Saturday, December 26, 2009

Love letters to the intrawebternetz.

I was pulling old SF/Bay Area/UChicago friends from a friend's twitter feed. I can tell I'm all squashy with familial guilt and over-emotion and holiday un-cheer and too many people, and this is how:

With Leslie Feist playing Leisure Suit I almost burst into tears upon reading an old friend's bio. The text said something along the lines of, "Actually kind of tolerates mustard these days."

My gut-reaction? "I knew you back when you hated mustard, when rocks were soft. We don't talk regularly anymore, but I (still) miss you and I'm filled with joy to see you so happy (with her)(with life)(in the city). Joy."

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Dear Santa:

Dear Santa,

How are you? How's your wife?

Please bring me some new Benefit of the Doubt, as President Obama has used up my entire stash for 2009.

Also, I seem to be running low on Faith in Humanity, so if you're feeling generous, I wouldn't say no.

Enjoy the cookies,


Inspired by:

Letter-to-santa thefted from a commentator. It was too good to leave just lying in a corner of the webternetz.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Keith Olbermann Nails It.

Transcript here:

Video link here:

Here's the text, lifted directly from the first site.

Finally, as promised, a Special Comment on the latest version of H-R 35-90, the Senate Health Care Reform bill. To again quote Churchill after Munich, as I did six nights ago on this program: "I will begin by saying the most unpopular and most unwelcome thing: that we have sustained a total and unmitigated defeat, without a war."

Last night on this program Howard Dean said that with the appeasement of Mr. Lieberman of Connecticut by the abandonment of the Medicare Buy-in, he could no longer support H-R 35-90. Dr. Dean's argument is informed, cogent, heart breaking, and unanswerable.

Seeking the least common denominator, Sen. Reid has found it, especially the "least" part. This is not health, this is not care, this is certainly not reform. I bless the Sherrod Browns and Ron Wydens and Jay Rockefellers and Sheldon Whitehouses and Anthony Weiners and all the others who have fought for real reform and I bleed for the pain inflicted upon them and their hopes. They have done their jobs and served their nation.

But through circumstances beyond their control, they are now seeking to reanimate a corpse killed by the Republicans, and by a political game played in the Senate and in the White House by men and women who have now proved themselves poorly equipped for the fight. The "men" of the current moment, have lost to the "mice" of history.

They must now not make the defeat worse by passing a hollow shell of a bill just for the sake of a big-stage signing ceremony. This bill, slowly bled to death by the political equivalent of the leeches that were once thought state-of-the-art-medicine, is now little more than a series of microscopically minor tweaks of a system which is the real-life, here-and-now version, of the malarkey of the Town Hallers. The American Insurance Cartel is the Death Panel, and this Senate bill does nothing to destroy it. Nor even to satiate it.

It merely decrees that our underprivileged, our sick, our elderly, our middle class, can be fed into it, as human sacrifices to the great maw of corporate voraciousness, at a profit per victim of 10 cents on the dollar instead of the current 20. Even before the support columns of reform were knocked down, one by one, with the kind of passive defense that would embarrass a touch-football player - single-payer, the public option, the Medicare Buy-In - before they vanished, the Congressional Budget Office estimated that the part of this bill that would require you to buy insurance unless you could prove you could not afford it, would cost a family of four with a household income of 54-thousand dollars a year, 17 percent of that income. Nine thousand dollars a year. Just for the insurance!

That was with a public option. That was with some kind of check on the insurance companies. That was before — as Howard Dean pointed out — the revelation that the cartel will still be able to charge older people more than others; will — at the least — now be able to charge much more, maybe 50 percent more, for people with pre-existing conditions — pre-existing conditions; you know, like being alive.

You have just agreed to purchase a product. If you do not, you will be breaking the law and subject to a fine. You have no control over how much you will pay for the product. The government will have virtually no control over how much the company will charge for the product. The product is designed like the Monty Python sketch about the insurance company's "Never-Pay" policy ... "which, you know, if you never claim — is very worthwhile. But you had to claim, and, well, there it is."

And who do we have to blame for this? There are enough villains to go around, men and women who, in a just world, would be the next to get sick and have to sell their homes or their memories or their futures — just to keep themselves alive, just to keep their children alive, against the implacable enemy of American society, the insurance cartel. Mr. Grassley of Iowa has lied, and fomented panic and fear. Mr. DeMint of South Carolina has forgotten he represents people, and not just a political party. Mr. Baucus of Montana has operated as a virtual agent for the industry he is charged with regulating. Mr. Nelson of Nebraska has not only derailed reform, he has tried to exploit it to overturn a Supreme Court decision that, in this context, is frankly none of his goddamned business.

They say they have done what they have done for the most important, the most fiscally prudent, the most gloriously phrased, the most inescapable of reasons. But mostly they have done it for the money. Lots and lots of money from the insurance companies and the pharmacological companies and the other health care companies who have slowly taken this country over.

Which brings us to Mr. Lieberman of Connecticut, the one man at the center of this farcical perversion of what a government is supposed to be. Out of pique, out of revenge, out of betrayal of his earlier wiser saner self, he has sold untold hundreds of thousands of us into pain and fear and privation and slavery — for money. He has been bought and sold by the insurance lobby. He has become a Senatorial prostitute. And sadly, the President has not provided the leadership his office demands.

He has badly misjudged the country's mood at all ends of the spectrum. There is no middle to coalesce here, Sir. There are only the uninformed, the bought-off, and the vast suffering majority for whom the urgency of now is a call from a collection agency or a threat of rescission of policy or a warning of expiration of services.

Sir, your hands-off approach, while nobly intended and perhaps yet some day applicable to the reality of an improved version of our nation, enabled the national humiliation that was the Town Halls and the insufferable Neanderthalian stupidity of Congressman Wilson and the street-walking of Mr. Lieberman.

Instead of continuing this snipe-hunt for the endangered and possibly extinct creature "bipartisanship," you need to push the Republicans around or cut them out or both. You need to threaten Democrats like Baucus and the others with the ends of their careers in the party. Instead, those Democrats have threatened you, and the Republicans have pushed you and cut you out.

Mr. President, the line between "compromise" and "compromised" is an incredibly fine one. Any reform bill enrages the right, and provides it with the war cry around which it will rally its mindless legions in the midterms and in '12. But this Republican knee-jerk inflexibility provides an incredible opportunity to you, Sir, and an incredible license.

On April 6th 2003, I was approached by two drunken young men at a baseball game. One of them started to ask for an autograph. The other stopped him by shouting "Screw him, he's a liberal." This program had been on the air for three weeks. It had to that point consisted entirely of brief introductions to correspondents in Iraq or to military analysts. There had been no criticism, no political analysis, no commentary. I had not covered news full-time for more than four years. I could not fathom on what factual basis, I was being called a "liberal," let alone being sworn at for being such.

Only later did it dawn on me that it didn't matter why, and it didn't matter that they were doing it — it only mattered that if I was going to be mindlessly criticized for anything, the reaction would be identical whether I did nothing that engendered it, or stood for something that engendered it.

Mr. President, they are calling you a socialist, a communist, a Marxist. You could be further to the right than Reagan - and this health care bill, as Howard Dean put it here last night, this bailout for the insurance industry, sure invites the comparison. And they will still call you names.

Sir, if they are going to call you a socialist no matter what you do, you have been given full unfettered freedom to do what you know is just. The bill may be the ultimate political manifesto, or it may be the most delicate of compromises. The firestorm will be the same. So why not give the haters, as the cliché goes, something to cry about.

But concomitant with that is the reaction from Democrats and Independents. You have riven them, Sir. Any bill will engender criticism but this bill costs you the left — and anybody who now has to pony up 17 percent of his family's income to buy this equivalent of Medical Mobster Protection Money.

Some speaking for you, Sir, have called the public option a fetish. They may be right. But to stay with this uncomfortable language, this bill is less fetish, more bondage. Nothing short of your re-election and the re-election of dozens of Democrats in the house and senate, hinges in large part on this bill. Make it palatable or make it go away or make yourself ready — not merely for a horrifying campaign in 2012 — but for the distinct possibility also of a primary challenge.

Befitting the season, Sir, these are not the shadows of the things that will be, but the shadows of the things that may be. But at this point, Mr. President, only you can make certain of that. There is only one redemption possible. The mandate in this bill under which we are required to buy insurance must be stripped out.

The bill now is little more than a legally mandated delivery of the middle class (and those whose dreams of joining it slip ever further away) into a kind of Chicago stockyards of insurance. Make enough money to take care of yourself and your family and you must buy insurance — on the insurers terms — or face a fine.

This provision must go. It is, above all else, immoral and a betrayal of the people who elected you, Sir. You must now announce that you will veto any bill lacking an option or buy-in, but containing a mandate.

And Sen. Reid, put the public option back in, or the Medicare Buy-In, or both. Or single-payer. Let Lieberman and Ben Nelson and Baucus and the Republicans vote their lack-of-conscience and preclude 60 "ayes." Let them commit political suicide instead of you.

Let Mr. Lieberman kill the bill — then turn to his Republican friends only to find out they hate him more than the Democrats do. Let him stagger off the public stage, to go work for the insurance industry. As if he is not doing that now.

Then, Mr. Reid, take every worthwhile provision of health care reform you legally can, and pass it via reconciliation, when ever and how ever you can — and by the way, a Medicare Buy-In can be legally passed via reconciliation. The Senate bill with the mandate must be defeated, if not in the Senate, then in the House.

Health care reform that benefits the industry at the cost of the people is intolerable and there are no moral constructs in which it can be supported. And if still the bill and this heinous mandate become law there is yet further reaction required. I call on all those whose conscience urges them to fight, to use the only weapon that will be left to us if this bill becomes law. We must not buy federally mandated insurance if this cheesy counterfeit of reform is all we can buy.

No single payer? No sale. No public option? No sale. No Medicare buy-in? No sale. I am one of the self-insured, albeit by choice. And I hereby pledge that I will not buy this perversion of health care reform. Pass this at your peril, Senators, and sign it at yours, Mr. President. I will not buy this insurance. Brand me a lawbreaker if you choose. Fine me if you will. Jail me if you must.

But if the Medicare Buy-In goes, but the Mandate stays, the people who fought so hard and so sincerely to bring sanity to this system must kill this mutated version of their dream, because those elected by us to act for us have forgotten what must be the golden rule of health care reform. It is the same one to which physicians are bound, by oath: First do no harm.

Monday, December 14, 2009

For sale/hire/purchase ...

Hiding at home, ostensibly doing laundry, holiday baking, house cleaning and cordial production isn't sufficient excuse. I'm dressed, I'm professional-appearing (as much as I ever am) and I have a binder with the resumes, already printed.

Out of excuses, yes I am. It's time to go, greet the day, and believe in the power of the universe to provide.

"Alll-ley-loo is church for hooray!" --- courtesy of my favorite toddler.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Hey, it's that holiday thing again...

I haven't made a yule log in, oh, ten years. This obviously means that I need to make it for a party where there will be many witnesses in case I commit massive, cake-wrecks-worthy failure. Right now I'm planning on trying the recipe in Catten Cakes and Lace: A Calendar of Feasts by Julia Jones and Barbara Deer. Home-made chocolate frosting will be requisite, as will be little meringue mushrooms. Possibly fondant or marzipan greenery too.

In the interim, I need dessert for a dinner-party tonight. Based on the preferences of the other guests and the tart cherries in my fridge, I think it'll be a clafoutis. The catch? My copy of Global Gourmet is far from me. As in, packed in a box in Cincinnati in a basement? Maybe? I know there are other perfectly acceptable clafoutis recipes, and I know it's not a rocket science dessert. However, I've made that recipe, so I *know* it works and is delicious and again: experimentation when attempting to impress = made of fail.

Over at la tartine gourmande ( she's explained clafoutis so beautifully, I would prefer to direct you to her. The emphasis on ripe, delicious cherries leads me to think that I've already changed my mind.

I do have local, delicious, no-spray apples though, and surely enough, there's an apple and hazelnut clafoutis recipe which is 1) more seasonally appropriate and 2) likely to taste equally good with pecans, of which I have a surplus. I think I've accidentally found a new favorite food blogger! Oh boy!


I'll report back to you all later tonight or tomorrow morning -- this bodes well for the delicious!

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Vintage Fruit Cake

The best (funniest, most poignant) things cannot be told to the internet. That being said, with the implicit (complicit) note that I can't always tell all the amazing stories I hear, I offer you instead a vintage (belonging to a grandmother) fruit cake recipe. It is still in the oven, where it will be for another hour. After which some will soak in spiced rum, some in amaretto, and some will just soak in good ol' fashioned air. This is a slow-results project, but I hope that it will not fail.

1 lb candied/dried pineapple, chopped
1.5 lb dates, chopped
1 lb candied cherries, chopped
2 lbs pecans, chopped
2 c flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
4 eggs
1 c sugar

Preheat oven to 275 degrees. Grease loaf pans of any size that suits your fancy. I used 1 mini, 1 standard, and 1 small. This is to further my experiments in soaking it in booze.
Mix the dates, pineapple, and cherries in a large bowl.
Whisk together the dry ingredients, then pour them on top of the fruit mixture. Combine until fruit is well coated in floury mix.
Whisk/beat the eggs until frothy.
Beat in 1 c sugar until well combined. Pour egg/sugar over fruit/flour mixture, mix to combine/coat.
Mix in 2 lbs chopped pecans. At this juncture, if you haven't already, abandon your spoon or spatula and just use your paws. It will be easier ... and you won't run the risk of snapping your room mate's Ikea spatula into two pieces. (Sorry.)
Press into pans, bake for 1hr, 30 min in the 275 degree oven.
Once done, remove from pans, cool on racks, then wrap in cheesecloth/muslin and soak in a booz-a-hol of your choice for three weeks. Spiced rum, amaretto, brandy, as you see fit.

NOM NOM NOM the anticipation!

Monday, December 7, 2009

Herd-joining and other minor misfortunes.

Tweet. Tweet.


Saturday, December 5, 2009

For Caroline.

Quick and Dirty French Phrase Guide:

Could I please have a beer?
Une biere, s’il vous plait
ooon beee-air seal-voo-play

I’d like a cappucino, please?
Un café crème, s’il vous plait
un café krem, seal-voo-play

Where is the bathroom?
Ou est les toilettes?
Ooo-ay lay tway-lettes

Which way to the metro station?
Ou est le Metro?
OOO-ay le met – roe

Please help, I’m lost, which way is (hotel address)?
S’il vous plait, je suis perdu. Ou est_____?
(Seal-vooo-play, je sweeee per-dooo. Oooo-ay _________?)

No, I don’t want to give you my number.
Non, je ne te donnerai jamais mon numero
No, jay nuh tuh done – er – ray jah-may mon numero.

No, I don’t want to go home with you.
Non, j’ai aucune desir de rentre chez toi.
No, j’ay oh-coon day-seer duh ron-tray chez toi.

No, I don’t want to have sex with you.
Non, je n’ai aucune desir de te faire amour.

No, je-nay oh-coon day-seer duh tuh fair amour.

I don’t like men.
J’aime que les femmes.
Jem que lays femmz

Fuck off, you bastard.
Arrete de m’emmerder!
Ah-rett duh may-mer-day!

You’re breaking my balls.
Tu me casses les couilles!
Too muh kassz lays quweeez.

Friday, December 4, 2009

oh my my, oh hell yes, honey put on your party dress...

A cogent analysis of the same-sex marriage debate, in handy flow chart form.

Tip o' the hat to a certain Dominic in Mynnd Seren for the link.

HTML has lately been made for me of fail, even pre-made html generated by Blogger and Livejournal. Please accept my heartfelt internet apologies for making it essential for you to copy-paste a link.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Contagious much? Leaving the right in its own dust.

Andrew Sullivan of The Atlantic has also declared his departure from the conventional right as it is practiced in politics today.

"But there has to come a point at which a movement or party so abandons core principles or degenerates into such a rhetorical septic system that you have to take a stand. It seems to me that now is a critical time for more people whose principles lie broadly on the center-right to do so - against the conservative degeneracy in front of us."

He then presents a manifesto that floored me, that precisely articulated the heart of why I am so frustrated with what I read, see, and listen to from the mainstream media. I do not, and will not say that 'leftist', alternative, or liberal media does not have its failings. It most certainly does, and I am happy to discuss/analyze/critique them. At issue rather is the bankruptcy facing the religious right, the conservatives, the rotten core of the Republican party.

Among other gems is this: "I cannot support a movement which has no real respect for the institutions of government and is prepared to use any tactic and any means to fight political warfare rather than conduct a political conversation."

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

This is why. Articulated clearly, just for you, by someone else.

Little Green Footballs articulated precisely some of the problems I have with political discourse today. Please, read, and enjoy. There's a satisfying crunch of the slamming door as Little Green Footballs leaves the company of the extremist political right. High five! Also, a thank you for such a concise bit of rationality. Our political discourse needs an injection -- five doses, one every 6 weeks, until recovery is ensured.

LoLCat Bible Wiki project

I had forgotten how amazing this is. They have most of the Bible done, and it will be for sale in 2010 (how damned cool is that?).

Here's the wiki page for the first book of Esther, in the Old Testament:

"1 Wuz Ahasuerus (Ahasuerus rulz Injuns An Ethiopia an all teh kittehs btwn, lotz o plazes)2 King Ahasuerus haz chair and big houz in Shushan3 In teh third yeer, he maked cheezburgrs An cookies, giv to prinz An servntz; teh powerz Purrsia n Media wuz ther

4 He haz lots shiny thingz, took long time 2 show5 He haz partee for 7 dayz in teh leaves in teh houz6 Was hangin things to play wit and bedz to sleep7 Lotz to drinkz8 King sayd to every cat in houz, drink lotz

9 Queen Vashti also haz partee11 Getz Vashti so i can sho her like shiny things12 Vashti went AFK. king got agro

13 King askd smrt ppl:14 Wit 7 princes15 Wht shd hapn wit Vashti, she iz gai

16 Memucan sai Vishti hert every boy lolcat17 Vishti inspyr all girlz to be bad18 Teh ladyz now haz rath

19 Royl comand dat king find nother grl21 King was like happycat22 erwon got letterz."

Monday, November 30, 2009

Oh my.

Can't pin down the chain-restaurant-food cravings you're enduring? Let this handy guide help you. A quick shout out to Brett, from whom this was yanked.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

First World Problems.

1) Amtrack return ticket for the Sunday following the Thanksgiving weekend.
2) Unscrutinized ticket leads to *surprise* moment when realization of 5-hour layover is achieved.
3) Especially since Union Station is crawling with travelers. Lots of cranky travelers, quarantined like cattle, or refugees.
4) And the Amtrack lounges are off-limits unless you're five minutes prior to departure.
5) The station chairs are all full. So are the walls, and most of the floor.
6) Plus that forty pounds of baggage you're carrying around when you realize this.
7) Add on that you snacked and had coffee on the train, but by the time it arrives you're a) ravenous and b)under-caffeinated.
8) It's raining in Chicago.
9) You've arm warmers but no mittens, and your scarf evaporated the previous evening. Regrettably, no alcohol was involved.
10) You're nursing the tail end of a hangover, and just want somewhere warm, to eat, with the internet, for free. Happy to pay for the food/drink, it's just that the internet should be free.
11) You should be able to do e-mail on your handy new holiday present smart phone. But instead, after three hours spent in the Sprint Store yesterday, they still didn't fix your phone, which thinks it is corporate and has no interest in talking to GMail.
12) Every single nice-looking local-ish cafe is closed for the holiday weekend, or closed b/c it isn't M-F, 9-5.
13) The only food option looks like McDonald's or more McDonald's
14) The internet, or twitter, or facebook, of gmail could fix any of these first world problems.


I am going to roast the balls of some Sprint employee's management team. RAAAAAR!

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Un-Turkey Thanksgiving

Soy Chorizo and Rice Stuffed Acorn Squash

Serves 2 as a main dish, or 4 as a side.

1 acorn squash, sliced in half, with seeds/innards scraped out.

Grease liberally with olive oil, place cut down on an aluminum-lined baking sheet. Bake at 375 for 30-40 minutes, or until fork-tender. Once cool, carefully scoop out 75% of the squash flesh and set aside. Make sure to leave the shell intact.

While the squash is baking, cook 1 c white or brown rice.

I used a rice cooker, and needed 2 c water. On the stove-top, ratios may differ. I actually make poor rice on the stove top, so I shall graciously confess my use of tools, and let other, wiser, folk on the internet direct the cooking-of-rice-in-pots-on-stoves.

Chop into a small dice two large (or four small) shallots.
Mince 4-6 cloves garlic (or to taste).

Saute the shallots in olive oil over medium-low heat until translucent. Add the garlic, saute 1-2 minutes more, until garlic softens but does not brown.

Add 1-2 teaspoons of cumin and a 1/2 teaspoon of dried pepper flakes.

Stir another thirty seconds or so. Add in the squash innards, mixing, then once combined, stir in half of the rice (About a cup, there will be rice to spare. I just find it ridiculous to make a 1/2 c of dry rice, since there are so many uses for leftover rice.)

Once the squash and rice are well combined, add about 4 inches of soy chorizo crumbles. Stir to combine. It comes in a casing, so it's easier to approximate four inches than it sounds. Add more or less to taste -- I didn't want the flavor of the chorizo to dominate the delicious squash, I just wanted to compliment it.

Pack this mixture back into the squash shells and level them off. Carefully wrap the squash shells in aluminum foil as if they were baked potatoes. Pop them in the oven, either on low (200 degrees) until it's time to serve the rest of dinner, or 350 for about 10-15 minutes to warm them completely and combine the flavors. The foil wrapper will keep them from drying out and trap delicious flavor inside.

Some bread crumbs or cheese crumbles would be a nice finishing topping -- I was trying to keep this dish vegan though, so I skipped the cheese. If a brown crusty topping is desired, remove the foil for the last five minutes of bake-time to let the cheese or bread crumbs brown.

This is a top-secretly hearty dish. Since it was one of many items for Un-Turkey Thanksgiving, we were both barely able to eat a third of a half of a squash. Bon Appetit!

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Curried Squash for B3R

Curried Squash

2 butternut or acorn squash
1/2 small tin curry paste
1 can coconut milk
1 can crushed tomatoes in tomatoe puree
2 inches fresh ginger, grated or finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, finely chopped
3 onions, coarse chop

1)Halve the squash, scoop out the seeds. Rub with olive oil, then place cut side down on a tin-foil covered baking sheet. Bake at 375 degrees for 45 minutes or until fork-tender. Depending on the size and thickness of the squash, the amount of roasting required may vary.

2)While the squash is roasting, do the following: peel and chop the three onions, finely chop the six cloves of garlic, and peel and grate the fresh ginger.

3)When the roasted squash is cool enough to handle, peel and chunk up the squash. It’s a-okay if the squash is super soft and falling apart – that only means it will be more delicious.

4)Saute the onions in olive oil over medium heat until translucent. Add the garlic and ginger and saute 1-2 minutes more. Add curry paste to taste, starting with at least 2 tablespoons. I used a combination of massaman curry paste and sour yellow curry paste, though for squash I prefer the massamn curry flavor. Cook the mixture, stirring, to release the curry flavors for another 2-3 minutes. Add the coconut milk and the tomatoes.

5)At this point there are several possible steps. If you have a large enough stove-top pan, you can combine the curry sauce and the squash and cook on low for at least 30 minutes, occasionally stirring. If you prefer, combine the squash and sauce and put it into a crockpot to slow cook. The third option (and the one I used, as I don’t currently have a giant stove-top kettle) is to bake it again. Press the squash into a 9x13 pan, 2 inches deep, as though it were a crust or a dough. Pour the curry sauce over the top, cover with foil, and bake at 275 for 45 minutes, stirring to combine the curry sauce/squash at the half-way point. This only tastes better the longer it cooks, so I dropped the temperature further, down to 225, and cooked my pans o’ squash for another 45 minutes before loading up to go to site dinner.

The ratios of curry/tomato/coconut milk can be adjusted to suit personal preference. This is a down-sized recipe. For comparison, I used closer to 10 squashes, and four cans of coconut milk. The large, forty-servings version filled a 2-inch steam pan upon completion.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Coconut Mango Vegan Scones

This recipe is based on the scone framework from Vegan with a Vengeance, but it's been much adapted. It's also imperative that one uses frozen mango chunks. I spent the better part of a week calibrating the moisture content so these were 'rounds' and not puddles of scone dough. Ripe, juicy, fresh mangoes will likely crash and burn the recipe, unless one carefully adjusts the other liquid levels.

3 cups of bread flour (please, do not use pastry flour)
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup shredded coconut
2 tablespoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup canola oil (probably would be delicious with coconut oil)
3/4 cup soy milk (or other non-dairy milk)
1 teaspoon coconut extract
1/3 cup coconut for sprinkling/decoration
10 ounces frozen mango chunks, defrosted a bit, then pulsed into smaller pieces in a food processor or coarsely chopped by hand.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, or grease with non-stick spray. Preheat oven to 350, convection, or 375, standard. Whisk together the dry ingredients (flour, sugar, 1/2 cup of coconut, baking powder, salt). Add the wet ingredients and mix with a spatula until the dough just holds together. Scoop with a 4 ounce scoop, or shape into balls or triangles, whatever scone shape preference is preferred, and dust with 1/3 cup coconut. Makes 7 scones. Bake 18 minutes at 350 (convection) or 375 (standard), or until scone is a light golden brown.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Flower Confidential

"Lane remembers the day he tried to convince the bank's lawyers to release enough money to let him pay his employees. ... 'They had frozen all our accounts,' he told me. 'It was early February, just before Valentine's Day. I kept trying to tell them, you can't do this. We've got to treat our people well. If we don't pay the workers, we don't get the flowers cut in time, and then we're really in trouble. Finally I told them, 'You know, you guys are up there in your nice office on the twentieth floor in downtown Portland and you think you can just deny these people their paychecks. But they had nothing to do with this [the bankruptcy]. At four o'clock, you're going to have a hundred people wondering where their paychecks are. And at the end of the day, I can't guarantee what will happen to your assets if they don't get paid. What you own down here is four hundred thousand square feet of glass. Do you understand this? These are glass houses. I can't promise that at the end of the day these glass houses will still have glass in them.'' After a long silence, the lawyers agreed to release they money and that evening Lane handed out the paychecks."

--Flower Confidential by Amy Stewart, pg 79-80

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Margaret Atwood on farm cats

"They'd also sprouted a number of cats, offspring of the single cat that had been transported to the farm from the city, and was supposed to have been spayed. Obviously there had been a mistake, because this cat kittened underneath a corner of the house. The kittens were quite wild. They ran away and plunged into their burrow if Nell even tried to get near them. Then they would peer out, hissing and trying to look ferocious. When they were older they moved to the barn, where they hunted mice and had secrets. Once in a while, a gizzard--squirrel, Nell suspected--or else a tail, or some other chewed-up body-part offering, would appear on the back-door threshold, where Nell would be sure to step on it, especially if her feet happened to be bare, as they often were in the summer. The cats had a vestigial memory of civilization and its rituals, it seemed. They knew they were supposed to pay rent, but they were confused about the details."

--from the short story White Horse in the book Moral Disorder

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Tastes like Aix-en-Provence

In August during my travels, while lost, I was shocked to find exceedingly expensive tins of Hedley's tea (I believe it's a Canadian brand) at Big Lots for $2/tin. This would usually retail for $8-$10, so I stocked up on many flavors; so many that I haven't gotten around to trying them all. Some of you may be familiar with my cabinet/drawer/shelves of tea and the fact that there's always more, and it's often growing more quickly than I can drink it, even with dedicated assistance.

For a caffeine-soft start to my day I brewed a cup of blackcurrant (cassis) tea. Cassis is a common flavor in France, but I don't often find it here. So as I sit with the internet and sip, it tastes like France all over again.

The kitchen with its cluttered miniature fridge, doomed-to-failure gas stove, and the European map on which we planned our grand travels. The tiny wicker-top stools and the mountains of dishes in the sink. Sitting on my foam-mattress-bed/couch in the living room around the hookah with everyone, tea doctored with cream and sugar.

It tastes like a chilly and painful year in Aix-en-Provence in a way that is nostalgically delicious.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

The AP has an article about how Bush's personality shaped his presidency and will shape his legacy. This line, about presidential lunches, was my favorite:

Former White House executive chef Walter Scheib learned from Bush never to serve a grilled cheese sandwich unless it came with a side of French's yellow mustard.

It's an interesting read.