More Culinary Adventures

Before I left on vacation we cleaned out the pantry and came across a lifetime supply of rice paper spring roll wrappers. Well, again, on the plane, I had a brainstorm. Peanut butter and jelly spring rolls! Well, I came home and decided I should give them a whirl.

I mixed my Laura Scudder's natural crunchy peanut butter with some homemade plum jam (courtesy my friend Ken!) and dropped it into the moistened wrappers, folded them up, and voila! Peanut butter and jelly spring rolls.

And they were delicious.

Contemporary Modern Art

Part One, Defined.

I just spent a few days in La Jolla, California. While wandering the streets of La Jolla with my wife, we ventured into a handful of galleries. Many of these galleries proclaim themselves to be purveyors of fine Contemporary Modern Art. I started wondering exactly what this moniker actually meant. In the process I've decided on a sure fire way to identify if a piece of "art" is contemporary modern art or not. This method may not guarantee you will identify all art that is professionally labeled as "modern," but it will guarantee you that any art you personally identify as "modern" is, in fact, truly contemporary modern art.

If you are looking at a piece of "art" and the first thought in your head, the first words from your lips, are: What the F? You, my friend, are gazing upon Contemporary Modern Art of the highest order!

Since I just took off in a jet, I had the thought, in much the same way, most airplane crashes--for the passengers aboard anyway--almost always qualify as Contemporary Modern Art. Given the right situations we can go through life finding Contemporary Modern Art almost anywhere. Keep your eyes open for examples of this fine "found art" form. Anytime you catch yourself saying, or even thinking, "What the F?" just remember that you are in the presence of art.

Part Two, Nothing.

There's a big expanse of nothing. Lots of them, actually. Expanses. Of nothing. We never notice them, though, so we don't even realize they are there--be it in the comfort of our climate-controlled automobiles or sitting and sipping a cocktail in the pressurized cabin of a jet. Our every need is met and there is no challenge or hardship in travel. Maybe there should be. There certainly used to be. All of those homesteaders, miners, and pioneers could not stop off at the nearest exit, pull in to the Fast Foodplex Plus and grab a Starbucks and a triple cheeseburger with fries. Many of them never even made it due to disease, lack of water, even starvation or predation by other people. Imagine how much more we would appreciate our San Diego beach adventures if first we had to run a gauntlet of danger and duress, making our way of our own accord across hundreds of miles of open desert and rugged mountainous passes.

Looking down from 30,000 feet, club soda in hand and a book propped on my drop-down tray table, I see an odd strip of farmland. There in the deserts of western Arizona, large green circles spread out along the landscape in a swath of controlled lushness. Crops are grown in round fields to accomodate rotational sprinklers that pump water and turn in slow, lazy circles, creating unnaturally green dots across the desert. Some of these big green alien pies have a piece cut out, be it a sprinkler arm that goes back and forth in a three-hundred and forty degree arc, just short of a full circle, or some other unknown reason. Without irrigation nothing of use could grow here. Each lush green circle is an artifice. And that's the odd thing.

These "farms" stretch out for many, many miles in a narrow line that follows, presumeably, the Central Arizona Project (CAP), the water supply system that snakes over three-hundred miles across the state delivering Colorado river water to the farms and ever-growing cities of Arizona. You see these circles of varying shades of green and reddish tones, some brilliant green, some dull and nearly earthtone, stretching out. It's vastly long. But it's not wide.

As I said, this strip of farming circles goes for what seems hundreds of miles--it's so hard to judge distance from 30,000 feet in the air--but it can't be more than a quarter of a mile wide. I'd be surprised if it's that wide. And at the edges, this artificial greenery simply melts away and dissolves into rocky, rugged desert. The edges are literally fuzzy and indistinct. You look down upon this thing, this snaking spine of circular farmland; you see the narrowness of it, the crumbling edges being nibbled away by the voracious appetite of the awaiting desert; you look down and you say to yourself, "What the F?" Arizona's version of Contemporary Modern Art.

Agua en El Aeropuerto

Airport water is never all that good. I don't really have all that much to say about it, just that it's, as I've said, never all that good. You can buy bottled water. That all tastes the same. Or, rather, doesn't taste the same, if you get my drift. But I steer clear of bottled water. If my life was at stake, sure, give me an effin Fiji Aquafina, Poland Springs, Arrowhead Springs, I don't care. Just give me some water. But I've yet to be in that situation so I try not to buy bottled water.

What I do is bring an empty water bottle through security. I have yet to have anyone even bat an eye at this (though I was blocked from bringing an empty, see through, open water bottle into a minor league ball park--but that's another story). I then fill the bottle up at the drinking fountain before boarding the plan. This works very well and it's a lot better than buying bottled water. Cheaper, too.

But, no matter how different water supplies may be, airport water generally tastes the same--bad. Like old well water. I don't know if well water actually changes flavor as it sits and ages, but I have to say that this is the only way I can imagine describing the taste of airport water. But I still drink it. It gives me one more thing to look forward to as I travel--the taste of water home-filtered and ready to be drunk by a thirsty guy like me.

Petco Park, San Diego

We went to Petco Park last night to watch the Arizona Diamondbacks play the San Diego Padres. Unfortunately, the Friars managed to break their streak and beat us--but that's almost to be expected because we were at the game!


That said, it's a really nice park. An outdoor stadium near the water, right at the "foot" of the Gaslamp District, the park is well-situated and very nicely arranged. It is supposedly set up with the seating in "neighborhoods."








They have even incorporated a warehouse into the design--whether or not this was an actual warehouse at one time or simply a design feature (which I suspect it is), it makes for a nice look. It hearkens back to the old stadiums which always seemed to be tucked into industrial warehouse districts.





Like most modern ball parks, Petco has an excellent concession system. You can get everything from a $6 slice of pizza (yes, slice of pizza, no more than 5" wide) to a $9 beer. I'm not kidding. This is a standard cheap disposable plastic cup of beer--what? 12 ounces? Miller Genuine Draft. You can practically buy a twelve pack for that kind of money. I actually ended up with a bargain, sort of. I grabbed a veggie burger--a veggie burger! At a ball park!--for $6. It didn't come with fries or anything but it was a decent burger of decent size and quality at a, surprise! surprise!, decent price.

But, all in all, Petco is a really nice park and a great place to watch a game. You can't beat the weather, the location, any of it. Sure, it would have been great if the DBacks won the game while we were there, but we hardly expect them to win when we're at a game. Yes, they were three games in the lead in the NL West. Yes, they had just trounced San Diego when they played them at home. Yes, San Diego had been on a bit of a losing streak. You'd think the DBacks would win as a matter of course. Ha! All bets are off when we're in the house.

Cooking!

Cooking is a great skill. It's something I've always admired and wanted to do. Unfortunately, I don't have the right constitution for it, for lack of a better term (i.e., I can't think of the term I want to use at the moment). I'm lazy. I couldn't hack the long hours, the energy requirements, the simple demand on my body, psyche, and emotional well-being. Like I said, I like cooking. But the minute you require me to cook? Forget it. I'm out of there. I'm like that with just about everything. I don't like to have to do anything. I have a serious case of havetoitis. I'm so seriously allergic to "have to" that I need to keep an EpiPen handy at all times.

Despite the aforementioned handicap, perhaps the biggest challenge to the idea of me as cook is the simple fact that I cannot smell. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Skunk? Whatever. Rotten garbage? Could have fooled me. Sour milk? Isn't that called cheese? Perfume? Nope. Bouquet of flowers? Um, nothing. Aroma of layered spices? Again, nothing. I tell you, I can't smell--good or bad. And that's a huge challenge to culinary pursuits. I may be able to cook something tasty from a recipe or on a well-educated guess, or by sheer luck, but there are risks. Something that I find delicious will almost definitely taste differently to others because they get the added benefit of smell. Smell does not account for all of our tasting, as some believe, but it does play an important role.

Food has to look good. Food has to smell good. It even has to feel good--or at least right--to taste good. Texture is often overlooked. One example I like to give has to do with drinking. I had the adult version of a sippy cup that I used to bring to work. It almost always had water in it. Sometimes I'd put iced tea in it, but mostly it was water. One morning at work I picked up my cup and took a long draw on the straw expecting a cool drink of water and nearly vomited on the spot. I had no idea what the hell I had just drunk but it certainly wasn't water. I opened the lid and saw immediately that it was milk. I had poured milk in my cup before leaving the house and simply forgotten that I had done so. But for the life of me, for a million dollars, I would not have been able to tell you I had just had milk in my mouth. I had no idea what it was. But once I knew it was milk, everything was fine. What I had felt in my mouth coincided with my idea of milk. So there are expectations not only of taste and smell, but also of what is referred to as mouthfeel.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I'm reading one of Anthony Bourdain's books because I like cooking and I think he's a good writer. It has me thinking about these things, so I'm writing about them. So, I lied. I guess I do know why I'm writing this. Why I'm sharing it, well, maybe that's what I don't know. Bourdain spends a lot of time talking about the cooking "lifestyle." It's a lifestyle I know I couldn't hack even I had all of the other requirements. Despite all of these things I know I'll continue trying to cook. Not everyone is going to like my concoctions, but some of them will be tasty and that's what counts. I may not be able to recreate any of them but I'll keep making them. When it comes to cooking and eating there's one other big ingredient that I failed to mention and that's a combination of adventure and curiosity. Always be willing to try new and different things. You never know what you're going to like until you try it. You won't like everything you try, but the ones you do like you just might like a whole lot. Who knows? You might even like something I've cooked!

Beef: It's What Some Folks Have For Dinner

As most of you know, I am trying to be a vegetarian--for the most part. I still indulge on a semi-regular basis in seafood and I certainly eat cheese and ice cream, etc. I try to make sound choices in the seafood I eat, but I do eat it. I haven't had beef or pork or chicken (knowingly) in at least a year. I have, once or twice, out of courtesy or some other reason, tasted someone's prized pork roast or whatever, but I haven't had an actual meal or serving.

The other night at dinner, Joan ordered Mongolian beef. Since we had ordered an appetizer of shrimp dumplings and had two sushi rolls (appetizer/my dinner), she had more food than she could manage. She urged me to try the beef as it was very good and "it's here anyway." (It's amazing how so many people use that "it's already made" reasoning for eating meat.) So I tried a piece.

I can tell you this: I could tell it was very good quality beef. This was no cheap cut of tough and chewy beef part hidden in gooey sauce. The sauce was surprisingly light yet flavorful but the beef was definitely good sliced steak. I could tell that. But, I'll also say that there was absolutely nothing about it that made me slap my forehead and say, "Oh my god. What was I thinking? Someone bring me a side of beef!" There was nothing about it that made me want more. As I have said, I don't really miss eating meat at all. That will surprise some people. I used to dream of being a meatarian. I used to ask my mother if I could be one. I used to live for all you can eat rib nights. A good rare, bloody steak was nirvana. I was a huge meat and bbq eater. But I don't miss it a bit and don't even want it.

There are places where it is difficult to order something that doesn't have meat in it. One place, El Paso BBQ, where Joan likes the steaks, even puts bacon on all of its salads! Unless you feel like making a dinner of sides (which I have done before), you pretty much have to go for the fish, which is what I do. And I do love me sushi. There's a lot of really excellent vegetarian sushi (go to Sushi-matsu and order the vegetarian sushi lunch special--it's amazing), but I admit to liking my sashimi and whatnot a little more than I should. Anyway, as far as beef and pork, chicken, etc., I'm pretty much done with it and can honestly say I don't miss it.

With the meat-for-food industry being the biggest contributor to greenhouse (i.e., global warming) gasses--far ahead of automobiles, it would be a good thing if all of us stopped eating meat. Or, at the very least, so much of it. One serving a week would make a big difference. We don't need all of that meat in our diet. And for godsakes, quit eating fast food. That stuff is crap.

Shirt = Gas

I just saw a Car Max commercial with a guy going up to the window to pay for the gas he just put in his car. The cashier told him that would be the shirt off his back. He was shocked but dutifully handed over the shirt. The point of the commercial is that gas prices are really high and filling up will cost you "the shirt off your back."

I wish!

Tell you what, I can't think of a shirt I own, with the exception of some cycling jerseys that as much as a tank of gas. You want one of my shirts in exchange for a tank of gas? Let me know what station that is because I'm good to go! I'll even start carrying spares in the car. I have lots of shirts.

Gas Mileage

OK. I have a very functional vehicle that I like for a lot of reasons. However, from the moment I drove it off the lot, I have been racked with guilt for choosing practicality over fuel economy. I drive a Honda Element. It's a low emission vehicle, but it only averages 22+ MPG. It's a rolling box, after all. There's no aerodynamics at work here. At all.

I know people who will idle while waiting for people to run into the store or whatever. They will idle in parking lots, driveways, whatever. I try not to do that. I try to roll down the windows and wait it out. Well, in Arizona in the summer it's difficult to do that when you have a small child in the car with you. You can't legally roast a baby for your own ecological positions. It's frowned upon anyway.

Twice since my last fill up I have been in situations where I was left idling with my grandson in the back waiting for someone to meet us. I couldn't turn off the air. (That's another thing--when there's a baby in the back seat you pretty much have to run the air, too!) As a result, after my most recent fill up I put my numbers into the gas mileage spreadsheet I keep and found that because of these idling sessions and incessant air conditioning I only averaged a hair over 19 MPG. That's crazy! I've never had mileage that low.

Thinking it over, there are always alternatives. I could have waited inside a building, or whatever. I could walked around outside with the baby. Whatever. I wasn't locked in the car. There are always choices. Next time my choice will be a bit more informed.

A Poem I Hesitate To Post....

This is a poem I probably shouldn't print. It's presumptuous on too many levels. I've never had a miscarriage and I can't possibly know the pain and frustration of having a miscarriage. I understand this. Yet, as a writer, I can't help but try to put myself in the positions of others, even when those positions are painful. Let me just say this, if I offend anyone by putting this here, I'm sorry. I really am. I don't intend to cause you pain.

Miscarriage

Don't call me barren. I am not barren.
I have taken seed and held it.
I have brought forth life.
I have done everything right.
So why don't I have a baby?
Why am I not a mother, as I long to be?

Every day my womb aches with emptiness.
I wrap my arms around my own belly,
Too flat, hollow, wasted.
I've nearly run out of tears.
My head spins with the endless cycle
Of anger, depression. Anger. Depression.

Whoever came up with this name?
As though I made a mistake.
As if I dropped something after a misstep.
As if I failed to carry my baby correctly.
The implication is there, that this is my fault.
That I can learn to do it properly.

That I can avoid the next "spontaneous abortion."
As though a brief moment of doubt caused this.
One whimsical moment of impulse.
Spontaneous abortion.
Stop fucking calling it that!
Do you hear me? Stop. Fucking. Calling. It. That.

None of these things is right.
I have had no "spontaneous abortions."
I have not failed to carry my baby correctly.
Above all, I am not barren.
I have almost been a mother.
And no matter what, I will be a mother.

August 2008

Birthday

Birthday

You think this gift is important. Expensive. Quality.
The rich caramel hide and stitching,
Soft, yet stiff, perfect, yet incomplete.
What is missing is the love.
Like this glove I need to be filled--
Oiled and rubbed, nurtured to a perfect fit and form.

What does it matter if you give me a symbol?
A glove without a ball, or a hand to throw it?
This gift is empty whether my hand fills it or not.
I don't need a glove. I don't even need a ball.
What I need is you in front of me--
Waiting. Watching. Hoping.
Wanting to throw me a ball should one come rolling by.

A Map For Saturday

I just watched a documentary called A Map For Saturday and really enjoyed it. Made by an ex-HBO producer named Brook Silva-Braga after he backpacked around the world, it's surprisingly well done for something that was filmed with a hand held camera while living out of a backpack for a year.

Silva-Braga covers his journey by not only looking at the places he traveled but also the experiences and thoughts and impressions of the people he meets along the way. He looks at the hardships of such travel, living out of a single bag, sleeping in hostels, the emotional highs and lows, the challenges, and even has room for a little socio-political commentary along the way (but never in a heavy handed way).

Apart from the actual documentary, the extras on the DVD seem almost essential to the full experience of the film. In the extras he does post interviews with the main people covered in the film, including "girlfriends" and "best friends" he had along the way. It is interesting to hear their different, yet quite similar reactions to not only the film but also life after the road.

Such a trip is obviously not for everyone. There are some pretty big hurdles to get over before you could contemplate such a thing, not to mention the mental and physical aspects of it. For one, and probably the biggest obstacle--other than putting your life on hold for a year, would be the financial aspect. Not only would you need to quit your job, or somehow suspend it, but you would have to figure out how to pay your bills, etc. For most of us, it's a near impossibility.

The ideal situation would be to have no financial commitments. That is, no outstanding bills, no monthly payments, no mortgage, rent, phone bill, any of that. No pets, children who can't travel with you, any of that. Any relationships you do have would have to be the kind you could also put on hold--parents and siblings, basically. I would think it would be quite difficult to even entertain maintaining a romantic relationship while you "backpack around the world." Not too many people are going to put up with that kind of poppycock. Of course, you could do the trip together. As someone in the movie points out, such a trip would certainly be the ultimate test--if you could survive the trip and come out the other side still together you'd probably be together forever. On top of all of that you would still have to have some kind of "nest egg" that you could liquidate to take your trip. Silva-Braga spend about $20,000 on his trip. I'm not certain if that included his round the world ticket--generally between $5K-$6K.

I don't think I know anyone who fits this profile. At all. Maybe I've had students along the way who could pull it off. Trust funders, perhaps. Who knows. I can think of one person, maybe. If anyone could pull it off, he could--my old boss's son. He has the right profile, but I don't know about the funding. Maybe if his dad was feeling generous? Who knows. I can think of maybe two others who might benefit from such a trip, but the funding would be a hitch, methinks.

Either way, it's an entertaining and sometimes eye opening little film and I highly recommend it. You can't get it at Blockbuster or Netflix or anything like that. It's only available through the website, but it's only $15--that's one ticket to a movie and a medium popcorn, if you're lucky, so it's cheap in comparison. Give it a whirl. You'll like it.

OV Farmers Market

I like to go to the OV Farmers Market on Saturdays. I don't make it every week, probably not even most weeks, but I like to go. There are a lot of good things to be had at the market. My favorites are fresh roasted garlic and poblano peppers; the vegan "pot" pies, which are more like pasties, if you ask me; lots of fresh produce; the jelly stand; an herb plant guy; and a line of pastas that is made up in the Phoenix area.

One of the vendors, Bruce, used to work with me a long time ago at AlphaGraphics. He's now running a small family farm in Catalina and brings some of his produce to market each week. It is all grown without pesticides and all of that crap. It's good quality, healthful food. Right now he's bringing squashes and peppers, sweet onions, tomatoes, apples, nectarines, all that sort of thing. In the spring and fall, when the weather is a little cooler, he brings lots of fresh greens that he sells "mix and match" for $4 for a very generous bag full.

It's easy to spend a lot of money at the market. If I had more disposable cash I could get in trouble there. There's a local tea supplier, honey, coffee, you name it. Sometimes there's a guy there who sells excellent goat cheese products made not too far from here. It's decadent stuff, but none of it's cheap! Still, I highly recommend going to your local farmers market and checking out what they have available. It's generally local stuff and that's a good thing. It keeps the carbon footprint of your food a bit lower.

Which would you rather eat? A bag of lettuce with an arbitrary freshness date on it that was grown thousands of miles away and shipped by truck, train, whatever, in refridgerated cars, sprayed with who knows what along the way, or freshly picked greens raised ten miles from your house by someone you know, or can get to know? It's a no-brainer, really.

This is Bruce. I used to work with him. Now he's a farmer in Catalina! He has great produce, but to be honest, I have a hard time getting up early enough to get to the farmers market to get the best selection. It's not unusual for me to show up and he'll have a bunch of empty or nearly empty bins on the table! I did good today though--purple bell peppers, white button squash, tomatoes, Armenian cucumber, and some zucchini! Yummy stuff.



Here's the herb guy. I have purchased several mint plants and the like from him. Today I bought a purple shiso herb plant. Shiso is used in sushi, though they usually use the green variety. It's sort of like a basil but the taste is very different. I'll toss a few leaves in salads for color and flavor boosting.


The lady in the middle is very nice. She sells some medicinal herbs but her main product is a homemade "pot pie." She sells a free-range chicken variety and a vegan variety. We have to buy both so Joan can have chicken and I can have the delicious vegan. It's hard to tell them apart so we always end up cutting them open to figure out whose is whose! They have vegetables and seasonings and are very good. One of the best things is the raisens she puts in them. It adds a unique level of sweetness. Couple that with an excellent spelt crust and these things are addictive! That's Bruce on the left and the herb guy on the right.


Ah, the pasta guy. He always has a lot of produce with him, as well. I've purchased eggplant, tomatoes, squash, some excellent green beans, and other things from him. However, I consider him the pasta guy because he sells this fantastic pasta that is made up in Phoenix. It comes in a large number of flavors. The habanero is excellent! Eggplant, wild mushroom, basil tomatoe, spinach, you name it. And it's really good quality, delicious pasta. I love it. But it's pricey. It's $6 for a package. It's a generous package, and it's gourmet, but $6, I admit, is a bit much for pasta. And he's never lacking for suggestions on preparing what he sells either. However, most of his suggestions involve things like five pounds of butter and heavy cream, so I don't usually follow his recipes!