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.