Word: malted
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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When I make a salad dressing of oil and vinegar, I now generally use a malt vinegar rather than red wine vinegar because it is "sweeter" to the taste. Sometimes I add more than a dash of dry white vermouth. The exact recipe is ½ teaspoon of egg yolk put in a bowl with 1 tablespoon each of mustard and malt vinegar, plus a generous grinding of black pepper and, perhaps, a bit of finely minced garlic. I beat the mixture with a wire whisk while gradually adding 3 tablespoons of good olive oil. Last come 3 tablespoons...
...procedure advocated in their study--well not only dramatically reduce scarring but will also save patients money. Dr. Ronald A. Malt. professor of Surgery and senior author of the report, said--Monday. Because the simpler operation does not require that the patient be hospitalized, removing a melanoma might cost as little as $175. Malt added. Treatment currently costs close...
Jukeboxes played the tune for generations of American teenagers, who fed them coins to hear Glenn Miller, Frank Sinatra and the Beatles. Those music machines, though, are going the way of the malt shops that housed so many of them. Industry experts say that by the end of the '80s the brightly lit boxes may be only a memory. The number of coin-operated players has already shrunk from more than 500,000 in 1976 to some...
...same time, the traditional locations for the machines are vanishing. Malt shops and drugstore counters, where people used to put another nickel in so that the music would go round and round, have been hurt by fast-food franchises, which have little use for music. Says Leo Droste, executive vice president of the Amusement and Music Operators Association: "When I was in high school, you could walk into any drugstore and there would be counter machines where you could flip through the choices, look at the records, put in your money, and hear the music. You don't find...
...Kentucky "Jaybird" because he was always jabbering about some wrongness the world had done to him, and some wrongness was always being done, it seemed, in that east Kentucky town, in 1840 no longer the frontier but still a place where a man could make a decent living making malt whiskey and selling it to the survivors of the Iroquois Five Nations, and nobody would care until the night when Jaybird Bell, liquored up on his own hootch, killed a man in a knife fight. Then he would have to flee, back across the line into western Virginia, up into...