Second Wedding Anniversary in Raleigh

 
   
 
Lindz got the desserts are from a bakery; we didn't make them. They went famously with the bubbly.

Christmas in San Diego

 
 
 
 

Der Raleigh-Stollen Schmeckt Gut

(listening to "Protection" by Massive Attack)
 
 
I got positive reviews from everyone who ate some of my stollen. I'm glad I decided to make something German. I adapted the recipe from The Joy of Cooking. I used candied pineapple and toasted walnuts, which do not appear in the original recipe. I took it in to work for a potluck, and my my supervisor's boss asked if she could move in with me. I think I'd just like a raise, please.

Stollen

(listening to "Don't Take your Guns to Town," Johnny Cash)
In the interest of being homey, domestic and Christmas-like, and to uphold old German traditions, I made stollen:


("The Ballad of Ira Hayes," Johnny Cash)
It's bigger, uglier and more decadent than the stollen that my recently departed grandmother used to make. Just like me. Nevertheless, I'm pleased with how it came out. I used candied pineapple, mixed candied fruits and toasted walnuts in there. Stollen is a thing that varies, so I made my own version of it.

Messiah

(listening to organ music of Anthoni Van Noordt)
Golly, I feel pretty durned cultured. This evening, Lindz and I attended a performance of Handel's Messiah at Duke University Chapel. The wide-eyed rapture I sustained during its three hours of music is evidence that I inherited my late father's love of sacred music. I suppose my cd collection would also serve as evidence, but enduring those hard pews at Duke is the true test. Lindz's tailbone still hurts; bless her.
The performance was fabulous, the orchestra, choir and soloists were top-notch. The glorious place where they did it was what made it so magical for me. A gothic church with exquisite stained glass windows and a vaulted ceiling 73 feet above one's head will take one out of a humdrum state of mind. The Messiah is a great piece of work, both in quality and quantity. After three hours, you feel like you've gotten your dose of couth.
Dad would have burst with glee; he traveled to many cathedrals in Europe in his days, but a performance of this caliber in such a grand church would have really been something special for him. I enjoyed it enough for the both of us.

Clean Dishes, a Happy Back and Organ Music

(listening to Louis Vierne's 5th Symphony for Organ, Op. 47)
I like doing dishes. I like having things clean and in their place (translation: I'm rather obsessive-compulsive about my kitchen), and the washing of dishes is a classic exercise of that impulse. I find it relaxing. I had finished washing some dishes after making pancakes for Lindsey and myself, and I was seized by an urge to take a picture of the drying rack. Towns and universities have often paid artists lots of money to create sculptures which turned out to be silly, ugly or overreaching, so I figured my sculpture of clean dishes was a better deal. 
Various materials are represented: stainless steel, steel-cladded aluminum, porcelain, nylon plastic, borosilicate glass and enameled cast iron. Perhaps NC State will pay me $75,000 to put it in the middle of their library.
I'm giddy with joy at my back's recovery. I can get out of bed! I can stand upright! I can put on my own shoes! Back pain thwarts most expectations of a good day; never take a happy back for granted. That being said, I plan on going over to Durham today and wandering around a bit. I've lived in North Carolina for over two years, and I haven't visited Duke's campus yet. I want to see the chapel.
This evening, Lindz and I will be attending my employer's corporate holiday party. I work in a small outpost of a rather large company, so I will see lots of people who work at larger, more prestigious facilities. The basic points on corporate holiday parties:
1)Free food and drinks on The Man's dime
2)The opportunity to chat with coworkers whose company I enjoy, without being interrupted by work
3)The opportunity to watch people get drunk and disgrace themselves
4)The opportunity to appear at a social function with my lovely, successful and charming wife, which makes me look like a total stud
5)See #1
Today has the makings of a good Saturday. Lindz and I have already had more social interaction this week than we normally do; an alumni wine tasting on Thursday provided a lot of pleasant conversation and tasty wine. We met and exchanged phone numbers with a nice couple who have some things in common with us. We have become accustomed to a quiet, homebody life (although we complain of boredom sometimes), so it was unusual and exciting to find ourselves chatting and drinking with a bunch of young, interesting people until after midnight. We were tired the next day, and it was amusing to think of how we had done that sort of thing all the time in our previous lives. In college, it is unusual to not start partying by Thursday night at the least. We've allowed ourselves to be a bit sedentary and unsocial in our habits; perhaps we are coming around to a period of comparative extroversion. With my tendencies of enjoying dishwashing and organ music, I'm almost a nightclubbing rock star anyway.

Thanksgiving

(listening to Franck's Chorale #3 in A Minor)
I have much to be thankful for. Generally speaking, I have more than I deserve in life. In particular, I'm thinking of this weekend (all four days of it). I left Sauron's Corporate Pit of Toil on Wednesday afternoon, and I bent all my thought and will toward Thanksgiving dinner. My back had been steadily improving since last week's lumbar sprain, so I was able to do the cooking (I work with a roomful of pharmacists. I gleaned enough information to decide to interrupt my muscle relaxer for a day, allowing me to drink Beaujolais while safely using a knife).

Thanksgiving is a day of cooking and gluttony; it is therefore my favorite holiday. I picked up a few things at the mobbed grocery store on the way home. I was greeted by my wife and her parents, who stayed with us for the holiday. I love having them around. Lindz and her Mom had already made two fine pies: one pumpkin and one cranberry-pear.

(Karg-Elert's "Marche Triomphale: Nun Danket alle Gott")

I got up early on Thanksgiving morning. Lindsey's father and I procured a few more forgotten items at the store, and I started poring over timelines and steps in The New Best Recipe. I was pleased to have been allowed to cook everything (I like being in control of my kitchen), but much work stood between me and six sated diners (Lindz's aunt and a guest were to join us). I had prepared the cranberry-onion confit, a jamlike, flavorful delight, two days earlier. I had already dried a mountain of bread cubes for the stuffing. I began sipping a Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale at 11 am. I started chopping onions, carrots, celery, apples and bacon. This was the menu:

Roast Turkey (a 13.5 pound Kosher bird)
Bread Stuffing with Granny Smith Apples, Sage and Bacon
Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Gravy (made from scratch with vegetables, roux and turkey drippings)
Cranberry-Onion Confit
Green Bean Casserole (brought by Lindz's aunt)
Several bottles of Georges DuBoeuf Beaujolais Nouveau 2005
Pumpkin Pie and Cranberry-Pear Pie with Frangelico-spiked Whipped Cream

I spent a total of five blissful hours in the kitchen. Lindz's folks tidied up the house, went for a stroll, played Scrabble and offered me help several hundred times. They know I love to cook, but they were convinced that I was working too hard. Chopping and sweating four pounds of onions is profoundly relaxing to a weirdo like me. I had a lovely time. I accepted the gracious offers of help when it came time to turn the sizzling bird over. Other than that, I monopolized the kitchen entirely. I even made some pita chips for an appetizer while all this was going on. My back felt pretty good, even though I knew I would pay for it later. The beer and wine helped things, most assuredly.

The turkey was resting on a carving board on top of the clothes dryer (every horizontal surface in the kitchen's vicinity was occupied by some part of the preparations), and I was bringing everything else together: mashing the potatoes, adjusting the thickness of the gravy and putting the bread, stuffing and green bean casserole into the vacated oven. The house was full of conversation and laughter. I put all the food on the kitchen counters, and the guests filed in to fill their plates. We sat down, Lindsey said a blessing, and we ate. All was right with the world. The food turned out to my satisfaction, and everyone enjoyed themselves. We ate heartily and spent a good while chatting over after-dinner drinks and pie, bobbing gauzily on a sea of Frangelico and tryptophan.

My guests admonished me to stay seated while they cleaned up. It's fairly difficult to fit five people into my little kitchen, but they did it. Fortunately, I was stuffed and slightly drunk, and that allowed me to relinquish control of my precious little realm over which I had held dominion all day. The most impressive feat was fitting the leftovers into the fridge. I chatted with my brother and my friend Charlotte on the phone while this was going on. They spent Thanksgiving together, sipping champagne and nibbling all sorts of good things. They had been the core of my Thanksgiving ritual for years in San Diego, and we had soared to dizzying heights of gluttony and epicurean gratification. We had always cooked lots of non-traditional things and gorged ourselves with whatever conglomeration of transplanted individuals we could assemble. In some ways, it was always the opposite of the traditional, family-oriented thing I did this year. In many ways, it was the same day of good food and good company that one would hope for. I miss the San Diego style Thanksgiving, but I certainly love the Raleigh version as well.

Lindz's aunt and her friend expressed their thanks and said their farewells. The rest of us stumbled off to bed. We spent the next day loafing around, not shopping with the rest of the world. My father-in-law wanted to take us out to dinner. It seemed, however, that all of us were enjoying the quiet of the house. After taking thought, I decided that we would light a fire in the fireplace, get a bunch of take-out Chinese food, and open the bottle of Mumm's Blanc de Noirs which I had purchased a few days earlier. It was perfect. A good sparkling wine goes with anything, but sitting around the table with good company and a variety of Chinese food is as good as it gets. We had some pie afterwards, played a game of Scrabble (I won!) and sipped Frangelico by the fire. Lovely.

So here we are, staring down the barrel of another Christmas. The in-laws have gone home. Lindz and I have enough leftovers to sustain us for weeks. The turkey carcass and a bunch of rice from the Chinese take-out have been reborn as a huge batch of soup. The weather is becoming bleaker. My gift shopping is not done yet. I should bake Christmas cookies. When did I start trying to impersonate a grownup?
(Boellmann's "Suite Gothique," Op. 25)

I need help standing up

Yippee! Good times.

I was making some chicken soup Thursday evening. I was digging around in the fridge, and I felt a twinge. As soon as the words "Fuck Fuck Fuck, not again, Pig Fuckin' Whore, Fuckass Fuck Fuck Fuck!" passed my lips, an electric cattleprod was firmly pushed into my lower back. I was moving slowly that evening, and a couple of beers helped (particularly Bell's Batch 7000, thanks Tim), but the next morning was when I really knew the good times were a-rollin.' I couldn't sit up, get up or roll over without spasms that took my breath away with their intensity.

I don't like to miss work, despite the fact that I don't enjoy it. However, in the light of the fact that I was incapable of even the first of many activities that getting to work required, I called in.

Lindz got out of work early and helped me out of bed (where I had been lying motionless for six hours or so). We looked up a doctor online (I hadn't needed my current employer's benefits yet) and before long, Flexeril was coursing through my veins. I'm still pretty much useless, but it's fractionally better.

It's humbling. It's frustrating.

1)Mere seconds and one wrong move are all that separate me from being an invalid.
2)I've had a richly blessed, healthy life. When pain does show up, I'm unprepared for it.
3)Who the hell turned up the gravity?
4)Now that it hurts to even stand up, I'm filled with a desire to clean, fix or improve all sorts of things around the house. When I felt fine, I had no recollection that I even have gutters, much less that they are full of leaves.
5)I do not like being waited on in my own home. I appreciate it, but I prefer to be doing the serving.
6)If I'm still crippled on Thanksgiving (my favorite holiday, when I spend all day in the kitchen cooking and sipping Beaujolais Nouveau), I will be very pissed off indeed.

But hey, what the hell. I'm alive, this will get better, and, after all, God doesn't owe me shit. I've got it easy.

No Sweet without Bitter

(listening to J.S. Bach's "Wir glauben all an einen Gott," BWV 680)
For many weeks I have felt unmotivated and uncreative with regards to this blog. I have had nothing to say, or at least nothing I felt was worth saying. I have cooked things, I have taken walks, Lindz and I have discussed what we want to give each other for Christmas as well as why the hell we're living in Raleigh. My mother drove down to visit us.
("Dieu parmi Nous", Olivier Messiaen)
Work has gone through varying degrees of tolerability and awfulness. I had been craving the opportunity to get away for some time on my own, perhaps a road trip. My wish was granted, but not in the fashion I would have wished. My grandmother, the mother of my late father, died on November 5th.
("Prelude and Fugue in G Minor, Op.7, No.3", Marcel Dupre)
Perhaps it was a bit sooner than we expected, but she had wanted to leave this world for years. She had been predeceased by my grandfather and her only son, my dad. She was 93.
I got in my car and drove the 800-plus miles to join my family in Michigan. Here are some pictures which I hastily snapped from the road:
Pilot Mountain, close to the Virginia/North Carolina Border:
 

The West Virginia State Capitol:
 

Of course, it is only when it is too late that a thick-headed fool like myself appreciates the history seen and made by such a person. She was married during the Great Depression, and she lived on a farm. My soft, deedless life does not allow me to comprehend decades of subsistence without the choices, escapes and self-gratification to which subsequent generations feel entitled. My brother, brother-in-law and I were pallbearers. We carried her to her grave which is next to my father's, his father's, and his father's. I pointed out to my young nephew that he was standing in the presence of the remains of two men after whom he was named.
("Fantasia and Fugue in G minor," BWV 542, J.S. Bach)
I'm feeling a bit contemplative and nostalgic, obviously. My thoughts really haven't been on Grandma so much as on my past and my family. I was compelled to ruefully notice how sparse the funeral attendance was. It wasn't because my grandmother wasn't a well-known and well-loved person; it was because so many of the people who knew and loved her had already passed away. However, I was comforted by that which endured: the church which she had attended and in which the pastor officiated her into the hereafter was virtually unchanged since the last time I was there (my grandfather's funeral, over sixteen years ago). The high, vaulted ceiling, the stained glass windows, the narthex's fieldstone floor and the organ were all reassuringly unaltered. The surrounding flat farmland, patches of woods and corn silos are much as they had been for decades. German Lutherans in Michigan are not overly anxious to change things. The funeral luncheon consisted of comforting, Midwestern food: scalloped potatoes, ham, cole slaw, pasta salad, lots of cookies, and stollen, made by my sister in remembrance of Grandma (she had always made it at Christmastime).
We drank beer and talked afterwards. It was good to be home with the family, spending time on the soil which I had taken for granted before I moved away. My nephews and niece are a delight, the silver lining to the cloud of my brooding.
("Toccata, Symphony V," Charles-Marie Widor)
Naturally, I availed myself of things which are available nowhere else. I bought some tasty Michigan beers, and some meat products:

I also drove up to Mount Pleasant to visit, for the first time in ten years, the campus of my alma mater, CMU. Young, beautiful people with their whole life ahead of them were everywhere. They were toting their bookbags over the same sidewalks I had trodden ten years and twenty-odd pounds ago. I strolled by the coffee house where I did a lot of French homework, The University Cup: 

I also had a lovely pint of Two Hearted Ale at a favorite old bar downtown, The Bird.
After a bracing stroll, I headed back to my old home in Saginaw. I headed back to Raleigh the next morning. I had spent three full, satisfying days in my home town.

Me Brudder's Visit

(listening to Dave Brubeck, "Jazz Goes to College")
Bryan had driven thousands of miles around the country since leaving San Diego about three weeks prior. He had spent time with the rest of the family in Michigan, and then he spent some days in Washington, D.C. doing a museum tour de force. He rolled into Raleigh Friday afternoon, and we soon found ourselves sitting on my deck, listening to Django Reinhardt and drinking tasty beers. We had seen each other in August in San Diego, but I was particularly excited to have him in my home (he hadn't yet seen our house). During the weekend, we enjoyed quite a bit of good beer (most of which was sent with Bryan by our excellent, beer-wise and beer-benevolent brother-in-law Tim). We also ate quite a bit; I had a fine time cooking.
In honor of his birthday, I prepared Salmon Bryan. Here's the hollandaise:

And here's the finished product, with risotto and a glass of Rutz Cellars Pinot Noir. It turned out a bit more lemony and a bit less basily than I had hoped, but it wasn't bad:

Bryan came up with the idea for dessert. It was elegant and tasty. He had me grill some peaches (purchased at the Raleigh Farmers' Market), and we put them in a zip-lock bag with an entire bottle (minus a wee bit for us to sip) of Hogue Riesling and a bit of sugar. Hours later, I reduced the liquid in a saucepan, and he sweetened some ricotta cheese with sugar. At the time, we didn't name it, but here it is, Peaches Rock-out-with-your-Cock-out:


We did do a bit of sightseeing around Raleigh with Lindz, and we also left Lindz alone at times, so she could regain her wits (we are two fairly strange men, and our nonsense increases exponentially when we're together). On Sunday, Bryan and I drove to Wilmington. We toured the U.S.S. North Carolina:

And we fulfilled Bryan's wish to reach the other edge of the continent (note the fact that the ocean is on the right, as opposed to the left, where the Pacific is):

Yes, it was a fine weekend that was all too fleeting. I found myself more than a little envious of my brother; I want to be driving around the country. When roaming at will, the heart is not heavy. Monday morning, he backed out of my driveway, and I went to work.

SmokeDroid Strikes Again

Some Salmon spent 24 hours in the fridge, buried in salt, sugar and black pepper. I invoked the powers of SmokeDroid, and this is the result:

I drank Carolina India Pale Ale, and the music was Cornershop, The Police, AC/DC and Band of Gypsys.

The salmon is pretty friggin' tasty.

Ravioli

I made ravioli with a stuffing of ricotta, parmiggiano, sage, mint, parsley and cinnamon basil. The sauce is a simple tomato sauce with the addition of orange zest and juice.

Chipotles al Borracho Naranjo

I got some red and green jalapenos and some poblanos, I seeded them, and I put SmokeDroid to work:
They're arranged on a mesh pizza screen which I purchased at the restaurant supply store for precisely this purpose.
I drank Franziskaner Hefeweisse on the deck while I smoked them for two hours. We listened to Beck, Moby, Beastie Boys and the Doors while this was happening. I then chopped them up and pureed them with some vinegar, salt and honey. It's a very hot, smoky salsa:
I mixed some of it with mayonnaise, which we put on our Half-Pound Burgers o' Death. I must say, that was some goodass crap.

Acts of God, Wiring and 33

I have been remiss in my blogging duties of late. I've been happily wrapped up in the not-so-exciting but satisfying management of my household. Lindz and I enjoyed a sublime and lazy Labor Day weekend at Lake Norman with her folks. Naturally, we spent some time discussing Katrina, its effects and the topics that it has dragged into the light of day. Here's a few of my thoughts, in no particular order of importance (or unimportance, whichever is your perspective):
1) I'm glad I drive a small, fuel-efficient car.
2) I'm thankful that my loved ones and my home are safe.
3) What the hell do you expect when you live below sea level in a hurricane zone?
4) Wal-Mart has a better-organized logistics infrastructure than FEMA does, and that's why Wal-Mart trucks full of supplies rolled into the disaster area first. Perhaps the federal government can learn from corporate entities which are profit- and results-driven.
5) "I can't wait to sit on Trent Lott's front porch when his house is rebuilt." Wow, Bush is such a fucking retard that I'm ashamed to be a member of the same species. Even his fellow Republicans are beginning to wonder what sort of brain-damaging fumes are leaking into the Oval Office. Wait- strike that, he doesn't spend that much time there; he's on vacation all the damned time.
6) Good things will come of this; wisdom is dearly bought.
7) Refugee is a racist word? Get a life, Jesse Jackson.

On a lighter note, I installed outdoor speakers under the soffits overlooking my deck. I've spent time on other various projects around the house, and it is very pleasant indeed to relax on the deck with my wife and a glass of wine. It makes me thankful for my blessings and mindful of the fickle nature of the world. We are always in God's hands. An Arab quote (which I paraphrase to the best of my memory's ability) says, "Call on God, but tie your camel securely also."

On an even lighter note, Lindz gave me a pasta roller for my 33rd birthday, and my mother gave me a big box of half-pound burger patties from Kansas City Steaks (via QVC). Several burgers have already been enjoyed on the deck with newly wired musical accompaniment.

I'm just about a third of a century old, and the world is not making any more sense than it ever has.

Legislation, Yardwork and Pizza

The Cap is officially popped. The state legislature, on August 13th, 2005, approved House Bill 392, increasing the allowable alcohol content of beer in North Carolina from 6% to 15%. This past week, I enjoyed my first beer on tap, and then bottled, which I would not have been able to enjoy before. I drank and reviewed Chimay Cinq Cents White, Reserve Blue and Premiere Red this week. They had the White on tap down the street at the Sawmill Taproom, and I procured bottles of the Blue and the Red at Taylor's Convenience Store (also my source of propane). It is a marvelous example of the government doing something that actually benefits me. I am very pleased indeed. The $300 I got from George W. Bush a few years ago was nice, but this will last longer.

Lindz and I have been working in the yard. She has ripped out large tracts of ivy, and I have cut down and cut up innumberable tree branches. We transplanted some of the herbs from pots into the newly revealed ground. I constructed a workbench, in our storage room, out of an extra door. It's extremely stylish. I feel like more of a man, now that I have a workbench. Next, I want functioning electricity and a vise at my bench.

And then I made pizza:

Standard pizza dough from The Best Recipe, smeared with a paste of roasted garlic, capers, flat leaf parsley, olive oil and black pepper. On top of that went sliced gouda and sausage. Lindz made a spinach salad with mustard balsamic vinaigrette, red onion and toasted pine nuts. We drank chianti. We lived life to the fullest.

Carnitas, Yardwork and Beck

(listening to "Que Onda Guero," by Beck)
Another low-key weekend at the Blauhaus. Lindz and I had a fab-o-marvelous time in San Diego, and we certainly enjoyed our time at Lake Norman last weekend, but it sure is nice to have a weekend alone here at the house. Friday evening, Lindz put together a very tasty soup of sausages, roasted potatoes, tomatoes and other goodies.
("Missing," by Beck)
I made us a couple of sidecars, and we enjoyed a quiet evening. Saturday morning, we did some yardwork. It's SO EXCREMENTALLY HOT Here. Lindz pulled ivy, and I did a lot of long-overdue pruning (I recently purchased one of those long poles with a cutter on the end; you pull the rope to lop off a branch). I cleared some branches that were touching the house (makes it too easy for bugs to waltz in) and generally opened things up in the yard. I was up on the roof as well as on the ground doing this, and soon I was pouring sweat.
("Broken Drum," Beck)
Lindz was helping me drag the branches into the remote, shaded corner of the back yard when she stumbled on the pod of a sweet gum tree. She skinned her knee, rolled her ankle and banged her shoulder. She lost interest in being outside at that point. I got us some lunch, and we loafed around inside for a while. I got restless and decided to go wandering. In addition to simply wanting to be out and about, I wanted to see if any new beers were on store shelves yet since the law was changed (North Carolina's silly, backward law limiting beer alcohol to 6% was just changed to 15%). I wanted to find some Belgians, but I didn't see anything yet. More searching is needed, and it may simply be too soon. I continued to wander. I want to get more familiar with this state, so some random wandering is a good thing. I went to Carrboro. It's a funky little town, and my knowledge of it is very cursory. Here are some very encouraging things about it:
1)Squirrel Nut Zippers are from there
2)It looked old, funky and charming (lots of brick) when I stopped in there
3)The best Mexican food I've had so far in North Carolina came from Carrburritos. It's a tiny little place. I had a big, tasty carnitas burrito. The salsa from that place is excellent, too. I don't know how to describe it other than to say that it had FLAVOR, an unfamiliar concept to most Mexican restaurants around here. It tasted like roasted pork and arbol chiles. Too bad it's 35 miles from the house.
("Reasons," Earth, Wind & Fire)
Anyway, it's worth exploring that town a bit more.
Beck's Album, Guero, is wonderful. He did it with the Dust Brothers. It's an entertaining aural flea market. Cool-sounding, incomprehensible lyrics. Great beats. I listened to it while I motored around Carrboro.

NASA rover image from the airport in St. Louis

This was on August 2nd as we made our way to San Diego. Good times. The trip back home on the 8th was a twelve-hour festival of delays, but I didn't get any pictures from that.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Chicken in a Can.

Albertson's grocery store in Carlsbad, California:

America's Finest City (continued)

(sitting at my desk at work, listening to the printer)
Yes, the trip to San Diego was all about food and family. The second full day involved some traipsing around a shopping center that had not existed when I left two years ago. It's quite a swank place called The Forum, and it caters to the thousands of yuppies that continue to move to the area. Thousands of houses, at astonishing prices, have appeared in the area in recent years. I believe a lot of folks are living beyond their means; how many families can there be who can pay $700K or so for a house (not a mansion, a house). All I really cared about was perusing the goodies at Sur la Table, but one can't visit that shopping area and fail to notice the ubiquity of medically-enhanced trophy wives, bejeweled old matriarchs and their expensive SUVs. Where is all this money coming from? I didn't care. I was too relaxed to sanctimoniously judge people (well, not as vigorously as usual, anyway). I don't exactly remember what order in which everything occurred, but many of the pleasures of our trip were more bohemian:
1)Fish tacos at Rubio's (Lindz had guacamole on hers, and she didn't hate it, an unprecedented occurrence)
2)Driving around and enjoying the fact that California drivers are less stupid than North Carolina drivers (yes, I'm serious)
3)The ocean breeze.
4)Stone India Pale Ale
5)A breakfast burrito as big as an adult armadillo, devoured while sitting placidly on the tailgate of a pickup truck. The burrito was from Pipes in Cardiff by the Sea.
6)Freshly squeezed orange juice from the two trees in my in-laws' yard (I have named them Telperion and Laurelin).
7)A California burrito from Rico's in Encinitas. This, my friends, is true fusion cuisine: marinated and grilled beef, cheese, sour cream and french fries in a burrito. Devastating.
8)Being in the same state with friends, family and acquaintances.
9)Watching the horse races at Del Mar. Lindz won a few bucks.

We also did a few things that involve a bit of sophistication:
1)We drank a lot of very good red wine at the Wine Loft (located at aforementioned Forum) for a scandalously low price (Lindz's close friend Ashley works there). It was an evening of pleasant conversation and tasty vino. We ate pizza and continued to drink at Ashley's folks' place. It's half-renovated, so we were in a candle-lit, high-ceilinged room whose walls were 2-by-4's and dangling wires. Kind of neat, really.
2)Sushi with my friends Charlotte, Rebecca and my brother. Marvelous, simply marvelous. Food and eating reach their highest forms in sushi.

America's Finest City

(listening to "Doors of Perception" by Thievery Corporation)

Lindz and I just spent almost a week in San Diego. I lived in San Diego for eight years, and she was born and raised there. I hadn't been back for two years (not since I got in the car and drove here to NC). It was a bit emotional for us. First of all, we stopped for super nachos on the way to Lindz's parent's house from the airport:



Yes, it was a luxurious orgy of fat, salt and flavor. In addition to this, we were bathed in the cool ocean air (translation: the not sauna-like air).

("Whatever Happened to Gus" by Medeski, Martin and Wood)

I took a lovely stroll the following morning, enjoying the air, palm trees and funky houses of Crest Drive in Cardiff. I squeezed orange juice from the two trees in the yard (they are absolutely laden with fruit; I loaded my suitcase with it when I came home). I hung out with my brother for the first time in two years (we had been roommates for eight). We delightedly wandered the aisles of 99 Ranch, perusing the Asian delights (I began the process of filling my suitcase with goodies: mysterious flavors of bouillon cubes, ginger flavored hot sauce and a liter of top-quality peanut oil). We slurped wonderful noodles at some little place in Kearney Mesa. We met up with our friend Charlotte and had beers at Pizza Port in Carlsbad. I particularly love that place. They brew excellent beer there. Charlotte, my brother and I sipped beers together, as we had done numerous times before. The evening progressed to Lindz joining us at Bryan's apartment. We drank mojitos on his patio as he prepared homemade fish tacos for us. His roommates had three guests from Spain. It all reminded me of the days of old: sitting on a patio with a bunch of diverse people, eating and drinking. We drank Sanford Pinot Noir, one of my favorites. It was so lovely, so natural.

("Professeur Suicide" by Rhinocerose)

to be continued...

The Weekend

Lindz took this picture yesterday evening. She was unhappy with the blurriness that resulted from her turning off the flash, but I rather like the warmth of the image. You can see, from left to right, the sage, purple and cinnamon basil (rear), thyme (front), chocolate mint, Kentucky Colonel mint, rosemary and flat-leaf parsley (in the same pot as the rosemary). These herbs have been a source of enjoyment and pride, and they have enhanced my cooking (the mint has enhanced my cocktails). They are all bathed in the warm light of the recently (and quite masterfully) installed deck floodlight.



We had a very tasty dinner on Saturday. Lindz got some trout from Whole foods, and she made a very fine green bean salad with a mustard vinaigrette, and I roasted some potatoes on The Almighty Supa-Dupa Quantum Leap in Potato Technology cast iron pan, which I tossed with some herbs, mustard, a splash of vinegar and a squeeze of molasses. The trout received very simple treatment: salt, pepper and a spritz of oil, and I grilled it on heavy duty foil (saves a lot of swearing and lost fish) with alder chips a-smoldering.



The heat of recent weeks was broken by a storm system that rolled through the state. Currently, we're down in the frosty lower 80's, as opposed to where we were just a few days ago. Earlier in the week, as I trudged into work, it was about 90 degrees (this was 9 or so in the morning). I said to myself, "Gee, back in Michigan, this is usually as hot as it ever gets all day." I was thankful to have left my truck-loading days at UPS behind me.

Reviews: Two Movies and a Wine Bar

This was a particularly enjoyable weekend. It began well; Friday was payday. Work went tolerably, and then Lindz and I settled into an evening of Chinese take-out and beer.

Saturday morning saw a massive, much-needed trip to the grocery store. I find that I enjoy grocery shopping. It appeals to several of my key motivators:
1)Buying things
2)Food
3)Filling up the pantry to stave off the lurking fear of running out of food (I think that may be a Midwest thing)
4)Searching for and finding the best prices in order to stick it to The Man (I realize that's a fiction; The Man always comes out ahead)

Later, Lindz and I went to see movies. I was in the mood for dark science fiction, and she was in the mood for comedy. We don't usually see separate movies, but she saw Wedding Crashers, and I chose War of the Worlds. I had a wee bit of buyer's remorse after parting with fourteen damned dollars for sodas and popcorn, but I got over it. I munched the dearly bought popcorn, sipped the platinum pop and watched the previews. It always happens - there are so many previews (mostly for unspeakably inane movies) and so many commercials, that I actually catch myself wondering which movie is starting. "Oh, yeah," I said to myself, "I came here to see War of the Worlds." Anyway, the movie began. It is ultimately a human story. Tom Cruise, although he's a cocky, self-important Scientologist freak, comes off pretty decently here. Morgan Freeman does the opening and closing narration, the same one done by Orson Welles back in the day. The special effects are awesome, of course, and the film's pacing and cinematography are standard Spielberg. The alien machines are as terrifying as they should be, and the film really drags you into a pit of fear along with the masses of refugees trudging through the countryside trying to escape. Decent flick, worth seeing on the big screen at least once.

That evening, we went to Enoteca Vin in downtown Raleigh. It's a neat little place in an old brick building that used to be a creamery. We had a flight of three splendid pinot noirs. Our favorite was the Selby Russian River. Marvelous balance, silky smooth. Hints of herbal and medicinal notes (perhaps a bit of black licorice and eucalyptus) in a polished black cherry package. Very nice experience. We didn't eat there; we just drank. The food looks very interesting. We made quesadillas at home after a fruitless attempt at finding decent Mexican food on the way home (I'm still spoiled from San Diego, where one can get a delicious burrito the size of one's arm anywhere, anytime).

Sunday, I spent some time doing laundry, loafing and writing in my journal in a bar called the Armadillo Grill. I found some Doc Marten shoes on sale for fifty bucks at a little shoe store on Glenwood. After all this excitement, we decided to see another movie: March of the Penguins.

The movie is certainly worthy of discussion, but first, I must describe where we saw it: The Rialto in Raleigh's Five Points neighborhood. It's an old, single screen theater that shows good (translation: not Hollywood tripe) movies and serves beer and wine in the lobby. That's a good start regardless of what film is playing. Anyway, March of the Penguins is a gorgeous film. It's well-crafted documentary, but the cinematography is beautiful. Morgan Freeman's narration is perfect. The story of the film is impressive, informative and moving. It seems that everyone wants to take their tiny children to see it because penguins are such jolly little tuxedo birds, but they will be shocked to find that there is a certain amount of death and sadness in the film (as in life). Lindz and I were relieved when the family behind us left; it was much easier to hear the film. This movie is truly excellent, an impressive work of avian documentary.

Returning to work is so banal in comparison to towering alien tripods and county-sized icebergs.

Ah, That's Better.

 

Today went better (less stuff went wrong), so I was able to cultivate a good mood through the course of the day. A good mood can put whipped cream on a bucket of shit. I got home, and, upon the brilliant suggestion of my wife, I made the salad you see above. Grilled flank steak, greens, toasted pine nuts, blue cheese, Vidalia onion, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. That really hit the spot. While all this was being prepared, gin & tonics died valiant deaths in my kitchen. I put mint in them, as pictured in this month's issue of Saveur magazine. Is there really any finer cocktail, I ask you?

Dessert consisted of vanilla ice cream, fresh strawberries and Chambord. The whole time, we were listening to "Spirit Trail" by Bruce Hornsby.

Life can go on.

P.S. Jon, I'm thrilled that you're still looking at my blog. Yes, a job is a Hobby Support System. But it either needs to pay more or suck less...

Building Character

Bitching accomplishes nothing, but I thought I would take a moment to point out that my job is absolute dog shit. I hate it more than ever. I am thankful to have income and benefits. Other than that, it's a constant, ever-renewing fountain of woe and low self-esteem.

Grilled Snapper and Zucchini with Allegory Sauce

(listening to "Amor Verdadero" by the Afro-Cuban All-Stars)

Good Lord, it was hot today. I think it got up to 700 degrees or so. Lindz spent all day painting the guest room, and I spent some lovely time drilling holes in the wall and squirting poison into them. We spent our share of time relaxing, however. I made some mojitos, and we sat on the front porch while a thunderstorm passed nearby (I was hoping it would actually bring us some rain; it's been drier than usual lately). After that, I lit up the grill and prepared the repast you see above. The foreshortened perspective is a bit of an homage to the old Dutch masterpieces of those like Jan van Eyck. The zucchini symbolizes the Garden of Eden, and the snapper forms a barrier between it and the rest of the table, like the angel bearing the flaming sword. The sprig of rosemary is lost virtue.

Actually, I made all that bullshit up just now. Everything after 'foreshortened,' that is.

("Son Para Ti", by Sierra Maestra)

Another Week of Suburban Life

Long ago, Lindz and I came to grips with the fact that we have what most would consider a mundane life. I must point out that, for the most part, we like it. We just got back from the Sawmill Taproom. We have come to enjoy having dinner and some beers while we do the crossword puzzle on the deck. That is what we do for excitement. We like it.

Earlier today, when it was truly beastly hot, we wandered our separate ways in stores of our choosing (stores which are air-conditioned to lower temperatures that we're willing to pay for at home). Lindz went to Home Depot to get some paint for the guest room, and I went to Crabtree Valley Mall to look at kitchen gadgets at Crate and Barrel and Williams Sonoma. Let me just tell you, folks, I got a couple of basic white oval serving platters and some colorful dishtowels (involving orange in the patterns) at rock bottom prices. SCORE, BABY! I scope out the sales and go in for the kill. That's weekend excitement.

Before that, we had spent some time removing English Ivy from our back yard. Incredible stuff. If they planted it over tectonic faultlines, there would be no more earthquakes. It's an impenetrable tangle of opportunistic evil. Anyway, after we spent at least an hour and a half chopping, pulling and digging, we were drenched in sweat. In other periods of my life, I never would have thought that a man and a woman would expend so much effort on anything but sex or divorce proceedings. We found it quite satisfying, however, and it gave us a lighthearted sense of entitlement to our not-so-healthy dinner.

Going further backward in time to a television show the other night, Lindz and I were sucked into a show called "Hooking Up" (yet another peanut-encrusted turd of a reality show). It shows people dating in New York City, with the goal of meeting relationship-worthy mates. Of course, they're all fucked-up people in a fucked-up environment with drama added to make it into a show. Lindz and I were particularly affectionate after seeing it, having been reminded how wonderful it is to not be dating. I suppose it's a character-building experience, but dating does not result in anything but heartache.

So I made pancakes for my wife this morning. I didn't make pancakes for some chick who I hope likes me, nor did I make pancakes for someone who's shopping around and merely hanging out with me to fill a space that would otherwise be empty. This was after we took a walk around the lake. At the end of the walk, I didn't have to try and read her mind in order to decide how to ask, "So, can I call you sometime?" You don't make pancakes for people who are your mindgame opponents.

Blauhaus

Well, we got Coldplay's new album and Jack Johnson's new one, too. Oh, we got the house painted as well. The color is called Napoleon. We'll spend some time paying for it, but the siding and trim needed the protection, and the house could hardly have been less interesting than it was before:




Good Lord, it's hot. That's part of why we had the house painted by someone besides ourselves (in addition to professional know-how and a big sprayer that I don't have). After spending the weekend watching the work, fighting ants and termites, and installing a floodlight above the deck, Lindz and I enjoyed some beers and a burger down the road at the Taproom.

The process will never end. Despite my efforts, the huge, "Land of the Lost" style cockroaches will still show up in our living room from time to time. Ants are only briefly deterred by my chemical warfare. Things will leak and creak that were just fine last week. Unseen enemies lurk in the wall voids, rejoicing at my unease.

Fortunately, there's beer.

Really Home Made Bruschetta

The first tomato I've ever grown has ripened:



And I harvested some of our basil leaves:



And I made bruschetta. Lindz toasted some home-made bread for this.



It's been a rainy, hot sauna here in Raleigh of late (preceded by a comparatively dry spell). The plants seem to like it.