Birthday greetings from all directions

Yesterday was my birthday. Friends RJ and The Texan took me out to a small, but (locally) celebrated local upmarket steakhouse, Laurelhurst Market. The service was good, once we reminded the host that we needed to be served (the waitress was, if anything, too sycophantic in apologies). Really excellent meal, starting with a charcuterie plate (of which the best of a tasty selection was a homemade mortadella with pistachios) and a plate of "bacon and eggs" -- deviled eggs with a little sombrero of crisp bacon on top, with a pesto sauce dripped on the side.

(My mussels with fries, photo from RJ's cellphone)

I had Moule Frites with a white wine sauce; The Texan a 12-hour smoked brisket with "Mom's Baked Beans" on the side (footnoted on the menu as, The beans your mom would have made for you if she loved you).  RJ, the most adventurous of us all, ordered veal sweetbreads, and a marrow bone.

(Sweetbreads on the left, marrow on the right. Truly a meat-lover's 

restaurant. Or an eco-sensitive person who will eat the whole animal.)

And best of all, even though we were completely stuffed by the end of all that, we were given a complimentary dessert (for having had to wait, ignored, for 30 minutes at our table as everyone around us was being served) -- a dolce de leches cheesecake which none of us would have ordered but which will be the first thing we order next time we go, and a strawberry shortcake (admittedly the shortcake was grainy and they skimped on the berries, but the whipped cream was just what I needed to complete my fat intake for the year).

I have a niece in the midwest and a nephew in the mountains who both celebrate their birthdays today. Neither of them would have eaten a thing at this restaurant, but I hope they find their own niches to fill.

Shrimp

Cranky and the Bride belong to one (more than one, actually) of these local places like a CSA -- a farm that you buy shares in, and then get a share of the produce.  I say "like a CSA" because in the case I'm discussing today, it's not kale and celeriac, but fish and seafood shares.  Today I drove up to a truck parked in the driveway of a nearby farm (by arrangement) and picked up about 10 lbs of fresh-caught shrimp.

Fresh-caught.  Not, thank the lord, alive still, but only just-dead. Very fresh. But also very straight-from-the-sea.  Cranky jokingly commanded me over the phone from England that they expected the shrimp cleaned, deveined, shelled, and frozen in single use packets -- funny, except that is what I had intended to do before the command anyway.

Per shrimp, it wasn't that much work, but 10 lbs is a lot of shrimp.  Cleaning them required twisting the heads off, and then removing the eggs from under their legs and tail shell.  The eggs were the surprise, and the hard part.

I didn't know shrimp had eggs. I mean, yeah, I kinda knew, but I've never seen it before. Until the guy at the shrimp truck referred to them, I just thought the shrimp were dirty.  If you look in the photo (whole shrimp on the left, tails in the "basket" on top -- eggs still intact, and heads on the right) you can see the darkening in the tail area.  Not the vein, but eggs -- thousands and thousands of shrimp roe, a quite beautiful silvery teal blue.  On the very last pound I finally figured how to clean them out -- squeeze the shrimp as if you were rolling a cigar, and then rinse (rinsing straight just separates the eggs and drives them into the corners and under the shell).  (And later I wondered if shrimp roe isn't a great delicacy and I just flushed a ton of it down the drain? If so, oops, sorry, Cranky and Bride.)

98% of these shrimp were females, judged by the presence of eggs. (I don't know shrimp anatomy or sexual characteristics, so I'm taking the layman's view: eggs = female.) A brother-in-law of mine was once studying Buddhism, and he told me that in Buddhist theory, if you have to eat meat, it is better to eat something like a cow, than something like shrimp. This is because in the former case, merely one life (the cow's) is taken to feed many people; whereas in the latter case, to feed one person, many shrimp's lives must be taken.

As I flushed out the thousands and thousands of eggs today, I thought about that, and wondered if maybe these shrimp were caught in the midst of breeding season? Are we massacring a whole generation of shrimp (it wasn't just me picking up 10 lbs. of little beings)?  I assume not. I assume that this is a sustainable fisherman, hence the selling by shares and truckloads rather than just to the local grocer.  But such a lot of lives.

I packed the shrimp into freezer bags of 1.5 lbs each, and saved a gallon of shrimp heads because one of the cookbooks recommended using them for fish stock.  I saved a serving out for myself, but after an afternoon of twisting heads off and metaphysical thoughts, I decided upon cheese pizza instead.

To end on a surreal note, here's the official music video of the song running through my mind all afternoon, Fish Heads, by Barnes & Barnes (1979).

Baking and Decorating

Gosh, it's hard to photograph food so it looks tasty.

We've outdone even our old record for cookies this year -- partly due to being trapped in the house by the weather. Here you see (left to right) Iced Oatmeal Cookies, Aunt Joan's Revel Bars, Peanut-Butter Blossoms, Almond-Cardamom Stars, Rum Balls, Apricot Balls, Molasses Cookies, and along the bottom, Cranberry-Pistachio Biscotti, dipped in white chocolate. This is not a weight-loss Christmas for any of us.

FemmeDommi was to lead the 2nd Grade Cookie Decorating Project on the last day of school. School was canceled for snow (our schools were canceled three days last week; across the city, in the West Hills, lucky children had five snowdays, while their parents missed work and Christmas shopping, and cursed the city school board). So we ended up with four dozen sugar cookies (trees, bells and stars), two dozen tiny gingerbread men, and all the decorations. Today we had fun, and we'll deliver plates of these to our neighbors tomorrow.

I have been thinking of making a batch of Snickerdoodles as well. What's Christmas without Snickerdoodles? And we have no nut-cookies, no pecan sandies, no Russian teacakes. A gap in our selection, indeed. And the Texan has yet to make her stellar Linzertortes, either. So more cookies may be forthcoming.

St. Valentine's Traditions

Probably the best Valentine's gift I've ever received (although to be honest, I've not received many) was a large Godiva chocolate heart box, filled with handmade sugar cookies, frosted and personalized by my then-boyfriend, Peter.



As a gift, it held the right excitement (a very large heart-shaped box - it must have originally held five pounds of candy) ... the right note of wary concern when I saw the "Godiva" logo (we were college students, on our first Valentine's together -- what did he expect for such an expensive gift? And how would I bring myself to eat all those -- I don't care for chocolates that much -- to properly thank him?) ... the right discovery of relief (no chocolates after all!) ... and the right coy cuteness (Awwww! The man made me cookies all by his lonesome! And decorated them, too). I knew even then that his mother had likely suggested the idea, and probably even baked the cookies and let him take credit (in my memory of the moment, she's standing in the background as he hands me the box), but I was willing to forgive a little lack of creativity and effort for not having to appropriately thank him for a 5 lb. box of expensive chocolates.



So I've always had a soft spot for Valentine's heart-shaped sugar cookies. Today, the Texan made a delicious batch (they have a hint of nutmeg that makes them very special) and the children decorated them. Boy-child, not to be too mushy, asked for foot-shaped cookies instead, and he decorated them himself. Girl-child, Texan and I did the rest. We even decorated a cookie in honor of each of the cats (named on the cookies).

Putting the gardens to bed

I cleared out the back garden of tomatoes today. At first I was just going to pick any red ones. Then I realized most of the red ones were split and half rotten (I haven't harvested for a week, and the weather has been in the mid-40's (~7 C) every night). So then I planned to just pick all of them, red and green. (Mom has a recipe for Pickalily with green tomatoes that she made years ago and it was delicious on beef pasties.) But in the end, the whole tomato /green-bean /pepper garden was dismantled and put in the yard-debris garbage -- and then the herb garden and a few of the over-the-hill flowers around the yard until the debris bag was full. Once again I wished we had a compost, but we don't.

I planted four tomato plants in April; one started producing large cherry tomatoes in late July, the rest came into full fruiting in mid-August, so we had almost three full months of fresh tomatoes. It is a good thing, a tomato grown in your own backyard.

On the other hand, we had a total of 3 green beans (beans, not plants), and the one pepper fruited so late that the plant died leaving a sorry and rock hard 1-inch proto-pepper clutched in its dry, withered leaves. Apparently one of the few things that the Willamette Valley cannot produce naturally is a good sweet bell pepper. They require temperatures in the upper 70's (21+ C) minimally during both the day and the night, but the temperatures drop here at night, even in summer. Great for summer sleeping, not good for homegrown peppers. (The local farmers who do grow them use heaters.)

By accident I planted one heirloom cannelini plant (I thought it was a green bean), which produced several nice fat pods full of nice fat beans. That is, about 1/4 cup, not enough for a bowl of soup. So I have dried the beans and will plant them next spring -- if each bean produces a plant with as many pods as we had this summer, I should have at least 2-3 cups of beans, and I hope that next fall we can have a pot of homegrown minestrone (with purchased pasta). Actually, the cannelini didn't get planted until August and in a shady northern corner, so I expect I can have a much better harvest next year.

Hope springs even in fall. One of the tomatoes had three new blossoms; the passion flower on the patio is still blooming. Andrew suggested the maniacal grin for the photo.

I can America*

Today, in preparation for that good American holiday Halloween, I went to the fabric store to purchase materials to make a witch costume for Molly. She has very specific ideas about what her witch costume will look like - she drew me a picture. She carefully colored in the hat, and she added the tiny bow at the neckline.

It is to be black. No waistline. No zippers or buttons or ribbons or frills. Short sleeves because she doesn't like the feel of fabric on her elbows. It is to be mid-calf in length. When I told her I would have to find a pattern (because my sewing skills are rusty), she said, "No, no pattern! Only black. Plain black."

The closest fabric store I know about is a Jo-Ann's Superstore, on SE 82nd, in the middle of a territory that God -- or Portland land use zoning law -- has abandoned to strip malls and highways. There are no trees in "outer SE" as it is known. There are no sidewalks. There are cars going fast on the highway, or going slow at the traffic lights, or going slow on the highways during rush hour. The only people you see outside are unfortunates waiting for the bus, in a part of town deemed unworthy of bus shelters, sitting passively in the rain on sodden benches.

I was in JoAnn's for almost 3 hours. The store itself is a huge, clean, windowless warehouse of white walls, lit by cold fluorescent lights hung from a high white ceiling. While I was there, a huge rainstorm hit outside; I had no indication of the storm deep in the center of the store. I was surrounded by 9-foot high shelves stocked with amazing potential for whatever hobby you have -- needle-point, sewing, knitting, machine embroidery, decoupage, home decoration (pre-made and materials for), an assortment of unfinished wooden boxes and small furniture to be used in decoupage and home decoration; dried flower arranging, frames and framing, fabric painting, dying, card-making, and scrap-booking. More than four aisles were aimed for the scrap-bookers: colored archival paper, in matte, gloss and glitter; stickers; devices to create stickers; special scissors to cut shapes to fit into the devices to make unique stickers. Stamps for those who don't want stickers but do want color. Large stamps of color texture, small stamps of intricate Victorian curling ivy, alphabet stamp sets in 4 different sizes and 5 different fonts. And 2 more aisles of compartmentalized storage boxes to keep track of all your scrap-booking supplies.

Oh yes, they do sell fabric, but most of it is fleece (plain, striped, patterned and licensed patterns) and quilting calicos. At this time of year, they are well-stocked with fanciful fabrics for Halloween -- I bypassed several attractive tulles with multi-colored sequins, or deep red-black velvet with burned out skulls and crossbones, in favor of the plain black that Molly requested. Because I only needed a yard, I purchased some delicious velvety black panne (rejected by herself because it has "shiny parts") in addition to the more safe fine wale black corduroy (pronounced "perfect").

The problem was the pattern. Patterns for girls' witches costumes run to the Scary Witches (worn with big green noses and orange-and-white-striped stockings and with tight Victorian bodices and big puffed sleeves and capes) or to the Beautiful Witches (with brightly colored netting overlays, and tight corset-tied Medieval bodices over lacy insets, and long dramatic swooping sleeves). Eventually I found a plain girl's dress, exactly matching the drawing (except intended for a fun fabric, with pockets).

While I was wandering lost in the fields of too much potential, I was helped by three different employees -- a Southeast Asian woman, an Hispanic woman, and a white woman, each with accents (the white woman sounded like she just came down from the ranch -- very Western). The women who sat at the pattern-books with me, looking for Halloween costumes for themselves (not for the 5-year-old boy who patiently paged through the pattern books pointing out costumes for them to wear -- the Wicked Witch of the West for his mother, and Dorothy for her friend) were white, overweight and in their early 20's, wearing similar outfits of t-shirts under shapeless hooded cardigan sweatshirts and jeans.

With all the materials for the witch dress in my new wooden box (I was not immune to the sirens of all craft projects), I drove straight to Burgerville, the only hamburger joint that our family frequents. Burgerville prides itself on all the buzzwords of the day -- their meat is all locally grown in sustainable farms, range-fed, no antibiotics; they use no trans-fats, locally grown potatoes and other veggies, locally caught fish (I always get the halibut sandwich). They provide full health care benefits to their employees. They are reknowned for their seasonal shakes, made with real ice cream, all locally provenanced as well.

As I returned to the highway, sucking down my really excellent creamy and not-too-sweet Pumpkin Milkshake, I thought about how different my experience was from an equivalent shopping expedition that Kate might have taken in Toulouse. I'm not sure Halloween is celebrated in the same way in Toulouse, for starters. But the giant mega-store -- in a long strip of strip malls, miles from the city center -- filled with some genuinely cool stuff, but so much of it, and so much completely frivolous -- and not even particularly beautiful. Mostly it was cheap, and it feels like a lot of the crafts that JoAnn's supports, exist just to keep idle hands busy. There are some true technicians out there, I'm sure, some artisans of scrap-booking. But much of this stuff is just more consumable stuff, like plastic witch hats made in China and shipped here for use and discard on one day of the year. JoAnn's had 4 different styles of hats for witches -- and I wasn't looking at the pirates or the naughty maid or the monster sections.

The people I encountered there -- also an American experience. Recent immigrants and working class whites, virtually everyone overweight. And that includes me, finishing off my all-American experience with that so-American of meals, a drive-through of a zillion calories, carefully marketed as sustainable and "healthy" fat so I could feel good about myself while I consumed.

*With a nod to Stephen Colbert's new book, "I am America (And So Can You)".

Portland is known for its restaurants

This post has nothing to do with the projects at the house, except it may result in my stretching my cooking skills this fall, which might count as a project (then).

Tonight Mel and I joined friend Ray at Simpatico, a charming little restaurant. Ray has been trying for some time to get reservations, and was able to get in tonight. He thanked us for being willing bodies to keep him company.

Simpatico is run by two chefs. They only serve on Friday and Saturday nights, and Sunday brunch. It is prix fixe (not including wine); the menu (and price) varies with every meal and is published on Wednesday. (Apparently brunch is easier to get into, and has a fairly standard, set, menu.) You sit family style, about 40 guests at 4 tables.

Tonight's menu was a re-creation of a meal they cooked at a festival in France in June, centered on the season's harvest and aioli. We started with almonds blanched in olive oil and heavily salted, alongside fresh zucchini pickles (all made in-house). The first course was pork shoulder and couscous stuffed and rebaked in a purple pepper, and it was followed, in successive festive courses, by salted cod fritters; a warm salad of corn (on the cob, in little chunks), mixed tomatoes and green beans; a cold lettuce greens salad with vinaigrette; lamb stew with olives and potatoes; squash flowers stuffed with goat cheese and fried; skewered braised octopus, grilled with zucchini; and grilled rockfish stuffed with fennel. There may have been another course or two, I've forgotten. And for dessert, a crepe (fried crispy) with stewed plums and a dash of creme fraiche. Oh and all of this accompanied by two aiolis, one classic and one spicy with a dash of the octopus braising juice. The aioli frequently made the difference between a good flavor and a tremendous flavor.

It was really quite a divine meal, reminding me a lot of the dinner we ate at the farm in the Cevennes in 2005. Frankly, there was too much food, and they brought the courses too fast (dinner started late because the owner, with a party of 6, arrived 25 minutes late and they held the meal for them -- I think it caused a slight bottleneck in the kitchen. For instance, the octopus was lukewarm by the time it got to the table). Although I thought the final fish course was superb, I was only able to eat about a tablespoon of it; otherwise, the three of us agreed that we could have stopped with the lamb stew.

But I kept thinking how much Alec in particular would have loved this dinner. It was a little unusual for them -- they don't specialize in French food at all, but rather in fresh, local food. I hope I can share Simpatico with visitors again.