Best Let or Get

2010-03-20T20:50:00.003-04:00

~ three anniversaries ~
A year ago come April I was in Memphis, to deliver a paper on the role of circularity in Plato's Meno. I arrived early enough to drive around the city. Repulsed by the exorbitant parking fee for Graceland, I turned around in a nearby shopping plaza and eventually found my way to the Stax Museum, where I was surprised to learn that Big Star had been on that label.

And now Alex Chilton is dead.

For months I've had the four-disc retrospective Keep Your Eye on the Sky on my queue at the public library in Homewood; coincidentally, I was finally able to borrow the set today. This was my second trip to a library. The first was in the morning, to go to the book sale at C. C. Mellor with Beatrice.

She and I went last year as well. This year she was even more independent, sitting and reading in the children's section while I wandered the cavalcade of books. I located three atlases as inspiration and information for my Moon plaque project, as well as MacDonald's book on the Pantheon, the National Gallery pocket guide to Colour, a collection of MAA high-school contest problems including the ones I must have taken back in the day, and a delightful book called Food Finds, subtitled "America's Best Local Foods and the People Who Produce Them".

As for Beatrice, she was delighted that we picked up one of the books in what she calls the "Jack and Annie" series, Viking Ships at Sunrise. We also found a Golden Book related to Mister Rogers' Neighborhood called Henrietta Meets Someone New, which we read together there and later as her bedtime story. Yesterday, she went to the Children's Museum and listened as the player piano played Mister Rogers' songs; we heard the start of one of his albums this morning; we saw a video on YouTube in which Mister Rogers appears on Sesame Street (!). This evening she announced that she likes Mister Rogers' songs better than Elvis, and that she likes the Beatles and Mister Rogers best.

Today is Fred Rogers' birthday.

2010-02-28T13:41:00.003-05:00

~ yum ~
On a tastier note, this morning I made some delicious noodles for breakfast and just had the leftovers for lunch.

Basil Noodles with Tofu

Fry tofu: Slice a standard package of tofu into maybe 12-16 pieces. Pat dry with a paper towel and fry in preheated grapeseed oil (or any other neutral oil with a high smoke point), turning when golden crisp and taking care not to overcrowd the frying pan. Drain tofu on paper towels.

Saut� onions and mushrooms: Meanwhile, halve a standard yellow onion and slice the halves. After the tofu is done, in the same oil saut� the onion slices until just translucent and caramelized, occasionally adding water to prevent the onions from drying out. Towards the end, add a couple of capfuls of light soy sauce, then button mushrooms, sliced lengthwise (I had about a third of a standard container in the fridge, maybe six or eight mushrooms). Just before adding noodles, add a light splash of sushi vinegar.

Add rice noodles: I had a half package (about six ounces) of cooked fettucine-shaped rice noodles leftover from Friday night when I made pad thai for the first time. While saut�ing the noodles, stir and toss with a wooden spoon, also used to separate the strands. Cook until the noodles are hot (but not too long, or they'll start to stick together and get mushy).

Finish it: Add four cubes or so of frozen basil (from Trader Joe's), two criss-crosses of sriracha sauce, some vigorous shakes of patis (fish sauce) -- best to add these aromatic seasonings at the end so their flavor doesn't evaporate away. Next time I'd add some chopped garlic. I myself prefer more sriracha heat and patis salty savoriness, but it's always possible to add these to the individual portions.

2010-02-28T13:22:00.002-05:00

~ speaking truth to power ~
I've been stewing about some of the political issues mentioned in my previous post for several months, but I think what brought this to a head is seeing the Carnegie Mellon production of The Inspector General yesterday. In the program notes I learned how Gogol was maligned by the public for his satire on government corruption in Tsarist Russia, and I wanted my friends Michael Chemers and Jed Harris to take those same risks. They did, but I wanted them to go full-bore as they assailed the ramparts of local, state, and federal corruption -- and in fact would have preferred if they'd focused exclusively on the city, county, and state levels. I enjoyed the play but it seems to me it could have pushed even harder, I would want the satire to be even more pointed and precisely targeted, and I'll say this to Michael and Jed next time I see them.

I would also gladly tell Ricky Burgess and Luke Ravenstahl what I think about their policies, but I can't even get Rev. Burgess to respond to messages on basic issues like street repair or Mayor Ravenstahl to respond to messages on dangerous road intersections, so why bother.

The fact that we aren't heard by our own government -- by people who are nominally public servants with civic duties -- is a fundamental breakdown in our society.

2010-02-28T12:15:00.008-05:00

~ financial solutions ~
Approximately 2% of my monthly take-home pay goes towards the Verizon cell phone bill and I have no idea why. I rarely make or receive calls, at most a half hour a month, and when I do I rarely get to talk to anyone anyhow. Marissa uses the phone more, but we never come close to our allotment of minutes.

When Marissa used to call her friend in Alaska they would talk for hours at a time, so I suppose it made some vague sense to be on this plan. But months later we're continuing to pay for that, bound to a long-term contract.

Once we lose this contract and replace it with a pay-by-the-minute plan, it will be like getting a raise.

***

Similarly, our auto and home insurance from Nationwide is expensive. A few quick phone calls should fix that.

***

The city government of Pittsburgh, including the mayor and my own councilmember, seems to think that the universities add little to the community; thus, Luke Ravenstahl's extraordinarily stupid and failed plan late last year to tax students' tuition. And yet everyone who lives in town -- students, staff, and faculty -- pays a flat 3% income tax (this is an earned income tax, so it does not affect those who are independently wealthy nor those who are retired), in addition to a $52 "local services tax", plus a variety of state and county taxes that in part go towards supporting the city. Furthermore, homeowners, as well as landlords who have renters associated with the university, pay high property taxes to the city, yet we have poor public schools and lousy roads to show for it. Then of course there are the volunteer services that university students, staff, and faculty provide in the area.

A third way to get a boost in income would be to move to one of the outlying suburbs. I'm not eager for a longer commute and less convenient access to goods and services, but if Ravenstahl fails to see how non-profit entities like institutions of higher education and hospitals benefit the city and continues to try to gouge us, I'd love to see him try to survive even more of the people who work and live in Pittsburgh get fed up and even more of us decide to move out (here's a hint: Detroit).

And if Councilman Ricky Burgess is so eager to tax non-profit institutions, I think the reverend needs to consider how to tax churches and their congregations too, as well as the tuition at private K-12 schools, the property of foundations that provide money to the city, trade unions, art and science museums, the zoo, the public library, the neighborhood YMCA, the Duquesne Club, golf associations, condominium associations, charitable organizations, and in fact every kind of non-profit organization located within the city limits. I'm just trying to help out here; as a man of the cloth, Ricky Burgess may not be used to thinking in material terms -- he's not thinking BIG enough. While he's at it, as someone who has previously been delinquent on his own property taxes, he knows first-hand how easy it is to get away with that and should apply severe penalties to scofflaws. And because he and his family can't be relied upon to shovel the sidewalk to their own house clear of snow (or pay any of the youngsters in the neighborhood to do that for him) maybe he could be more aggressive about collecting fines from those who are breaking city law. That might raise a little money for this hypocritical, fiscally irresponsible city government, filled with citizens working to tighten their belts and make do.

2010-02-28T11:29:00.002-05:00

~ ironic twist ~
The irony of Mark Bittman's (Bitte-mann) last name is how it translates roughly in German (as far as my rough German goes) into the start of the most famous quote from Oliver Twist, "Please, sir, may I have some more?"

Although more accurately, his last name perhaps should be more like "Bitte-herr", phonetically corresponding in English to bit of hair or perhaps bitter.

None of these are pleasant connotations for a writer on food.

2010-02-22T16:21:00.002-05:00

~ everybody's fancy ~
One of my favorite times last weekend was when she placed on her head the pink towel with ears, stitched on front with the name Beatrice, and declared that she was a bunny named Ralph the Rabbit. And then on top of the towel she crowned herself with a small blue plastic laundry basket upside-down, stepping around the room while singing a song. And then she asked me to sing "Everybody's Fancy" from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, the towel swirling behind her like a cape.

2010-02-21T16:28:00.007-05:00

~ fun with spaghetti ~
As a bachelor in the fourth decade of my life, I was simultaneously bemused and insulted when my future mother-in-law once asked if I knew how to cook, specifically if I knew how to boil water. Why, anyone can cook spaghetti, and it doesn't take a Ph.D. in chemistry to know how to boil water.

Still, with all the variations of pasta and ways to spice up sauces, there are entire families of dishes I haven't cooked.

Last night I cobbled together a bastard variation of haluski, leaving out the cabbage because I'm not a big fan. Boil water (see above) and cook spaghetti (we don't buy egg noodles). Meanwhile, saut� onions in olive oil until translucent, then just to the point of gentle caramelization. Along the way, occasionally spoon some pasta water into the saut� pan, to keep the onions from drying out. Drain spaghetti and toss with a bit of olive oil. Portion out the pasta and onions in a bowl and toss with freshly ground black pepper and sea salt.

This morning I thought I'd use the leftover spaghetti to make a spaghetti omelet, thinking I was being inventive and all. But I found out today that this is not an original dish; just Google "spaghetti omelet". Anyhow, I decided this morning to make a mushroom garlic scramble instead.

Mark Bittman, Mark Bittman. Marissa is on a Mark Bittman kick, everything she's been cooking over the past few weeks has had his name on it. She used last night's leftover spaghetti to complement a spinach tomato sauce, and also made something called "bread salad", which is a dish best served cold, of leftover bread (homemade, mostly whole wheat, thanks to Mark Bittman), balsamic vinegar, citrus juice, olive oil, basil, and tomatoes. It turns out the tomatoes were the dominant flavor in both, the sauce was a bit thin for my liking, and the bread salad a bit sour. But I found that mixing both of them together and reheating in the microwave made a great dish, which I suppose would be called spaghetti salad.

Tonight I cooked dinner, a non-Mark Bittman meal, with pan-fried salmon and my stylized haluski, made this time with farfalle -- bow-tie or "butterfly" pasta -- because we had run out of spaghetti. Maybe next time I'll make the egg noodles from scratch. It doesn't look all that difficult. And maybe I'll even add some cabbage, since that's one of Marissa's favorite foods. But Mark Bittman can eat me if he thinks that I'm going to use whole wheat flour on the first go at this.

2010-02-21T09:09:00.005-05:00

~ delightful ~
Some misinterpretations from Beatrice:

Little Dreamer Boy - a misreading of the title of a Christmas carol

Rainbow Collection - sung by Jason Mraz or Kermit the Frog

snoo - a misreading of "sew", for her wooden toys to be threaded with laces
(she also says "unsnoo", and in the past week "soo" as well as "sew")

Qboda - her favorite fast-food restaurant

I also love the way she makes up songs, like the one while we were flying last December to Las Vegas, en route to Albuquerque and Santa Fe.

One planet went in the circle, Nova
One planet went in the circle, Nova
One planet went in the circle, Nova
Then it went to slee-eep

And the omnipresent rhythm from earlier in her life:

So, so... so so so

Actually, while I was writing this she started to sing another song. Sometimes she makes up her own lyrics, or reads from a book, or just strings together a series of sounds to go along with a melody that she already knows; sometimes she makes up a song out of whole cloth. It's all so delightful.

2010-02-20T21:00:00.004-05:00

~ into smiling memory ~
For some months Solomon has been able to refer to the rest of the family (Mama, Dada, Bibi) and to speak various other names (most notably Yaya for Santa). But he could not distinctly refer to himself until the past few weeks. When asked for his name he would prevously enunciate two syllables with the "ah-ah" but then say "no-no" or "noooo" when we would repeat what he said, in order to verify whether that was his name. He didn't want what he spoke to be his name; instead, we were to say Solomon for him.

Now he calls himself Wawa. This is somewhat jarring for me because that's already my own family nickname, established when Kelly spoke her first word. Today he also said "me" in reference to himself. The context was something like "geh meh" (get milk), "peeeeas" (please), "steh steh" (downstairs), "me".

I'm thinking Wawa won't be his permanent nickname for himself, just as Beatrice's first nickname for herself (Bea-tice -- as in "Bea-tice want moh-ooah") has been completely supplanted by the charming Beata, and her first name for him (Yahmin) and her surprisingly apt nickname for him before he was born (Dahhmin) are also receding into smiling memory.

2010-02-20T01:58:00.003-05:00

~ short reviews of five movies ~
This month I've watched five movies from the public library:

Moon is superb, playful and philosophical in turns. The science is stretched occasionally to fit narrative necessities, but it's generally well done. The director Duncan Jones happens to be the son whom David Bowie mentions before his "Little Drummer Boy" duet with Bing Crosby. Sam Rockwell delivers an outstanding one-man performance -- I even sought out more of his movies, an effort I rarely make.

Sleeper. Having seen this with commercial interruptions on TV during high school and maybe on the big screen in college, I recollected it being mildly funny. I thought it might have some tangential relation to the course I'm now teaching, and had also hoped that I'd enjoy it more, as a more sophisticated, critical viewer. No. It turned out to be surprisingly unfunny -- slow-paced, even irritating at times.

Tampopo. Another film that I saw years ago and hoped that I'd enjoy more as a more sophisticated viewer. Yes. Engaging and entertaining, with the occasional odd vignette.

Nanook of the North. A perfect film at this stage of the course I'm now teaching, to open issues around the selection, arrangement and veracity of documentary evidence.

Frost/Nixon. Along with Matchstick Men, this is one of the Sam Rockwell movies I checked out after Moon. I hadn't known that Ron Howard directed this as well as a variety of other movies I've enjoyed over the years (Splash, Willow, Apollo 13, A Beautiful Mind). A thoroughly engaging film that took me back to some milestones from my childhood (Nixon's resignation speech), it kept me awake, heart pounding at times, until past 2am last night. Incidentally I also learned that Diane Sawyer had been on Nixon's staff, confirming my dislike for her, based previously on her thoroughly obsequious television personality.

2010-02-16T20:49:00.002-05:00

~ ha-ha, ha-ha-ha ~
Pittsburgh Mayor Luke Ravenstahl: I did three things today. I responded to your ridiculous inquiries. Or rather, he failed to respond the entire day to public inquiries about his whereabouts.

I drove around the city of Pittsburgh and did an evaluation of the streets and how they looked. Because he couldn't trust anyone else in his entire administration to do that? Being busy is not the same as being effective!

And I spent the majority of my time with the public safety director -- in order to figure out how to manage damage control and prevent the city from being sued, due to his ineptitude (going skiing out of town when everyone knew a major snowstorm was going to hit).

2010-02-13T14:52:00.004-05:00

~ 2012 ~
There are some people who believe the world will experience some catastrophe on or around December 21, 2012. This is based on something about the end of the ancient Mayan calendar.

While nothing is certain, I am willing to bet that there will not be a global disaster -- economic, environmental, astronomical, or any other sort. There will be no End of the World as We Know It.

The folks who truly believe that the world will end ought to be preparing for this event. Maybe they need money to build shelters, or to take a vacation with their families.

I am so confident that the world will not end that I would give money to people who believe that it will end, so long as they give me back that money plus more on December 22, 2012. How much more? We could peg that to inflation (although who believes the CPI these days) plus interest, or just make a bet with odds. Those who are certain the world will end ought to be willing to accept any odds. But to be fair, perhaps we should just let Las Vegas set the betting line, or set up some kind of market.

The problem from my perspective is that I would be required to accept a certain amount of risk -- why wouldn't my counterbettor live it up for a few years and then leave me with nothing to collect? That would be terrible for me. Alternatively, what if I bet some honorable person their entire net worth in 2013 against some modest but useful sum of money today? That would be TEOTWAWKI for them, an ironic and self-fulfilling prophecy.

Another problem is that "global catastrophe" is an ambiguous term.

Las Vegas doesn't seem to have resolved these issues, although they're already placing odds on candidates for the 2012 Presidential election. Intrade doesn't have a market for TEOTWAWKI in 2012 either, and in any case their predictions suffer from large bid-ask spreads (a reflection of problems with poor liquidity) in addition to transaction costs. Longbets has John Tierney willing to bet that humanity will survive even longer, until 2100, but he already has my side, and in any case the bets on that system are always even, with funds going to the winner's charity.

In any event, I'm proposing something different than those who are willing to bet on the end of the world: I would give money to someone now, in return for future profit. So how can a reasonable person profit from the pessimism of the 2012 doomsayers?

2010-02-13T14:11:00.003-05:00

~ follow the path ~
One trouble with the Internet is that you can get easily distracted.

While sorting through email, I learned from the Pittsburgh Glass Center that Pittsburgh is the North American host city this year for the UN World Environment Day on June 5.

Googling for more information, I found that one of the planned events is the opening of Earth House Pittsburgh.

The location for Earth House is surprising -- one block from our house. I didn't know anything about this new construction project. No signage, and last I noticed the lot was still empty.

Is it true?

2010-01-31T21:01:00.003-05:00

~ land of disenchantment ~
It is a commonplace to say you can never go home.

I've been hesitant to write about our trip last month to Santa Fe because the act of writing could ossify the way I think about a place that I had previously loved and frequently visited before calling it home: the first time in 1992 with the Santa Fe Institute Complex Systems Summer School, and again later that summer; in the spring of 1995 for a job interview and in winter later that year to see if I had made the right choice to take the job in Chicago instead; in the summer of 1997 with Baird and Susannah to see Georgia at the opera; early in 1999 to interview again; and then living there for four years from 1999 to 2003. I've always lived in interesting places, but Santa Fe is in some respects "the one that got away" -- the only location I didn't leave on my own terms as well as perhaps the most strikingly beautiful -- so my feelings about the place are complicated.

Perhaps I first should remind myself that there were good aspects to the trip last month. I enjoyed (as I always do) the feeling of remembering how to get around a place where I once lived, much like re-reading a favorite book. Except for Cerrillos Road during the middle of the day, it remains completely pleasant to drive around town. Meantime it was good to see some new developments, especially the railroad link between Santa Fe and Albuquerque. Marissa reminisced how she used to walk with Mookie along Rodeo Road from the first house where we lived over to the small grocery near where Rodeo meets Zia, other dogs barking at them while leaping from behind tall wooden fences, Mookie with so much heart giving right back. We met our friends Luce and Michael and met his daughter for the first time. I finally visited a feast day dance, at Santa Clara Pueblo on Holy Innocents Day (the same pueblo where Marissa said she shared an Indian taco with Mookie on her very first day in the Southwest). We shared stories with Beatrice and Solomon about our wedding day as we stood in the chapel at Bishop's Lodge. Our visit to the Museum of International Folk Art allowed us to play gamelan instruments. Some of the food was exceptional, most notably at El Farol, Marisco's La Playa, Mu Du Noodles, and San Marcos Caf�. The sopapillas at Tomasita's were delicious. We enjoyed constant views of snow-covered mountains, the distinctly New Mexican architectural esthetic of how buildings blend into the countryside and how interior spaces are decorated, and the relaxed friendliness of most folks to us and to each other. We saw, albeit briefly, Petroglyph National Monument.

But there were also aspects of our trip that frustrated and disappointed me. Part of this has to do with not planning our days carefully enough -- not keeping track of when SITE Santa Fe, the Flea Market, the Farmer's Market, and Frontier Restaurant would be closed. I think at times we fell into an odd illusion that we were living there again, and that there would be plenty of time to see what we wanted. As a result, we spent too much vacation time at places like Walgreens, Big 5, and Walmart. Furthermore, although staying at the base of Cerrillos Road was inexpensive and allowed me to become aware of Santa Fe Stoneworks, that section of town is at the outskirts. I know the area from fifteen years ago when it was across from a prairie dog colony, and from the stores that sprouted along Zafanaro when we lived on Camino Capitan and later when Les and Chere lived on Airport Road, yet it was not an area that I frequented. Staying there while visiting Santa Fe was an experience like staying in Oakland would be while visiting Berkeley.

But more significant than time and locale: the children and I had the flu. I caught it several days before leaving, a nasty cough with horrible phlegm, occasional chills, and waves of exhaustion. The entire trip we began each day late and ended early. We certainly weren't going on any hikes. My chest hurt so much from the coughing that we spent an entire afternoon and evening in the emergency room of St. Vincent's, seeing a doctor for about ten minutes' total, leading to our insurance being charged $1700 (some of which we will need to pay out of pocket).

Air travel was long and expensive. Some of our favorite restaurants no longer exist: Dynasty, Rociada, Kasasoba. I discovered from reading the cookbook at Harry's Roadhouse, right after enjoying their warm pecan pie with cool whipped cream, that their secret ingredient is fake maple syrup, and the knowledge completely turned me off. I remembered, unfortunately too late, that the vegetarian bacon in the breakfast burrito at The Pantry is always soggy, never crispy. Sunday Brunch at Bishop's Lodge was more expensive and much less bountiful in its variety (less seafood, and very ordinary desserts). The soup at Back Street Bistro was thin, much less satisfying than I recall. We didn't get to see all of our friends, many of them being out of town for the holidays, or eat at some of our other favorite restaurants.

For years I've entertained purchasing a home, or second home, in Santa Fe. But after this trip I'm not in any rush to return anytime soon. The topography, climate, and architecture are lovely, and there are good museums, outdoor activities, and fine restaurants. But it is expensive, distant, isolated, and lacks certain basic amenities like Asian grocery stores, a bagel shop, and pizza (don't bother to mention Bagelmania or Upper Crust). Both the so-called City Different and St. John's College, where I used to work, exist in a bubble: beautiful in their own way, yet also contrived and unreal, high-maintenance, dependent upon other places for their existence and distinctiveness. There are too many other places for us in this wide world.

2010-01-30T20:21:00.003-05:00

~ Frang-no ~
Even though the transition happened while I lived in Chicago with the flagship store only a few blocks from my office at the Art Institute, Marissa's grandfather worked at Marshall Field's for years, and I love chocolate, I myself felt little (if anything) when Frango Mints started to be manufactured in Pennsylvania. For me, they were a delicious but rather expensive treat, therefore eaten only during the holidays around Christmastime.

But today I discovered that the new Frango Mints are not nearly as good as they used to be. First, the Santa-shaped variety come in a box all jumbled together, and the graphic design and even the typeface of the package are unappealing -- the presentation is certainly inferior to the green rectangular boxes. Furthermore, the exterior coating of the chocolates is waxy and pale. Worst of all, the inside lacks the chunky yet velvety cocoa-mass richness sprinkled with minty pixie dust -- instead, it's a semi-whipped confection, minty but with an unpleasant oily aftertaste.

Now if I didn't know any better, I'd think these are half-decent chocolates for being mass-produced, and they are okay enough that I will likely find myself finishing the box. But I am not blissfully ignorant. Thinking to winters past, with the comfort of an occasional Frango Mint to brighten the cold darkness, I know these are an affront. Ersatz food like this makes me feel like Winston Smith, living in some kind of world where War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength.

2010-01-26T08:23:00.007-05:00

~ admission ~
I have to admit that during Beatrice's early months I used to compare her abilities to move and communicate with what Mookie was capable of, and more recently would compare Solomon's capabilities with Beatrice at the same age. Marissa would continually remind me that it was unfair, but I just couldn't help myself comparing the children. Lately I've been doing this much less frequently. Still...

Sunday evening Beatrice threw a ball around the living room for the joy of running after it (as Solomon joined in with his own ball, she exclaimed that she was playing football and that we should watch out for the quarterback) and her play reminded me of Mookie's enthusiasm for similar games. She throws much more accurately than Mookie ever could -- the closest analogue is when he scampered after balls and intentionally nudged them away -- but she doesn't come anywhere near his ability to catch. Neither can she run as fast as he could zoom and leap. In every other way, however, she goes beyond what he could do. This is of course what one would expect and hope for any human child, especially one's own. But there is some small part of me that is mysteriously bittersweet.

Solomon has developed certain skills rapidly this month: manipulating jigsaw puzzles, recognizing the importance of saying letters and numbers, interacting verbally, stacking lego-like blocks, sitting still for entire books, singing the ends of lines of songs. I remember these developmental stages for Beatrice and it seems to me he is still developing later, but progressing at a faster pace. His development makes me mostly happy, to watch him grow, but occasionally I pause to reflect as he progresses through these toddler months, to think how this could be it, the last little one.

2010-01-24T16:07:00.002-05:00

~ playoffs ~
Today's games:

New York Jets at Indianapolis Colts
I would love to see the Jets win for several reasons:

When in doubt, root for the underdog.
I am so tired of Peyton Manning's smarmy face. I admire him as a player, despise him as a personality.
I get annoyed by Peyton Manning's histrionic gesticulations at the line of scrimmage.
Alan Faneca deserves to go to the Super Bowl again.
As a place to live, New York > Indianapolis.
Long ago as a boy growing up in NYC in the 60s and early 70s, in my dim awareness of football and Joe Namath, if anyone had asked me which team I liked, I would have said the Jets.
The Jets play like the Steelers did several years ago: solid defense, rookie quarterback, reliable run offense.
When the two teams met last month, the Colts pulled many of their starters, including Manning. The Jets won. This had several consequences:

The Steelers, who were fighting to get into the playoffs, fell behind.
This directly set up the rematch between the Jets and Colts, with the Jets motivated to prove that they can beat the Colts at full capacity.
The Colts gave up their opportunity to pursue a perfect season in favor of the admittedly rational decision to minimize injury to their most important players. But I would love to see kharma bite them in the rear.

Minnesota Vikings at New Orleans Saints
It would be a good storyline, if it weren't already beat to death, concerning the hardened veteran Brett Favre. And Adrian Peterson can be an exciting player to watch. Nevertheless, I'd much prefer to see the Saints go to the Super Bowl. Favre is a carpetbagging mercenary who should just go home. Meanwhile, I'd love to see the city of New Orleans, which has endured so much, celebrate their team heading to the Super Bowl.

2010-01-24T15:17:00.005-05:00

~ eat me ~
Yesterday morning I devoured (ha) most of the book Eat Me: The Food and Philosophy of Kenny Shopsin. Looking past the occasional crude language, it's a portrait of a man who loves to cook, takes creative short-cuts in the kitchen, and who enjoys being with his family and his customers.

***

The best puttanesca I ever had was my first... at Caffe Venezia in Berkeley starting in the mid-80s and continuing all through grad school. First they would serve a savory salad of mixed greens -- one of the few salads I've ever really enjoyed -- with shavings of parmesan cheese. Then the puttanesca would arrive: bold flavors of softened garlic, hot pepper, anchovies, capers, olives, and chunky tomatoes vying for attention. It's been 18 years since I've eaten there, but I still remember the sensation of the top of my head feeling as though it were evaporating into the trompe-l'oeil Venetian courtyard.

Every other puttanesca has been a pale imitation. Even at a restaurant named Puttanesca, two blocks from where we lived in Hell's Kitchen, their signature dish, as much as I enjoyed it, lacked the same punch. It wasn't piquant enough, puta enough.

***

My approach to making puttanesca sauce at home is to start with a good store-bought base and then fix it. Trader Joe's has a reasonably priced puttanesca sauce, but it's too mild-mannered. After warming up the sauce in a bowl, I add a strip of anchovy paste and cross with another strip of sriracha sauce. Those two additions improve matters immensely.

I serve with a sprinkle of Trader Joe's parmesan (which lacks animal rennet). Today for lunch I had some good olives from Sunseri, so I nibbled those at the same time. Bulk olives from a place like Sunseri or Penn Mac are a great addition to this dish. I haven't tried adding roasted garlic or capers yet, but I'm not sure that would be worth the additional effort.

***

UPDATE (1/24/10): It's not clear whether Caffe Venezia remains good, which would be a disappointment, but nothing stays the same. Also, the recipe for Caffe Venezia's pasta alla puttanesca circa 1985 can be found here!

2010-01-24T03:08:00.004-05:00

~ awake ~
Awake nearly two hours, from gentle snoring verging on the purring of a cat. On autopilot, to a place of comfort that means watching blurry "Imitation of Life" and listening to 1991 unplugged "Fall on Me".

This week Beatrice asked Marissa out of the blue, "Did you eat me when I was a baby?" so we explained that there are different parts to someone's belly, and she wasn't in Mama's stomach. We pointed to various tiny pieces of food on her tray and said that once she was even smaller than any of them, but now she was a big girl and growing even bigger. She was pleased to hear that, but still she asked to come out of her high chair and then curled herself up into Marissa's lap. Of course this meant that Solomon wanted out of his chair too.

Also this week she came up to me and declared that when she grows up and lives somewhere else then we will be strangers. She seemed incredulous when I said that we wouldn't be and that she would always be my daughter, and pensive when I said that she would be doing things that I wouldn't know about but still she would tell me about some of them.

This afternoon when we were in the big bed as I attempted to convince her to take a nap (or at least let me take one) she remarked again about the large drawing of Mookie. During the conversation, which I cannot quite reproduce, she said that Mookie had run away and wasn't here anymore, speculated that he had run away to the hospital, and wondered whether he would be coming back. I said that there were times when Mookie had run away, sometimes staying close to me, sometimes running around the woods, but that he had always come back. And that he loved to run. I said that his body is now buried in our backyard, which didn't seem to register at all, but I'm sure there will be more conversations about this topic. She has been hitting the big topics lately, in order to make sense of this world in which we are born, grow up, and die.

Solomon in the past two weeks has become extraordinarily verbal. Marissa's blog (to which I do not link, in order to maintain some semblance of the children's privacy) does a great job of listing the explosion of words he now speaks as well as other developmental milestones, though it's interesting how she hears him somewhat differently than I do. I think he says "Bibi" instead of "Bea Bea" for Beatrice, and similarly "nini" instead of "nee nee" for binky. Neither representation really captures the smiling delight with which he says his sister's name nor the plaintive manner in which he refers to his pacifier.

Along with his ever-increasing ability to enunciate has come more explicit verbal interaction. He still confounds the negation "no..." while shaking his head with the affirmation "yah!" but beyond this quirk he is quite skilled. Before leaving this evening he said "cah" to indicate that we were headed to the car and repeatedly exclaimed "Mimi!" in reference to seeing his aunt. This afternoon I asked him to pick up a chair, then remove two books from under it, and he understood perfectly. He also loves to pretend, augmenting Beatrice's game that their toy shopping cart is a car by pretending that a nearby bin is also a "cah" ("bee bee!" he says for "beep beep!"). He also likes to take stuffed toys like "ceuh-ceuh" (Cookie Monster) for rides in the toy stroller.

He is a very sweet child with at times a bit of a mischievous streak. He is at that age where throwing food and dishes on the floor is hilarious. He also loves to do whatever Beatrice is doing at the moment, whether drinking milk, reading a book in my lap (he brings a different book), building with blocks, drawing on a doodle-pro, or solving a jigsaw puzzle. At times this tests Beatrice's patience and she talks to him ("Solomon, no... you can't do that because this is a big kid's toy" or some other contrived explanation) or sings, ("Beata says don't bother me... but Solomon wants to play"). When she's less able to control her frustration she affects a cry ("waah...") or sometimes pushes him but after being called out she regrets it and hugs him. She is aware of her brother's increasing facility with language and enjoys talking with him while they eat together.

When Solomon gets frustrated he sometimes sobs, but other times he stands in place and steps his feet rapidly. Even just saying "No" firmly to him can upset him at times, but not always -- sometimes he just laughs.

He continues to walk in a way that suggests he may fall at any moment, but in reality he is much more steady than he appears, forging ahead. He does have a tendency to bump his head, a habit which my mother has reported I had as a child. Friday evening he slid off the couch, completely vertical for a moment before landing flat on his back. I was horrified but he stood up and kept right on going.

I miss his long hair even though it was kind of a mullet and occasionally he got confused for a girl. He had these great curls at the back of his head. With his shorter hair he does look more like me from pictures when I was a child, but he also looks a good deal like Marissa as well as Les. From different angles and expressions Beatrice can most often resemble Marissa, her aunts Joyce and Kelly, her cousin Anna, and her father's maternal grandmother. Both are so clearly brother and sister, and also resemble both Marissa and me, yet they are distinct from each other and of course to their father's eyes absolutely beautiful.

2010-01-22T21:03:00.005-05:00

~ fusion ~
I'm all about wrapping up food in a tortilla, mostly at breakfast time:

eggs, hash browns with Spike, crispy vegetarian bacon;
eggs with onion powder, hash browns, velvety smoked salmon;
lightly scrambled eggs, rice, spicy sardines;
eggs with garlic powder and Chinese spice, rice, soy sauce, sesame oil, veggie bacon;
eggs, garlic mashed potatoes, smoked trout;

and so on. I associate each of the above combinations with places or situations: going to diners, living in New York, growing up Filipino, eating in Chinese-American restaurants, and vacationing in Madison.

Tonight for dinner I made a simple fusion burrito that displays how easy it is to reveal places like Tamari as pretenders. I re-crisped some fried cod from Wholey's and folded it along with some white rice into a tortilla, then poured on a generous amount of Thai sweet chili sauce.

In these cases, as with all food, starting with the finest available ingredients is key. For example, the tortillas were from Reyna's Foods in the Strip, who make the best ones I've ever bought in a store. This is of course simply a fish taco with rice and Thai sauce -- but oh, how that sweet, spicy, garlicky, vinegary thick sauce melded so well with the fried fish and the rice.

2010-01-10T20:53:00.004-05:00

~ wild cards ~
With the Steelers' season is over (although at 9-7, they were just 14 total points away from going 14-2), I had little interest in watching this weekend's wild card games. That said, all but one of the games turned out perfectly satisfactory:

New York Jets 24
Cincinnati 14

I'm indifferent about the Jets. The Bengals, on the other hand, were an overrated team, with fans who gloated when they swept the Steelers this season. One and done is exactly what they deserve.

Philadelphia 14
Dallas 34

This is the only game that clearly went the wrong way this weekend. The Cowboys style themselves as "America's Team" but their grossly elaborate new stadium belies their true nature: flashy. As in: flash in the pan. I hope Minnesota punishes them next weekend.

Baltimore 33
New England 14

The Ravens are an honorable AFC North rival. The Patriots are cheaters with a pretty-boy quarterback who gets petty penalty calls called his way. It's good to see the Ravens with a definitive win.

Green Bay 45
Arizona 51

This was a battle of two teams whom I admire -- Green Bay for their long football tradition and stalwart fan base that reminds me of Steelers Nation; Arizona for being Steelers West. How fitting that this was a classic, hard-fought battle on both sides.

2010-01-10T10:47:00.003-05:00

~ food out last three days ~
On Marissa's birthday, with new Pirellis on our Forester to plow through the continual snow, we drove to Lawrenceville to try Tamari. I've been wanting to go for a while since they opened last summer; reviews from both mainstream media and word-of-mouth were strong for their Asian/Latin fusion cuisine. But it turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. Perhaps it was a matter of too high expectations. Marissa's comparison of her bento box to what you could get at Teriyaki Boy, the fast-food place on Ninth Avenue just around the corner from 58th Street, isn't quite fair, but mostly because of presentation, decor, and service. My tempura lobster maki special was beautiful, but the only "fusion" aspect was the inclusion of chipotle mayo. I would say that the robata (at one dollar per skewer during happy hour) was reasonably priced and delicious. Still, not worth a drive on slippery streets in search of an exceptional meal. For value, the Tokyo Sushi Buffet on McKnight Road is king. For quality, based on my one visit I'd say Chaya on Murray Avenue is best.

In search of dessert afterwards, Marissa and I took turns browsing Whole Foods. She chose a hazelnut gelato from Ciao Bella, while I selected QB's: chocolate ice cream surrounded by a cube of rice krispie treat (with the marshmallows made without gelatin). My first bite into the QB was unsatisfying, because I expected the crunchy sensation that you get with rice krispie treats and Nestle Crunch bars. But when I moved past that, the overall experience of chewy confection surrounding smooth cool ice cream was quite good -- somewhat reminiscent of an It's It. Boy, it's a good thing I didn't get addicted to It's It while attending Oakland A's games (where they were rather rock solid). On a more recent visit to Joyce, Greg, Miranda, and Benny, I found that when they're just a bit warmer (as from an ice cream truck) they are spectacular. The outside chocolate coating isn't brittle-thin and nasty as with every other ice cream treat I've tried (this coating is probably what kept me away from them), and the chewy oatmeal cookies combined with chocolate ice cream (again, not available at the Oakland Coliseum) make a great sensation.

Last night we went with Mom, Dad, and Mimi to Burma Tokyo. This restaurant has joined my stable of places that offer superb value, which includes Spice Island Tea House, Thai Cuisine, People's India, Point Brugge, and Paris 66 (Royal Caribbean would also be on this list if they could get organized and serve their food faster!). Mom and Dad seem to have an entirely different idea of "heat" than I do. For me, curry isn't inherent spicy but it is for them. For them, Cajun food is only somewhat hot. Anyhow, the shrimp curry and the basil eggplant tofu are both complex and delicious dishes. The decor is marginal and parking on Atwood can be difficult, but when the chef comes out to ask you what you want and remembers your order from the one other time you came, and if the food has a savory richness to it, that goes a very long way in my book.

2010-01-05T19:23:00.002-05:00

~ breadmaking ~
Today is a good day for making bread. It has been cold forever, in the teens or twenties.

Long ago I kept a log of breadmaking attempts. Like all cooking, it's a matter of starting with a good basic recipe, then playing around. Theme and variations.

The first two records are from October 2000. Married that August, it may be the first time we used the Breadman Plus TR777C. The second entry was made on what would six years later become Beatrice's birthday.

So much happened in those six years starting in October 2000. We moved from the southern edge of Santa Fe to the St. John's College campus, to Manhattan near Lincoln Center and the Time-Warner Building, to an apartment in the Shadyside neighborhood of Pittsburgh, and to our first house as homeowners. I held three different jobs in those three cities. I published An Oz Album. Mookie died. Beatrice was born.

The third entry is exactly nine years after the first entry, in October 2009. I had to use a converter because AppleWorks could not directly read the ClarisWorks file format.

The fourth entry is today. I decided to use essentially the same ingredients and proportions as last fall.

This evening while the bread was rising, I heard Beatrice crying upstairs in her bedroom. She had shoved Solomon in the chest about a half hour earlier because he got in the way of her having an apple (during the past day she had nearly finished by herself an entire bag of Fuji apples, a variety I purchased in memory of those we had at Ten Thousand Waves on our wedding night). So we sent her to bed.

When she came downstairs it turned out that she didn't want the apple I cut for her. So I hugged her on the couch and talked. I said that it was sometimes tough during the holidays, with all the parties and people and excitement around Christmas. And that we did all this traveling to Santa Fe, seeing places where Mama and I lived before she was born, going to restaurants and all sorts of sights, even when we were sick. And then we went to the hospital...

Mentioning this made her upset again, so I talked about how it was fine to go to the hospital, and that generally people get better afterwards. I said that she was scared when we went to the hospital in Santa Fe, saying that she was better, but it was important for us to go and then we did get better afterwards. And Auntie Mimi has been to the hospital twice and now she can walk better. And when she was a baby she had a heart operation, and Mama and I were so worried, and I thought her having trouble getting milk from Mama's nipple wasn't related, but after the operation she could drink so much better. And in the hospital we read books to her, including the Belly Button Book, and when she laughed at the word "beebo" I wasn't worried anymore and I knew that she would be better.

And I said that it was okay to miss someone. I said that I miss Snowball too. And I miss Mookie every day. It's okay to miss someone. And it's okay to be sad sometimes.

And then she said Mama. I asked her if she wanted to go upstairs to Mama and I would bring the apple to her, and she nodded. So I brought her upstairs, and I came back down with Solomon, cutting up what remained of the apple. He colored with crayons and played with the tin and box while I wrote this. Marissa came down to get the Flip, but then it turned out Beatrice didn't want to read after all.

Now I have a request to make a "bacon burrito" and come upstairs. So warm bread tonight with a bowl of cream of mushroom soup looks unlikely after all. But the thought of it keeps me. And to be upstairs in the big bed with everyone.

2009-12-26T05:36:00.006-05:00

~ Santa Fe yesterday ~
Some things I'd forgotten but remembered yesterday:

The staging of the public spaces at the Albuqerque Sunport is beautiful: carved painted wooden beams, wide open spaces to walk, arrival/departure signs glowing subdued red and green, the large bronze sculpture of a man with an eagle, the old propeller airplane suspended from the ceiling. The decor of the fast-food coffee place blends with the Southwestern theme. Even the rental car facility houses an enormous sculpture in its rotunda, as well as smaller pieces in display cases. The process of being a passenger is smooth and efficient, relaxed and friendly.
The gentle, comforting lilt of the New Mexico accent.
My muscle memory is strong, driving from the airport to the highway and then along Central Avenue to Frontier (which was closed for Christmas). How the traffic eases up after Bernalillo (though it wasn't heavy to begin with on Christmas Day), how effortless to drive along I-25 at 80mph while spotting familiar exits along the way, the valley in the road as you pass the casino, Pueblo Gas, knowing how the road becomes steep right after the Cochiti Pueblo exit, the sudden expanse of the Sangre de Cristos. One new feature: the Roadrunner train tracks in the median. Some things didn't quite seem right: the profile of the mountains looks slightly different (?) and everything appears much more dry, less green, than in my memory.
Driving along Cerrillos Road and seeing familiar places -- the cheapest gas station in town; the shopping plaza where I would get Mookie's food, buy shoes, and get haircuts; places whose names I'd remember upon seeing them (Mu Du Noodles, The Pantry, Tortilla Flats) and forgotten (Dara Thai, the Oddfellows Hall where we went contra dancing the night before getting married); landmarks that somehow escaped me (the Indian School, the New Mexico School for the Deaf); places that have been repurposed (was it called the Santa Fe Steakhouse? and the place near the corner of St. Michael's where we watched Bush win the 2000 election) or closed (the mattress store where we bought a futon); places I never went yet remember for their signage or advertisements (Baillo's); and the whole gestalt of driving along a road that contains chains like Walmart and Target along with singular local places
Pulling into our motel earlier, which qualifies as one of those places that had always been only in the distant background of my visual memory.
How the cross-streets along Cerrillos were familiar-sounding yet unfamiliar -- perhaps if I'd turned along one of them, or if it were daylight. Navigating the center of town, and remembering how to get to the railyard
Tomasita's was closed. Dynasty is gone -- I hope Chef Wong retired on his own terms.
Going to Walgreens and not remembering it, until remembering the way the traffic flowed into it. And seeing folks -- always Anglos -- with beautiful blanket coats and Western hats, or women made up just so.
The taste of green chile from Sonic (only the highest and the chains were open on Christmas night, and after 13.5 hours of travel without a reservation, Sonic was a good option, though I might have gone there only once or twice while living in Santa Fe). It must have been mild because I could drink it, but there was enough flavor for my taste memory.

Who would have thought, ten years ago when I picked up Marissa from the airport, that we would be visiting (rather than living in) Santa Fe, with two most delightful children, happy.

2009-12-20T07:17:00.002-05:00

~ shovel ~
Maybe the person who stole our snow shovel from our front porch yesterday, sometime after we set three little snowmen on our porch and before I looked for it in the evening, slipped and fell down, or suffered a heart attack, while using it.