Last week, I walked into the school office because I had some paperwork to complete, and the two guys in the office were discussing their sandwich choices for the mid-morning snack. I think it was only about 9am. After my first class, I had two hours break, so I went to the cafe down the street for a much-needed coffee.
The cafe was busy, it's a nice local place and I've gone there often enough that the waiter has begun to recognize me. Apparently they also serve the best frito mallorquin in the port, which I've yet to sample, but I can vouch for their coffee and sandwiches. Anyway, in a busy cafe, and not just this one, I'd noticed that there are half-full bottles everywhere, and then in the afternoon they live on a sideboard in the restaurant. Same thing at the cafe on the other side of the port where I often go with colleagues from the other school where I teach.
When I got back to school, I asked the guys in the office about this - because all over the cafe, there were open bottles of wine, and in a few cases, liquor, on the tables. I've never seen anything like it, and how do they figure out how to pay? As it turns out, this is a local custom that is meant to help build customer loyalty. See, the bottle of wine, because it's just table wine (though obviously drinkable), costs maybe 2 or 3 Euro. If they charge a Euro a glass, they'll make the cost of the bottle back fine, and it all evens out (though that attitude on a large scale may be what's causing the economic situation we're finding ourselves in here in the Mediterranean states). The same goes for people who like to put a bit of liquor in their coffee; people like to put their own in because it makes them feel like they're trusted customers, and it all evens out and the cafe still makes a profit.
The guys in the school office compared it to the bottomless cup of coffee in American restaurants, with the interjection, "but how could you drink that stuff anyway? One cup of that and I'd be straight to the bathroom!" Here in Mallorca, it's just snack time, a glass of table wine, and 'marketing'.
Showing posts with label Simple Joys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Simple Joys. Show all posts
01 November 2011
folding bicycles, an infatuation story
Here's my sweet little vintage folding bike, which I love and already know I will have trouble parting with. It's a now-defunct Basque brand, GAC (Garate, Anitua y Cia). When I took it into a workshop because the front tube needed replaced, the guy pointed at all of the other bikes he had available as rentals, and commented on how this one's like new and he has to replace the rentals annually.
I might add that the photo doesn't do it justice because it doesn't show the chain guard and glorious crank case as well as it could. Doing some internet-based reconnaissance, I realize I acquired it for a steal, considering its condition, and if I was serious at all, I probably wouldn't be using it for daily use -- but then what fun would it be? It has front and back lights which work with a little motor that engages onto the front wheel, carries my groceries well and it's becoming recognizable around town.
It reminds me of this Eska I spotted this summer in Nová Sedlica:
Because really, for all that we speak of mid-century modern design, which can be all sexy and jet-setty and Corbusian and all kinds of adjectives I love, this is it. These bicycles are the epitome of European mid-century modern, because they embody the post-war European working class -- we've moved on from Ladri di biciclette, now this is something everyone can have and afford, and in a sense the only thing that makes these bicycles special now is that they still exist. What I also like is that while these bikes are on the surface opposites: fascist/communist, Basque/Zemplín, red/blue, etc they're essentially the same folding bike (though the GAC has some lovely bourgeois curves) to be sold to the same people at the same time, just in different places.
My soft spot for this style of bicycles comes from a delightful ride along the Barceloneta back in 2007 -- back home, I've got a steel Chinese-made model from my university years, and I'm looking forward to even more delightful rides with this one.
26 May 2011
25 May 2011
Laugardur: The Geothermic Municipal Swimming Pool
One of the things I was most looking forward to before our trip was visiting one of the geothermal pools. It's something I've gotten to do a few times in Hungary and really enjoyed.
A friend of ours had been to Iceland recently and went to the Blue Lagoon, which is the largest and most famous of these places, especially for tourists. But when I looked on the map, it turned out that the Reykjavik municipal pool was only a 5 minute walk from our hotel. So when we got to the hotel, we took our stuff to our room, had a quick bite to eat, and went to the pool.
If (when!) I come back to Iceland, I'd like to go to the Blue Lagoon, but I think Laugardur was definitely the more native, local experience. It's not fancy, and it was mostly people coming after work (by the time we got there) to swim for exercise or team sport -- but it is very clean and well-organized (like it seems most things are here). The pictures from the Blue Lagoon look amazing as well, and I'm sure it's much bigger and maybe a bit fancier.
It was clear to me before going that there's some sort of procedure for using these pools, but as much as I looked all over the internet, I only found one quick article about it. The man at the front desk was really helpful (considering, and considering the relative standard of helpfulness we experienced here) and told us what to do, and then we rented towels (which nearly doubled the entrance -- we could've just snagged hotel towels for this outing), scanned our receipt at the turnstile, and began this ritual -- which is really what it feels like.
In a hallway, outside the locker rooms, there are benches lining the walls and a shelf for shoes. You put your shoes on the shelf, and walk into the locker room in your socks. The locker room is like any other locker room I've ever been in -- lockers and benches and hooks. The lockers all have keys attached to bracelets on them, so you just strip down, put everything in your locker, put the key on, and take your suit and towel into the shower room. The shower room has rows of showers, and you put your towel in a cubby and take a shower. There are automatic soap dispensers and signs everywhere explaining that it is very important to wash before and after without your swimsuit on and the signs also explain where you need to especially wash yourself -- this is important because I don't think the water has many chemicals in it, which is nice. I'd rather prance about naked and get into more natural water than go into a pool where the chlorine can knock you out. There are also signs everywhere saying that photos are not allowed, which is nice because everyone's walking around completely naked, but it would also be impossible to take pictures anyway unless you had a waterproof camera.
No one has sandals on, and what we didn't realize was that you don't carry your towel out to the pools -- because the wind might blow them away. The temperature outside was hovering around 40°F, and the pools are between 36-42°C. So after showering and putting on your suit, you run outside barefoot and try to get into the pool as quickly as possible. Once we got outside, there was no place to put towels anyway. The first pool we got into was pleasantly warm, but it was certainly the cooler pool, so we moved to the smaller pool which was much warmer -- like perfect bath water temperature. Had I been more motivated, I would've moved back and forth between the different pools more, which is more invigorating. But after all of the delays and everything, it was exceptionally pleasant just to sit and get pruny.
The small, hot pool had seats and volcanic rocks to sit on. Clearly, it was a really social thing, with groups of people sitting and chatting, young people with friends, business guys, some people on their own, parents with their small children. People just kind of sit down right next to you and move around and it's all very chill and democratic because everyone's just in swimsuits. The beautiful thing about it is that there's no cell phones, no nothing except the perfect temperature water.
When finished, you run back into the locker rooms, strip out of the bathing suit and shower again. This time, it's really important to dry off well because it's apparently also huge faux pas to leave a puddle in the locker room, because at that point, you can slip easily and also who wants wet socks? The nonchalance was super amazing, some women were getting dressed to go out on the town, others in regular clothes, everything was just very normal. Then we walked back out to get our shoes, and at the end of the hallway there's a row of tables with mirrors and professional-strength hair driers, which added to the civility of the entire experience. Girls were braiding each others hair and I gave myself a quick blow dry before putting on my hat. We dropped our towels off at the exit turnstile and headed out into the non-sunset -- when we left around 6:30PM, the sun was still high in the sky, though it was cloudy so it wasn't sunny.
After all of the airplane delays, and minor stress of not knowing whether we'd be able to get out of EWR (actually, that's a large stress, because the goal is to get the hell out of EWR as soon as possible), I really felt relaxed after leaving the pool.
A friend of ours had been to Iceland recently and went to the Blue Lagoon, which is the largest and most famous of these places, especially for tourists. But when I looked on the map, it turned out that the Reykjavik municipal pool was only a 5 minute walk from our hotel. So when we got to the hotel, we took our stuff to our room, had a quick bite to eat, and went to the pool.
If (when!) I come back to Iceland, I'd like to go to the Blue Lagoon, but I think Laugardur was definitely the more native, local experience. It's not fancy, and it was mostly people coming after work (by the time we got there) to swim for exercise or team sport -- but it is very clean and well-organized (like it seems most things are here). The pictures from the Blue Lagoon look amazing as well, and I'm sure it's much bigger and maybe a bit fancier.
It was clear to me before going that there's some sort of procedure for using these pools, but as much as I looked all over the internet, I only found one quick article about it. The man at the front desk was really helpful (considering, and considering the relative standard of helpfulness we experienced here) and told us what to do, and then we rented towels (which nearly doubled the entrance -- we could've just snagged hotel towels for this outing), scanned our receipt at the turnstile, and began this ritual -- which is really what it feels like.
In a hallway, outside the locker rooms, there are benches lining the walls and a shelf for shoes. You put your shoes on the shelf, and walk into the locker room in your socks. The locker room is like any other locker room I've ever been in -- lockers and benches and hooks. The lockers all have keys attached to bracelets on them, so you just strip down, put everything in your locker, put the key on, and take your suit and towel into the shower room. The shower room has rows of showers, and you put your towel in a cubby and take a shower. There are automatic soap dispensers and signs everywhere explaining that it is very important to wash before and after without your swimsuit on and the signs also explain where you need to especially wash yourself -- this is important because I don't think the water has many chemicals in it, which is nice. I'd rather prance about naked and get into more natural water than go into a pool where the chlorine can knock you out. There are also signs everywhere saying that photos are not allowed, which is nice because everyone's walking around completely naked, but it would also be impossible to take pictures anyway unless you had a waterproof camera.
No one has sandals on, and what we didn't realize was that you don't carry your towel out to the pools -- because the wind might blow them away. The temperature outside was hovering around 40°F, and the pools are between 36-42°C. So after showering and putting on your suit, you run outside barefoot and try to get into the pool as quickly as possible. Once we got outside, there was no place to put towels anyway. The first pool we got into was pleasantly warm, but it was certainly the cooler pool, so we moved to the smaller pool which was much warmer -- like perfect bath water temperature. Had I been more motivated, I would've moved back and forth between the different pools more, which is more invigorating. But after all of the delays and everything, it was exceptionally pleasant just to sit and get pruny.
The small, hot pool had seats and volcanic rocks to sit on. Clearly, it was a really social thing, with groups of people sitting and chatting, young people with friends, business guys, some people on their own, parents with their small children. People just kind of sit down right next to you and move around and it's all very chill and democratic because everyone's just in swimsuits. The beautiful thing about it is that there's no cell phones, no nothing except the perfect temperature water.
When finished, you run back into the locker rooms, strip out of the bathing suit and shower again. This time, it's really important to dry off well because it's apparently also huge faux pas to leave a puddle in the locker room, because at that point, you can slip easily and also who wants wet socks? The nonchalance was super amazing, some women were getting dressed to go out on the town, others in regular clothes, everything was just very normal. Then we walked back out to get our shoes, and at the end of the hallway there's a row of tables with mirrors and professional-strength hair driers, which added to the civility of the entire experience. Girls were braiding each others hair and I gave myself a quick blow dry before putting on my hat. We dropped our towels off at the exit turnstile and headed out into the non-sunset -- when we left around 6:30PM, the sun was still high in the sky, though it was cloudy so it wasn't sunny.
After all of the airplane delays, and minor stress of not knowing whether we'd be able to get out of EWR (actually, that's a large stress, because the goal is to get the hell out of EWR as soon as possible), I really felt relaxed after leaving the pool.
25 August 2010
Eine alte Postkarte
(If you're reading this post via e-mail or another reader, please click through to the blog to get all of the embedded features!)
This post comes during a kind of huge breakthrough for me regarding some of my own genealogical research. Turns out, my great-great grandfather from Ladomirová actively used an alias, which is kind of cool. That's as far back as I'm going right now, because of jus sanguinis.
Years ago, a friend teased me that I'd be one of those academic types searching through old letters and postcards at flea markets and antique stores looking for the lost letters of some famous artist I was researching. I'm not quite at that point yet, but I do like looking through old postcards when I'm at a flea market or antique store. Especially when the postcard was written and sent.
So when my mom and I were at this fantastically huge antique mall in the middle of Indiana cornfields about a month ago, I spent a lot of time looking through the old postcards I could find. I got a lot of postcards featuring Mecki the Hedgehog, because they're so deliciously uncomfortable in some indescribable way, and a very interesting postcard from the Summit Inn in Uniontown that is typewritten and talks about General Pershing.
But there was one postcard that was most curious to me. I've been wanting to Google it, and it turns out, it's even more interesting than I thought. Yay for literate, Anglophone, WASPy Americans who are easy to research on Ancestry.com! Here's the postcard:
It was written by Marian Colburn, who at the time would have been 14 years old:
Marion's dad was a shoe salesman. In the 1900 census, the Colburns of Wellesley Hills, Mass. had a servant living with them named Cora Carter, and Frank the Traveling Shoe Salesman owned his house outright.
Her brother, Stanley Childs Colburn, married Marie Spahr, whose dad, George Tallman Spahr, graduated from Amherst College in 1878. He was a WWI veteran. Between 1910 and 1930, he was in Minnesota at some point. By 1930, Stanley Colburn and his wife Marie were living in Fargo, North Dakota and they had 4 children. He died in 1986, age 100, in a long-term care facility after working as a wholesale grocery manager, and is buried in Ohio.
On October 3rd, 1903, she applied for an emergency passport at Vevey-Lausanne, Switzerland. This was probably her first trip abroad, but it wasn't her last: she returned to New York from Naples first class aboard the the then-very-fashionable SS Independence on April 2, 1956 with five pieces of luggage.
By 1920, Marian was living in Boston with her father's sister and was employed as a social services medical something or other. By the early 1930s, she was living in Allston, MA. In 1953, Marion, who never married and probably never lived outside of Massachusetts, donated three early American costume pieces to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (1, 2, 3). She died in Lowell, Massachusetts on February 18, 1991 -- like her brother, she lived a long life!
The recipient of the letter, Professor Marshall Livingston Perrin, was one of those Who's Who types of people:
In addition to being a professor, he was also Superintendent of Wellesley Schools for 16 years (1893-1909) and they even built a school named after him. He traveled all over the world and based on the emergency passport he applied for in Switzerland in August 1903, I'll venture the guess he was travelling at least part of the time with Miss Colburn -- the documentation also says he was with his son, Harold. When he came back to the US on the S.S. Carpathia, he wasn't with his son, however. Harold Perrin and Marian Colburn were about the same age. Harold became a lawyer and was also the chair of the Committee on Street Railways in Boston in 1919. He had four children with his wife, Edith.
Professor Perrin was quite the globetrotter: he lived in Germany from 1883-88, and almost every summer he was traveling in Europe, but in 1919-1920 he was in Asia, where he also visited at least once before 1896. The Ship Manifests show him traveling on the White Star Line, Cunard, and Holland America Line, Red Star Line and on ships like the MS St. Louis, SS Dresden, RMS Baltic, SS Carmania, SS George Washington, and the famous RMS Carpathia.
Here's a map with some of the places the people involved lived and worked:
View alte Postkarten in a larger map
So I hope you enjoyed reading a little bit about other people's adventures (and all of the gaping holes in the story) through my little research into primary sources. For my part, I'll keep looking through stacks of old postcards whenever I get the chance!
This post comes during a kind of huge breakthrough for me regarding some of my own genealogical research. Turns out, my great-great grandfather from Ladomirová actively used an alias, which is kind of cool. That's as far back as I'm going right now, because of jus sanguinis.
Years ago, a friend teased me that I'd be one of those academic types searching through old letters and postcards at flea markets and antique stores looking for the lost letters of some famous artist I was researching. I'm not quite at that point yet, but I do like looking through old postcards when I'm at a flea market or antique store. Especially when the postcard was written and sent.
So when my mom and I were at this fantastically huge antique mall in the middle of Indiana cornfields about a month ago, I spent a lot of time looking through the old postcards I could find. I got a lot of postcards featuring Mecki the Hedgehog, because they're so deliciously uncomfortable in some indescribable way, and a very interesting postcard from the Summit Inn in Uniontown that is typewritten and talks about General Pershing.
But there was one postcard that was most curious to me. I've been wanting to Google it, and it turns out, it's even more interesting than I thought. Yay for literate, Anglophone, WASPy Americans who are easy to research on Ancestry.com! Here's the postcard:
It was written by Marian Colburn, who at the time would have been 14 years old:
 |
| Marion's father |
Her brother, Stanley Childs Colburn, married Marie Spahr, whose dad, George Tallman Spahr, graduated from Amherst College in 1878. He was a WWI veteran. Between 1910 and 1930, he was in Minnesota at some point. By 1930, Stanley Colburn and his wife Marie were living in Fargo, North Dakota and they had 4 children. He died in 1986, age 100, in a long-term care facility after working as a wholesale grocery manager, and is buried in Ohio.
On October 3rd, 1903, she applied for an emergency passport at Vevey-Lausanne, Switzerland. This was probably her first trip abroad, but it wasn't her last: she returned to New York from Naples first class aboard the the then-very-fashionable SS Independence on April 2, 1956 with five pieces of luggage.By 1920, Marian was living in Boston with her father's sister and was employed as a social services medical something or other. By the early 1930s, she was living in Allston, MA. In 1953, Marion, who never married and probably never lived outside of Massachusetts, donated three early American costume pieces to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (1, 2, 3). She died in Lowell, Massachusetts on February 18, 1991 -- like her brother, she lived a long life!
The recipient of the letter, Professor Marshall Livingston Perrin, was one of those Who's Who types of people:
 |
| M. L. Perrin's 1922 passport picture |
 |
| Clipping advertising a lecture in North Adams, MA in 1896. |
Professor Perrin was quite the globetrotter: he lived in Germany from 1883-88, and almost every summer he was traveling in Europe, but in 1919-1920 he was in Asia, where he also visited at least once before 1896. The Ship Manifests show him traveling on the White Star Line, Cunard, and Holland America Line, Red Star Line and on ships like the MS St. Louis, SS Dresden, RMS Baltic, SS Carmania, SS George Washington, and the famous RMS Carpathia.
Here's a map with some of the places the people involved lived and worked:
View alte Postkarten in a larger map
So I hope you enjoyed reading a little bit about other people's adventures (and all of the gaping holes in the story) through my little research into primary sources. For my part, I'll keep looking through stacks of old postcards whenever I get the chance!
27 July 2010
Roadtripping
Instead of blogging about every little thing that happened on this trip (there's some stuff that gets left out!) I had decided beforehand to try to make a documentary about it. If you can sit through the whole thing, you'll get a pretty authentic picture of what it's like to hang out with my mum and me - a little bit not-PC, some deep thinking and a lot of laughing:
22 July 2010
Vlog: My Grandfather's Hands
Since I've been back from Slovakia, and even before my grandma died, I've been trying to visit Bentleyville as often as my schedule allows, and even sometimes when it doesn't. Now it's even more special for me as we all grieve her and realize how much she took with her when she went. We have to work together more, cooperate more, brainstorm together more, and talk to each other more. The dynamic is different and to say she's irreplaceable is an understatement.
The ways my grandparents kept their files over the years was different - my grandmother made albums, labeled them pretty well, and they've been a relatively user-friendly resource over the years. Today, my grandfather pulled out this binder and a pack of college-ruled filler paper, and started showing me letters and photos off the top of the stack from some of our relatives in Slovakia, mostly from the 1980s. So we read letters handwritten and typed in Rusyn and Slovak, and looked at pictures, mixed in with photos of his parents, grandparents, and cousins, obituaries, commemorative prayer cards, and other newspaper clippings. Instead of being accompanied by a label, every piece has its story - which begets another story. For example, those of you who know Svidník and that horrible old rusted-out former hotel - looking at a photo of the funeral of his aunt with that building in the background caused a short and parenthetical discussion of the current bedbug epidemic the world is experiencing. In the meantime, Aunt Nell's in the background, mischievously taking advantage of me sitting and yelling into his good ear to quietly provoke me into asking him the right follow-up questions to get the whole story.
Letters and photographs are what my grandfather has left of his grandparents and parents and most of his relatives and friends. I can also have video to pass along to my potential future offspring and theirs, إن شاء الله, and those photos and letters. Unfortunately by the time he realized I was recording, he wouldn't let me record any more, even as he was telling me about who these people were and how we're related, which is information that will almost certainly die with him.
In the meantime, I'm often fascinated by people's hands, and in this case by the deliberateness of action, as my grandfather creates his/our "archives" with Scotch tape and college-ruled filler paper. I post this, not because I think we're special because we really aren't, but to encourage you to take this sort of action in your family as well.
So after all that introduction, here's the video:
The ways my grandparents kept their files over the years was different - my grandmother made albums, labeled them pretty well, and they've been a relatively user-friendly resource over the years. Today, my grandfather pulled out this binder and a pack of college-ruled filler paper, and started showing me letters and photos off the top of the stack from some of our relatives in Slovakia, mostly from the 1980s. So we read letters handwritten and typed in Rusyn and Slovak, and looked at pictures, mixed in with photos of his parents, grandparents, and cousins, obituaries, commemorative prayer cards, and other newspaper clippings. Instead of being accompanied by a label, every piece has its story - which begets another story. For example, those of you who know Svidník and that horrible old rusted-out former hotel - looking at a photo of the funeral of his aunt with that building in the background caused a short and parenthetical discussion of the current bedbug epidemic the world is experiencing. In the meantime, Aunt Nell's in the background, mischievously taking advantage of me sitting and yelling into his good ear to quietly provoke me into asking him the right follow-up questions to get the whole story.
Aunt Nell: Maria, ask him to tell you about his Aunt Helen Zukovich.For a while, I've been thinking about how since Our People are separated by an ocean (and the Schengen Agreement, which is almost as bad), we've always used the best technologies that were available and affordable to communicate and record our lives to share with our far away families -- it used to be letters and photographs, now it's Skype and videos (and still letters and photographs!).
Self: Hey Grandpap, what's the story about your Aunt Helen Zukovich?
Grandpap: She was half crazy! No, she was completely crazy!
Aunt Nell [in the background]: She was alright!
Letters and photographs are what my grandfather has left of his grandparents and parents and most of his relatives and friends. I can also have video to pass along to my potential future offspring and theirs, إن شاء الله, and those photos and letters. Unfortunately by the time he realized I was recording, he wouldn't let me record any more, even as he was telling me about who these people were and how we're related, which is information that will almost certainly die with him.
In the meantime, I'm often fascinated by people's hands, and in this case by the deliberateness of action, as my grandfather creates his/our "archives" with Scotch tape and college-ruled filler paper. I post this, not because I think we're special because we really aren't, but to encourage you to take this sort of action in your family as well.
So after all that introduction, here's the video:
My Grandfather's Hands from Maria Silvestri on Vimeo.
25 November 2009
Julia Child's Kitchen
After my fab visit to the NMAI, my cohort (hi Kevin Coffee!) and I split and I set off on foot to Foggy Bottom to meet some of my crew from my Rome years. But on my way, it popped into my head that in Julie & Julia they visit Julia's kitchen at the National Museum of American History. So I thought I'd poke in and have a look.
What fun!
There's just one thing I want to point out about this exhibit, which was such a pleasure overall. When we get into structuralist analysis, we sometimes describe artworks (literature, visual arts, music, architecture) in terms of a conversation between the artist and viewer. Relatedly, I've often said that while I love visiting museums, I also can't not go anymore without really analyzing what's going on -- I read an exhibit the way I'd read a single painting or a text. Most of the time, that makes for a rather serious intellectual exercise -- and something that makes my brain itch, not smile.
But I exclaim what fun! about this Julia Child exhibit, because in this case, it did make me smile and make me think that the curators and exhibit designers were having a good time while they were doing their job:
Julia Child is often credited as being a major influence on the development of Americans as wine connoisseurs. On her ground-breaking TV show, she dug deeper by enjoying a glass of wine at the end. But on television, it wasn't some Mouton Rothschild from the Child wine cellar -- it was a mixture of Gravy Master and water! Now we have even more reason to love Julia, because she was capable of ingesting not only divine bœuf bourguignon but also this crazy spotiote of Gravy Master and water.
And so what made me smile about the exhibit design? First, the 'setting apart' of this most banal, humble, and pop-culture-50s-housewife of "flavor enhancers" in an obviously custom acrylic case. So we're having fun playing with high/low culture here when Gravy Master gets similar display treatment as the Venus of Willendorf. And that's further ratcheted up a notch when behind the Gravy Master is a facsimile of the Child wine cellar inventory.
Good to see that Museum People don't always take ourselves too seriously!
What fun!
There's just one thing I want to point out about this exhibit, which was such a pleasure overall. When we get into structuralist analysis, we sometimes describe artworks (literature, visual arts, music, architecture) in terms of a conversation between the artist and viewer. Relatedly, I've often said that while I love visiting museums, I also can't not go anymore without really analyzing what's going on -- I read an exhibit the way I'd read a single painting or a text. Most of the time, that makes for a rather serious intellectual exercise -- and something that makes my brain itch, not smile.
But I exclaim what fun! about this Julia Child exhibit, because in this case, it did make me smile and make me think that the curators and exhibit designers were having a good time while they were doing their job:
Julia Child is often credited as being a major influence on the development of Americans as wine connoisseurs. On her ground-breaking TV show, she dug deeper by enjoying a glass of wine at the end. But on television, it wasn't some Mouton Rothschild from the Child wine cellar -- it was a mixture of Gravy Master and water! Now we have even more reason to love Julia, because she was capable of ingesting not only divine bœuf bourguignon but also this crazy spotiote of Gravy Master and water.
And so what made me smile about the exhibit design? First, the 'setting apart' of this most banal, humble, and pop-culture-50s-housewife of "flavor enhancers" in an obviously custom acrylic case. So we're having fun playing with high/low culture here when Gravy Master gets similar display treatment as the Venus of Willendorf. And that's further ratcheted up a notch when behind the Gravy Master is a facsimile of the Child wine cellar inventory.
Good to see that Museum People don't always take ourselves too seriously!
27 October 2009
Recipe: Eggplant Wrapped Moussaka
this recipe at Sasha's request!
First, I'd like some credit for cooking something without bacon. Thanks in advance.
Second, this recipe comes from The New Basics Cookbook, which is quite possibly my favorite out of the many I own. Jamie Oliver's oeuvre comes in a somewhat-close second, and I use Betty Crocker and Silver Spoon for reference, but this is the cookbook I actually cook from. This is the cookbook that taught me (and is teaching me) to make soups. I got it at a Books Not Bombs Used Book Sale I helped organize at SHU and it's followed me around a few rented places and now back home -- it was a 1992 wedding present to a prof and her husband. This cookbook is from 1989, which could be considered dated (like the recipes Judith Jones includes in The Tenth Muse -- dated recipes and she didn't like Julie Powell!) but actually, I think it was ahead of its time, because the recipes really encourage home- or local-grown produce, and seasonal cooking, among other things that are in vogue right now.
Which brings me to Third, some of the ingredients I used for this recipe came from our garden! Others were grown elsewhere in Pennsylvania! Yay!
Fourth, I am retyping the recipe from the cookbook. I mostly followed it, but left a few things out (beef stock, fresh mint leaves and currants and mint in the yogurt sauce) and it still was amazing.
So without further adue:
Ingredients
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons paprika
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 3/4 teaspoons salt
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1/4 cup milk
1 large eggplant, cut into 1/4 inch-thick slices
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1/3 cup sliced almonds with skins
1 1/2 pounds ground lamb
1 cup homemade beef stock or canned broth
1/2 cup chopped dried apricots
1/3 cup dried currants
3 tablespoons chopped fresh mint leaves
1 acorn squash, halved, seeded and cooked until soft
1/2 cup cooked white rice
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Minted Yogurt Sauce (recipe follows)
Ingredients
1 1/4 cups plain yogurt
1/4 cup chopped fresh mint leaves
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 tablespoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
First, I'd like some credit for cooking something without bacon. Thanks in advance.
Second, this recipe comes from The New Basics Cookbook, which is quite possibly my favorite out of the many I own. Jamie Oliver's oeuvre comes in a somewhat-close second, and I use Betty Crocker and Silver Spoon for reference, but this is the cookbook I actually cook from. This is the cookbook that taught me (and is teaching me) to make soups. I got it at a Books Not Bombs Used Book Sale I helped organize at SHU and it's followed me around a few rented places and now back home -- it was a 1992 wedding present to a prof and her husband. This cookbook is from 1989, which could be considered dated (like the recipes Judith Jones includes in The Tenth Muse -- dated recipes and she didn't like Julie Powell!) but actually, I think it was ahead of its time, because the recipes really encourage home- or local-grown produce, and seasonal cooking, among other things that are in vogue right now.
Which brings me to Third, some of the ingredients I used for this recipe came from our garden! Others were grown elsewhere in Pennsylvania! Yay!
Fourth, I am retyping the recipe from the cookbook. I mostly followed it, but left a few things out (beef stock, fresh mint leaves and currants and mint in the yogurt sauce) and it still was amazing.
So without further adue:
Ingredients
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons paprika
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 3/4 teaspoons salt
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1/4 cup milk
1 large eggplant, cut into 1/4 inch-thick slices
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1/3 cup sliced almonds with skins
1 1/2 pounds ground lamb
1 cup homemade beef stock or canned broth
1/2 cup chopped dried apricots
1/3 cup dried currants
3 tablespoons chopped fresh mint leaves
1 acorn squash, halved, seeded and cooked until soft
1/2 cup cooked white rice
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Minted Yogurt Sauce (recipe follows)
- Preheat the oven to 375°F. Lightly grease two baking sheets and a 10-inch round, 2-inch-deep casserole (preferably glass).
- Combine the cumin, ginger, paprika, cinnamon, and cayenne in a small bowl. Blend thoroughly.
- Combine the flour, 1 1/3 tablespoons of the spice mixture, 1 teaspoon of the salt, and pepper in a shallow bowl. Mix well. Pour the milk into another shallow bowl.
- Dip each eggplant slice first in the milk, letting any excess drip off, and then in the flour mixture, pressing lightly so it is evenly coated. Shake off any excess flour, and arrange the slices in a single layer on the prepared baking sheets. Bake until soft, 30 minutes. Remove the eggplant but leave the oven on.
- In the meantime, heat the oil in a large skillet. Stir in the onion and almonds, and cook over medium heat until the onion is soft and the almonds are toasted, 8 to 10 minutes. Add the lamb, raise the heat slightly, and cook, stirring and breaking up the meat, until browned, about 10 minutes. Pour off all but 2 tablespoons fat from the skillet.
- Stir the remaining spice mixture into the meat, and cook 1 minute. Then stir in the tomatoes, stock, apricots, currants, and mint. Scoop the squash into the mixture in chunks. Stir in the rice, lemon juice, and remaining 3/4 teaspoon salt. Remove the skillet from the heat.
- Arrange a layer of cooked eggplant on the bottom and up the sides of the prepared casserole. Fill with the lamb mixture, and top with the remaining eggplant. Cover with aluminum foil and bake 1 hour.
- Remove the casserole from the oven and allow it to stand, still covered, for 15 minutes. Then uncover and invert the moussaka onto a serving platter. Cut it into wedges, and serve with the Minted Yogurt Sauce.
Ingredients
1 1/4 cups plain yogurt
1/4 cup chopped fresh mint leaves
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 tablespoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
- Mix it all together and refrigerate covered until ready to serve.
25 August 2009
The Joys of Sansserif Type
So let us consider this to be the first of many posts describing the simple joys and adventures that can be found in and around my hometown. Today, as I was leaving Office Max, I saw I was parked near this beauty:
and I got in and out of the car twice as I saw the details that tickled my fancy, especially the Quadrifoglio labeling:
Very sexy.
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