A-Mazing Dreams

Last weekend, I heard a story on NPR (I can't find it now so you'll just have to take my word for it) that had to do with dreams. The first part of the program dealt with studies with maze-running rats. Researchers monitoring the rats brain activity found that they could tell exactly what the rats where doing based on the sounds coming from their brains. A researcher who had his back turned to the rat could say, "now he's in the maze, now he's resting, now he's turning left, now he's turning right," and so on.

Then one day, the researcher, working on something else, realized that he was hearing the brainwaves of a rat running the maze-- except the rat was sleeping. From the familiar pattern, they could tell that the rat was running the exact same maze he had run during the day. They decided to see what would happen if put the rat's fingers in warm water. No, just kidding. They decided to see what would happen if they put the rat in two different mazes during the day. What happened was that the rat, in his or her dreams, mixed the mazes, creating new maze configurations.

In experiments with human subjects, the subjects played an interactive skiing video game. Participants would stand on a mat and mimic the actions of skiing to get through a slalom course for 45 minutes each day. The participants were awakened two minutes after falling asleep, at which time a majority of them reported dreaming about...surprise, skiing. However, when awakened two hours later, after a full sleep cycle, their dreams had morphed into things sort of like skiing, such as running very fast through trees, or sliding down a hill, or skateboarding. They didn't mention skiing at all.

The researchers hypothesized that during the day, events which have high brain-wave impact, such as crashing in a simulated ski run, or concentrating on a maze, get tagged with "sticky notes". At night, the brain reviews these sticky notes, and then creates a web of associations around them which become our dreams. Sometimes in dreams, we find new ways to solve problems, or think of new approaches to old situations. Other times, dreams are just weird.

This whole concept is fascinating to me. That animals dream (we knew they did), and dreams have cross-species similarities. That dreams can have a measurable origin and pattern, and that they may even have a function that helps us solve problems and find new ways of doing things in our daily lives. As a high school swimmer, I had trouble getting the breast stroke down. My rhythm was always off. One night, after practice, I dreamed of doing it perfectly, and the next day, I got in the pool and did it, just as I had in the dream, and never had trouble again.

The reason I'm writing this today is that I related this whole story to my friend Monty late last night, came home, went to sleep, and dreamed about... skiing. I skied to a tall building where I met up with an old friend with whom I no longer speak, and we played with two babies, one smart and not so cute, and one cute and not so smart, neither of which we could bring home with us. I was skiing in a city, which was difficult, especially on the trains, and at the end it became very difficult and I had to take the skis off. Like you needed to know that.

Cobbler Notes, Etc.

Angela tells me that the cobbler dough recipe I posted previously was too big for her pan-- when baked, the dough overwhelmed the fruit. (It was still tasty with a little milk and sugar.) If you suspect you have too much dough, divide the dough in half and flatten the extra between two sheets of parchment or wax paper, and slip it in a plastic bag in the fridge or freezer for next time. Don't forget, your fruit may shrink. And, as Angela also wisely pointed out, it might ooze, so put a cookie sheet under your pan to save the bottom of the stove.

Also, I did put some chopped fresh oregano in the Two Bean salad and forgot to tell you.

Another update: Rocking the food world as she does, Alison, who writes the fantastic Cleaner Plate Club, has not only written a bunch more new stuff, but has already added a search to her site. That was fast! Now you can finally find out the truth about guar gum and xanthan gum. In haiku form, no less! Lots of cool foodie links, too.

Oh yes, and happy late birthday to Dylan, who is three. He can't read, so I'm guessing he didn't miss that on the first birthday post.

Two Bean or Not Two Bean

That is your question. Excuse the bad pun. Here are two quick salads we (meaning I) whipped up out of this week's veggie box. Actually, you don't have to choose, because they also taste great mixed together. (Unless you are Mike.) If you feel like you are having deja-vu, you can check out a similar salad, previously posted. Variations on a theme.
*****************
Two Bean Salad

Ingredients
1 can kidney beans
1 can garbanzo beans
1/4 small onion, 2 shallots or 1 green onion, diced
1/4-1/2 red bell pepper, seeded and diced
rice vinegar
olive oil
salt
pepper

Tools
Knife
Bowl

Method
Mix 'em up. That's it. Better the next day.
I made the garbanzos from dried: soaked overnight, cooked about 20 minutes.


Tomato-Corn Salad

Ingredients
2 ears fresh corn on the cob, removed from cob
3 medium garden tomatoes or one basket of cherry tomatoes, chopped
1/4 spring onion or 1 shallot, diced
fresh basil, chiffonaded (roll up the leaves like an aram sandwich and use a sharp knife to slice little ribbons off the end of the roll)
Rice or white wine vinegar
Olive oil
salt
pepper

Tools
Knife
Bowl

Method
Chop 'em and mix 'em. You can use other fresh herbs, too. This salad tastes pretty good mixed with the bean salad, and both nutritious salads will improve and keep several days in the fridge.

Gratuitous rib-eye photo. Vegetarians, avert your eyes.

Happy Birthdays

Happy Birthday to Kayleigh, who is 21 today. Happy Birthday to Mom, who will be 61 in two days, and to Jessica, who will be 18 in a week. (Four of us are 20 years apart: Grandpa is 81, Mom is 61, I am 41, and Kayleigh 21.)

21. What an auspicious age. When I was 21, I was living in Santa Cruz with a bunch of girls in a little house on the infamous West Side. My birthday picture shows me with a handful of cake, chugging a bottle of champagne. The birthday itself was fairly anticlimactic, but I have had a lot of excellent birthdays since. In fact, most of the best ones were yet to come at that point. I hope to have many more.

The fire in Lake Tahoe is now 55% contained, and we are hoping that in spite of high winds predicted again for this afternoon, the trend of further containment continues. Grandma and Grandpa are still safely ensconced in their Modesto hangout. Hopefully they'll be able to return before or by the July 4th weekend.

Mama's Little Baby Loves

Short Bread

Ingredients
1/2 lb (2 sticks) unsalted butter
1/2 + 1/8 c brown sugar
2 1/4 c flour

Tools
big bowl
straight-sided cake pan, springform pan, pie tin or glass pan
flat-bottomed glass
long-tined fork

Method
Mix ingredients together with a fork, then your hands, until it holds together in a rough ball
Press into pan, using the bottom of a glass to get into the edges until it is even and flat
(You can also roll and cut this into small cookies if you like- reduce baking time)
Poke the tines of the fork all the way through the dough to the pan, making a line all the way across to divide the dough in half.
Turn pan and divide the halves in half, repeat until you have manageable slices or squares, depending on the pan.
Poke the tines of the fork part way into the dough again to create a decorative pattern of your choice.
Bake at 275 degrees until light golden brown
(Sorry I can't be more precise than that...40 minutes? You'll know it when you smell and see it.)


Optional: Melt Scharffenberger bittersweet or semisweet chocolate over a double boiler with a teaspoon of butter. Divide your pre-scored pieces with a knife or spatula, place on parchment paper and drizzle with the melted chocolate. (I used a paper circle rolled into a cone with the tip cut off, but a plastic bag would probably work better. Messy.) Refrigerate or place in a cool place to harden chocolate.

I made this shortbread for George Hendry on his 70th birthday. I found the recipe at epicurious and cut it in half, in case you were wondering about the strange measurements. It makes one 9" round about an inch thick, which is enough for anybody. Shortbread always reminds me of when my mom would make me special lunches for field trips, because she always included it. Once, the family dog jumped up on the counter and ate my special lunch-- everything except the pickles. In a moment of motherly heroism, my mom drove all the way home from work to make me a new lunch, including a new batch of shortbread, got me to the bus on time and saved the day.


I also made a flourless chocolate cake the same day, which I will post if I have time. (The recipe is inside the Scharffenberger 70% cacao chocolate box, and it's goooood.)

Bookmark it Now, Thank Me Later

This link: Essays and Effluvia, is to a site that tells you how to bypass the phone tree and go directly to a real person at about a hundred major companies. Mike and I tried AT&T, and it works, though you have to wait for the right part to press the buttons. There is a second link on this page that lists some of the same companies and more. THANKS, EFFLUVIA!

How are you going to get your shopping done and your blogs read now that you can't surf the internet while you're waiting on hold?

Update

Grandma and Grandpa are safely in Modesto. So far, firefighters have been able to keep the fire from crossing into the Tahoe Keys neighborhoods, and away from their house. The winds are expected to pick up this afternoon, but they've made headway on the fire's north-east perimeter at this point. I'll keep you posted.

This Week in the Garden

I can't believe how much things have grown in the last week! For the record, here's what the grapes look like in the vineyard:


The pumpkins, peppers and eggplants seem to have sprung from thin air. The sunflowers are suddenly as tall as me. And I don't know what's in artichoke flowers, but it must be really, really good, because there must have been at least six bees in this one flower, shoving their stubby-hairy, or shiny-stripey bodies upside-down into the lilac-colored filaments to get it, oblivious to me and the camera.

Send Positive Thoughts Their Way

Photo: Chesi Cooley

If you know me, then you probably know that my grandparents have lived in South Lake Tahoe for over 30 years. Yesterday was their 62nd wedding anniversary. I talked to them on the phone then, and they assured me that they were prepared, but not worried, about the fire on the Angora Ridge. Grandma said that her list of things to take included medications, money, fruit and coffee, but no family photos. Because you can't spend photos, she said jokingly. Grandpa said his list was 2 pages long. They said they hoped not to have to use it, but the car was ready to go just the same.

Today the fire was stirred by fresh winds. I was finishing my run on the treadmill at the gym when news of the fire came on. The minute the map came up and I saw Tahoe Keys on it, I jumped off and ran for my cell phone. They were just packing. They left Tahoe at 6pm, headed for their favorite place, the Red Lion Inn in Modesto. They've been going there for 30 years, too. They should be arriving in the next half hour.

I talked to them on the cellphone as they passed Placerville. They said there was little traffic going their way, and that they planned to stop for a hamburger. Grandpa is a career military man, and he is almost always calm and composed, as he was during our conversation. He seemed a little agitated that everyone was so worried. Never panicked, always prepared, that's my grandparents. They have weathered 62 years together, of great joy and terrible tragedies. They have the utmost faith in each other. My grandfather believes in my grandmother. My grandmother believes in my grandfather. They are partners for life. I wished them a safe trip, and that things would be ok upon their return. They said, "We'll take care of ourselves, and we'll let Tahoe take care of itself."

My Little Positive Pony

When I was 9 years old, I would have been wild about these pretty horsey trading cards. I loved horses. My venerable Breyer Clydesdale mare is pictured above. She has a chipped right ear from one terrible day when the neighborhood boys convinced us that it was a good idea to throw all of the horses to see which ones were the toughest. (I photographed her good side.) Many of my horses still bear the scars and missing limbs of that day. Of course, we once filled our stuffed animals with water and threw them up against a brick wall to watch them slide down, and the "Barbies"* were regularly and repeatedly thrown into the trees so that they could Spiderman it back down to the bottom, so I suppose it wasn't entirely the boys' fault. Yes, I still have all of my old toys in a trunk in the garage, and yes, this morning I got down on my belly in the damp grass to take this picture. For you.

The Bellasara site is well thought out from a marketing point of view. The company is a girly spin-off of a bigger company that specializes in games and other cards--they know what they are doing. The cards are numbered and collectible, and the site has a spot to join and register your horses so that you can care for them in your online stable. It's an excellent marketing circle: go to store, buy cards, go to site, see more cards, buy more cards, go to site/store, buy more cards. But here's the part that's a little weird: each horse comes with a positive affirmation, such as "Be the hero in your own story." and "Think positive every day. Feel the joy and bliss that comes with it." or "Create something beautiful. It will make you feel peaceful." A new religion could and should be founded on these cards.


I'm torn about this. On the one hand, I know I would have loved these when I was a child. The horses are beautifully drawn, and there's the whole compulsive collecting thing that would have made this an expensive proposition for my parents. My first thought was that I wished I had some little girls to buy these for. And why not play with toys that give you a little guidance and positive affirmation? Because it's a little bit weird.

Can you imagine trading cards for boys with affirmations written on them? Yu-gi-oh with a little Baghavad Gita or Desiderata thrown in? Baseball cards don't have to have affirmations written on them. Baseball cards say to boys, "Be a team player. Focus on sports. Be very good at what you do, and someday you might be another little boy's hero." I guess it's weird to me that we think that girls need this. At the same time, I think I did need this when I was a little girl. Maybe it would have sunk in then, and I would have needed to learn less of this positivity stuff the hard way as an adult.

*As a rule, my mother bought us the more NOW correct "Sunshine Family" dolls, but one or two actual Barbies weasled their way into the group. Boy, did that cause an uproar among the Sunshines! Not to worry: everyone, including the Barbies, emerged from the experience with bad makeup and a punk rock haircut, and the Barbies were never seen again. They could still be in the tree.

This Photo Has Nothing to Do With Beans

But isn't it pretty? This flower has nothing to do with beans, or with Rancho Gordo, but I just added their link to my shopping section, and planted some more of their scarlet runner, tiger eye, and yellow eye beans in my little garden, and I wanted you to go and take a look at their stuff. I love these beans! The first time I saw them at the farmer's market, I couldn't get over them. I started picking out a mixed bag, and the person at the table gently reminded me that I should cook each variety separately so that they'd be evenly cooked. They were so beautiful, I just wanted to look at them. I did try to paint them, but watercolors don't do justice to their tiny, shiny perfection. Two years ago, at the old house, I planted them all and grew myself another batch.


That's the beans just starting up the pole behind the rainbow chard. The scarlet runners were especially gratifying. Tall, leafy plants with bright red flowers and big, meaty black and red speckled beans. (I had some texty posts all in a row, and I couldn't find the garden photo at first, so I thought I'd break it up with a canna from the big garden at the manor house.) Below, part of the big garden.

Entitlement and Etiquette

Today I went to the post office to mail some packages. We have a very small local post office with one very nice counter employee. As I approached the counter, she was not there, but another employee walked by and said she'd be right back, so I placed my packages on the counter. A woman walked in behind me and asked the man walking past the counter if they had any more Star Wars stamps. He said yes and kept walking. As the clerk reappeared at the counter, she said to me perkily, "you have a lot of packages today!" The woman behind me asked anxiously over my shoulder if there would be anyone else coming out to help because "I just need some stamps." Yes, apparently something is on fire and only stamps will put it out. Or you've left the bichon in the Lexus with the windows rolled up again. Or a little boy is dying and he can only be revived by Star Wars stamps. BECAUSE THOSE ARE THE ONLY REASONS I CAN THINK OF WHY YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE TO WAIT YOUR TURN LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. THE MORE YOU TALK TO THE CLERK, THE MORE TIME IT IS GOING TO TAKE ME TO GET MY PACKAGES MAILED, THUS, THE LONGER IT IS GOING TO TAKE FOR YOUR TURN. The clerk, who is very sweet, looked at me and asked if I minded letting her go first, since she just needed some stamps.

At this point, let me say that I am one of those people who holds the door for everyone, male or female, always offers to let the person with the one box of tampons or carton of milk go before me in the store and I even let other cars turn left in front of me if I am in slow-moving traffic. I blink my lights at trucks that need to change lanes. This is the post office, in a town with a very large retired community, with a clerk who is fairly casual when it comes to speed. Nothing is going to happen fast, and we've all had to learn to live with it and wait our turns.

I put up my hands and let this woman play through, but I really wanted to tell her that I didn't mind so much that she went in front of me, in fact, I might have offered it, if she hadn't shouted over my shoulder and forced the issue with the clerk.

On a related subject, yesterday I got to the gym with just enough time to get in a quick swim before date night. (We had a great dinner at Uva, by the way.) Usually I'm prepared for running or swimming, but this time I only had my swim gear with me. All three lanes of the pool were occupied, so I took my time stretching and gearing up at the side, scoping out the lane possibilities.

Two lanes were occupied by wide-wingspan men with splashing strokes, and the third was occupied by a small woman, swimming slowly but steadily. I approached her lane and stood near the end until she reached the end of the lane. At which point, she turned around like a little turtle with her head under water and swam away to the other end, where she repeated the head-down turn, head-down swim. This happened once more, with me standing at the end of the lane, waving at her. I didn't want to jump in on her, because she was not looking up at all as she swam. My workout time was ticking away. I sat at the end of the lane, off to the side, with just my legs sticking in, hoping she'd see me and start swimming on one side. I waved my hand in front of her face as she approached the turn. Again she turned around and swam away. Finally, the next lap, I waved my hand in front of her face again and said, "Hi!"

She stopped and looked at me and I said, "Hi. Do you mind if we split the lane?" To which she replied, "Go ask those guys" waving limply toward the splashers, "I only have six to go." (Six what? Laps? 100's? Years?) I said, "I'm sorry, I only have 20 minutes to work out today. Those guys are big, with big wingspans. Do you mind if I just swim on one side of this lane? I promise I won't run into you." She said, "Alright." I said, "Which side do you want?" She said, "Let's swim circles." at which point, she, the MUCH MUCH SLOWER person, took off.

At first glance, you might think I was pushing the entitlement issue, like the woman in the post office, but in swimming, there are very clear pre-set rules for lane-sharing.

If anyone is ever in the situation where they have to share a lane at a pool, let me explain swimmer's etiquette to you:
1. If all lanes are occupied, the next person out on the deck who appears to have intent to swim (goggles and a cap are a good clue) will split with someone. The polite thing to do if all three lanes are occupied is to look up periodically for swimmers on deck and offer to split. The polite thing to do if you are the second in the lane is to make sure the first swimmer sees you, and allow them to choose their preferred side of the lane. If they do want to swim in circles, try to time your laps for minimum contact at the ends, spacing yourselves at least 5 seconds apart if not more.
2. When two swimmers are sharing a lane, each swimmer takes one side of the center line, being careful as they approach so as not to whack each other. Butterfly is kept to a minimum. Try to kick with very little splash if the person next to you is breathing towards you. Two swimmers can also swim in a circular pattern, going up on the right and returning on the left, however, they should be well matched in speed. Both swimmers need to be alert and allow for faster swimmers to pass at the ends of the lane. When resting, swimmers need to stay off to the side of the lane so that people still swimming can execute turns.
3. When three or more people need to share a lane, it's necessary to swim circles. The fastest swimmer should go first, followed at at least five-second intervals by the next fastest, etc. If the swimmer behind you touches your toes during the lap, you should offer to let them go first at the next turn. All of the rules of number 2 above apply.
4. Whenever two or more people are swimming in one lane, courtesy is the rule. Be aware of where the other swimmer is at all times to avoid accidents. You may have to modify your swim intervals to allow the other person to swim through.

Just FYI. Because my gym pool is used by spa patrons, and also serves as the hotel pool for the inn next door, there are times when people seem to be bobbing about in it, oblivious to the fact that the lane lines and time-clock are there for a reason. I've been wanting to get the word out for a long time. Too bad there aren't any rules of etiquette for the post office. Besides the obscure and little-known convention of first-come, first-served, of course.

Library Update

So far, I've received about 30 book requests from paperbackswap, and I will have spent about two bucks shipping each book. My credits should be rolling in soon. As I packed each one up, I had a fear that my pristine condition books would be re-sold by enterprising swappers. From a recycling standpoint, that's fine, but from a personal standpoint, it doesn't feel right. Then I realized that everyone who swaps has to first post books to send themselves. Then I thought that a lot of the posted books are crap, so our enterprising swapper would only have to post junk books no one wants, scour the site for relatively new and in-demand books (with a specially devised computer program even) then re-sell them. Am I being too suspicious?

I was looking for a way to put my unused books to good use, but I'm now not sure if shipping them individually all the way across the country, at my own expense no less, is the best way to do this. Not only am I using truck power and people power to send them long distances through the mail system, but I am using paper to wrap them in. (I went through all of my hoarded recycled bubble mailers on the first dozen books.)

It does feel kind of good as I print out each address label and imagine that someone really needs The Second Book of Go or Three Black Skirts right this minute and I am going to help them with that. I'm glad to have more space, and I'm sure I'll find some treasured books on the site to request (already found the weird and wacky The Rose and The Ring). But I think maybe next time I'll save time, money, gas, and help a good cause while I'm at it by taking a box down to the St. Helena Library for their book sale, or taking the good ones to sell at our local used bookstore for credit there.

Hie Thee to the Cleaner Plate Club, Forthwith!

If you have not visited this terrific food blog, today's the day to go: Cleaner Plate Club. She's talking about the enemy over there today. Yes, it's true: High Fructose Corn Syrup is under the microscope. What I like about this blog is that she does the research most of us just wonder about, like what's the difference between guar gum and xanthan gum, and are they bad for you? (I wish she had a search on her blog so that I could tell you the answer to this right now.)

It is a great blog, and a super source for moms and other people who eat food and care about it. Joe Bob says check it out (extra points if you remember where that's from.)

Foam on the Range

Photo: Gary Alan Fine

A word about foam. Spuma. Froth. Emulsion. Whatever. This is an increasingly popular menu technique, so widespread that it should (whew) soon be a thing of the trendy food past.

What it is supposed to be, when successfully executed, is an exciting textural and flavor experience, with a subtle essence or surprising taste element dancing on one's tongue then shoopt! disappearing on angel's wings in the pop of a bubble.

What it is most of the time is a spewy-looking, bubbly blob-- a clumsy nod to the idol-worship of food pioneer Ferran Adria, and evidence of the widening concentric circles of his influence in the surprisingly small puddle that is high-end restaurant food. (If you don't believe it's trendy, try searching "horseradish"--or beet, or wasabi, or any other secondary ingredient--+"foam" on google.)

I understand it, but I don't like it. There are many unpleasant things that I could tell you it reminds me of, but the next time you see it on your plate, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. It is unpleasant to look at, something I have to make myself overcome before I dig in.

A friend told me once that she didn't like overly precious or composed plates, because she always wondered how many people in the kitchen had to play with her food before she got to eat it. I feel a similar way about foam. Does it have to be "playful" or bear the mark of in-the-know pseudo-innovation to be good? There are people (see Thomas Keller, another example) who can pull off cheeky haute-gustatory feats--people who have refined palates and a stunning sense of balance and restraint. And then there are people who should not try this at home. They do anyway. I'll be so glad when this whole frothy mess blows over.

Good, Fast, Cheap II: Return of the Hummus

Slightly less garlicky, more flavorful hummus recipe than last time, a little tangier and less pasty.

Ingredients
1 green onion, trimmed and cut into 3 or 4 pieces
1/4 red bell pepper, seeded and cut into chunks
1 clove garlic, peeled
1 can garbanzo beans, rinsed
1/4- 1/2 tsp salt
1 T mayo (optional)
2-3 T rice vinegar
2 T ground flax seed (optional, but why not?)
1/2 tsp ground cumin
water (optional)

Materials
Food processor
Spatula

Method
Put first three ingredients in food processor, process until everything is stuck to the sides.
Scrape down with spatula, add remaining ingredients, process until texture of your choice, (I like grains to be like coarse corn meal rather than creamy) scraping down sides and bottom of processor bowl at least once. Add water if the mixture is too thick-- the flax will suck the water out of the mixture and thicken it, so better too soupy than too thick if you want to store it. You can always stir in a little water later if this does happen.

I had mine on this turkey, radicchio and apple sandwich. The radicchio was a little much for it-- tasted better when I had a bite of just the turkey, hummus and pita.

Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Say, is that a humongously large zucchini you have there? (Kitchen timer included for scale.)


Abundance in the garden! In the veggie box! (This isn't even half of what came today. The oranges were from somewhere else, a few weeks ago.) In the bean barrels! Suddenly, it is summer.

Jeez, how did this turn into a blog about vegetables? Because at the moment, vegetables (and fruits) are my life. They are what is happening here in the Napa Valley. In my neck of the woods, anyway.

Yes, I am also surrounded by grapes. Right now, they are all the size of large peas, smaller than small marbles, and are very green and hard. It won't be long, though. The weather has been just what we like, except for the lack of about half of our rain. But otherwise, just right. Grapes are ready between 100 and 110 days after they bloom, which will get us started in the late part of August to mid-September, and last, depending on the weather, until mid-October. Harvest is a great time to be in the valley. It is all very exciting, even if you just like to drink wine. I'm really lucky.

Sometimes I forget that I am here in the middle of what so many people dream of seeing. I am going to work up a map of my favorite things and places and post it here. This summer, I promise.

The beans I planted a few days ago were not even bumps in the soil this morning when I left for St. Helena, and (no picture because it's dark outside) tonight there are little vines that have apparently been hard at work all day, because they have leaves and are poking right out of their little bean jackets already. Tomorrow I'll have to go find some sticks for bean teepees.

Lightening the Library

In order to trim down my book collection and make it a little more potentially mobile, I’ve just signed up with a site called paperbackswap.com.

The site is free (for now, at least). You list the books you have to give away, and mail them (at your own cost) when someone requests a book. For every book you send, you get a credit to receive another book in return. When you sign up, you receive three credits as a welcome gift, so you’re already ahead.

I’ve tried listing books with Amazon’s used book system. I had only one taker—someone in Kentucky needed a book on sushi, if you can believe it. The postage cost as much as the book sold for. In fact, I didn’t have any bubble mailers (I now hoard them) so I had to pay for the packaging AND postage and came out .60 behind after I got my credit from Amazon. There are just so many volume used booksellers out there selling the same books for a buck.

Here are some other book-buying and selling resources:
Swaps:
paperbackswap.com
bookmooch.com
frugalreader.com

Cheap Paperbacks:
thriftbooks.com
rereadables.com

Update: I posted 49 books this morning, and as of 12:30, I've already received over a dozen requests for books! So now I'm going to send these books to other people, collect the credits, and see if I can spend my credits on books I've always wanted to collect or own. Maybe I'll just look for very, very small books that don't weigh very much...

Sunday

I have to tell you, Robert Chunn has some new paintings available on Etsy (go to his site via the link and then click on the Etsy link)-- I love these so much that it's tempting to go buy another one... like this one:

Does it not rock? I love the two I have already.

Anyway, while I contemplate that, you can contemplate this week in the garden. Also this week, two band names seem to have dropped out of the ether into my brain: The Warhol Marilyns and Drag Ratio. I like those.





This morning, I made corn pancakes with green onions and ham for breakfast. Mike and I have found that pancakes made with coarse-ground cornmeal have a little more sticking power to last until lunch time (because lord knows by then we are just about faint with starvation, since we are both so scrawny and undernourished).

Corn Pancakes (this is enough for two)

Ingredients
1 egg
1/2 c milk or soy milk
1 T sugar
1/4 c medium to coarse ground cornmeal (I like Bob's Red Mill. They also make the coconut I use in the granola)
1/4 c flour
1 tsp BP*
*I have used this, and I have forgotten it, and I can't remember if it makes a difference. Nice recipe, huh?
Butter
(Optional: snipped green onions, chili flake, ham bits, or go sweet with blueberries or bananas.)

Tools
Non-stick or well-greased frying pan
Spatula (the yellow one)
Bowl
Whisk
1/4 c measuring cup

Method
Turn the pan on low, wipe with a little oil
Beat egg, add milk, add dry ingredients.
Make some coffee while you wait for the corn meal to soften and the pan to heat.
(Mix in optional ingredients if desired.)
Dip measuring cup in mix to make 4-5" pancakes. Cook them on the first side until bubbles on top look dry and bottom is golden brown, then flip and cook until golden on the other side.
Butter each pancake as you place it on a plate, preferably in a slightly warm oven, to wait for the others.
If sweet, serve with maple syrup, if savory, creme fraiche (my apologies for the lack of proper accents) is a nice accompaniment. Feel free to invent variations.

You can make these with green onions and chili flake in advance of a party and whip out a quick and impressive appetizer: make pancakes "silver dollar" size, with half a scoop of batter or less per pancake, cook, freeze or refrigerate, and reheat later on a baking sheet before topping with smoked salmon, creme fraiche, and a sprig of dill. Voila! You are the star!

You Gotta Keep 'Em Generated

Ok, one more post. I have hit the motherlode of silly thing generators: The Surrealist U.K. Generate yer cotton pickin' boots off. Marketing-speak, ad slogans, your own church signs, silliness galore. If that's not enough, you'll need a double-shot of the Captain Underpants silly name generator. (Beware of imitations and emails that claim to generate Captain Underpants names, this is the real thing, from the book Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants.) If that's not enough, generate some subdivisions. (This list is better, but it doesn't have a generator.) And just in case you missed it, here's the Random Band Name Generator.
Love, Tamara

PS- I can't stop! One more: The Haiku Generator. Tip: if the generator page does not seem to have a "generate" button, hit "refresh" in your top menu.

Welcome to My Parlor

Ok, I've had a lovely couple of weeks gardening and chatting with you, but it's time to get back to work tomorrow, so I thought I would share some pictures of my office with those of you who are very far away (or very near but who have never been in my office) so you can imagine me sitting here, looking out the window as the sky turns the color of a Royal Blenheim apricot (which you now have seen) and maybe imagine yourself sitting here, too, having an iced coffee with me on a hot, hot day. There are two cushy cubes behind me, so don't worry, you don't have to sit on that hard black dumpster diver stool.

The cords and things are kind of messy--you should have seen it before I got the little basket from my friend Lisa. Those are my peeps on top of my computer and behind them on the magnet board that Mike made for me, the faces I look at every day and smile. Over there on the left in the bookcase is my grandfather's painting of a bullfighter, which I love, my two new little paintings by Robert Chunn, my map of Manhattan from September 11th, and my paper umbrella collection. On top of the bookcase is my latest train-case acquisition, with my Stupid Creatures, Astor and Nestor, on top of it. Oh, and my African megaphone made from a Lolita talcum powder can. (I collect vintage train-cases, the small, square suitcases women used to use to carry their personal toiletry items in. If you have one, or see a really choice one at a yard sale, I'll pay to ship it. Think beach colors, and square rather than rounded plastic.)


I have my monitor set up so that it changes pictures from my flower and fruit photo folder every hour. Right now there are fava beans underneath the window I am typing in. On the left is my current things to do list, which goes on the pig-sticker when it is done, or when I lose it and then find it months later. Also old lottery tickets go here. Under that is the list of birthdays for the next month. What the hell were everyone's parents doing in November, for Christ's sake? Nevermind, I know.

And that concludes our tour for today. Please come see us again soon.

You're Going To Need This

Here is the cobbler dough recipe given to me by my old friend, chef Lou Lane, about twenty years ago. It has never failed me. It works for absolutely any kind of fruit, and you can also cut it into little biscuits and make shortbreads out of it, but it's best on top of the fruit so that it can soak up the yummy juice.

Lou "Butch" Lane's Cobbler Dough

Ingredients
2 cups flour
1 Tbl baking powder
1 tsp salt (1/2 tsp if using salted butter)
2 Tbl sugar
1/2 c unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces
+/- 1 cup cream (Half & half will do, or even milk, if that's all you have. Cream is best.)

Tools
Food processor
(This recipe can of course be made without one-- use a fork to toss the dry ingredients, use your fingers or a pastry blender to incorporate the butter, as you would for biscuits, and go back to the fork for the cream.)
Spatula (the white one)
optional: parchment paper and rolling pin

Method
Measure dry ingredients into bowl of food processor, mix
Drop butter bits around the flour, pulse a couple of times, then spin until fully incorporated.
Open the processor and sprinkle about half the cream on top of the flour*, close the processor and turn on. Drizzle cream into the bowl until the mixture just forms a ball and starts to chase itself around the bowl. Stop immediately.
Place a square of parchment paper on the counter and scoop your dough ball out of the processor, pressing all of the loose bits in.
Chill for about half an hour. (Or not.)


(For cobbler, you can use this time to cut up enough summer fruit to fill your square glass pan, loaf pan, or pie pan, mixed in a bowl with about a tablespoon of sugar and a pinch of salt. Don't be afraid to fill it up-- the fruit will shrink and the dough will soak up the juice. This is peaches, apricots, cherries and blackberries.)

Open up the parchment and flatten the dough out to about the size and shape of your pan, flip it over on top of the fruit. Cut a few slits in the dough, and throw it in the oven at about 350 degrees. I set the timer for 30 minutes and check it. This one took 45 minutes. About. But I lost track because I was blogging and it turned out fine.

I'm tellin' ya', this one is so super easy that it's going to get you invited back to all of the barbecues this summer. Try it hot out of the oven with ice cream. (Don't worry, I won't be having any ice cream tonight.) I'll bet you could even make some of this dough up in advance, roll it into the right shape for your pan while it's still soft, and put it in the freezer in a plastic bag. Think how cool you'd be. *Note: the sprinkling bit was not called for in the original recipe. The reason I do this is that if you turn the food processor on, the flour spins to the outside of the bowl, leaving a space. When you start to pour the cream directly in, it goes directly into the bottom of the bowl and then spins outward, making a paste at the very bottom, and distributing unevenly. If you put some of the cream in first, then turn the processor on, it mixes more evenly. IF you just poured it in and got the paste thing, either stop, scrape up the bottom and give it a couple of pulses, or just gently knead it in with your hands when you ball it up at the end.

Moving On

Ok, it's been a day since I wrote the last post. I had another great day, though the weather was hot, hot, hot.

I ate egg salad in lettuce for lunch (which is actually awesome, try it) along with some cannelloni beans that I made on Tuesday. I picked up some chicken at Trader Joe's and made some flavorful, lowfat protein for myself, i.e., Green Chicken. Turned out pretty good. We had it for dinner with a salad of raw, shaved zucchini from the garden.


Tonight when I walked to the big garden with my basket to cut some herbs (with my scissors) I was again struck by the beauty. The way the light danced around the fireworks of the onion blossoms, glinting off the visiting bees. The colors of the rainbow chard. The smell of ripe blackberries in the hot sun. I picked rosemary, flat-leaf parsley, basil, and oregano. The dwarf peach trees are starting to drop their fruit on the ground, so I picked a few of those, too. And some of those pretty blackberries. Now that they are sweet, black, and fragrant, I realize that we were just eager for summer when we thought they were ripe a couple of weeks ago. I just walked along, picking a little of this, and a little of that, looking for zucchini that will be overgrown by the next time I come to the garden, admiring the way the peppers, eggplant and tomatoes have shot up in the last week.

And you know what? I simply cannot be at war with food. Not this food. All of this beautiful produce brings me so much joy.

I came home and put all of the herbs in the food processor with some salt, garlic and olive oil and made the green chicken. I cut up the beautiful fruit and made a cobbler. And I ate a modest dinner so that when that timer rings, I can go back out to the living room and enjoy a piece.

The Big O

Yesterday was a fine day. I made some granola, did some blogging (as you can probably tell), spent some time with my friends Tyla and Mollie, in turn, as Tyla had to have her hair done and Mollie took a nap upon her return, and I worked out at the gym. In the evening, I dug out all of the bulbs from the half-barrel planters in the back yard, filled the barrels with soil, and shoved some beans into the ground, hoping for some fast summer plants. And fall beans, of course. I added a couple of plants to my pot on the front porch, since the dragon crossvine seems to have lost its desire to put out those pretty red-orange trumpety flowers since I planted it. I pinched back the growing shoots in the hopes of encouraging it to refocus its efforts.

It was in between my swim at the gym and the evening gardening activities that I blithely hopped on the scale and discovered that I am half a pound away from the most that I have ever previously weighed. Talk about a day-wrecker.

I find myself walking a precarious balance between trying to be positive and give myself the benefit of the doubt, focus on action and move forward, and feeling really, really bad about myself. Action is the only thing that is going to change the situation, and no matter what, it can't change today, not entirely. Or tomorrow. Losing weight is something that takes daily attention and effort. It is a pain in the cellulite-lumpy ass. It is.

No matter how much weight I lose, I am never going to get any taller, or any prettier. (See how the negativity creeps in?) I hate jumping onto the hamster wheel that is kept spinning by the media, and women themselves, encouraging women to feel like they must keep improving themselves physically, LOSE WEIGHT! LOOK YOUNGER! DRESS THINNER! BUY! BUY! BUY! And yet I know that when I am this heavy, I don't feel good in the clothes I have. Things stick out. It is uncomfortable to sit wearing anything fitted, not because the clothes are uncomfortable, but because I can feel the lumps on my stomach sticking out. I become the muffin-top poster-child.

The last time I weighed this much was about, oh, ten years ago, I think. I quit my job at Tra Vigne restaurant. At one point while I was working there, I weighed almost 40 lbs less than I do now. By the time I left the restaurant a few years later, I had put a few back on, but still felt ok. The summer after I quit the restaurant, and the next year after, I wore loose linen shifts the whole summer, took a trip to Europe, and enjoyed my time off, deciding what to do with my life. I had a great time, for the most part. I also put on 20 lbs.

The most mortifying moment, which I will share with you now because I believe that sharing embarrassing moments as much as possible helps dissipate them, was when I ran into the former restaurant gardeners at the grocery store. Now, they had only ever seen me at the restaurant, in my suits and blouses, and they knew I had gotten married, and left the restaurant, and that they hadn't seen me for a few months. Suddenly, I was much heavier, and was wearing a loose linen dress. That is the set-up, and you know what comes next. We had gotten a puppy (so it was exactly ten years ago) and I was showing them the puppy. They asked if I had any "other news". It took me a moment to realize what they meant. Holding back tears, I said, "No, just the puppy." and went inside to find Mike. I barely made it out of the store and into the car before I burst into sobs.

Ok, so that's what's on my mind today, as I'm trying to go about my day. When I look in the mirror, from the front, when I'm getting ready each day, I just don't notice it that much. When I take a walk, my silhouette on the pavement doesn't look fat. Most of the time, I forget how I look. Here is a passage from a book I read (coincidentally) a couple of weeks ago, called Fat Girl:

"It may come as a surprise to you-- or maybe it won't-- but I often do not realize that I am fat, or how fat I am. When I am by myself, I don't tend to think about how I appear. I think about what I am doing. So when I see photographs...I am shocked by the difference between how I believed I looked and how I did look. This has happened before; I have believed I looked acceptably attractive, or even pretty, and then saw photographs that showed my wide butt and bulging stomach and those arms as big as big bolognas that hang from deli ceilings."

I realize that my situation is not this dire. The book, if you want to read it, is by Judith Moore. It is hard and short and painfully truthful. I also realize that in this post, I have crossed a new line. This is pretty personal stuff here. But I'm going to put it up anyway.

Indispensable

Here are some things that I wind up using over and over again in the kitchen. Even if you don't feel like you "cook" you'll cook for yourself sometime, and these will come in handy. (I've included where you can buy them as well.)

Silicone Spatulas
The little red one, in particular, is good for getting the last bit of anything out of a bowl, narrow jar or can (think tomato paste and horseradish). It also works for mayo, mustard, and molasses and honey at the bottom of a measuring cup. I keep a well-nicked white spatula specifically for cleaning the food processor so the other ones don't get shredded. Silicone spatulas are obviously also good for every type of flipping or stirring whether or not heat is involved. Dishwasher safe.

The little thin yellow one is the king of tiny flipping. Eggs, blinis, corn pancakes, crepes, whatever. It's always either in use, or in the dishwasher, because we use it so much. What I love about it is that when I'm making corn pancakes, or any batter, for that matter, I can use it to scrape out the bowl before the last pancake. Only one utensil to wash. Thrifty and Compulsive at it again-- it drives me nuts when cooks on television don't scrape their bowls out when making recipes. "You put three tablespoons of (ingredient) in there!" I shout. "What if there's a tablespoon left!" or "There's another whole pancake in that bowl!" Ok, I don't really shout, but I think about doing the math and wonder how many hundreds of pancakes could have been saved if each and every one of them would just scrape out the bowl. I have not been able to find this specific spatula online yet. The initials on the handle are WMB. My mom got it in a store in Modesto. I will find out more if I can.

Sturdy Kitchen Shears
I use these for everything from opening zip-top packages (such as those nasty sugar-laden dried apples) to snipping chives, parsley and cilantro, cutting flowers, string, parchment paper. Absolutely everything. Even cutting up those nasty sugar-laden dried apples. My grandmother asked me once what I wanted for a present, and I said kitchen shears, and this is what I got. She thought it was a little weird at the time, but I use them a lot, and every time I look at them and use them, which I have for years, I think of my grandmother.

I don't remember exactly when I started making a point of making sure that my birthday and Christmas money went towards specific things that were practical and I knew I'd use, but I'm glad now that I did. My big dictionary, my stockpot, these shears, my good chef's knife, all came from my grandparents' gifts. My pepper grinder was a wedding gift from a good friend. She asked for one from me for her wedding, and I asked for one from her. It's always been symbolic of our friendship to me. Not that our friendship is peppery. It's simple, sturdy, and important, and it's always at hand, whether I need it or not.

Dog
Great to have on hand, or under foot as the case may be, if you don't have a dustbuster. (We are thinking of calling our next dog Underfoot.) For cleaning up small spills and flung granola bits. Easy to use.

Fruit of the Day- Royal Blenheim Apricots

How Do You Like Them Apples? I Don't.

Dear Stoneridge Orchards,
Stoneridge Orchards sounds very farmy and wholesome. Imagine my surprise when I opened the package of "Dried Granny Smith Apple Wedges" and found that they were coated with sugar, dextrose, citric acid, malic acid, ascorbic acid and sunflower oil. Yes, they are technically speaking "all natural" but they are certainly not au naturel.

I should have been wary when I read the medallion on the front which highlighted the fact that they were made from "freshly hand-picked apples" (what else would they be made of?)...which are then dried and apparently covered in sugar. I was making granola, and I had already put in as much brown sugar as I wanted, so I had to rinse the sugar off of the cut-up apples and bake it more so that they'd dry out.

My gripe is not that you choose to put sugar on the apples. Some people might like that. I would just like to have been warned. How about putting "Sweetened Dried Granny Smith Apple Wedges" on your packaging in the future?

Thank you,
Tamara Landre

Isn't She Lovely?

Voila! My new composter. Is it just me, or does it look like the maid on the Jetson's? Did she have a name, or was it just Maid? Somebody look that up for me. Wait, I looked that up myself. Her name was Rosie. I have reservations about naming my composter Rosie, since Rose is my grandmother's name. I'm not sure she'd appreciate that. I love having the little bowl on the counter for the stems and scraps that collect in the day, knowing that eventually it will all end up as some nice, nutritious stuff for my garden. There is something very satisfying about completing that circle. (That's my thrifty side and my compulsive side, wringing their little hands and contemplating the takeover of the universe.) Now that I have been overwhelmed by late season kale and turnips, the composter is going to come in handy.

In completely unrelated news, my book club, or rather, the book club that I attend, is reading Special Topics in Calamity Physics. Click on the link to visit its very unique and interesting site.

For those who want to know, here is what the garden that I planted a few Sundays ago looks like now. I added sunflowers, which were supposed to be lined up along the back (whoops, a little crazy raking must have happened) and some wildflower mix in the bare spots caused by the gophers. Whatever's been munching on my basil seems to have abated temporarily.

Oh yes, and here's today's art class piece. It is a hat, with a scarf on it, sitting on top of a wooden hat form on top of a chair which is out of perspective with another scarf draped over it. Free to good home. They can't all be trout.

San Francisku

Oh, San Francisco
Chilly city-- hilly city
San Francisco