Blessed Silence at the DNC

I've been watching the DNC for the past several nights on C-span, and I noticed something...the silence. 

Not from the endless parade of speechmakers, nor from the house band cranking through every 70's and 80's Wedding Reception uplifting dance song they have in their book.. 

No, the silence came from my television itself, because C-Span does not fill every empty moment with some yammerhead "analyst" reinterpreting what was just said as they are addicted to doing on every other network. I don't need Chris Matthews or Tom Brokaw or all the othertalking head "experts" telling me what to think about the speech I just heard, I don't need to be subjected to the innane rambling of some political correspondent's reminiscences of his time on the campaign bus when Hillary spilled grape juice on her pant suit. 

Hey, I have a brain, I have ears and I can make up my own mind on what has just been said. Too often these days, we allow ourselves to be subjected to this analysis for analysis sake, while nothing of any real significance is being said, only dead air being filled with dead words. 

I can hardly wait to watch the RNC next week on C-Span.

Global Warming...A Choice?

PG&E has taken it upon themselves to run a series of radio ads that manage to combine Global Warming, California environmental smugness and selling washing machines. These commercials all have the same basic format: a series of "real" people come on and share their "sincere" statements about how wonderful they are because they are "choosing" to end global warming...as implying, of course, that they are sanctimoniously better than the rest of us slobs. One woman even comes on and masterfully guilt trips her kids by earnestly saying "I'm doing this for you guys."

But what exactly is she doing anyway. 

Aside by the environmentally-holier-than-thou attitude that smugs its way through every word, there is one big problem here, Global Warming really isn't up to us, its this naturally occurring cycle that we have exacerbated, but it isn't up to us. 

Sure, we can make some personal choices that may reduce our personal carbon footprint, like choosing not to buy that new Escalade (like our masterfully guilt-tripping Mom above) but we don't have the power to stop (much less reverse) global warming.

It is this type of self-satisfied hubris that most annoys me about these types of campaigns. They skirt the true issues by making us feel good about using PG&E and buying their approved appliances.

That's why I turn those commercials off when they come on.

My Boy Can Cook

I've been thinking about my brother a lot lately, which really isn't unusual as I think about him often. People think about the people that were important to them, especially when those people have killed themselves and there are a lot of unanswered questions.

He was my older brother and for much of my growing-up years, I idolized him, though he tormented me no end, in my eyes he was a god. That's just how it is with younger brothers and older brothers. 

I could run through a maudlin self-indulgent list of why he was so wonderful to me, and maybe convince you as to why I thought so, but the reality is that you would just read the words and never see the man I looked up to and tried so hard to emulate. You just wouldn't get it, so I am not going to try...and we'll both be happier that way.

We had several things in common: music, fantasy football, pinochle, and cooking. My Mom made sure that we both knew how to cook. She had told us both, "If I die before your father, then you have to get him remarried right away because he would starve otherwise. My Dad could cook toast. My Mom made sure that my brother and I could do much more than that.

Both my brother and I worked our way through several different restaurants on our way to landing in our respective careers. We liked talking about food and cooking, it was a safe subject for us and we were both very passionate about it. As time went by, and we grew older and our lives drifted apart (while his demons and mine grew) we communicated less and less, though invariably, when we did talk, we would touch on each of the subjects...including cooking.

Over the years, my brother adopted a kind of country bumpkin/biker look that confounded the rest of the family. He adopted the pose of the outsider and tended to live up to the "family black sheep" persona. After a while, even his speech patterns shifted toward a rural-rough-edged mannerism that was completely contrary to how we were raised. He became an Oakland Raiders fan and thus tended to adopt certain speech patterns. I still understood his words though, because I was listening with that eager "little brother" ear that yearned so for his approval and recognition.

That's why I was thinking of him tonight. Why, when I was cooking a chili-lime seasoned salmon with picatta sauce, herbed rice and peach-strawberry-blue cheese fruit salad I was listening with my "little brother" ears for his voice, standing behind me saying, 

"My boy can cook."

God how I wish I could hear him say that.

Break the silence

It whispers

But not as the soft susurration

Of a breathless lover’s sigh

No

It whispers

As the fiend in the shadows

Hissing secrets so dread to hear

Yes

It whispers

Yet we can scream against the silence

And force the fiend from the shadows

Yes

It whispers

But our voices raised are fierce

For we scream with the voices lost

Yes

It whispers

But we can break the silence

With the fury of our hope

 

Dedicated to those who have been touched by Ovarian Cancer

Support the efforts of the NOCC and other such organizations

Facebook, Privacy, and Common Sense

Awhile ago, a friend talked me into getting my own Facebook account when I mentioned that looking at my 17 year old niece's My Space account felt like hanging around a schoolyard. Sure, Facebook is a bit more grown up, but it is still geared toward the younger, Web 2.0 hip crowd in their 20s. The next step up from a hot singles bar. Again, not a scene that I was particularly interested in getting involved in, though to give it the old college try, I did check out some other friend's Facebooks.

What I found was a dizzying array of strange little surveys, odd games of cyber tag (Vampires) and innumerable pictures of friends, or pictures posted by friends usually of the host in some type of compromising position (drunk, passed out, drinking, undressed...all of the above). Sure, it all looks like fun and games and that everyone is living out one big extended frat party for everyone to see and enjoy.

My question is, do you really want your life to be portrayed in this way to the world. Sure its fun to party and get goofy and do foolish things that you may regret later in more sober moments. But aren't those types of memories best left to reminiscing with old friends in the privacy of your living room? As opposed to say sitting in front of an interviewer for that big grown-up type job that you are yearning for.

The fact is that employers and others with a vested interest in finding out more about the moral fiber and personal responsibility of their applicant are all surfing the net as well. This type of background check is becoming increasingly common and before long will pretty much be standard operating procedure for the interview process.

Your resume may be all sparkling clean and proper, glittering with good schools, recommendations and experience, but when that gets paired with those pictures of you downing jello shots with your underwear on your head, well, the glitter on the old resume kind of flakes off.

I read today of a 27-year old special ed teacher in Florida who is now in trouble because parents found his Facebook page that states "I'm 27 years old and horny as hell" and that he is " an A+++ in bed". While certainly commendable in some circles, I doubt seriously that the PTA is one.

I think that the main truth that may emerge from the Web 2.0 social networking movement is that NOTHING DIES ON THE INTERNET. Once it is out there, it is out there forever. Oh sure there are companies that will do a purge of all your unwanted internet data, for a hefty fee, but maybe there is another, cheaper alternative that could do the trick. A little something called "Personal Responsibility."

If you don't post those underwear-headgear-jello-shot photos in the first place, then they won't come back and haunt you later. Basically, just because you can, doesn't mean that you should.

Driving Jaguars in Marin

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Marin County California, it happens to be one of the wealthiest counties in the country. This is a fact that I have been aware of for the entire time that I have grown up in it.  It is wealthy for a number of reasons: it's proximity to San Francisco; it's beautiful landscape; its temperate weather and it's sublime aura...all of which make it one of the ideal places for people outside of Marin and California to target as THE place that they want to live to demonstrate that THEY have indeed made it in life. The problem is, that for those of us who did actually grow up here in modest suburbia, living here has , for all intents and purposes, become financially impossible. 

Yes I still live her, but I have rented all my adult life and the prospect of me ever being able to afford any of the freakishly overpriced homes here is less than anorexic to non-existent. So why do I stay? Why have I stayed? Simple, it is home. This is where my family is, where my roots truly are and where I have found solid and gainful employment all of these years.

Sure I could move away from the place that everyone seems to want to move to, but where would I go? Stick a finger in a map and hope for the best? 

Well, thats a subject for another blog. This blog entry is about the kind of people who live here and have the money to buy expensive, high performance cars, though they have no right or reason to drive them.

Unfortunately, the median age of the residents in Marin has crept higher and higher due to a combination of long term residents who still live here because they bought their houses in the 60s and 70s and newer, old residents who are usually the only ones who can actually afford to buy new homes here (at the inflated prices).

So, I would say that the median age of the residents in Marin now approaches 60+. Now I have nothing against older people. I know several, and I will be a member of that same category myself in ...well in a decade and a half or so. No, my problem is those self-same older folks who have made it to their golden years with an over abundance of discretionary income who believe that they need to spend that income on purchasing a Jaguar.

I know, a Jaguar is a lovely high performance car that is legendary for its speed and handling. I would LOVE to drive one myself, but I happen to be a part of the Honda Civic set so such luxuries are currently beyond my enjoyment. 

However, that doesn't minimize my annoyance at these elders who have purchased one of these fine automobiles for the soul purpose of put-putting to and from the Whole Foods so that they can buy their organic Metamucil. 

When I am stuck behind one of these grey-headed traffic-constipates is driving ahead of me in their $90,000 auto, I do tend to entertain thoughts of intentional rear-end ramming and car-jacking for no other reason than to steal the car and drive away at speeds that suit the design and performance standards of the car.

I had the mis-fortune of once owning an Austin Marina, which is a rediculous excuse for an automobile. Nothing about the car worked as it should, and I often had to take it to the only British Motor Car mechanic in town to repair. Fortunately, this gentleman took pity on me and usually did the repairs at a reduced cost. I am certain that one of his motivations for doing so was the fact that his shop was always filled to capacity with a number of Jaguars. He used to shake his head and say that the worst thing that you could do to a Jaguar was drive it to and from the store. The thing is designed to drive at 120 miles per hour, anything less is an insult and this car is very proud and doesn't suffer such indignities lightly.

So, I suppose that it is some solace to me to know that the drivers of these glacially driven Jaguars must frequently suffer the expensive attention of highly specialized mechanics. But honestly, I would much rather give in to my road-rageous fantasies and drive the things like they were meant to be driven. 

Sigh...now get the hell out of my way!!!!

Pomegranates

Awhile ago I discovered pomegranates. 

OK, no I didn't discover them, I mean they were already there, and had been for thousands of years. But being that they were new to my own cooking repertoire, they were new to me.  They are a wonderfully healthy and tasty fruit that require a certain amount of dedication and creativity to really enjoy.

They are beautiful and messy (the bane of clean white shirts everywhere) but the arils look like rubies and really are quite lovely when released from their protective rind. And, once they are released, what do you do with them? Most of the recipes that I have seen seem to revolve around using the whole arils in some sort of mixture with other things, or sprinkling them on salads. Sure POM has taken great strides in marketing pomegranate juice in any number of varieties, but really, the juice is still left inside the aril where it may be a tangy little treat, but it doesn't do much to participate in a recipe as a full fledged member of the flavor pool.

So I set about finding ways of extracting the juice and meat from the arils so that it could be used as a sauce ingredient.  After several attempts I worked out the following method for extraction:

Open the pomegranates under water in a large bowl and then extract the arils beneath the surface of the water as well. Just let them sink or float in the water until you are done (hint, make the water luke warm so as to reduce the effect of cold water on your hands as the extraction takes a bit of time)

Once all the arils have been extracted, remove the pieces of rind from the water and then pour the remaining water and arils through a strainer.

Then pour the arils into a food processor (save out a handful for garnish and finishing) and grind the arils into a lovely ruby mash. Each aril is a combination of juice capsule and seed, the seed is the problem as it really doesn't add any flavor and it's small size is rather unpleasant to eat on its own. Using the food processor separates the juice capsule from the seed very effectively.

Next pour the mash into a strainer that is resting over a bowl, then use a flexible spatula to scrape the mash through the strainer so that the juice and as much of the meat gets squeezed into the bowl. After you have done the primary scraping, make sure to scrape the residue from the underside of the strainer as much of the meat and pulp clings there and you definitely want to get that into the juice in the bowl below.

You can use a touch of white wine to extract even more of the meat from the remaining seeds in the strainer.

Once you have gotten all the meat and juice off of the underside of the strainer, you can then throw the remaining seeds away. (I will keep working on some way to use these remains).

The bowl will now be filled with a pulpy ruby red liquid that will now be your base. 

The wonderful thing about using this base is that it stands up delightfully well in many types of sauces, especially in reduction sauces that often separate at the most inconvenient moments (like right before serving your masterpiece dinner!). Not our hearty little pomegranate sauce. Nope this stuff works with you like it is really glad to be opened up and released from its little ruby-jeweled shell, like a beauty queen who also happens to be a member of MENSA ...this stuff deserves to be taken seriously and appreciates it when you get over it's natural attractiveness.

Next up, basic sauces to make with pomegranates.