And A Side Dish of Politics...

It's been a while since I have felt inspired by anything political. Whether I am jaded, or cynical, or perhaps just burnt out after living a majority of my life as a cause I needed to defend and fight for, I don't know. Maybe it's because nothing will ever again be like the late 60s, with the sit-ins, rallies, demonstrations. Perhaps it's because we have no movement leaders like Yippies Abbie Hoffman or Jerry Rubin, who I had the pleasure of meeting, along with Assata Shakur, during a demonstration at Columbia University.

The last time I was so moved, I was sitting in the Castro Theatre watching a showing of The Times of Harvey Milk, not unlike those watching the sanitized Milk movie playing there now. I haven't gotten this choked up watching video since I attended the premiere of Common Threads: Stories From the Quilt.

And yet, Keith Olbermann's recent piece on the idiotic passing of Proposition 8 here in California has stirred me. It should stir you, too.

Let the Food Feast Begin!

Here's a shot of the chiles en nogada, albeit not the ones I made, since I was way too hungry and scarfed them down, after giving half of them away to starving souls here at the loft. I will totally make them again!

Serving as a springboard, to get me geared up for Thanksgiving, I've done all my food shopping, created my menu and schedule in Excel, and posted it on the fridge. Of course... I'm still adjusting the menu.

Now, I'll admit, when it comes to this dinner, I like the traditionals. I use Alton Brown's brining recipe for the turkey, make a plain stuffing with only apples as the most exotic ingredient, and indulge in that American mystery called the green bean casserole — made with Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup and French's fried onions. There is someone who always insists on mashed potatoes (maybe I'll add a little garlic and parmesan), to go with the voluminous amounts of turkey gravy, and I must have my mother's sweet potatoes — roasted, pureed, blended with a small can of unsweetened, crushed pineapple, some unsweetened shredded coconut, a splash of orange juice, and topped with marshmallows during the last five minutes, until they get golden brown.

To that I add my cranberry-orange relish, something I learned to make during an after-school cooking class my mother sent me to, when I was eight years old. I'm sure it was to keep out of her hair, since it was during our weekly half-day. I loved it! Anyway... nothing more simple then a simple brief popping of cranberries and sugar on top of the stove, then adding some orange peel and orange juice. It's a sloppy little mess that macerates nicely, when made a few days in advance, and the sugar syrup that forms, along with the natural pectin firms it up a bit.

Normally, I'm the one making the pies... pumpkin and pecan, but this year, there are other takers doing the baking. My recipe calls for a very light mixture with orange peel and grated candied ginger, which adds a refreshing touch. I might just have to make one for myself (and to share with the neighbors) after. My pecan pie is mixed with semisweet chocolate, which I find cuts back a bit on the gloppy cloyingness that is corn syrup.

So, the others are rounding things out with their versions of the above desserts, and there's a pumpkin cheesecake coming, too (which I hope is better than the one we tasted last year!). I'm going to round it all out with a New England Indian pudding, and individual chocolate souffle cakes served with a Fleur de Sel caramel sauce.

I'm out of my mind. I'm considering an amuse-bouche mini-stack of fresh foie gras (please let me not screw up the cooking on this) and duck confit napped with a cherry-fig balsamic gastrique. I bought most of the ingredients to make caramelized balsamic onions, if I can make a dash to Whole Foods for the baby cippolines. I created this lovely appetizer involving roasting mini-sweet peppers and filling them with a mixture of goat cheese softened with a little creme fraiche and blended with some Meyer lemon zest. You get this lovely blend of warm, sweet, sour, and cool all together in your mouth.

Please stop me before I add more to my growing list!

Quickly It Turns

Lovely California.  One of few places in the U.S. where one week it's 80 degrees outside, and the next it barely creeps above 60 degrees.  Alas, I am afraid it's definitely a sign that summer, or what we have that passes for one, is over, and autumn is here.  Then again... two weeks later, we're having warm weather again.

Certainly, the advantages, when coupled with a good rainy season start-up, is the lovely green to red display the sugar maples make.  And the golden yellows of the ginko trees.  This kind of see-saw weather sometimes keeps the fall foliage around until as late as January.  By then, if we're not in a drought season, the hillsides are greening, the acacia mimosa is in full furry fury, and spring is making an early appearance.

Autumn always makes me melancholic, while spring rejuvenates me.  Either way, I love them both for their ability to stimulate the senses in ways that extreme cold and extreme hot don't.

Managing the loft community has provided a lot of challenges this year: who knew I'd have to arrange for an apiarist to remove a 3,000-bee hive off a window lintel (they're doing fine, making lots of honey), get 100 pigeons drunk (in an attempt to set up their "panic" mode and have them fly away) thanks to the stalkerish and malicious pigeon feeder, start setting up fire (and earthquake) drills, and deal with a supposed dominatrix who was more bottom than top when it came to paying her damn rent.

I just finished making chiles en nogada, a dish I have wanted to make for at least four years.  Sort of a jump start to get me ready to prepare for the Thanksgiving onslaught.  I make a pretty traditional, pedestrian menu, saving my creativity more for Christmas/Hanukah.  I absolutely must have the dishes my mother would make on turkey day, or else... I feel deprived!  So it's basic turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed white potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, and cranberry-orange relish for the dozen guests coming to my house!

Full Moon Madness

OMG! I've found the reality TV show to end all reality TV shows. It's almost like looking at yourself looking at yourself in a mirror. I'll admit that one night I tuned in to watch Rock of Love with Bret Michaels, to see what kind of women would go on a show to get a rock star. If I didn't think the first season was a collection of bimbos and sluts, then the second season managed to find all the whores.

I find reality shows a strange study of human nature. It's much more instructive than reading Freud's case histories, or theories by Rogers and Maslow. And it's certainly a lot more entertaining than interpreting dreams in Jungian terms. I've been criticized for watching what many consider low-brow television, but there is a sense of voyeuristic appeal these shows offer, and maybe to do a little self-analization, the vicarious bad-girlness I never participated in when I was growing up. Who wants to be a goody-two-shoes all their life?

From Survivor I have learned how one copes with extreme circumstances. From Amazing Race I fulfill my desire to see parts of the world I will likely never see. Big Brother gives me insight to human nature and how one person uses strategy to successfully reach the final goal. Top Chef and Project Runway appeal to my sense of creativity, be it with color, design, or cooking.

So, what do I get from Rock of Love Charm School, headed up my Sharon Osbourne, wife of rocker Ozzy? A chance to fantasize that I am a glamorous rock 'n' roll chick, too, and being the one to slap them down, at the same time.

Best line of the show tonight: "She needs an exorcist, not charm school." I haven't laughed aloud so much in a week or so.

The Top Theory

So... here's my theory about sexual tops.  I've met people who claim to be sexologists, dominatrixes, masters... and yet, when it comes to conflict or confrontation in other aspects of their lives, they are bigger bottoms than I am.  I don't get it.  I have more chutzpa and cahones in real life situations than this sort of quasi-roleplaying sexual fantasy scenarios they engage in?

Trip to Tahoe

I am not a long-distance driver. I never developed that skill when I was younger, living in New England, driving off to ski country, down to Florida, or cross-country on my vacations, like my friends. I was pretty much a home-body that didn't care to go far, until after I'd been to college and lived on my own for a while.

Also, I don't own a car. Never have. Always used the parental's cars or shared one briefly with my brother during a year I lived at my Dad's home in Maryland, between quitting Philadelphia College of Art and heading back to Boston. I've always lived in towns with exceptional public transportation, and know how to get around like a pro. I also am a believer in taxis.

I hear horror stories about break-ins and mechanical issues from friends. I have had more than one experience of car theft, including one directly my fault, when I left Jean's car parked at Fruitvale BART while I took the last train home from some event in San Francisco (and which the police found in SF a couple days later). So when people say I should buy a car, I'm all "No thanks!" -- I don't want the financial or emotional issues that come with car ownership.

Instead, I work for City CarShare and as a benefit, I get an employee credit. So, it was with these credits that I braved the wheel and the road for a 3.5 hour drive up to Tahoe. Mind you... I haven't driven since the above car was stolen, and that was about 3 years ago.

Now... the highway between Oakland and Sacramento can be called, at the best, boring. And between Sacramento and Placerville, it doesn't get much better. However, at the gold rush era town of Placerville, which was named "Hangtown" at one time, due to all the hangings, Highway 80 changes into a 2-lane road briefly. At that point, you are well into the foothills of the Sierras and the road begins to both climb, twist, and switchback. Just outside of Placerville and near Kyburz, the ponderosa pines are very evident, and the mountains surround. As you reach an elevation of 7.3K feet, the road whips around the side of a mountain and reveals Tahoe Lake off in the distance.

This was my first visit to Tahoe, and I would definitely love to spend more time there. My Dad and stepmother were in town, to visit my cousin Joel and his wife Eileen, who live in South Lake Tahoe, and are about to give up their newish home, for life on the road in an RV. The altitude just killed me for two days, while I acclimated (had the same issues in Denver and Santa Fe/Taos). At least, what with hanging out with the older generation, we drove mostly everywhere you could go, to sightsee. Truckee, Emerald Bay, North Lake Tahoe, Carson City, Donner Pass... Totally a fun trip. Much of the older towns look pretty similar to what I saw in Amador, Ione, Jackson, Calistoga -- a lot of "western" style architecture. Cowboy towns. Wild wild west.

I'd like to go back sometime, but I'll leave the driving to someone else and enjoy the ride next time.

Birthday Goodness

So, after my favorite Chinese food restaurant for the last three years, began sabotaging their food with MSG, and two mornings of waking up with a pounding headache (thought the first day was a stress headache, ate the leftovers the next night, and then boom), I wasn't much in the mood for birthday celebrating on Saturday morning.

Brandy gave me until noon to see if I felt, better, which I did, but I was still not in the mood for a wild night out, or dressing up and going into the city for dinner at Plouf. Instead, I asked her if she would indulge my need to relive my childhood days of summer on the Cape and east coast. She was pretty game, so off we went.

Live and kicking in a tank, next to one full of dungeness crabs imported from Seattleish (our local crab season doesn't start for two more months), sat some Maine lobsters at the bargain rate of $11 a pound. I consider this good, because I imagine if I bought them in Boston, they would be about $8 a pound, and they are just coming off season. They're only going to get more expensive until next summer. Brandy said to grab two and I asked for 1.5-pounders. She said go bigger. Oy... we picked out two 3-pounders. That's the largest lobster I have ever had. She thought she would still be hungry, so we grabbed a crab at $5.99 per pound, too. Guess what's sitting in my fridge?

Off to Safeway to get some corn on the cob, which I boiled in the brand new stock pot she bought me for my birthday, with the lobsters, and seasoned with a parsley and chili butter. Added the obligatory oven roasted potatoes, and grabbed a loaf of sourdough for sopping up shellfish goodness in our bowls. For dessert, she insisted on chocolate silk pie, I wanted flourless chocolate cake. We got both.

Having watched either Alton Brown or Bobby Flay or someone... maybe even Anthony Bourdain, I saved the lobster heads and the coral (also called tamale) inside, and mixed it up with a stick of softened butter, so I could freeze myself some decadent lobster butter. That'll taste nice over some fresh pasta! Or work well napped over mussels... I'll use it for something.

We were sated, and happy, and both fell asleep watching "No Country for Old Men" on cable.

Stoned Again

Wow, I haven't written since May? What a slacker. June of course is totally given to Pride and the annual parade I manage, so that explains why I didn't post then — also, there would be too much temptation to rant about too many people. July is recovery month from the stress of June, where I spend most of my time just lying low and keeping under the radar. Which brings us to August. Already I have started to mourn that within the next month or so, the stone fruits of summer I so love will be disappearing.

Apricots, which I wrote about last time, still hang on shockingly. I normally can't find them past June, so I'm in heaven. And the little black velvets in the photo are also available at this late date, although they are shifting more towards the plummy side than the apricot side, even if they still have a fuzzy, dull skin. The honeydew and mango nectarines with their pale flesh are still producing, too, adding the the peach and regular nectarine scene. Pineapples are so cheap this year that I've been able to slice up some fresh fruit frequently. Even the cherries haven't been bad, but what the heck is up with the price of blueberries? And why do they taste so bland?

I made Libby, who lives here in the loft community, some rhubarb and tangerine jam, after she raved about trying it at a local restaurant. Totally easy to make. Paul, also a tenant, was in the mood for tomato soup and narry a can was to be found. But, I had all the ingredients to actually make tomato soup, and with a splash of fig balsamic, a little bay leaf, and a dollop of cream cheese wisked in, it made a very lush version.

Bee Update: Apparently, the 3,000 little buggers are happily hiving away in Alameda, at the home of a fellow tenant's beekeeper friend. The report has been they are the most robust, hardest working bees of the three hives and are making honey. We'll be getting a jar when the harvest is done. Meanwhile... another hive is starting to form near Paul's window, and they look fat, fat, fat from all the pollens and nectar nearby. I'm sure our recent garden explosion in the common area has contributed, although, I don't see many bees there.

Bitter and Sweet

I've had a relatively good month. Nothing to rest on, but it was enough to make me want to splurge a little on treats I normally space out during more meager times.

So first I went to Borders, picked up two books for myself, a set of "cupcake" cards for a neighbor, and two journals for two friends. Then I went to the beauty supply store next and got three pricey little tubes of conditioner and humectant for my thick and often dry hair. A small spin in Trader Joe's for a quart of ripe blackberries, a box of heritage tomatoes, some frozen waffles and pancakes as breakfast treats, some dried mango slices, and imported Italian pesto gnocchi.

Last was a lengthy Safeway trip, where I jinxed myself, sort of, by deciding not to do a full shop, since I was coming and going via cab, but limited myself to one of their new sandwiches, some deli meats, dark rye bread, half and half, whipping cream, gourmet cream cheese, marscapone, ladyfingers, Ghiradelli ground sweet chocolate (because all I have is unsweetened in the house), 2 pounds of regular and "black velvet" apricots (in photo above), paper towels, and butter.

All in all, a venture of almost $200... stolen out from under my nose! I'd gone outside to sit at the large tables where you can snack or wait for a cab, and waited... and waited. The first cab company apparently had two drivers that took my call and then blew me off. Now, if I was a mean person and lousy tipper, I'd sort of figure I had it coming. But I'm a "regular rider" in their system and I tip 20 percent or more. They suggested I call another company, so I did. That driver called me back to say he'd be there in two minutes. I put the cell phone away, looked down at my book, read half a page, looked up, and my shopping cart was gone. Gone.

Now, it's mostly my fault. I had moved over to the next table because a truck was blocking my view of the mall egress, so I couldn't see the cab when it arrived. But the cart was only 7 feet away and had already been sitting there, with me, for an hour. Safeway's security was useless... they only work inside the front door, not watch at the door from outside. And their personnel was less than concerned about my frantic panic, because they took their damn time getting a manager over to me and then the manager took like five minutes to call mall security. And then mall security took 5 minutes to show up. So we're talking I had to wait 15 minutes to basically get some help trying to find my cart. Which by now was even more gone than it was before.

No offer to reimburse me. VISA won't repay my debits, since it was a check card. I'd have to claim on my homeowner's insurance... which I'm not even sure would cover something like this. "Hi, I'm calling to report a theft of a shopping cart that included everything I needed to make tiramisu from scratch." Oh, and if I want to examine any video tapes, if there is one, to see if we can even figure out who took the cart and where they went, I'd have to file a report first with the police. And then hope the film isn't grainy, I guess.

Anyway... hey you, thief... I hope you were really disappointed when you opened the bags and found hair cream, nonsense gifts, and a lot of fruit and high end frou frou stuff! No steaks, no staples, no 10 pounds of potatoes! Enjoy trying to figure out what the heck you can do with all those ingredients!

What's The Buzz?

You know, as many of my friends have always said, when I fill them in on the latest chapter of my life... I should write a book because you just can't make this stuff up.

As some of you faithful readers might know, I'm the building manager at my loft community, after the previous jackass quit in a fit of pique over personal issues with the property manager. I volunteered, somewhat, to step in as the new liaison, with goals in mind to improve communication with the property manager and rebuild the community that was alienated by the passive-aggressive actions of previous personnel.

Anyway... this spring, we've been enjoying a very high honeybee swarm, due to the unseasonably sunny, warm weather during March and April, which would normally be mostly part of rainy season. We've seen the bees here before, they love to hide in the tiny holes in the lintels over each window, but there isn't enough space to set up shop. Eventually, they go their way or cease swarming and just become a minor annoyance.

On Friday night, I opened up my email to find a shot from the tenant from their window in what I thought was a shot of a hole near the top of the sash where they thought random bees were getting in, and what looked like a plant clinging and crawling along the lintel. Never mind there is no way a plant could do so... the resolution was just that indistinct. The email didn't say... OMG! There's a horde of bees outside! So I was like... huh. Interesting how they got that plant up there. Then, the next photo I saw in another email from a different tenant, the detail this time was much sharper. Holy moly...

Now, wild honeybees are facing extinction, and without them, we're facing an apocalyptic future. It's not just that the cost of honey would rise, but that the whole cycle of pollination, which aids the growth of much of our produce, would be jeopardized. So extermination wasn't an answer. Time to call in the experts.

Thanks to Google, the Blog for the Alameda County Beekeeper's Association popped up, and I was able to get some contact information, then a referral, for a local person willing to help us with the extraction. One of our tenants owns three "bucket" trucks, making access to the football-sized hive pretty easy, and then in about 30 minutes or less, 3,000 wild honey bees had a new temporary home and were on their way to a permanent hive in the backyard apiary of a local beekeeper.

I hope they live happily to pollinate lots of fig and Meyer lemon trees, jasmine and roses, and some local apples and cherry orchards! Who knew that becoming building manager would mean I'd have to keep the number for a beekeeper in my Rolodex.

10 Hours of Hell

Hell's Kitchen, that is. I can't believe I sat on my ass all day Saturday... or was it just yesterday... and watched the whole third season. You see, I needed to make sure I was all caught up for the start of Season Four beginning tomorrow.

For the next few weeks, Meyer lemons might still be in season, then they disappear again until about September or so. I'm trying to buy up as many as I can reasonably keep without finding little green-molded balls in my fruit bowl. Those I bought at Trader Joe's have this lovely, almost-orange hue, a very dark yellow. Oddly though, the lemons off my friend Susan's brother's tree are still pale and sunny like Eurekas.

Devilish Delights

Invited to dinner by two tenants who appreciated the time I put into making sure they got dibs on just the right suite for them, we feasted on lamb shanks with parsnips sprinkled with a gremolade that was just the right combination of a winter and spring dish! A bit of tasty young greens salad with a lovely dressing and a glass of light chardonnay started the meal, which I closed with my chocolate mousse-filled phyllo cups. Though milk chocolate in hue, the taste was definitely dark, rich chocolate lightened only by air. Ripe raspberries adding a nice acidic note as a foil, and I topped it all off with whipped cream barely sweetened with my lavender sugar. Tucked into a cup of crispy phyllo dusted with a sprinkling of sugar and finely chopped toasted hazelnuts between each paper-thin layers, I do believe it was a hit!

Cornucopia

Rainbow carrots! The dark one is a deep reddish purple. So far, they all taste the same, maybe a touch milder. I also bought about three Meyer lemons and they are huge... huge I say! Almost as big as my fist. Indulged in my favorite bars of chocolate, since I can't make it into the City for a stop at Recchiuti, and got three Dagobas -- the ones with cherries, chiles, and lavender -- not altogether, of course. And one Seeds of Change bar, as I like their packaging. It's the designer in me!

The depression from my hard drive crash is fading, my mood is lifting (must be the antioxidants) and I am feeling more hopeful, and I'm getting a new set of Adobe CS3 disks to replace the hosed applications on my backup external. Mercury goes direct in 5 days!

Mercurial Madness

And not of the lighthearted sort. Thanks to Mercury going retrograde, my life has taken a few more twists and turns than I had bargained for at this time of the year. Just as everything was going well, and work had picked up to the point where I thought I could be comfortable, both my major projects have come to a screeching halt... one moving in a totally different direction, one going out of business. Not that we didn't see that one coming. Of course, they owe me, and many other people money. I got some new projects, which really have much better potential, and just as I was feeling great about them... BOOM. Thanks Mercury!

Did you have to corrupt my hard drive? Did you have to do it before I learned about cloning hard drives? Did you have to do it when the software disks I need to fix the corrupted graphics files are now part of property being sold off for creditors? Did you have to do it just as I got new clients, so now I have to scramble to reinstall the software?

January's Already Half Over?

I don't like that time feels like it passes quickly now, probably because I think the remaining quarter or less of my life will come to an end too soon. Plus, I'm mildly thanatophobic, to boot. Even briefly thinking about the possibility of my demise can send me into a full-on panic attack. I'm not ready to stop living, I'm not ready to get to a point where living in this body becomes uncomfortable. So it was with a little bit of trepidation that I went to see The Bucket List with Adele last Friday.

The draw was too irresistible. In addition to getting a ride to my eyeglasses place, where they could fix the missing nose guard for free, forever, there was also a chance to browse through Borders, get a latte at Starbucks, and peruse the goodies at The Teacake Bakeshop. And then there was Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman — the perfect corrupt bad boy and moral good boy combination. The subject matter... somewhat wistful. How many of us have written up a list of things we wanted to do before we die? Nowadays, I just make a list of things I want to try to cook before during the coming year. Either I'm managing my goals better, or I'm in denial that I am mortal.

Without creating a spoiler, all I can say is that the film in entertaining, there's some amusing parts, and moments that made me well up with tears. As someone once commented about the movie Pay It Forward, and applies here, it's an emotion manipulator.

Afterwards, we went to grab some fresh dungeness crabs at the local seafood market, and I spent an outrageous $16 on chocolate bars—one with bacon and smoked sea salt, one with chipotle chiles and Ceylon cinnamon. The latter combination I am used to, as I make my hot chocolate with those ingredients already. The former... let me just say that chocolate and salt together anytime is good (chocolate-covered pretzels, fleur de sel caramels), but I've come to the conclusion that anything you enrobe in chocolate is fine, too — and that includes bacon.