In for a penny ...

The Coinage Act of 1792 established our monetary system and also called for the building, equipping, and staffing of a mint to be located in our nation's capital, which at the time was Philadelphia. When it was the only mint, there was no point in putting mint marks on the coins produced there. Later when branch mints were opened, they used a letter (or two) to indicate where the coins were minted, except for those coins from Philadelphia. They continued to have no mint mark.

After a couple hundred years, that policy was changed.  Starting in 1980, all U.S. coins had a mint mark, even P for Philadelphia, with one exception: the penny. Philadelphia-minted one-cent coins still have no mint mark.

Here are two coins from last year. The one on the right is from Denver, indicated by the small D under the date. You know the one on the left is from Philadelphia by the absence of a mint mark.

Here are two pennies from this year:

Notice anything? Like a small P under the date on the first one?

Instead of issuing a special coin or series of coins in gold or other precious metal to commemorate its 225th anniversary, the folks at the Mint decided to do one very small but very special thing: they put the P mint mark on the pennies from Philadelphia.

The fun part is -- they didn't tell anybody they were going to do it. They just issued the coins and then sat back to see how long it would take people to notice.

The U.S. Mint has a playful side.  Who knew?

Why do we do the things we do?

Well, you probably know the story about the woman who always cut a slab off one end of a pot roast before putting it in the roaster. When asked why, she said that’s how her mother always did it. Intrigued, she called her mother and asked her why she always cut some of the meat off the roast. “That’s the way my mother always did it,” she replied.

They called Grandma and asked, “Why do you always cut a chunk off a roast before baking it?” to which Granny replied, “Because I never had a pan big enough.”

One thing my mother always did was break spaghetti in half before putting it into the boiling water, but I know why she did that – she didn’t have a pot big enough. She always used a Mirro four-quart aluminum pot for pasta, and she always broke the long strands in half so they would fit better.

I’m still using that same pot, which is at least as old as I am (i.e., 70), and I have been breaking the long pasta in half my whole cooking life.

Until now. Mueller’s has started packaging “Pot-Sized” spaghetti, linguini, and angel hair (my personal favorite) already broken into what you might call half sizes.

There must be more people out there than I ever realized who are using four-quart pots for boiling s'getti.

Are we there yet?

I saw an advertising video on Facebook this afternoon for something called the Dash Toaster. Instead of two or four slots abreast, this one has one long opening, long enough to insert  two pieces of bread end to end. It also has a see-through glass front so you can watch your toast toast.

What was really more fascinating was the demonstration, not of toasting a piece of bread in the Dash but what they did to it afterwards.

First, butter is spread over the toast. Okay. Then some jam. That's fine.

Oh, wait -- now a few blackberries. Nice touch.

Well, hold on -- a couple strawberries are added now. That'll be great.

No, there's more.  Whipped cream on top, a very generous squirt thereof from the Reddi-Wip can. All right, that oughta do it.

Well, wait -- not done yet.  A sprinkling of slivered almonds.  Nice touch.

Oh -- and here comes a shower of powdered sugar. Done, thanks.

Oops, not so fast -- finally a drizzle of honey.

Seriously?

Strike 'em out, throw 'em out, blow 'em out

The Chicago Cubs were being blown out by the Yankees in last night’s game at Wrigley Field.  Because of heavy use in recent games, the Cubs’ bull pen was pretty much worn out, so Manager Joe Maddon, a bit of a quirky guy anyway, decided to save their arms and sent catcher Miguel Montero to the mound in the top of the ninth inning.

Montero walked two batters but threw a scoreless inning. The Cubs lost 11 to 6.

It reminded me of a game played on the Fourth of July 1977 in which the Cubs were being creamed by the Montreal Expos.

A Cubs outfielder named Larry Biittner, who had pitched a couple times in the minors, had been lobbying Manager Herman Franks for a chance to pitch. With the score 11 to 2, Franks gave Biittner his opportunity in the eighth inning.

I watched that game on television, and I will always remember it, but not for Biittner's performance as a pitcher. What I remember particularly about it is that while Biittner was on the mound, some imaginative member of the WGN-TV crew put a graphic up on the screen that said:

BIITTNER PIITTCHING

That’s the only reason I remember that game. I generally like to forget games the Cubs lose 19 to 3.

Aw, go float yourself.

As I unwrapped a bar of Ivory soap, I heard the advertisements of my childhood clearly in my head:  "It floats!" and especially, "99 and 44/100 percent pure!"

And I said to myself, “Pure what?” I never really gave it a thought.

Some casual research revealed the answer: it is pure soap. Huh?

That required a little further research as I know diddly about soap making. It seems that soap is made from an alkali (basically lye or potash) and a fat (animal or vegetable). Manufacturers often add substances or chemicals that affect the smell, color, consistency, or generality of it.

Proctor and Gamble did not do that, and to prove it (to whom, nobody seems to know), sometime in the 1890's somebody from P&G sent samples of their white soap to independent laboratories for analysis. One scientist’s report noted that the total sum of the impurities in the soap was 0.56%. Some enterprising P&G executive who could subtract got the bright idea to advertise its purity with the famous appellation, “99 and 44/100% pure.”

As for the floating, that's the result of whipping it full of air. Whether the air is hot or not, it is extremely appropriate for advertising purposes.

Brain Fuzz

Everybody knows that the mind tends to get a little fuzzy as we grow older. I can still be surprised, however, by the extent of the effects of my own fuzzy brain.

As for instance last evening, when I decided my aperitif would be one of my newer favorites, a Tom Collins.

I put light rum, lime juice and simple syrup in a tall glass, used my tiny battery-powered frother to mix it thoroughly, added ice cubes, then filled the glass with club soda, stirring with a wooden chop stick (more on that some other time).

It was terrible. Well, okay, maybe not terrible, but not good. It basically tasted like carbonated lime. Adding a little more sugar syrup helped, but it was still a disappointment.

I mentally reviewed every step I had taken, and found no fault. In case I had gotten the proportions wrong, I looked up the recipe I always use. It then became perfectly clear that I had used the correct manner and method for a Tom Collins with the ingredients for a Daiquiri.

Maybe old people with fuzzy brains should drink fuzzy navels.

Neighboring States

When the U.S. Mint started their State Quarters series in 1999, I started saving them. When the program was over ten years later, I had six complete sets, and I decided that was enough.

Any time one comes my way, I still do save the Illinois quarter, however, it being my favorite. Yes, I live in Michigan, but I’m from Illinois. (See my post on this topic from October 3, 2010.)

A few years ago I happened to be in a coin store and decided I would buy a silver proof Illinois quarter. Proof coins are intended for collectors and are struck with highly polished dies on highly polished blanks and are – well, highly polished, and very shiny and pretty. Some coins, the State Quarters among them, also come in a silver proof variety. Instead of the regular copper and tin alloy of common quarters, these are 90 percent silver, just like our quarters (and dimes and half dollars and dollars) used to be back in the day.

When I got home, I was admiring the coin, but I suddenly realized it was not silver. There was a distinct coppery tinge to the edge of it. I took it back to the store, complained to the guy who sold it to me, and was given a genuine silver Illinois quarter in exchange.

Last week I was in that same coin shop, and I thought it would be fun to get another silver Illinois quarter. The man waiting on me went off to see if he had one.  At one point he called out, “What year is the Illinois?”  I told him it was 2003, and in a minute he came back with a bright, shiny coin.  I studied it very closely, making sure there was no tell-tale copper color on the edge. Finally convinced it was silver, I paid the man and went away happy.

When I got home, I was admiring my new coin -- there was George Washington on one side, and on the other side where Abe Lincoln should be, there was the Gateway Arch.

Yep, it’s genuine silver, all right. But it’s Missouri.