OK all, you have 224 days to read Philip Goldman's The Golden Compass trilogy before the movie opens (on December 7). The series is another of those marketed-as-YA-though-only-because-the-main-character-is-a-young-girl books. Because, you know, all the ten-year-olds I know are busy meditating on the nature of good and evil and the mutability of the soul and whether Milton's poetics in Paradise Lost is representative of our world....yea right.... I'm not sure if the marketing in England was as youth directed or whether my Aunt is just super cool, because she sent me a copy of The Golden Compass in 1995 when it was just published in England under the alternative title Northern Lights (I do prefer The Golden Compass as a title). Since then, I've re-read the trilogy twice and I'll probably read it again in the next 224 days.
Once you've started the first book, you'll start thinking about what form your Daemon (an animal manifestation of your soul) takes--shrew? eagle? snake?
The folks who made the movie website are smart enough to realize that readers everywhere start thinking about their own Daemons pretty much as soon as they figure out what Daemons are. So they installed a nifty 20 question quiz that supposedly takes your personality traits and assigns them to an animal. (Go to the section on Daemons, then click on the Meet Your Daemon link to get to the quiz). My Daemon is named Adan (at least I think that fancy script says Adan, not Adon. I like the arty-ness of the script but find it damn hard to read).
I took the quiz twice, once answering honestly, and once answering as though someone as unlike me as possible were taking the quiz--I picture this person as an optimistic extrovert, about as unlike me as you can get. "Opposite-Kate" got a terrier as her Daemon. I'll stick with my lion Daemon--since I am kind of suspicious of people when I first meet them, I like the idea of having a big old lion there to back me up.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Lemon love
Blame it on Spring: it's too early for strawberries, too late for (decent) apples and grapefruit, so I'm obsessing about lemon desserts.
I do plan to try making the elusive ideal lemon tart again, but I had a craving this week that did not involve crust so I took a little interlude in the land of puddin'cake. What's that term "puddin'cake"? It refers to a dessert that can't quite decide under which category it should be filed: lemon pudding cakes.
I've made a chocolate version of these which are rich and wonderful, but it being Spring, I was looking for something a little lighter and fresher. I saw the recipe on the Fine Cooking web site, a place I stop by now and again to check what they are up to. I stopped subscribing because the subscription wasn't cheap and there were too many issues that I'd glance at and not want to cook any of the recipes. But it has been a couple of years and as I've let a few other subscriptions lapse, I'm considering re-subscribing. This recipe certainly helps me lean in that direction.
The puddin'cake was true to its name--very airy cake on the top and gooey and more intensely lemony on the bottom. Bright flavors, lovely textures, just what the recipe promised. Really, the only thing I have to question about the recipe is their suggestion that serving it with whipped cream on top is optional. This is what the puddin'cake looked like without a whipped cream cap:
Pretty homely, eh? If you are making them just for yourself to eat while watching TV (yes, I confess, I did eat one just like this while watching crap on TV) and the aesthetic element is negligible, then go ahead, omit the whipped cream. The flavor is fine on its own. But this dessert is nice enough for company and company deserves something pretty (really, you do too). The whipped cream makes them look much more attractive; it also does take them up a notch in the richness department which is fine right now with there still being a bit of a nip in the air. When I make this in the summer (yes, I fully intend this recipe to become a regular part of my repertoire) I think I'll plan for a fresh fruit layer to cover the crevices in the top--some fresh raspberries or blueberries, perhaps with a sprinkling of powdered sugar on top, would both serve to disguise the unattractive part and would complement the lemon without adding a degree of richness which I don't find as appealing in the heat of the summer.
I do plan to try making the elusive ideal lemon tart again, but I had a craving this week that did not involve crust so I took a little interlude in the land of puddin'cake. What's that term "puddin'cake"? It refers to a dessert that can't quite decide under which category it should be filed: lemon pudding cakes.
I've made a chocolate version of these which are rich and wonderful, but it being Spring, I was looking for something a little lighter and fresher. I saw the recipe on the Fine Cooking web site, a place I stop by now and again to check what they are up to. I stopped subscribing because the subscription wasn't cheap and there were too many issues that I'd glance at and not want to cook any of the recipes. But it has been a couple of years and as I've let a few other subscriptions lapse, I'm considering re-subscribing. This recipe certainly helps me lean in that direction.The puddin'cake was true to its name--very airy cake on the top and gooey and more intensely lemony on the bottom. Bright flavors, lovely textures, just what the recipe promised. Really, the only thing I have to question about the recipe is their suggestion that serving it with whipped cream on top is optional. This is what the puddin'cake looked like without a whipped cream cap:
Pretty homely, eh? If you are making them just for yourself to eat while watching TV (yes, I confess, I did eat one just like this while watching crap on TV) and the aesthetic element is negligible, then go ahead, omit the whipped cream. The flavor is fine on its own. But this dessert is nice enough for company and company deserves something pretty (really, you do too). The whipped cream makes them look much more attractive; it also does take them up a notch in the richness department which is fine right now with there still being a bit of a nip in the air. When I make this in the summer (yes, I fully intend this recipe to become a regular part of my repertoire) I think I'll plan for a fresh fruit layer to cover the crevices in the top--some fresh raspberries or blueberries, perhaps with a sprinkling of powdered sugar on top, would both serve to disguise the unattractive part and would complement the lemon without adding a degree of richness which I don't find as appealing in the heat of the summer.Lemon Pudding Cakes
Adapted from Fine Cooking recipe by Nicole Rees
Yields eight individual cakes
Ingredients
Softened butter for the ramekins
1/4 cup un-salted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 cup granulated sugar
3 large eggs, separated, at room temperature
1/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/4 plus 1/8 teaspoon table salt
1-1/4 cups whole milk, at room temperature
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice, at room temperature (from about two lemons)
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest (from about two Lightly sweetened whipped cream or fresh raspberries (enough to cover the tops of each cake) for serving
Position a rack in the center of the oven and heat the oven to 350°F. Butter eight 6-ounce ceramic oven-proof ramekins or Pyrex custard cups and arrange them in a baking dish or roasting pan (a 10x15-inch or two 8x8-inch Pyrex dishes work well).
In a large bowl, whisk the melted butter with 2/3 cup of the sugar and the egg yolks until smooth and light, about 1 minute. Add the flour and salt and pour in just enough milk to whisk the flour smoothly into the egg yolk mixture. Then whisk in the remaining milk and the lemon juice until smooth. The mixture will be very fluid.
Put the egg whites in a large bowl. Beat with an electric mixer (a hand-held or a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment) on medium speed until the whites begin to foam, 30 to 60 seconds. Increase the speed to high and beat just until the whites hold soft peaks when the beater is pulled away, another 1 to 2 minutes. Reduce the mixer speed to medium. With the mixer running, very slowly sprinkle in the remaining 1/3 cup sugar; this should take about a minute. Stop the mixer and scrape the bowl. Beat on high speed until the whites hold medium-firm peaks when the beater is pulled away, about another 30 seconds.
Scrape one-third of the egg whites into the egg yolk mixture, sprinkle the lemon zest on top, and whisk until combined. Gently incorporate the remaining whites into the batter, using the whisk in a folding/stirring motion. The batter will still be thin.
Portion the mixture evenly among the ramekins; the cakes don’t rise much, so you can fill the ramekins to within 1/8 inch of the top. Pull out the oven rack and put the baking dish full of ramekins on the rack. Pour warm water into the dish to reach halfway up the sides of the ramekins. Bake until the tops of the cakes are light golden and slightly puffed, and when touched with a finger, they should feel spongy and spring back a bit but hold a shallow indentation, 25 to 30 minutes. Using tongs, carefully transfer the ramekins to a rack. Let cool to room temperature and then refrigerate for at least 2 hours and up to 24 hours before serving, with whipped cream if you like.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
What we do when it is too cold to camp
While the weather was worse in Michigan this past week, it was a little shocking to go to DC and find snow on the cherry blossoms. The small people had their spring break (these kids have had some sort of break every other week since the new year--a teacher in-service day here, a week there--I don't know how parents without flexible schedules can handle it.) Normally we head southish to do some camping this week, but as a frigid blast was covering every place within a reasonable driving distance, we went to DC and Pennsylvania for a little cultural tourism instead.
As completely disgusted as I am by many of the people in our government, there is a weird feeling of ownership when it comes to DC. Maybe it was just knowing that a wee portion of my taxes cover the free admission to all the Smithsonian museums, or the swarms of tourists from all over the country, or just being able to walk from the capitol building to other buildings of major governmental importance, but it did remind me that patriotism shouldn't be a word co-opted by right-wing discourse.
Two kids, on their way to the Air and Space Museum, trying hard not to become airborne themselves due to the fierce winds.
I'd have to say one of the biggest pleasures of the trip was occasioned by a very small creature:
The Elephant Shrew
All the people crowding around the panda area at the National Zoo, elbowing each other in the ribs to get a glimpse of a rotund, pee-stained bear lazily eating bamboo do not know what they were missing. We loved the small mammals house more than any other place in the zoo and spent about twenty-minutes watching this little elephant shrew with his incredibly expressive snorkel of a nose scamper and peek and hide with his two other family members. We were laughing so hard that we drew a crowd. The absurd-looking and very wriggly naked mole rats were a close second in the humor department.
Food wise, traveling with my kids is always a challenge. I always want to hit the local ethnic places and they want a little culinary security when the rest of their world is in flux. Despite these challenges, I was determined to get some Vietnamese food while in DC.
Vietnamese food and DC go together in my head because I first tasted this cuisine when my parents took me there for my museum extravaganza when I was ten, and being a pretty flexible eater (for a kid) they took my sister and I to our first Vietnamese restaurant. I don't have strong memories of the food, but I do remember the lemonade served--it was fresh squeezed, lightly lemony and sugary, and I loved it. I remember being so surprised that my mouth wasn't being assaulted by excessive acid but that the flavor wasn't washed out, just delicate.
My kids, being no where near as flexible eaters as I was, would not go quietly to a Vietnamese restaurant (maybe Fiona on her own, but she follows Ian's lead when she sees him reject unfamiliar food). But thank god for take out. I hit a Safeway and got them frozen mac and cheese that we could nuke in the kitchenette at our hotel, then called in an order to a Vietnamese place that turned out to be really good called Minh's (their web site is still under construction). I felt reassured when I went in to pick up the order and saw mostly Asian people eating there.
I got us some classic Pho:
An eggy crepe studded with shrimp and stuffed with bean sprouts:
And a classic grilled pork vermicelli noodle bowl:
It was terrific stuff, the only change I would have made would have been more garlic and fish sauce in the dipping sauces because I like mine on the pungent side.
I would have liked to eat some more Vietnamese food while we were there, but felt grateful to have managed even a little. We did get to have another good meal which was made even more memorable for the company. Debbie met us at a kid-friendly Italian restaurant and I got to see her break pretty much every major Passover and Kosher food rule in one swell pizza!
Let's see, we have leavened pizza crust, bacon, and the mixing of meat and dairy with some gooey melted goat cheese...
I had an arugula, radicchio and Parmesan salad with a nice lemon dressing and a plate of good penne with broccoli, garlic, hot peppers and lots of anchovies.
The next day we headed north to Lancaster, PA. It may be the center of the Amish population but (little did I know before being married to Brian) it is also a pilgrimage place for choo-choo fanatics. I won't bore you with choo-choo sites other than to say that the Pennsylvania Railroad Museum is worth a visit, even if you are only mildly interested in trains. And Brian and the kids were kind enough to leave me behind at times so I got a bit of fiction writing going rather than waiting impatiently for them to emerge from various train sites and shops.
As a break in all the train talk, I organized a little outing to Hershey, PA to take the kids to the World of Chocolate:
I'm no lover of Hershey's chalky chocolate but I am a great lover of things that make my kids' faces light up. (For a wonderful, funny examination of enduring crap and loving it because it makes your kids happy, you must read Dutch's entry on how a grown up can cheer for Elmo.)
The rampant consumerism of this enterprise stunned even me--I was expecting buying chocolate to be a big part of the place, but was amazed that the only "free" thing in the entire place was a 15 minute ride that explained how chocolate is made in a Hershey's factory. We went on it twice and the second time through, Fiona was so excited to see these mechanical singing cows that she mooed to them:
We headed into the insane gift shops and let the kids toss around Hershey Kiss pillows, test drive Hershey matchbox cars, and squeeze many a candy themed stuffed animal. Thankfully the kids were pretty happy when, at the end of wandering among chocolate merchandise, we offered to get each of them a 55 cent candy bar and thus exited the place having parted with only $1.10.
If you are a parent and are into, you know, making your kids happy out of their mind, you might want to take a trip to the Hershey mercantile enterprise, but I do have to make a plug here for a much better candy factory tour. Back in the summer of 2005 when we were back in the Bay Area showing the kids my old stomping grounds and eating good burritos and sushi 'till we felt ill, we also ventured inland a little ways and stopped at the Jelly Belly Factory in Fairfield, CA.
The tour of this place was awesome as it actually took you over the real factory and not just some toy ride version and it was 40 minutes long. There were people buzzing about, making huge batches of jelly beans and cool robots packing up the stuff. At the entrance they have a (free!) Jelly Belly tasting bar where you can stand and request flavors until your own belly is pretty jellyish. They even encourage you to try weird flavor combos like Mango Tango Salsa (chew together 2 mango, 1 lemon lime and 1 jalapeno jelly belly all together; it isn't as gross as it sounds).
This place had such an impact on Fiona (who was 2 years 4 months old at the time) that it still appears in her stories. Many evenings at bed time, we'll be asked to tell the story about how she and her favorite stuffed animal of the moment got on a train to go to the Jelly Belly Factory. On the way there, they have lots of adventures all of which culminate in a Jelly Belly sugar feast at the end of the trip.
Now, thanks to this most recent venture into kid candy land, our stories involve getting on a train in Hershey, PA with the singing cows and taking them on a trip across the country to the Jelly Belly factory.
As completely disgusted as I am by many of the people in our government, there is a weird feeling of ownership when it comes to DC. Maybe it was just knowing that a wee portion of my taxes cover the free admission to all the Smithsonian museums, or the swarms of tourists from all over the country, or just being able to walk from the capitol building to other buildings of major governmental importance, but it did remind me that patriotism shouldn't be a word co-opted by right-wing discourse.
Two kids, on their way to the Air and Space Museum, trying hard not to become airborne themselves due to the fierce winds.I'd have to say one of the biggest pleasures of the trip was occasioned by a very small creature:
The Elephant ShrewFood wise, traveling with my kids is always a challenge. I always want to hit the local ethnic places and they want a little culinary security when the rest of their world is in flux. Despite these challenges, I was determined to get some Vietnamese food while in DC.
Vietnamese food and DC go together in my head because I first tasted this cuisine when my parents took me there for my museum extravaganza when I was ten, and being a pretty flexible eater (for a kid) they took my sister and I to our first Vietnamese restaurant. I don't have strong memories of the food, but I do remember the lemonade served--it was fresh squeezed, lightly lemony and sugary, and I loved it. I remember being so surprised that my mouth wasn't being assaulted by excessive acid but that the flavor wasn't washed out, just delicate.
My kids, being no where near as flexible eaters as I was, would not go quietly to a Vietnamese restaurant (maybe Fiona on her own, but she follows Ian's lead when she sees him reject unfamiliar food). But thank god for take out. I hit a Safeway and got them frozen mac and cheese that we could nuke in the kitchenette at our hotel, then called in an order to a Vietnamese place that turned out to be really good called Minh's (their web site is still under construction). I felt reassured when I went in to pick up the order and saw mostly Asian people eating there.
I got us some classic Pho:
An eggy crepe studded with shrimp and stuffed with bean sprouts:
And a classic grilled pork vermicelli noodle bowl:
It was terrific stuff, the only change I would have made would have been more garlic and fish sauce in the dipping sauces because I like mine on the pungent side.I would have liked to eat some more Vietnamese food while we were there, but felt grateful to have managed even a little. We did get to have another good meal which was made even more memorable for the company. Debbie met us at a kid-friendly Italian restaurant and I got to see her break pretty much every major Passover and Kosher food rule in one swell pizza!
Let's see, we have leavened pizza crust, bacon, and the mixing of meat and dairy with some gooey melted goat cheese...I had an arugula, radicchio and Parmesan salad with a nice lemon dressing and a plate of good penne with broccoli, garlic, hot peppers and lots of anchovies.
The next day we headed north to Lancaster, PA. It may be the center of the Amish population but (little did I know before being married to Brian) it is also a pilgrimage place for choo-choo fanatics. I won't bore you with choo-choo sites other than to say that the Pennsylvania Railroad Museum is worth a visit, even if you are only mildly interested in trains. And Brian and the kids were kind enough to leave me behind at times so I got a bit of fiction writing going rather than waiting impatiently for them to emerge from various train sites and shops.
As a break in all the train talk, I organized a little outing to Hershey, PA to take the kids to the World of Chocolate:
I'm no lover of Hershey's chalky chocolate but I am a great lover of things that make my kids' faces light up. (For a wonderful, funny examination of enduring crap and loving it because it makes your kids happy, you must read Dutch's entry on how a grown up can cheer for Elmo.)The rampant consumerism of this enterprise stunned even me--I was expecting buying chocolate to be a big part of the place, but was amazed that the only "free" thing in the entire place was a 15 minute ride that explained how chocolate is made in a Hershey's factory. We went on it twice and the second time through, Fiona was so excited to see these mechanical singing cows that she mooed to them:
We headed into the insane gift shops and let the kids toss around Hershey Kiss pillows, test drive Hershey matchbox cars, and squeeze many a candy themed stuffed animal. Thankfully the kids were pretty happy when, at the end of wandering among chocolate merchandise, we offered to get each of them a 55 cent candy bar and thus exited the place having parted with only $1.10.If you are a parent and are into, you know, making your kids happy out of their mind, you might want to take a trip to the Hershey mercantile enterprise, but I do have to make a plug here for a much better candy factory tour. Back in the summer of 2005 when we were back in the Bay Area showing the kids my old stomping grounds and eating good burritos and sushi 'till we felt ill, we also ventured inland a little ways and stopped at the Jelly Belly Factory in Fairfield, CA.
The tour of this place was awesome as it actually took you over the real factory and not just some toy ride version and it was 40 minutes long. There were people buzzing about, making huge batches of jelly beans and cool robots packing up the stuff. At the entrance they have a (free!) Jelly Belly tasting bar where you can stand and request flavors until your own belly is pretty jellyish. They even encourage you to try weird flavor combos like Mango Tango Salsa (chew together 2 mango, 1 lemon lime and 1 jalapeno jelly belly all together; it isn't as gross as it sounds).This place had such an impact on Fiona (who was 2 years 4 months old at the time) that it still appears in her stories. Many evenings at bed time, we'll be asked to tell the story about how she and her favorite stuffed animal of the moment got on a train to go to the Jelly Belly Factory. On the way there, they have lots of adventures all of which culminate in a Jelly Belly sugar feast at the end of the trip.
Now, thanks to this most recent venture into kid candy land, our stories involve getting on a train in Hershey, PA with the singing cows and taking them on a trip across the country to the Jelly Belly factory.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Linked Stories
I've been dwelling on linked stories lately; you know, the kind of book where a minor character in one story appears as the main character in another, or some plot method is used to link up seemingly disparate stories. I tend to really like this type of fiction, with the possible exception of stories that are themed around "who owns this object," the most prominent of which I remember disliking being E. Annie Proulx's Accordion Crimes.
Recent books in this vein that I've liked include Joan Silber's Ideas of Heaven: a ring of stories and David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas. My friend Ami is currently writing a beautiful collection of linked stories, two of which I've felt lucky to get to read in (close to final) draft versions. Maybe I'm just a copycat, but it occurred to me recently that if I find the form so appealing, maybe I should try it myself. I have a whole bunch of different fictions started and abandoned; much of what those files contain is crap, but there are parts that I simply know are good. And I'd like to rescue them from the rest of the gunky story in which they are wallowing--to steal Joan Silber's term "a ring of stories" might be just the form I've been looking for.
So, I'm looking for more quality examples of this form of fiction to read; I'm planning on creating some writing time for myself this summer (maybe I'll be crisis managing a little less with Ian out of school, though that might be naive of me to think so), so until I have liberated that space in my schedule, I plan to pursue a study of the form. I'm looking for suggestions for linked stories that you have read--whether you enjoyed them or hated them (I learned a lot from Accordion Crimes though I didn't enjoy reading it); please send the titles my way.
Recent books in this vein that I've liked include Joan Silber's Ideas of Heaven: a ring of stories and David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas. My friend Ami is currently writing a beautiful collection of linked stories, two of which I've felt lucky to get to read in (close to final) draft versions. Maybe I'm just a copycat, but it occurred to me recently that if I find the form so appealing, maybe I should try it myself. I have a whole bunch of different fictions started and abandoned; much of what those files contain is crap, but there are parts that I simply know are good. And I'd like to rescue them from the rest of the gunky story in which they are wallowing--to steal Joan Silber's term "a ring of stories" might be just the form I've been looking for.
So, I'm looking for more quality examples of this form of fiction to read; I'm planning on creating some writing time for myself this summer (maybe I'll be crisis managing a little less with Ian out of school, though that might be naive of me to think so), so until I have liberated that space in my schedule, I plan to pursue a study of the form. I'm looking for suggestions for linked stories that you have read--whether you enjoyed them or hated them (I learned a lot from Accordion Crimes though I didn't enjoy reading it); please send the titles my way.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Tea response!
Yea! I got a response/translation/information about the Tea that Brian brought back from China for me! Isn't the web wonderful? The info was left in the comments section, but I'm re posting it here so all can benefit from the wisdom. Can't wait to try the monkey-picked tea (bright green box)!
1.Pu-Er:
Originally from Yun-nan province. Taste is mild(but could be weird to some people). Tea made from it is so dark that you recognize it immediately(and got a good coloring effect). Strongly recommended after each greasy meal. It washes out the fat/calorie you eat, yet won't cause uncomfortable feeling even if you drink a lot on a regular basis. Its function is common knowledge in Canton area where I'm from; It's not my favorite though.
2. Tie-Guan-Yin:
Most-popular pick in Canton morning-tea and other tea sessions. Nice after-taste. Smells really good...Also wash out fat. But don't over do it.
3. Like you said, jasmine tea. It's tea that absorbed jasmine aroma during the making. I think it's weird taste...just not what pure tea is like to me.
4. Long-Jing:
Quite popular in other provinces, but definitely not in Canton. I don't drink it much, so I'm not allowed to make a comment on it. Quite light compared to 2nd.
5. Dong-Ding-Wu-Long:
Expensive stuff if this is the genuine stuff. The name comes from the legend that: this tea only grows in mountains that only monkeys can climb on and pick, thus making it real...special. Originated from Taiwan I think. I don't remember what that taste like, let me know after you've tried it?
1.Pu-Er:
Originally from Yun-nan province. Taste is mild(but could be weird to some people). Tea made from it is so dark that you recognize it immediately(and got a good coloring effect). Strongly recommended after each greasy meal. It washes out the fat/calorie you eat, yet won't cause uncomfortable feeling even if you drink a lot on a regular basis. Its function is common knowledge in Canton area where I'm from; It's not my favorite though.
2. Tie-Guan-Yin:
Most-popular pick in Canton morning-tea and other tea sessions. Nice after-taste. Smells really good...Also wash out fat. But don't over do it.
3. Like you said, jasmine tea. It's tea that absorbed jasmine aroma during the making. I think it's weird taste...just not what pure tea is like to me.
4. Long-Jing:
Quite popular in other provinces, but definitely not in Canton. I don't drink it much, so I'm not allowed to make a comment on it. Quite light compared to 2nd.
5. Dong-Ding-Wu-Long:
Expensive stuff if this is the genuine stuff. The name comes from the legend that: this tea only grows in mountains that only monkeys can climb on and pick, thus making it real...special. Originated from Taiwan I think. I don't remember what that taste like, let me know after you've tried it?
Monday, March 26, 2007
Neglected no more
There are certain authors that have somehow passed under my radar and have a large number of acclaimed books that I've never read. Julian Barnes was one of those authors, but I'm happy to say, he is neglected no more! I just finished reading his Arthur & George and loved it.At first I thought I wouldn't be moved by a story about the intersection of a cautious nobody (a half-Indian, half -Scottish solicitor) who is accused of a heinous crime he clearly did not commit and a flagrant celebrity (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle) who comes to his rescue, but I was wrong. For the first 220 pages their two stories don't connect at all. The reader is going back and forth between a persecuted, dull man and an exuberant romantic. But then on page 221 the first connection is made and both characters grow and expand in unanticipated ways.
The story is also true--Sir Arthur Conan Doyle did take up the case of George Edalji and did, in a way, save him from a miserable life, and also influenced the creation of a court of appeals in English law. But the story is far from an example of celebrity generosity to an overlooked man. The book twined their two stories together beautifully and the huge gap between the introvert and extrovert, the realist and the romantic, the quiet and the boisterous, the fearful and the fearless, was somehow closed.
The detective work on the facts of the crime which George is accused of committing then seeps into broader expressions of belief: George's Vicar father's belief in God, Doyles' belief in spiritualism and most of all, both characters belief in England.
The overarching themes were beautifully handled, but so too was the prose on a minute level--there are wonderful quiet displays of wit. Here is the doubting George trying hard to accept Doyle's belief in spiritualism by attending a huge group spiritualist gathering held to celebrate Doyle's passing into the next realm:
"George listens to the crowd of spirits being given feeling description. The impression is that they are all clamouring for attention, fighting to convey their messages. A facetious if logical question comes into George's mind, from where he cannot tell, unless as a reaction to all this unwonted intensity. If these are indeed the spirits of Englishmen and Englishwomen who have passed over into the next world, surely they would know how to form a proper queue? If they have been promoted to a higher state, why have they been reduced to such an importunate rabble?"
I love the fact that George would be more likely to believe in spirits if the dead English people behaved properly and waited their turn to access the medium.
I'm looking forward to reading more Barnes, particularly Flaubert's Parrot and History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters. And there are plenty more books to follow.
Branching out
Recently Deb gave me two skeins of gorgeous Artfibers Ming yarn. This is incredible stuff--50% silk and 50% extra fine merino. I decided to use the deep orange ball to make the knitty Branching Out scarf and it is turning out very nicely:
The yarn is so special it broadcasts itself where ever I go--I was in a waiting room (knitting and waiting) and a woman reached over and stroked the stuff before even asking. I totally understood. It simply asks you to touch it.
I've had trouble in the past knitting scarves because they just get so darn dull, but this repeating lace pattern is keeping it interesting enough. I haven't quite memorized the pattern, but I'm close.
I'd love to hear suggestions for a worthy pattern for the green ball.
The yarn is so special it broadcasts itself where ever I go--I was in a waiting room (knitting and waiting) and a woman reached over and stroked the stuff before even asking. I totally understood. It simply asks you to touch it.I've had trouble in the past knitting scarves because they just get so darn dull, but this repeating lace pattern is keeping it interesting enough. I haven't quite memorized the pattern, but I'm close.
I'd love to hear suggestions for a worthy pattern for the green ball.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Tart obsessions
I somewhat coyly mentioned earlier that we got a tart making lesson while in France. We managed to obtain this lesson via Ami's sister, Shelia (aka Kirk). Shelia was on vacation with us, but was also writing two articles about the region, one for an American Express Magazine (they only send it to very exclusive card holders, so being a lowly non-AmEx lass, I've never seen this one) and one for the New York Times Magazine. The latter piece (look for it in August in the special Travel edition of the magazine) was the occasion for our visit to the Menton lemon festival and through her press credentials and the contacts Shelia made at the tourism bureau, Ami, John and I got to tag along on some unique behind-the-scenes experiences.
One was a visit to a tiny little terraced lemon orchard where the low-acid Menton lemon is grown. John posted this lovely photo of the orchard we visited, over looking the old town. Here is my much crummier photo:
The bare tree in the foreground gave the Times photographer some trouble since it kept interrupting the scene. But it is a fig tree and the orchard owner told us he loves to come up here in the summer, put a chair in the shade it casts and eat its figs, so the tree is forgiven.
The other not-open-to-the-public event was getting a tart making lesson at the patisserie known for the best lemon tarts in all of Menton, La Cigale (the cicada--why name a patisserie after a bug, I don't know--anyone?). The owner and baker grows his own lemons for all his lemon creations (we also got info on making pate de fruits, lemon cake and a lemon custard cake thingy that I never caught the name of).
He was a lovely man and very forgiving of my erratic conjugation skills, though perhaps more distressed by my lack of skill piping meringue.... John posted a photo here of my attempt (the baker thought I was left handed I was so lousy with the pastry bag. Nope! Just uncoordinated!)
We tasted a good number of his tarts and they were lovely though I'm not sure that I'm sold on the low-acid Menton lemon for this recipe--personally, I like a stronger acid punch in my lemon deserts. They were paler in color and creamier in texture than the tarte au citron that I remember eating (quite often, thank you very much) when I lived in Bordeaux.
Side note: I did try one combination both the baker and the orchard grower recommended for thirst--thin slices of Menton lemon sprinkled with salt.
They were quite refreshing and the low-acid was great for eating the fruit raw.
Once we were back from our trip, I felt compelled to try my hand at making a good tarte au citron, albeit with our regular super market high acid lemons. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to translate the La Cigale recipe demonstrated to us from the proportions for 80 or so small tarts (which included something like 40 eggs) down to one 9 inch tart. Shelia gets to embark on that fun project and the recipe will be published in her New York Times piece so we can all give it a whirl in August. I also did not attempt to make the tart with the Italian meringue (Well, not yet. Once I get a candy thermometer and master the filling I'll take on the meringue issue.)
I did a little research and discovered that there are two distinct schools of tarte au citron making out there. The first recipe I tried was Dorrie Greenspan's lemon cream tart from her new cookbook Baking: From My Home to Yours (which is a terrific book I plan to post a separate entry on later). Her recipe sounded the most like the one we saw and tasted at La Cigale: it has a fully baked tart shell and the filling is a combination of eggs, sugar, lemon juice and zest that is cooked in a bowl over simmering water. Then the room temperature butter (a whole hell of a lot of it) is added a piece at a time to make an emulsion and create the creamy texture (Greenspan has you do this in a blender; I think the La Cigale guy did it in a mixer) . Then the cream is poured into the tart shell. This is a photo of my finished product:
And then there is the other tarte au citron school with a baked tart which starts with a partially baked tart shell, mixes up lemon juice, sugar, zest, eggs and additional yolks and some heavy cream. This concoction is then poured into the shell and baked for about 25 minutes to set. And here is its photo:
Since I made these two tarts within 3 days of each other, I managed to have some of both to do a taste test:
Lemon cream tart and baked lemon tart, side by side.
And the results? Hmmm. Well, both had their merits and neither tasted like La Cigale's version....
The lemon cream tart was almost too creamy and rich for my taste. The texture was lovely and silky (the zest is strained out) and there was enough lemon to brighten it up, but I think a recipe with less butter than Greenspan calls for might be the way to go. La Cigale's tarts were wonderful without being nauseatingly rich.
The baked lemon tart was much more sour--the zest doesn't get strained out of this one so it packs a lemon punch. But the texture was unimpressive. It was more of a looser lemon bar texture than what I expect in a tart.
I feel kind of like Goldilocks and her porridge dilemma--these two tarts were on opposite ends of the continuum and both were acceptable in some ways, but neither made me say "Ah! That's it!" or make me want to cut a second slice. One was too rich and the other not rich enough. So my quest continues. I think my next attempt will involve using the Greenspan/La Cigale emulsion method, but I'm going to tinker with the quantities. I'll report back if I come up with a recipe worth sharing!
One was a visit to a tiny little terraced lemon orchard where the low-acid Menton lemon is grown. John posted this lovely photo of the orchard we visited, over looking the old town. Here is my much crummier photo:
The bare tree in the foreground gave the Times photographer some trouble since it kept interrupting the scene. But it is a fig tree and the orchard owner told us he loves to come up here in the summer, put a chair in the shade it casts and eat its figs, so the tree is forgiven.The other not-open-to-the-public event was getting a tart making lesson at the patisserie known for the best lemon tarts in all of Menton, La Cigale (the cicada--why name a patisserie after a bug, I don't know--anyone?). The owner and baker grows his own lemons for all his lemon creations (we also got info on making pate de fruits, lemon cake and a lemon custard cake thingy that I never caught the name of).
He was a lovely man and very forgiving of my erratic conjugation skills, though perhaps more distressed by my lack of skill piping meringue.... John posted a photo here of my attempt (the baker thought I was left handed I was so lousy with the pastry bag. Nope! Just uncoordinated!)We tasted a good number of his tarts and they were lovely though I'm not sure that I'm sold on the low-acid Menton lemon for this recipe--personally, I like a stronger acid punch in my lemon deserts. They were paler in color and creamier in texture than the tarte au citron that I remember eating (quite often, thank you very much) when I lived in Bordeaux.
Side note: I did try one combination both the baker and the orchard grower recommended for thirst--thin slices of Menton lemon sprinkled with salt.
They were quite refreshing and the low-acid was great for eating the fruit raw.Once we were back from our trip, I felt compelled to try my hand at making a good tarte au citron, albeit with our regular super market high acid lemons. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to translate the La Cigale recipe demonstrated to us from the proportions for 80 or so small tarts (which included something like 40 eggs) down to one 9 inch tart. Shelia gets to embark on that fun project and the recipe will be published in her New York Times piece so we can all give it a whirl in August. I also did not attempt to make the tart with the Italian meringue (Well, not yet. Once I get a candy thermometer and master the filling I'll take on the meringue issue.)
I did a little research and discovered that there are two distinct schools of tarte au citron making out there. The first recipe I tried was Dorrie Greenspan's lemon cream tart from her new cookbook Baking: From My Home to Yours (which is a terrific book I plan to post a separate entry on later). Her recipe sounded the most like the one we saw and tasted at La Cigale: it has a fully baked tart shell and the filling is a combination of eggs, sugar, lemon juice and zest that is cooked in a bowl over simmering water. Then the room temperature butter (a whole hell of a lot of it) is added a piece at a time to make an emulsion and create the creamy texture (Greenspan has you do this in a blender; I think the La Cigale guy did it in a mixer) . Then the cream is poured into the tart shell. This is a photo of my finished product:
And then there is the other tarte au citron school with a baked tart which starts with a partially baked tart shell, mixes up lemon juice, sugar, zest, eggs and additional yolks and some heavy cream. This concoction is then poured into the shell and baked for about 25 minutes to set. And here is its photo:
Since I made these two tarts within 3 days of each other, I managed to have some of both to do a taste test:
Lemon cream tart and baked lemon tart, side by side.And the results? Hmmm. Well, both had their merits and neither tasted like La Cigale's version....
The lemon cream tart was almost too creamy and rich for my taste. The texture was lovely and silky (the zest is strained out) and there was enough lemon to brighten it up, but I think a recipe with less butter than Greenspan calls for might be the way to go. La Cigale's tarts were wonderful without being nauseatingly rich.
The baked lemon tart was much more sour--the zest doesn't get strained out of this one so it packs a lemon punch. But the texture was unimpressive. It was more of a looser lemon bar texture than what I expect in a tart.
I feel kind of like Goldilocks and her porridge dilemma--these two tarts were on opposite ends of the continuum and both were acceptable in some ways, but neither made me say "Ah! That's it!" or make me want to cut a second slice. One was too rich and the other not rich enough. So my quest continues. I think my next attempt will involve using the Greenspan/La Cigale emulsion method, but I'm going to tinker with the quantities. I'll report back if I come up with a recipe worth sharing!
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
As if peeling off those little stickers wasn't bad enough...
...now those little stickers also contain advertising. Because I always look to my tomatoes to find out when Disney's Peter Pan will be released on a 2 Disc DVD!Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The great yarn give away vol. 1
We interrupt the regularly scheduled France revelry posting for this important message:
The spring-ish weather last week got me cleaning and I unearthed my yarn stash in the process. I have decided that I am finally ready to part with some gorgeous yarn that I will never use.
First up:
What you see above is the yarn and bottom border for a sweater I intended to make for Brian before I found out that the man won't wear wool. Yes, I bought about $100 of Dale of Norway Heilo yarn to make my sweetie into a Sven-God but this was early in our relationship (we hadn't gone through a winter together yet) and I had not yet mastered his linguistic quirks. When interviewing him about a proposed sweater his only request was that it not be "picky." Now "picky" to me means a yarn that will produce fuzz balls easily so I thought this sturdy Norwegian wool would resist the urge to fuzz ball and be just the ticket. It was only a few months later that I received the translation from Wait-speak to English: "Picky" means "itchy." (I was also later to learn that the word "goosebumps" in Wait-speak is "duddlies," as in, "I can see you are cold because you have duddlies all over your arms." See how interesting life is when you are fluent in Wait-speak?) While I wouldn't define this wool as super scratchy, it isn't the yarn I'd choose for someone wary of the scratchy factor .
Once I found out he wouldn't wear the damn thing if I finished it, I stuffed the whole project into a Rubbermaid bin and hid it in the back of the closet I just cleaned out this weekend.
Here's a (lousy) picture of what the completed project should look like, except for the colors (where it is cream, I chose chocolate brown, where it is dark grey, I chose cream and there are little accent colors of green in there too).
The pattern is from the (now out of print it has been so damn long) Dale of Norway Pattern book #104. There is enough yarn to make a sweater for a biggish guy--I think this was sized in a Men's Medium since Norwegian sweater sizes are usually kind of out of whack on the large side (my mom once knit herself a Norwegian sweater that was supposed to be a Women's Medium and it would have fit a small elephant. And yes, her gauge was correct). That means there should be: 11 balls of the chocolate brown, 8 balls of the cream and 2 balls of the green.
That also means that there is plenty of yarn to make a number of the patterns in this book if you don't like the traditional one pictured above (though you may have to buy a couple of balls of an additional contrast color for some of them) including this:
or this:
or this:
Or you can just take the part I started and keep on knitting.
So anyone out there want the yarn and pattern book? I'd rather stay local since shipping it would be a hassle, but I'm happy to hear any enthusiasm for adoption of this poor abandoned yarn.
I have too damn much yarn and I'm giving a lot of it away.
The spring-ish weather last week got me cleaning and I unearthed my yarn stash in the process. I have decided that I am finally ready to part with some gorgeous yarn that I will never use.
First up:
The abandoned Norwegian sweater
What you see above is the yarn and bottom border for a sweater I intended to make for Brian before I found out that the man won't wear wool. Yes, I bought about $100 of Dale of Norway Heilo yarn to make my sweetie into a Sven-God but this was early in our relationship (we hadn't gone through a winter together yet) and I had not yet mastered his linguistic quirks. When interviewing him about a proposed sweater his only request was that it not be "picky." Now "picky" to me means a yarn that will produce fuzz balls easily so I thought this sturdy Norwegian wool would resist the urge to fuzz ball and be just the ticket. It was only a few months later that I received the translation from Wait-speak to English: "Picky" means "itchy." (I was also later to learn that the word "goosebumps" in Wait-speak is "duddlies," as in, "I can see you are cold because you have duddlies all over your arms." See how interesting life is when you are fluent in Wait-speak?) While I wouldn't define this wool as super scratchy, it isn't the yarn I'd choose for someone wary of the scratchy factor .Once I found out he wouldn't wear the damn thing if I finished it, I stuffed the whole project into a Rubbermaid bin and hid it in the back of the closet I just cleaned out this weekend.
Here's a (lousy) picture of what the completed project should look like, except for the colors (where it is cream, I chose chocolate brown, where it is dark grey, I chose cream and there are little accent colors of green in there too).
The pattern is from the (now out of print it has been so damn long) Dale of Norway Pattern book #104. There is enough yarn to make a sweater for a biggish guy--I think this was sized in a Men's Medium since Norwegian sweater sizes are usually kind of out of whack on the large side (my mom once knit herself a Norwegian sweater that was supposed to be a Women's Medium and it would have fit a small elephant. And yes, her gauge was correct). That means there should be: 11 balls of the chocolate brown, 8 balls of the cream and 2 balls of the green.That also means that there is plenty of yarn to make a number of the patterns in this book if you don't like the traditional one pictured above (though you may have to buy a couple of balls of an additional contrast color for some of them) including this:
or this:
or this:
Or you can just take the part I started and keep on knitting.So anyone out there want the yarn and pattern book? I'd rather stay local since shipping it would be a hassle, but I'm happy to hear any enthusiasm for adoption of this poor abandoned yarn.
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