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.