Um, uh..............

Pack it all in, folks, it looks like it's all over. It's been a pleasure to make fun art for you all. But, since those Mayan guys really seem to know their End of The World Stuff (hey, their world ended, right?) I guess there's no reason for us to think otherwise.
We've got just a few hours left, so why not join me in maxing out our credit cards, telling off that annoying boss and ditching your faithful wife of thirty years for that twitchy little thing at Starbuck's that's been giving you the eye for quite a while, huh?
So long, it's been good to know ya, but what happens on an exploding planet stays on that exploded planet!
Par-TAY !

And, BTW: should you happen to be passing through the Oakland (CA) airport between now and January 6, 2013, take a few minutes to check out the display that the Oakland Museum of California has installed. It's a nod to the Studio Art Glass Movement's 50th Anniversary (which we also participated in at The Crucible last month).
The Museum's displays, titled "Playing With Fire," are in both Terminal One and the connecting passageway to Terminal Two and illustrate several glassworking methods, including Hot Shop (aka 'glassblowing'), Fusing and Flamework.
While most of the show is inside the Security area, Terminal One has two generous display cases, both just outside Security, and enjoyable by the general unticketed public. And, as you head up the ramp toward the metal detectors, guess who's work is the first one that you come to......?

Fuyu persimmon (left), Hachiya persimmon (right)

... either a fond memory or moldering in the back of the fridge (obscured behind the leftover brussels sprouts). The dank weather is beginning to settle in and the cold stops nibbling around your edges and begins to penetrate deeply into your, well, soul, almost.
Fortunately, to help counter any despair that might settle in along with the chill, the colors of autumn are there to dazzle and amaze. Mostly I find such bewildering beauty in the leaves of our persimmon trees. (Yeah, even when I (finally) had to rake them up.....)

Persimmons often get a bad rap from the uninitiated *. From what they tell me, I'm not surprised, either. Most peoples' first (and, often last) experience with a persimmon is to sample an unripe Hachiya, followed by a powerful session of spitting it out, attempting to rinse their mouth and then hotly pursuing whoever gave it to them, usually with an ugly revenge in mind.

There is some speculation that persimmons were actually what was referred to in the Odyssey as lotus, as there is one variety known as Diospyros Lotus. No wonder the crew of the ship wanted to forgo the homeward voyage in favor of just hanging out with the Lotus Eaters.

Hachiyas, the pointed Japanese variety, are what most folks associate with word 'persimmon,' and it is the most problematic of fruits (ok, technically a berry, just like, yes, tomatoes) when trying to convince someone that it is truly ripe and ok to eat.
This is largely because when a hachiya is ripe (and not a moment before) its flesh has a soft, slimy texture reminiscent of, well....... snot. It is a beautiful translucent orange-ish color, truly the color of autumn.
Any attempt to consume an unripe version will be a horrible disappointment - highly astringent, amazingly puckery without being sour, even.
So, in order to enjoy the sublime flavors of a perfectly ripe hachiya, one must reckon with the unfamiliar texture. Of course, this is why so many recipes utilizing persimmons wind up burying the texture in the form of a pudding, bread or cookie. All of which are heavenly, by the way.....

Fuyus, the more tomato-shaped variety, would change the world if more people enjoyed one of these as their first persimmon encounter. Enjoyed crisp right off of the tree, or even later in the season when even their flesh is beginning to soften, their flavor is a bit more delicate and subtle than the pointed varieties, but never includes the astringency or sliminess of texture. Wonderful as a crisp (and often mystifyingly flavored) addition to a tossed salad, these long-lasting (for a fresh fruit, ok, berry, dangit...) delights are also wonderful just eaten out of hand. We are still experimenting with different treatments of them, including dried and broiled.

The persimmon trees themselves, often a source of different types of ebony wood, are a nice addition to landscaping. They are the source of lumber that 'Wood' golf clubs utilize, although they never really helped my game much.** Their broad, leathery leaves provide terrific shade during the hotter months, and clean up much easier than a lot of other, smaller leaves (such as our japanese maples, birch and, oh, grrrrr, don't get me started about pine needles.....). And they are downright beautiful just before they fall.

So, what's the best bet for eating a persimmon?

Hachiyas
Try this: make sure that it is fully ripe (as described above) and then freeze it solid. When it's time for dessert, hold the frozen fruit (berry, object, ok?) under running water and remove the peel by gentle rubbing. Then take a small spoon and barely scrape off the outer, barely-thawing layer of flesh and enjoy it like Gelato of the Gods. No sliminess, just Olympian flavor.

Fuyus
Just eat the sucker (berry, yeah....). Enjoy its crunchiness and subtle flavor. And the fact that you can enjoy a local, crunchy fresh fru- produce! - this late in the year.

* to be sure, I am not criticising anyhone's taste here, merely pointing out that sometimes people get the wrong idea from incorrect or insufficient information....

** the persimmon-based 'woods' have recently been replaced by metal 'woods', one particular brand calling itself "Pittsburgh Persimmon."

..will have us at The Crucible's 50th Anniversary of the Studio Art Glass Movement, with a special focus on California's contributions. . Two days of visits, demos, lectures, slideshows, awards, shmoozing and more with some of the cream of the last 50 years' worth of glass. Yep, and we'll be there, too!

This event can only happen once, and this is it!

Be there!

... and buys them regularly. The Ralph likes bananas and buys exactly one too many regularly, in fact -- if one is to judge by looking in our freezer. Our freezer which, on random occasions spits out frozen, black bananas.

Those are the times when you realize that bananas are winning.
So what can one do but, from time to time, make banana bread? I found this interesting version in The Good Housekeeping Cookbook (dated 1973). It's interesting because it calls for cutting the shortening (I used butter) into the dry ingredients - more of a piecrust method in my experience.

Here's the recipe. I use all butter because I try to avoid hydrogenated fat, which shortening pretty much is. I also added about 1/2 cup of walnuts and pecans, mixed (because we didn't have enough of just walnuts), and about 1/2 cup of semisweet chocolate chips, to each loaf. That's because I find vast tracts of unrelieved banana-only bread to be, well, boring. I also made a double recipe (the proportions of nuts/chocolate chips above are for 1 loaf.)

The recipe also says to start the day before serving. Which I'm not doing, at least not for one of the loaves, which is being taken on the day of baking to an International Society of Glass Beadmakers meeting. I don't think they'll mind.

... and can report a few things about the Mile High City:

Yes, it is high. Not quite take-your-breath-away high, but make-you-work-for-your-breath high, altho you do get take the stairs (instead of the elevator) in just a few days.

The weather is not to be blindly trusted, either. When we left Downtown California, we were sweating on the train platform at 9:30 am, awaiting the arrival of the legendary California Zephyr. It was still pretty toasty when we cleared Reno that evening. Even Colorado Springs, the next day, was respectably warm. Pulling into Big D that evening, you could plainly see your breath (to the dismay of some of our fellow passengers who disembarked wearing shorts.) The following day was somewhat damp, and deteriorated into a minor snowstorm (their first of the season), continuing into the next day. After that, it was 77 degrees when we departed. It's no wonder we were cautioned to 'pack all of our clothes" for the venture.

Speaking of train travel, I heartily endorse it, if you're not on a tight schedule. While our arrival in Denver was only about three hours late, the adventures that led up to this delay were worth it. This would include being trapped in the last car of the train (the one with our compartment in it) until we could finally attract the attention of the assistant Conductor by hollering and waving a t-shirt out the side window when we stopped *, various and sundry minor mechanical malfunctions that needed tending to and having to compete with a seemingly endless stream of freight trains (congratulations our economy is showing improvement!) that seem to have priority over the less profitable passenger trains.
The timing of our trip was decidedly out of our hands, as we were to give a command performance for a daughter who was giving a Masters Recital on a date of her choosing. (Note: the command performance was for us to show up, video record it, applaud appropriately and, most of all, pitch a post-performance reception.....) The peculiarities of the timing, however, had us traveling leisurely through the Sierras and Rockies just as the fall colors were beginning to emerge, which made the foliage at least as dazzling as the geology that never ceases to amaze. Ruby Canyon, where the tracks leave the plateau and descend into the Colorado River gorge is stunning. It is yet another one of those places that can't be seen from the highway, but can be accessed only by Amtrak or rafting down the river itself.
The California State Railway Museum (second only to the one in York, England; well, railroading was invented there.....) provides thoroughly knowledgable docents who provide an enjoyable running narration about the scenery, history of the transcontinental rail effort and other such things from Sacramento to Reno. After that, the conductor, a Mr. Wheelwright, picked up the baton, and offered no surcease to a constant string of great information, trivia and thoroughly execrable puns (and thank you for that, sir!)
I had never been through that part of the country - over it, at great height, yes - but never close enough to actually see it. While The Deborah had made the Denver drive twice in the past couple of months (and was oh-so-happy to not have to look at the Salt Flats again) we both agreed that it would make another spectacular trip when all that arid country was blanketed with fresh snow.**

If you like brickwork, I would suggest taking a drive through Denver's Bonnie Brae neighborhood. Denver is not known as a particularly active seismic area, and so a lot of buildings, especially homes, are wonderful examples of the bricklayer's art.

Our local operatives made certain that we made it to a couple of likely places for a good meal, and they were right! Knowing full well that we are fans of the Food Network's staple Diners, Drive Ins and Dives, we were dragooned off to visit historic Sam's No. 3 and, for a wonder mid-morning nosh, The Bagel Deli. D3 was right on both counts! We also had occasion to dine at a restaurant that we would have never heard of or considered (it's a chain, ok), but we shared the Zephyr's Dining Car table with a couple (and you do meet wonderful people in the Dining Car) that own the Black Eyed Pea restaurants in Colorado. Had to try it. (It couldn't have been easier, considering that one was directly across the street from our hotel!) As the name might imply, it's down home cookin': fried airthang, bhut quaht gud. I can't recall any place else that has the Mountain Oysters to serve fried okra (sliced, breaded and fried just like my grandmother used to make it, which I do like.)

High marks, too, to the Denver Botanical Gardens, with their bamboo scupltures, interesting plants and their spectacular waterways, which I am a real sucker for. It should be pretty interesting during the winter, too.

Is it possible, at such an altitude, to join the Mile High Club without even leaving your room? We're looking forward to another trip so's we can find out!

* t'was kind of funny, as the Dining Car Hostess kept a steady stream of concerned PA announcements inquiring as to where all those people that had made 6 pm dinner reservations were hiding out, but without deputizing a search party. I steadfastly refused to climb up on top of the train and jump heroically from car to car like in an action movie just to get to dinner. Good dinners, tho.

** I'll say it now: I Do Not Like The Desert. Period. That's the main reason that you won't find me at Burning Man. I do find it a wonderful experience to view it out the air-conditioned window of our compartment while somebody else does the driving, however.

So, ratatouille:

* we're pretty careful around here, judiciously keeping our cars locked when unattended. When you don't, this time of year, anyway, when you return, you might find it full of zucchini.
** did you ever try cooking with a Ouija board.....? We wouldn't, either......

... actually pushed, pulled, dragged, ridden or otherwise piloted a plow, but I do appreciate a 'Ploughman's Platter,' particularly if there is a decent pint involved (without which, no Ploughman's would be complete - I mean, rully now......)
It turns out that the actual agricultural endeavour is unnecessary to qualify for one of these hearty delights, just a good appetite.
It is commonly believed that the modern version of a Poloughman's originated in the 1960's, as a means for Britain's English Country Cheese Council, the Cheese Bureau and other associated industry organizations to promote greater cheese consumption following the lifting of rationing after World War II.*
(You can insert your own version of the Monty Python 'Cheese Shop' sketch here.)
While no iron-clad recipe exists, a Ploughman's usually contains at least a few of these ingredients: bread (preferably really crusty stuff), cheese (preferably local), something pickled (onion, chutney, pickles, whatcha got), hard-cooked egg, apple or other crunchy fruit.

We recently found ourselves with some leftovers: cooked, sliced tri-tip, sliced cheese, assorted snacky-things and a pizza crust.....everything but the pickled onion!
A quick excavation in the freezer revealed about a half a bag of pearl onions - perfect!

While preparing the crust for what might have been the world's first Ploughman's Pizza (at least as far as we know), the onions were addressed:

Darned-Near Instant Pickled Onions

1 pkg.(more or less) frozen pearl onions (Preferably left over from some earlier event, like Thanksgiving)
enough vinegar (apple cider vinegar is good for this) to barely cover the onions

Place the ingredients in the microwave on high for about 2 - 3 minutes.
Be sure to open a window to let out the acidic fumes when you open the microwave door. Goggles might help.
If the onions are thawed enough, let them soak in the vinegar for a few more minutes, whilst you prepare the rest of the mess.

Once the pizza was assembled, the newly-minted** pickled onions were installed, the whole mess was baked at the usual high pizza-cooking temperature, and pints were brought out all around to celebrate another quick, but satisfying dinner.

In fact, says author Remy Stern, there are about 254 pages more! This absorbing book (probably could soak up 35 times its weight in excess stomach acid), not to be confused with Timothy Samuelson's book of the same name (and, evidently the same topic), answers some of those nagging questions about life, such as, will a Ginsu knife really cut through a steel can? (Yes. Definiely, sort of...) How much would you pay for this miracle product? (pick any number at random, end it with ".99" and just add $9.95 for shipping and handling. *) And just how deep in my pocket will the Pocket Fisherman go? (don't go there....)

You there! The sunday-night insomniac! You'll know these guys, yessiree:

Some of the most familiar names in infomercials will be found within this delightful tome, including Ron Popeil, Chet Nairne, Harry Mathison, Wally Nash, and, of course Billy Mays. Some of the most memorable products - Veg-O-Matics (I have three!), Miracle Mops and Sit On Trash Compactors - are featured, more than you can shake a free steak knife at.

I have always been fascinated by pitchmen, be they Carny sideshow barkers (they prefer the term 'talkers,'), product demonstrators at the county fair, or fire-and-brimstone preachers ready to 'turn the tip heavenward.'

This is turning out to be a fun read (yes, it's an actual printed-on-paper book!) What's more, it delves into what politically-based decisions were made involving the FCC that opened the floodgates of blather for half-hour (and longer!) infomercials.

And, no, even though I acted now, the publishers won't be throwing in some steak knives, dangit....

Ok, so it's not a national holiday, but maybe it should be.....? On this day, in 1912, Covington, KY added one more citizen to its census: H. (for Homer) Durward Kirby.

Kirby is likely best remembered by those still living * as second banana to television's Allen Funt, of Candid Camera renown. Kirby also served quite a stretch in the 1950s as a stock player on The Garry Moore Show.

Besides being mistaken for Zeppo Marx by small children, Kirby was also immortalized in a Rocky & Bullwinkle episode. The episode referenced the famous "Kirward Derby," which supposedly had magic powers that would make the wearer the smartest person in the world (but, presumably, not the funniest). Kirby considered suing the program, but his business manager dissuaded him of the idea, pointing out that it would only bring more attention to the show. Toward that end, Bullwinkle producer Jay Ward offered to pay Kirby to sue him.
Quentin Tarantino's film Pulp Fiction at one point has Uma Thurman's character ordering a "Durward Kirby burger," presumably in reference to a Bullwinkle episode playing in the background.

Kirby died of congestive heart failure in 2000 in Ft. Myers,FL. Usually refusing to give his age ("Age is just a number and mine's unlisted") he was 88 years old.

It's difficult to describe what I saw.......

...you cross ten street-corner crap games with Speed Dating?
The Big Bead Swap! ("C'mon, baby needs some new beads!")
That's pretty much what it looked like in that far-too-small, inadequately-ventilated (which only added to the exotic atmosphere) hotel conference room on the final night of the International Glass Beadmakers' annual Gathering, its 20th, to be precise.
The Swap was so popular, in fact, that it spilled out of the room and into the corridors, sprawling across the floor just outside the room with the pounding music, flashing lights and the menace of Karaoke. It also represented the last chance to use some of the beads that were still left after Saturday's Bead Bazaar and swap contact information with all of our new friends.

Pulled at random from our newly-adopted stash:
a wonderfully stringer-decorated cylinder by Beth Eliason, a floral- decorated tab bead by Highland Beads; an anonymous (the card is in there somewheres) female body pendant, a voluptuous vessel in the shape of a female figure, with a cork-tipped head for a stopper by David Houpt, a cool undersea scene (is that a barnacle? wow!) by Sally Creations and a silkily frosted face with a totally blank expression (nicely echoing my amazement at all this stuff) by Carlos Bazan.

And a long-overdue Shout Out (and "Thank You") to the ever-cute-as-a-button Robin Foster!

(More to follow later!)

photo by Alice Wessendorf

Sometimes life hands you an opportunity but once, and, even if you don't exactly want to take it right then and there, you know that you will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't.
Such dilemmas are what life is often made of.

Along about 10 years ago, when our kids were in the high school marching band, we found ourselves involuntarily attending a lot of football games.*
One crisp fall evening, while waiting for the bodies of the Soph-Frosh team to be carted off of the field so that the band could once again re-invent "The Star Spangled Banner," I was unwillingly subjected to the well-vented opinions of a young lady - probably a Junior or Senior - who was sitting directly behind me in the bleachers with her companion, a young fellow.
Said young lady was going on at length about a documentary that she had apparently seen on Animal Planet, which had evidently left quite an impression upon her psyche.
"It was about artificially inseminating elephants," she said to her companion, with a little too much emphasis. "I just can't get over it."
"Hmmm," he said, noncommitally, hoping this would soon blow over.
"And here was this guy," she continued, still somewhat agitated, "and it was his job to collect the semen. He had to do it by hand."
Long pause from her companion, still hoping.
"I mean, here's this guy, and it's his job to jerk off elephants! Eerrrrrrrgh.How can somebody stand to jerk off elephants for a living?"
I'm now thinking that this would be a guy who would not get invitied to his kid's elementary school Career Day.
Longer uncomfortable pause from her companion.
But she couldn't let it go.
"Oh, look, here comes the other team's bus," offered the companion, hoping that this might derail her train of thought.
No such luck.
"Gawd, it was just.......I dunno.....disgusting!"
This went on for several more minutes and I was beginning to think that this might never end.
"Gyaaack! What kind of guy could do that all the time? I mean, why would someone take a job like that?"

Ok, life, I can't pass this one up.

Turning my head just enough to be heard, but not making eye contact, I offered "Well, the base pay isn't all that great, but the tips are huge!"
The resulting silence was practically deafening.
After a couple of minutes, I turned around and found a large empty spot where the couple had been sitting. Evidently they had slunk away.
In enjoyed the relative peace of the rest of the football game, cheers and all.

....where summers are rainless are herbs of all kinds: sage, thyme, tarragon, winter savory, and one of my favorites, lavender. I like the way herbs grow and grow into nice bushy clumps despite the lack of water (once established), and the way they give off mysterious aromas when crushed and add flavor to all kinds of dishes.

And lavender has the added advantage of adding those luscious clouds of purple blossoms to the landscape, making the garden look all south-of-France-y, and attracting bees. Our lavender plants are in full bloom right now, and I probably stood stock still for a good five minutes recently with my nose a foot away from a busy bee that was meticulously visiting every tiny flower that makes up the lavender's complicated blooms.
I've tried recreating those blooms in glass on a bead and let me tell you, it's not easy! (No wonder I'd rather create horseheads.)

Lavender has another terrific trait in that unlike most herbs, it cries out to be used in desserts. You can dry the flowers and sprinkle them over ice cream (or stir them in - maybe with honey, playing up the whole bee theme). With an abundance of blooms in the yard, I simply harvested some of the flower heads and made lavender shortbread. Shortbread's wonderful, mild vanilla flavor gets an exotic boost from the purple lavender flowers.

LAVENDER SHORTBREAD

Makes about a dozen 2-inch square cookies

1-1/2 cups butter, softened
2/3 cup white sugar
1/4 cup sifted powdered sugar
2 tablespoons lavender flowers (meaning the tiniest part of the flower heads are separated and scattered through the batter)
1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint (optional - we happen to have a lot of mint, too)
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
2-1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt

Cream butter and sugars until light. Mix in herbs and lemon zest. Combine flour, cornstarch and salt, and mix into the butter until well combined and dough begins to stick together. It may be very crumbly, which is why you: Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for about an hour. (This makes it easy to roll out - you can see the similarity to piecrust, if you're a pie baker.)
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Roll dough about 1/4 to 1/2 inch thick and place on baking parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake for about 20 minutes - shortbread should be pale, not browned, when done. Good with vanilla ice cream!

When you devote part of your life to making art,....

... some 3-1/2 stories above the Grotteaux, is a large, slightly unkempt garden that despite its unkemptness, is full of wonders. Some of these we've planned and others are accidents of birds or the wind bringing in various things. We're not so happy with the blackberry vines that sprout up here and there, hiding cleverly among plants that look just similar enough to them to give them a foothold when they're young. Others are welcome, though.

In the front yard there's an incipient meadow that was once a lawn. A couple of clumps of tiny blue forget-me-nots have established themselves there. In the back yard, seeds from planted-on-purpose alpine strawberries and Labrador violets pop up in the most unlikely places, such as between the cracks in paving or where a deck support meets a concrete slab. It reminds us how tenacious nature can be.

And for folks like us who are always trying to make art in glass, the garden offers fresh ways to see things, especially in spring as flowers bloom, flowers that we'd almost forgotten about over the winter. Take the bearded iris, for instance - a plant the Ralph for unnamed reasons doesn't care for. We'd given away most of them but a few years ago after an especially hectic season or two when we didn't really notice what was going on back there, two stands that had survived suddenly provided a show of pale blue and brown-bronze.

...works for a large institution of higher learning, and has occasion the consider the kind of studies high school students are expected to undertake. As part of her job, she works with high school teachers who create new courses that integrate academic learning with real-world skills. What we used to call "vocational education." These new courses that blend to two approaches to learning allow high school students to take courses that prepare them for careers - even, say in "arts, media and entertainment" - and learn academic principles at the same time. They can learn algebra while also acquiring skills needed to build a house or a kitchen cabinet, or pick up physics through learning how a car works.
We know what you're thinking, because we're thinking it, too - isn't that how all learning should be? But we all know it isn't always that way - too often high school is a matter of learning a bunch of facts, factoids, dates and numbers with no explanation about why a student should care. But they persist in school - those who do - because they know they need those courses to qualify for college admission. With integrated curriculum, they can get the academics and also the context. And maybe have fun and maybe make something in the meantime. They might learn to use tools, measure things, make things.
And making things is about the most fun anyone can have. That's what got us into making beads - you take a rod of glass and heat it in a flame until it melts, and then ... well, then you can make it into something else, like a necklace or bracelet, or any other sort of thing that could incorporate a bead (tapestries, quilts, dolls ... we've seen and been surprised by so many uses to which beads can be put).
It would be so easy, we often muse, to incorporate academic learning into this activity of making beads. There's obviously chemistry and physics involved. History is a natural - the story of mankind could be told, every step of the way, through beads (there's even some evidence Neanderthals made and wore primitive beads ). So then you've moved from recorded history to paleontology, anthropology ... throw in the psychology of adornment while you're at it.
When you think of it, linking book learning and real world learning is something that should never have been necessary, because if we'd really been thinking, they never would have been separated in the first place. But it's interesting to see we're rediscovering it.

1 pound fresh salmon fillet
About 1/2 cup soy sauce
3 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
Optional:
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon fresh chopped ginger
roughly 1/2 cup of dried tea leaves
about as much rice

Place salmon in a dish big enough to hold it flat and marinate in the remaining ingredients for 10 minutes or so, while preparing the smoking pan.

Choose a baking or roasting pan, or heavy skillet that will 1) stand up to direct stovetop heat and 2) fit the fish. Tear off enough aluminum foil to cover. Add the tea leaves and rice to the bottom of the pan and cover with the aluminum foil.

Serve with something like steamed rice, a greenish vegetable and a good, crisp white wine (or, this being salmon, a light red is good, too. Hecksakes, try 'em both! It's the only way to find out.)

My latest audio book find is by another favorite author, Susan Orleans (she of Orchid Thief note), and it is more absorbing that a case of Pampers. It is The Life and Legend of Rin Tin Tin, and who could resist a story about America's *- no, actually, the world's - favorite canine.
Sometimes while torching into the wee hours of the morning I have a faithful dog curled up near my feet (a dog who has learned to endure the occasional hot nugget of flying glass and the smell of too-hot fur.) Whenever ol' Houdini isn't there, faithfully standing watch, it is nice to have the tale of another great canid in my ears to help while away the hours whilst I blow more vessels.
I am only about halfway through the book, but it is a fascinating insight into not only the Rinty story, but Orlean's many informational bank shots, intellectual spur tracks and sidebars keep it alive. Just last night I was hearing her (in her own voice, btw) describe the "Dogs for Defense" program that the United States created to recruit American dogs for the war effort in 1942, which yielded tens of thousands of unwitting volunteers. It would be difficult to picture many Americans today who would willingly give up their family pet in the interest of, well, much of anything.
I am certainly looking forward to find out who wins!

* In the verrrrry first Motion Picture Academy Awards (now known as simply "The Oscars") in 1929 the actor that received the most votes for Best Actor was - wait for it - Rin Tin Tin. Rinty was unfairly denied the award some say, due to the Academy's Homonid-centric prejudice. Orleans is out to remedy that.

.... for his kindness. Recently, when we were visiting some dear friends on the surface, near Mendocino, they insisted that we pop in on GlassFire studio, just up Highway 1 from their place. It was a nice, spacious gallery and hot shop (that's glassblowerese for 'where ya blow glass') with their wonderful wares on display. (Check out the jellyfish pendant lamps, wow!)
I was on a quest for some large chunks of cullet (more glassblowerese for 'glass that ya haven't blown into anything just yet') for a project for our local Boy Scout District Camporee (Herms District). It seems that our upcoming Camporee (Scoutese for 'competitive outdoor skills events') won't be allowed to have a wood fire for the evening's Campfire, owing to some gov't agency rules relative to the event site. So, in conjunction with The Crucible's Flame Wizard Peter Kropf (Life Scout late of a troop in New York), a propane-fired blaze, using large chunks of clear glass instead of just plain rocks is being developed. Believe me, one of these things blazing away in the dark is most hypnotizing, and will provide terrific illumination for the various skits, songs and other entertainments that the Scouts provide for their amusement.
Well, it seems that Buster had suffered a minor misfortune or two with his furnace, and he had all the cullet that we could possibly want, and kindly offered it to me. A couple of hundred pounds of broken glass later, Buster had a clean porch and the gratitude of the Scouts, and we were weaving our way up Hwy 20 toward Willits, with the back end of the car riding just a wee bit lower.
Many thanks, Buster!

Hopland's Bluebird Cafe provided us with a lunch to remember on the way home. The Deborah had a Bison Burger, while I chowed down on my first ever Elk Burger. The chef should be praised for including a horseradish mayonnaise, which really tied the whole thing together (like Lebowski's rug!) The potato salad was quite good, but left me no room for some of The Bird's apparently famous pie (several people came in announcing that they had made the pilgrimage 'just for the pie'.) Next Time!

We returned to our Downtown California digs to find a pair of goldfinches at our front feeder - a first!
Meanwhile, our lone free-range feral chicken * in the front continues to patrol, keeping the place worm and insect-free.

March 10, 2012
(this entry begins here)e)

The highway from Sonoma to Santa Rosa was a rare beauty, with the grass at its greenest (for the two minutes of the year that it is green) and the blooming trees appearing to have a bumper crop of popcorn. We took the 'back way' in, past Agua Caliente and Boyes Hot Springs, former home (and typical fire victim) to the infamous restaurateur Juanita Musson. Some of the ruins still stand, even after all these years. I barely could, and it was still early......
When my head finally quit wobbling, I realized that we were pulling into a parking space in Santa Rosa, home to the Russian River Brewing Company. As we were unfolding and extracting ourselves from the Sprite * a complete stranger smiled his way over to the car and complemented it, waxing nostalgic about the one that he had back in his youth (and wished he still had - a common yearning, as it turns out.) "A real chick magnet," he longingly recalled.
RRBC is a darned big enterprise, with at least one major kitchen, wall to wall pizza and coasters that have their logo on the front and "gone To Pee" on the back, so you can stand it up against your glass and be fairly sure that it will be there when you return from your Austin Powers impression.The walls, and practically everywhere else, are covered in what must be one of the most complete accumulations of beer and brewing ephemera. This alone makes it worth at least one visit. I saw some animated beer signs that I hadn't seen in at least 35 years.**
The beer list is a rather large sized chalkboard behind the bar, and I loved the way that the various brews are christened: almost all of them seem to end in "-ion": Beatification, Consecration, Supplication, Temptation, Damnation 23, Mortification, Perdition, Redemption, Rejection, Sanctification and my personal favorite name, Defenestration.
My choice for sipping while we lightly touched down was O.V.L., a Nitro Dry Aged Stout, a mere 4.4% brew, which was quite tasty and to my liking, and provided a period of relative recovery, much appreciated along about now.
A quickie sample of Temptation, while an interesting novelty,left me with the impression that Starburst had branched out into the brewing biz; a wee bit too puckery for my chops. Chug, back of the hand for a chaser, and then.....
Onward!

Quite a few other brews, enough to assure that any beer lover could find a good match, are offered, freshly created within a stone's throw. (the management does discourage stone throwing, it should be noted.)
A pleasant atmosphere on all counts, and with no hint of the vast industrial complex at hand, either in the ambience or the brew itself.
By the end of this odyssey (Odd Assay?) I felt like it will be quite some time before I can look a pretzel in the eye.

(Huh? What do you mean "they don't have eyes"....? I gotta be more careful with the bar snacks.......)

* it's comfortable, once you thread yourself in, but if it were any tighter a fit, it would have to be made of Spandex.

** and, as it turns out, they really do move! That's load off of my mind......

*** which they aptly refer to as their "Tap Room and Beer Sanctuary"

More Hopping......

Sonoma Springs Brewery is probably the smallest brewpub that you could ever find, if you could find it at all. A very small frontage, about six barstools and exactly one mash tun.
But, size isn't everything (really, compare this with Anheuser Busch's Fairfield digs in a flavor for flavor comparison....). (Funny how often this phrase has come up in my life........no, wait - it's not funny! Stop that snickering right now!)
The brewmaster, Tim, definitely knows his way around his hops and malts to produce Kolsch- and Belgian-style ales. Also noteworthy is the "New Bavaria" Roggenbier, which uses at least 35% malted rye from Germany's Bamberg region. While I don't usually give much consideration to weissbier, I must admit that the taste that I had was surprisingly good. Not too big a shock, however, as I do like my rye, either as bread or libation. My choice was the "Enchanted Forest" Black India (not so) Pale Ale, which had the sort of dark, almost meaty body that I really like in a stout-ish beer.*
The Sprite began to evidence itself as a chick magnet, altho along about now, we were finding notes left under the windshield wiper by admiring guys, too. Ok, they were mash notes for the car.....

Heathen Dinosaurs Have Invaded Downtown California!!!!

Well, ok, maybe it's not quite so terrifying; they're also known as feral chickens....

About five or so weeks ago, a couple of chickens wandered into our front yard up there on the surface and decided to stake their claim. (It appears that they do this in a fashion similar to wolves, ahem....)
While we originally thought that they were some sort of self-hybrid (ahem!) of Rhode Island and/or New Hampshires, the best we can figure, these beasts are Catalana, a breed that originated in Spain and, according to at least one source, are considered somewhat rare in North America.
Evidently still too young to assert their particular gender, these two already prompt our salivating relatives to inquire "Are there any eggs?"

Ok, junipers, actually, but about as comfortable as heath, I can assure you. This does make for wonderful cover however, where no hawk or other airborne predator can take a shot at them, and provides them with safe roosting where the more earthbound hunters would have a great deal of trouble weaving their way through the thicket to enjoy a quick bit of larceny.
I have watched some of the neighborhood feral cats eye these (apparently) delectable morsels with great interest, only to shrug off any ideas of success. You could just see it in the eyes of that orange tabby: "Yeah, I could take it down, but it would really cost me......" No pyrrhic victory today, so everybody wins.

Having raised some chickens some decades back, the sight of these two really stirred me, and, to my wonderment, I quickly found myself seeking out the local feed store (which I hadn't even realized was so close up there) and stocking up on cracked corn and such.
Let's face it: chickens are really entertaining to watch!

As these two are truly wild, they have not been given names, which would likely lead to their immediate demise, Murphy's Law being what it is. It would also limit my options: you can't eat anything with a name, right? **

We'll have some more updates as the story unfolds before us.

* it is said that Argentines are such devout carnivores that their idea of a vegetable is chicken....

** No hungry person will take the time to debate this, however.......

....if, every time that you went to work, if somebody recognized you, your day's efforts were ruined? Especially if your photo was posted everywhere that you worked? Disguise, maybe? Plastic surgery? Find another job?

Well, that's exactly what Ruth Reichl had to consider. Long-time foodie Reichl had just become the New York Times' restaurant critic, making her arguably the most powerful food writer in the Big Apple, if not the entire country. Being recognized decidedly affected the quality of the food and service that she received, removing any objectivity from her research.* What to do? Well, two out of the three solutions mentioned above provide the answers (but you'll have to guess which two....).

The book, whose title is taken from a T.S. Eliot poem, is the latest audio book that has been entertaining me during torch time (which has produced a lot of eyeballs, bees and flowers of late). And, of course, since torch time is in the wee, wee hours, midnight snacks are always lurking on the periphery**. Especially because Reichl treacherously salts the text with some wonderful recipes, read in great detail, darn her!

Reichl's account of her varied experiences of reviewing some of the most renowned dining establishments in the nation (and from New York's point of view, the whole wide world) are at once fascinating and repulsive, given the disparity in quality dependent upon whether the diner is from Who's Who crowd or just plain folk. Good ol' Ruth strikes a blow for us plain (but just as hungry) folk, particularly in her first side-by-side review, pitting Le Cirque's NYT Food Critic service up against the Nobody from Nowhere service. Her revelations about how some people's money is greener than others could infuriate some (I was already hot from the torch) and comfort others (like this old Socialist-leaning guy) by shedding light on it.

The author also delves interestingly into what happens when one's newly-acquired persona begins to take over. It could be scary.

When The Deborah was doing restaurant reviews *** for the Downtown California paper, we got a terrific dose of what to look for , and this book made some of those memories resonate. (Note: not every review goes well. We will always be confident that "The Old Clam House" **** will never be prosecuted for false advertising; we're pretty sure that was what they actually served us......)

In all, Reichl's third book was a most entertaining ear-read.

* Incredibly, the NYTimes would send her and her guests back to a restaurant as many as six or seven times (at over a C-note per plate!)

** of course, down here in the grotteaux, midnight is about the time that we just get goin'.....!

*** how this particular review wound up in the Orlando Sentinel - decidedly not a Downtown California paper - is still shrouded in mystery, at least to us. But go ahead and Google "Deborah Byrd Contra Costa Times" and see what bounty is yielded.....

**** don't worry, the one that we reviewed is no longer in business - in fact, they tore the building down! - and it is not this one.

February 13, 2012

Ok, take that drink now.

What? You didn't know we were playing a TV drinking game? Then you must take two drinks.

Drinking games are not for kids, designated drivers or politicians (and we wish that they would quit acting like they're playing one all the time.) They can be quite simple or complicated, although the ability to accurately follow rules diminishes precipitously after the first couple of rounds.

[ Note: the management does not, ever, under any circumstances whatsoever, endorse irresponsible drinking, especially when taking communion.... ]

The ingredients are threefold: something to drink, someone to drink it with and triggers for said drinking.
The triggers can come from just about any source that is mutually agreed upon beforehand (it could even be Trigger himself, if you're watching Roy Rogers.) We have played them with as simple a game as flipping a coin, or Liar's Poker (played with one-dollar bills) / Dice (played with that cup full of dice that you hear rattling further down the bar) or playing cards. (Boy, there are a lot of them that involve a deck of pasteboards!) *

A couple of our favorites stand out, however:

"The Antiques Roadshow Drinking Game," as featured on the television show "Frasier" (season 7 episode 7 "A Tsar Is Born.")Chug-a-lug every time you hear the word 'veneer.'

"The Independence Day (the movie) Drinking Game". Have a belt every time that someone recognizes something in the film that was lifted from some other film. (This, BTW, is the only reason that I can think of to watch this film.)

"The Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet Drinking Game." This one is a real enduro, as Branagh apparently didn't leave out so much as a single couplet when he made this film. This gentlemanly game requires that all parties quaff heartily (careful, here; remember that this one is hours and hours long!) when a line of dialog has found its way into general use (or the Cliche Hall of Fame). An enhancement is that a drink is also taken at a cameo by an uncredited famous face (take your pick: Robin Williams, Billy Crystal, John Gielgud, Gerard Depardieu, Charlton Heston **, Jack Lemmon- this list goes on and on.) If you really want to get hurt, try the Mel Gibson version, and have a wee dram every time that Gibson opens his mouth.

"The California's Gold Drinking Game." This one was offered up to us by a glass beadmaker colleague Warren Newberry, who nominates the word "juxtaposition" as the trigger. Others have nominated "get a shot of this Louie," and every time that he turns someone's statement around into a question. Go ahead, try it and see what kind of shape you're in after half an hour of Huell Howser's narration. We do so love this show.***

Carl Reiner's "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid" may or may not count, as it is made up largely of footage lifted directly from older film noir stuff. Might be a good challenge game: challenge other players to name what film a scene was lifted from, and if they can't - drink.

After all this fun, you just might want to visit our "Where The Sunshine Meets the Moonshine" entry........

* The earliest Drinking Game that I can remember (from my long-ago childhood) was a board game called "Pass Out," altho I have never, ever played it. It is clearly an ancestor to the Fabulous Furry Freak Brother's "Feds and Heads," which I have played, from what I hear. No drinking was involved, however.......

** Heston' performance as the Player King is, without reservation, his finest, bar none.

*** This Just In: Howser has a role in the latest Disney remake of "Winnie The Pooh"!

... Bruce Sedley was more than a legend in his own time; he was several: WWII veteran, Disk Jockey, Professional Noodnick, Ventriloquist, Inventor and Kiddie Show Host (more than once!)
(You can find a lot of the details in Sedley's own words here.)

If you grew up - ok, if you're old enough (some of us never do grow up, exactly) - in the San Francisco Bay Area you might remember him as "Sir Sedley," on KTVU, with his cast of puppets hosting reruns of The Three Stooges. I really can't think of a better way to blow a late afternoon (after knocking one's self out in the 4th grade all day) than watching Moe & Gang clobber each other's brains out (unless it was watching "Chillers from Science Ficton" on KGO-TV, but you had to be sneaky: Ken's mom didn't want us to get scared by seeing some giant tentacles devouring the Golden Gate Bridge. It was cool to watch Moe poke people in the eyes, but those monsters, boy, watch out! (This likely became some of the inspiration for our work, y'think?)

If you're a little older, you might remember him as "Skipper Sedley," hosting reruns of Popeye cartoons on KRON-TV (to compete with the Mickey Mouse Club) before Art Finley was christened "Mayor Art" and took over the duties. Sedley's ship was known as the "Kron-Tiki".
(Hey, if you're really old, you might even fondly remember "Brother Buzz," which would mean an entirely different thing today....... we'll talk about "Crusader Rabbit" another day.)

Sedley was also instrumental (in many ways) in getting Oakland's Children's Fairyland off the ground in the mid-1950s, and was the inventor of the "Talking Storybook," with Fairyland in mind. Such devices (and their 'Magic Keys' shaped like an elephant, or whatever) later became a fixture in zoos and parks all across the nation and beyond.

We'll miss him.