loathesome!

And to trim one’s toenails at table...why, that is beyond revolting. But Mr. Debonair has lived a long time, and Mr. Debonair has seen many things, not all of which have been pleasant. It is regrettable that one cannot “unsee” such things, but, well, there you are.

AND NOW, A MESSAGE FROM MR. DEBONAIR

Dear Reader, observe these words with care:
Wipe when you’re finished on the Porcelain Chair!
A one-swipe wipe for a lump down there,
A two-swipe wipe for a chunk down there,
A three-swipe wipe for a loaf down there,
Wipe when you’re finished on the Porcelain Chair!

Chorus:
Wipe, readers! Wipe with care!
Wipe when you’re finished on the Porcelain Chair!

[Apologies to Noah Brooks, Isaac Bromley, W. C. Wyckoff, Moses P. Handy, and the incomparable Samuel Langhorne Clemens.]

ASK MR. DEBONAIR

Herewith an inquiry from a fellow Jawja Blodger:

Dear Mr. Debonair,

What is the simplest way of thawing a frozen turkey in the shortest time possible?... or do I just have to practice my Russian accent, open the fridge every so often, poke it with a trowel and pretend it's a Siberian mammoth?... the label lied, Mr. Debonair... so what's the scoop?...

Sincerely,
Straight White Chef

Dear Straight,

Your question was especially timely, as I, too, faced a Thawing Issue this morning as I prepared to roast a goose - yes, a goose - to serve as one of the main courses at this evening’s Dinner in the Tradition of the Royal Navy.

I had purchased the goose several days ago, frozen as hard as a chunk of anthracite. I figured that four days in the fridge would soften it up...and it did, albeit incompletely. The thing was still rock-solid at the core, and it took a frantic cold-water immersion to get it to the point where I could yank the entrails out of its ass remove the giblets comfortably.

And thus, I share your pain. Here you were, ready to regale your guests with a succulent Roast Turkey, and instead, you found a bird-shaped cinderblock in your fridge. Bring on the porkchops! So much for following the directions on the package.

The fact is, thawing a large bird is tricky. You want the critter to stay cold, as bacteria multiply rapidly once the temperature gets much above 40°F. But you don’t want to be asking your dinner guests to wait until Christmas 2016.

The key - as at least one of your commenters has already noted - is to immerse the bird in cool water. Water has an excellent heat transfer coefficient, which means that cool water will thaw your turkey a lot faster than warm air...and the meat will remain safe to eat.

You’ll still need a few hours, but that beats waiting until the proverbial cows come home. Unless you eat the cows, in which case, who gives a shit whether your turkey ever thaws out?

MR. DEBONAIR SHARES A RECIPE

Dear Mr. Debonair,

I love creamed herring, but the kind they sell at our local market is kind of bland. Can you offer any ideas on how to make it a little more appealing?

Sincerely,
Bored Fish

Dear Bored,

I share your pain. There have been so many occasions on which I have said to Mrs. Debonair, “Darling, this would have been a perfect meal except for the bland herring.” She does not take offense at this, as she has nothing to do with the Herring Selection: any quality defects are invariably my fault. Mrs. Debonair loathes pickled fish.

But there is a simple way to take your average, everyday bottled Creamed Herring and jack it up. Kick it up a notch, as my Stovewhore Buddy Emeril is wont to declaim. Bam!

All you do is take your bottled herring - Vita is a perfectly workable brand - and add a modest dose of lemon zest and grated Granny Smith apple. (Be sure to grate the apple with the peel on.) Cover and let it sit in the refrigerator for a few hours - or overnight - for the flavors to marry. Exquisite!

Now, do as Mr. Debonair does. Leave the herring on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, way in the back where you won’t remember it for a month. Then, when your fridge starts developing a strange pong reminiscent of a k.d. lang concert, discover the herring. Discard.

MR. DEBONAIR: FASHION FORWARD

There has been a whole lot written recently about the latest fashion trend amongst observant Jews: wearing Crocs on Yom Kippur.

Because Jewish law prohibits the wearing of leather shoes on the Day of Atonement, it’s common to see people show up at services wearing suits...and sneakers. But now Crocs, those popular plastic sandal-like shoes, have attracted a considerable following, according to the JTA News Service:

From secular beachgoers in Tel Aviv to right-wing Orthodox settlers in Hebron, Crocs - the bulbous-toed, open-back, rubber summer shoe - already were ubiquitous in Israel. Now, reports from several synagogues across America suggest, Crocs have surpassed Chuck Taylors, Keds, flip-flops and a host of other options to become the Yom Kippur shoe in the United States.

Crocs - the perfect Yom Kippur Shoe!

Of course, Mr. Debonair, our very own Fashion Consultant at Blog d’Elisson, is way ahead of you...as you can see in this post from one year and one day ago. Yep - you heard it here first.

And best yet: Not only are Crocs the perfect Yom Kippur shoe (after all, they’re holey), they also are just the thing to wear on Tisha b’Av!