Tutti Frutti…

Lucky Peach Issue #2

Wandering Kinokuniya bookstore in theory shopping for others (tis the season) I discovered ‘Lucky Peach’ a quarterly food and writing publication.  Attractively matte, this could be pretentious second issue is a McSweeney’s collaboration with chef David Chang  (yes of Momofuko fame), writer Peter Meehan and the production company responsible for ‘Anthony Bourdain:No Reservations’.  I know this now thanks to Google the verb.

My reaction has been one of infatuation. Based on the $58.00 asking price for copies of Issue #1 listed on Amazon I’m not alone.  A subscription costs $28.00 and yes, I’m going to.   Quirky, arty, high and low food culture, food photography, recipes, commentary, and travel all with a hearty helping of humor makes for a good read, one to keep out of the recycling for the time being.  My of the moment favorite portion of the current issue is a page of artist designed ‘fruit stickers’ just waiting to be used.  I both want to hoard and share them.  Easing into the sharing thing with a visual or two, keeping the sticker for the time being.

 

For more about ‘Lucky Peach’  here’s a link to an article from The Atlantic.   http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2011/06/2011s-best-new-food-magazine-david-changs-lucky-peach/240804/

 

You can’t unscramble an egg. American proverb

“The mission of Lan Su Chinese Garden is to cultivate an oasis of tranquil beauty and harmony to inspire, engage and educate our global community in the appreciation of a richly authentic Chinese culture.”

That is what the website states.  It was ten minutes before the heavily carved wooden door was swung open as I joined the migration of the other,  all female, bermuda length short wearing expectant visitors, cameras in hand to the garden.  In a decade the Satyricon Nightclub ( legend has it that Kurt met Courtney there) was replaced by  mornings and greenery.  I learned this trip that the club only closed last Fall, the building slated for demolition.  Old Town used to be desolate and this particular morning felt earlier because it was only a mix of tourists and homeless individuals stirring.  This was an oasis of green, full city block, skyscrapers filtering over the top of trees, spurts of street noise patched in.

Portland's Chinese Garden

hints of the city to the left

life beyond the wall

Portland's Chinese Garden

tea for one

Another day at the office…

These folks didn’t brown bag their nectar and pollen, they’re lunching out.   After reading through the material on The Great Sunflower Project’s site I’ve been paying closer attention to the population in my own yard.  http://www.greatsunflower.org/four-easy-steps-participate

 

Little shop of horrors…

These two images, seemingly disparate are linked in my mind.  Analyze that one.

I’ve been hiding out from the midday temperatures by revisiting my carnivorous plant obsession.  That and Henry and I have joined the YMCA.  Yes, like the song.  I think I’m going to like it as apposed to the fancy pants gym whose membership I just dropped. I popped in yesterday for my ‘orientation’ which essentially was a workout lite.  While nodding my head and half listening a senior who I’m guessing was in his late 70’s clambered onto the machine next to me.  His skinny legs were incased in the requisite ribbed white knee socks, there were violently colored golf shorts and a nondescript oversized t-shirt.  “This is my favorite machine, I highly recommend it.  It’s going to give me smaller buns.”  was addressed in my direction.  All that came out of my mouth was “I’ll keep that in mind.”   On that note I really do think it’s going to work for us.

rosetted Sundew or Drosera spatulata "Frazier Island"

Henry in I believe 2004

In all fairness…

I didn’t last very long at the Marin County Fair.  The heat, dust, odd array of snake oil and plastic for sale left me wilted.  Wandering through the art exhibit and sitting with Henry while he scarfed down something resembling nachos was almost it.  The people watching is excellent although I was having trouble moving the brain cells away from the visual of our collective obesity.  My fixation, my bad.

All of the 4H exhibits are excellent.  Kids with ernest expression and green kerchief  exhibit their prize animals that always go by first name.

I very much want one of these.

that will do pig

 

And a couple of these.

bleet

Solstice on ya…

I feel safe in making the gross generalization that the days of yore, the ones where our survival as a parasitic species was circled round the wagons of sensitivity to the cycles of mother nature are behind us.  There’s the notion that our cells come full circle every seven years which begs the question on a cyclical basis, “Who am I?” when doing the bundled like a burrito, or strewn like the contents of a handbag morning wakeup, alarm or no alarm.

Yesterday was hot, as in first stroll to the community pool, fry an egg on the sidewalk debate hot.  I’ve never tried it, the egg bit but there’s not a shortage.  Ended up sitting in the darkness of a friend’s backyard around a blazing fire pit one beer in.   The highlight according to Henry being the spray of gasoline needed to start the fire.  I missed that.  There was something comforting about the warmth and light coming off the fire and the warmth of the day still in the air and on my back.   Marshmallows were on fire, chocolate was exchanged, texting, conversations about Facebook passwords, jokes about condoms but that’s a thirteen year old’s prerogative.  As convoluted as its become, new self or not I vote for the cellular memory of something ancient.

 

Bring out the crime scene tape…

We lost one of our Silver Laced Wyandotte’s sometime during the night. It’s our first, but probably not last death.   I’d long ago stopped doing a head count when latching our coop as the girls truly put themselves to bed around dusk.  This was after orating on this virtuous trait of the bird yesterday to friends Jay and Anna who are going to be chicken, rabbit and dog sitting so I can leave town and regain some semblance of a sense of humor. A scattering of feathers triggered my peaking over the edge of the planter box and it was a grisly sight.  Naturally I want to share.

Thankfully I’d fortified myself with half a cup of coffee as opposed to fortified coffee before this headless discovery.  And yes, I’m keeping the feet.

Friday the 18th…

The butchering of chickens and other forms of protein happens all of the time, by individual hand and factory.  It’s an ordinariness that never loses its unease.  Picking up your protein from a local butcher does however take the edge off.

What I wonder about is, when it took two urban farmers plus one 5th grade farmhand all day to butcher, prep,  make stew and stock from two hens how anybody had time for the quilting, sewing and woodworking.  Hell, even just splitting wood for a fire seems like it would go by the wayside.

post butchering cleanup

Carrie

remains of the day

Rosemary's Baby

“We all go a little mad sometime.”  Psycho