This doesn't count as my post.
A great new blog as been started about cooking. It is at thebugcooks.wordpress.com
Kate, my friend and daughter-in-law, is the author. I have often been the beneficiary of her cooking efforts and experiments (not so much since the Denver move), and it I can personally recommend it.
I will add it to my list of blogs below, but why don't you give it a look right now, and give her an encouraging comment.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Cleaver unto me . . .
Saturday morning. Coffee. Sofa.
When I was very young someone read me a story out of a big picture story book. I don't remember the name of the story, but I remember the pictures and the gist of the tale.
The picture I remember is a scene in a kitchen. There is a large wedge of cheese on a butcher block table. The ceiling in the kitchen is inexplicably low. So low, in fact, that someone had stuck the blade of a cleaver in the wooden ceiling above the wedge of cheese on the table. I don't remember how the blade came to be in the ceiling.
The part of the story I remember is a narrative of various members of the household coming into the kitchen, seeing the cleaver wedged in the ceiling above the cheese, and whipping themselves into a frenzy about the inevitable tragedy that was certain to ensue when the cleaver fell onto someone who was at the table trying to get some cheese.
After several pages of ridiculous predictions of mayhem and death resulting from the inevitable fall of the cleaver onto an unsuspecting cheese lover, another family member comes into the kitchen, reaches up, grabs the handle of the cleaver, gets a slice of cheese, and places the instrument of death back on the table.
I am sure there was more to the story, but that is what I remember.
I think I remember the story so vividly because I tend to be like the ridiculous family members who see a situation and assume that the worst is going to happen. The wisdom in this philosophy is that if you assume that the worst is going to happen and prepare yourself for it, you can never be surprised by disappointment. You maintain a bit of control. It actually works to a degree. There is somehow a limited amount of victory over disappointment if you can meet it at the door with a stoic face and declare "I knew you were coming."
But the problem with the philosophy is that disappointment wins far more victories by forfeit. I don't show up for the fight because I have already conceded the contest, games that probably could have, should have, been won by me.
So I'm going to try to change. To take a few more risks. To not wait for disappointment at the door but to go out, hunt it down, and stomp on it. To assume that things will work for good.
To reach up and grab the handle of the cleaver.
.
When I was very young someone read me a story out of a big picture story book. I don't remember the name of the story, but I remember the pictures and the gist of the tale.
The picture I remember is a scene in a kitchen. There is a large wedge of cheese on a butcher block table. The ceiling in the kitchen is inexplicably low. So low, in fact, that someone had stuck the blade of a cleaver in the wooden ceiling above the wedge of cheese on the table. I don't remember how the blade came to be in the ceiling.
The part of the story I remember is a narrative of various members of the household coming into the kitchen, seeing the cleaver wedged in the ceiling above the cheese, and whipping themselves into a frenzy about the inevitable tragedy that was certain to ensue when the cleaver fell onto someone who was at the table trying to get some cheese.
After several pages of ridiculous predictions of mayhem and death resulting from the inevitable fall of the cleaver onto an unsuspecting cheese lover, another family member comes into the kitchen, reaches up, grabs the handle of the cleaver, gets a slice of cheese, and places the instrument of death back on the table.
I am sure there was more to the story, but that is what I remember.
I think I remember the story so vividly because I tend to be like the ridiculous family members who see a situation and assume that the worst is going to happen. The wisdom in this philosophy is that if you assume that the worst is going to happen and prepare yourself for it, you can never be surprised by disappointment. You maintain a bit of control. It actually works to a degree. There is somehow a limited amount of victory over disappointment if you can meet it at the door with a stoic face and declare "I knew you were coming."
But the problem with the philosophy is that disappointment wins far more victories by forfeit. I don't show up for the fight because I have already conceded the contest, games that probably could have, should have, been won by me.
So I'm going to try to change. To take a few more risks. To not wait for disappointment at the door but to go out, hunt it down, and stomp on it. To assume that things will work for good.
To reach up and grab the handle of the cleaver.
.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Happy Days are Here Again . . .
Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.
It is official. The economic crisis is over. Happier days are here again. You can tell because so many are now expressing their unhappiness. (If you don't appreciate this clever historical reference, click here .)
Let me take you back several years to 2008. The stock market was crashing, the housing market had crumbled, and there were predictions that the national and global banking and financial institutions were about to collapse like the house of cards, or obscene mansions of cards that some of them had become. It is not so easy to remember now, but some involved in that industry actually committed suicide rather than face the future. And some who had been crushed by their actions did the same.
We were paralyzed with fear. The most popular of degrading hand-gestures featuring one's middle finger was bumped into second place by a different hand-gesture featuring the index finger. Finger pointing was the best response most leaders could come up with.
Then the United States elected a new President. His toughness had been made apparent as he remained the last candidate standing after the most arduous and contentious presidential elections in American history. He was intelligent, calm, unflappable, and had a good 12-foot jump shot.
After years of drift, our federal government took extreme action. Within weeks financial institutions were propped up and bailed out. Billions of federal dollars began moving into the private sector. The new president took considerable time in his calm and confident manner to explain the strategy to a fragile nation, a fragile world.
That began only six months ago. I've got food in my refrigerator older than that.
No longer is there any serious talk of economic collapse. The housing industry has bottomed out and is on the way back. The stock market has been climbing for weeks. Unemployment figures are improving. Quarterly reports are encouraging.
And political opponents are attacking the President for the economic disaster. That's the best news yet.
The fear is almost gone. The worst is over. The weak and timid who took cover during the storm are now crawling out from under their rocks, and seeing the sun peeking through the tumultuous clouds sense that it is finally safe to come out and do what they have always done best, complain and point fingers.
Like the first snakes of spring, they are a harbinger of the halcyon days of summer.
But snakes may actually be preferable. They have no fingers with which to point, and they do not pretend that it is not poison that comes from their mouths.
.
It is official. The economic crisis is over. Happier days are here again. You can tell because so many are now expressing their unhappiness. (If you don't appreciate this clever historical reference, click here .)
Let me take you back several years to 2008. The stock market was crashing, the housing market had crumbled, and there were predictions that the national and global banking and financial institutions were about to collapse like the house of cards, or obscene mansions of cards that some of them had become. It is not so easy to remember now, but some involved in that industry actually committed suicide rather than face the future. And some who had been crushed by their actions did the same.
We were paralyzed with fear. The most popular of degrading hand-gestures featuring one's middle finger was bumped into second place by a different hand-gesture featuring the index finger. Finger pointing was the best response most leaders could come up with.
Then the United States elected a new President. His toughness had been made apparent as he remained the last candidate standing after the most arduous and contentious presidential elections in American history. He was intelligent, calm, unflappable, and had a good 12-foot jump shot.
After years of drift, our federal government took extreme action. Within weeks financial institutions were propped up and bailed out. Billions of federal dollars began moving into the private sector. The new president took considerable time in his calm and confident manner to explain the strategy to a fragile nation, a fragile world.
That began only six months ago. I've got food in my refrigerator older than that.
No longer is there any serious talk of economic collapse. The housing industry has bottomed out and is on the way back. The stock market has been climbing for weeks. Unemployment figures are improving. Quarterly reports are encouraging.
And political opponents are attacking the President for the economic disaster. That's the best news yet.
The fear is almost gone. The worst is over. The weak and timid who took cover during the storm are now crawling out from under their rocks, and seeing the sun peeking through the tumultuous clouds sense that it is finally safe to come out and do what they have always done best, complain and point fingers.
Like the first snakes of spring, they are a harbinger of the halcyon days of summer.
But snakes may actually be preferable. They have no fingers with which to point, and they do not pretend that it is not poison that comes from their mouths.
.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
This Bud's for who?
We are a complex people.
When Dub-ya was President the most common affirmation of him among his supporters (back when his favorable numbers were high) was that he just seemed like a normal guy, someone you would like to sit down and have a beer with. Kind of odd since President Bush quit drinking alcoholic beverages in 1987. And he hasn't been a regular guy since the day he was born with that silver spoon in his mouth (and/or nose.)
As I type I have one eye on the television. The news channels are showing live video of President Obama drinking beer on the White House lawn with Sergeant Crowley and Professor Gates. There is no audio. Just four guys, including Joe Biden, sitting around a table, drinking beer attempting a bit of reconciliation. Not exactly the South African model of Mandela or Tutu. Sort of the American version.
There have been considerable column inches, video tape, and digits dedicated to this story today. President Obama cannot seem to stay away from controversy. When he declared Bud to be his beer of choice there was an audible gasp of disdain from beer snobs, especially in the northeast corridor. And the choice of beers by all of the participants has been analyzed and psychoanalyzed. I think there were last minute changes. Stay tuned.
But President Obama has rarely been described as a regular beer drinking guy. Remember the arugula eating elitist accusations leveled at him last October? Thank God that whole Reverend Wright thing came along or that story might have grown legs, adorned with riding britches.
President Obama is not a "regular guy" He is much smarter than most of us. That makes me so happy.
But there is a part of him that seems like a "regular guy" and I find it refreshing, even though it might make me cringe.
Anybody that knows anything knew that when the President said that Sergeant Crowley acted "stupidly" when he arrested Professor Gates in his own home, he made a mistake.
Not that he was necessarily wrong. It's just that the President is not supposed to say things like that.
But, I don't know if you noticed, President Obama is an African-American man. And the ugly truth is African-American men are not viewed as "regular guys" by a lot of us, especially when they are in the wrong neighborhood (mostly white) or struggling to get in a locked door. I can hear many of you mentally declaring your denial, but I'm pretty sure I'm right about this.
I was walking through downtown Birmingham late at night not long ago. All I could hear was my heels hitting the sidewalk. The only other person I could see was an African-American man walking toward me on the sidewalk. I felt the hair on my neck bristle. Maybe I'm the only prejudiced person in America, but I doubt it.
"Have a blessed day," he said quietly as we met and passed.
I don't think President Obama will ever achieve Joe Biden's talent for impulsively saying the wrong thing.
But I'm glad he did this time. He is human. He was authentic. He did not take measure of the consequences of this statement that more than likely represented a lifetime of frustrations, even for the President of the United States. He spoke one important sentence for African-American men that had never been spoken by one with power.
Maybe it wasn't good politics. But it was real. And that's the kind of guy I would like to buy a beer.
/
When Dub-ya was President the most common affirmation of him among his supporters (back when his favorable numbers were high) was that he just seemed like a normal guy, someone you would like to sit down and have a beer with. Kind of odd since President Bush quit drinking alcoholic beverages in 1987. And he hasn't been a regular guy since the day he was born with that silver spoon in his mouth (and/or nose.)
As I type I have one eye on the television. The news channels are showing live video of President Obama drinking beer on the White House lawn with Sergeant Crowley and Professor Gates. There is no audio. Just four guys, including Joe Biden, sitting around a table, drinking beer attempting a bit of reconciliation. Not exactly the South African model of Mandela or Tutu. Sort of the American version.
There have been considerable column inches, video tape, and digits dedicated to this story today. President Obama cannot seem to stay away from controversy. When he declared Bud to be his beer of choice there was an audible gasp of disdain from beer snobs, especially in the northeast corridor. And the choice of beers by all of the participants has been analyzed and psychoanalyzed. I think there were last minute changes. Stay tuned.
But President Obama has rarely been described as a regular beer drinking guy. Remember the arugula eating elitist accusations leveled at him last October? Thank God that whole Reverend Wright thing came along or that story might have grown legs, adorned with riding britches.
President Obama is not a "regular guy" He is much smarter than most of us. That makes me so happy.
But there is a part of him that seems like a "regular guy" and I find it refreshing, even though it might make me cringe.
Anybody that knows anything knew that when the President said that Sergeant Crowley acted "stupidly" when he arrested Professor Gates in his own home, he made a mistake.
Not that he was necessarily wrong. It's just that the President is not supposed to say things like that.
But, I don't know if you noticed, President Obama is an African-American man. And the ugly truth is African-American men are not viewed as "regular guys" by a lot of us, especially when they are in the wrong neighborhood (mostly white) or struggling to get in a locked door. I can hear many of you mentally declaring your denial, but I'm pretty sure I'm right about this.
I was walking through downtown Birmingham late at night not long ago. All I could hear was my heels hitting the sidewalk. The only other person I could see was an African-American man walking toward me on the sidewalk. I felt the hair on my neck bristle. Maybe I'm the only prejudiced person in America, but I doubt it.
"Have a blessed day," he said quietly as we met and passed.
I don't think President Obama will ever achieve Joe Biden's talent for impulsively saying the wrong thing.
But I'm glad he did this time. He is human. He was authentic. He did not take measure of the consequences of this statement that more than likely represented a lifetime of frustrations, even for the President of the United States. He spoke one important sentence for African-American men that had never been spoken by one with power.
Maybe it wasn't good politics. But it was real. And that's the kind of guy I would like to buy a beer.
/
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