spud says hi

Replicating a memory

I just finished reading the first volume of Proust's Remembrance of Things Past, aka In Search of Lost Time.  I've meant to read it for ages--I bought it back when I still lived in Chicago, and it's moved from place to place, always sitting on my to-be-read shelf.  This year, when I packed up my apartment, I cast a harsh eye on that shelf, and forced myself to pick out the books that I was determined to read during the upcoming year, and to donate the remainder.  I decided that Proust (I seem only to own the first two volume) was finally going to be cracked, so it came with me to Chicago, and now the first volume, at least, to Moscow.

I'm undecided about it.  In some ways it annoyed me enormously.  I lack the patience for five page long paragraphs extolling a view, I fear.  But individual passages of description were perfect.  Take this passage:

"...what most enraptured me were the asparagus, tinged with ultramarine and pink which shaded off from their heads, finely stippled in mauve and azure, through a series of imperceptible gradations to their white feet--still stained a little by the soil of their garden-bed--with an iridescence that was not of this world.  I felt that these celestial hues indicated the presence of exquisite creatures who had been pleased to assume vegetable form and who, through the disguise of their firm comestible flesh, allowed me to discern in this radiance of earliest dawn, these hinted rainbows, these blue evening shades, that precious quality which I should recognise again when, all night long after a dinner at which I had partaken of them, they played (lyrical and coarse in their jesting like one of Shakespeare's fairies) at transforming my chamber pot into a vase of aromatic perfume."

I'm similarly both annoyed and attracted by the behaviors of the characters in the book.  They're utterly annoying--but then I recognize their behaviors in myself and am disconcerted.

And the very idea of the power of sense memory is of course brilliant.  The famous moment comes when the narrator has not simply a cup of tisane, and not simply a madeleine, but the two in combination--and that combination of flavors and textures sends him back to a childhood memory that he'd lost.

I was thinking about this tonight because one of my perpetual challenges when I come to Russia is to recapture a taste memory from my very first trip in 1992.  That was a tough year, though I was lucky to be a vegetable lover living in a small city in southern Russia--we had a good market and so I ate pretty well through much of the fall.  By December things were a little dire, but up to that point I was OK.

Better than OK, in some ways.  In the big main market there was a tiny stall--barely more than a hole in a wall--that sold only one thing:  lavash.  Not the thin lavash that seems to have made its way to the US:  big rounds of maybe inch-thick wood oven baked bread.  If I was lucky, the lavash was so fresh from the oven it was almost too hot to carry home.  I ate it with everything: peanut butter until what I'd brought from home ran out, cheese, jam, adjik, which is a spicy condiment I'd buy at the market, too, or just plain.  I adored the stuff.

And I've never quite found its equal.  I keep buying other varieties of lavash, but nothing's ever measured up to that.  Tonight I bought the lavash I've been buying (I realize, according to its packaging, that this is apparently Georgian lavash, as opposed to Caucasian or central Asian), and I heated it for a while in a pan, but though it comes close, it doesn't quite manage it.

I wonder if that stall's still there in the market in Krasnodar, or if now, 17 years later, that memory will never be exactly replicated?

And just because I can't post a post without a picture, I'll probably also never find another image as surreal as the yellow Mercedes with an angry cat painted on its side.  But that doesn't mean I won't try to capture the other semi-insane varieties of painte cars I still see here.  For example, this one was parked up at the top of Vorobevy gory last weekend.

Even crazier was the car with an image of what seemed to be a pile of snakes and skulls.  But I didn't have my camera with me for that one, so this will have to do.

Unexpectedly complementary things

A relatively quick summer knit this year were these fingertipless gloves.

I wrote about them a bit before the film festival, and then actually finished all the finishing (heh) of them shortly thereafter.  It just took me a while to photograph them.

They're based on the Mahayana Flying Glove pattern, which is itself based on the Leyburn sock pattern.

Honestly, I pretty much only took the cast on number of stitches and then the stitch pattern from these two patterns.  As written, they're pretty much straight tubes, but I thought those would be too bulky around my wrists (not that I've got tiny wrists, but, still).

So, I decreased every few rows to make a narrower wrist, and then increased slightly more quickly to make the hand roomier.  Honestly, I probably didn't need to increase for the hands as much as I did; they're a little bit baggy in the palms.  Still, I basically like the fit quite a bit.

The other difference was making the finger... tubes.  I simply did what one would do to make gloves, but only knit a small (and, sadly, not always equal) number of rows.  Although I initially thought I'd do a sewn bind-off, I ended up with a simply passed over bind off, because I kind of liked the strong edge.

But what I really, really like about these is the pattern.  Never have I so much liked the combination of variegation and pattern.  To my eye, the pattern brings out the color differences in particularly interesting ways; I never expected it to be so complementary.

Speaking of which, last night I threw together something that was unexpectedly complementary and delicious:  cauliflower, chick peas, and pasta.

This made two generous servings; I was going to take a picture of my leftovers, but suddenly, I discovered, I'd eaten them ALL here at my desk before I got the camera out.

Make an appropriate amount of pasta; I used whole wheat penne

As soon as the pasta goes in, heat a skillet.  Add a tablespoon or so of olive oil.  Throw in:

1 shallot, sliced
2 cloves garlic, sliced
a bit of salt and pepper.

Allow to frizzle briefly, then add:

1/2 head cauliflower, broken into fairly small florets

stir to mix, then add

1/2 can chick peas/garbanzo beans

and a couple of spoonfuls, or a splash, of the pasta cooking water.

Cover, and let saute/steam while the pasta finishes.

When the pasta's al dente, mostly drain it, and mix together the pasta with a bit of the remaining water and the cauliflower/chick pea mixture.  (This would be best done in the skillet, because then you get any little pieces stuck to the pan; my pan wasn't big enough, though, so I ended up having to use the pasta cooking pot for the mixing).

Serve with grated cheese, salt and pepper.

Seriously, this might not sound good, but it really, really was.  I didn't even think it would be--I was worried by a too strong smell of cauliflower when I got to the pasta cooked part; but instead, it was just tender and yummy.

Tastes of bygone years

It's funny that this article showed up today, because I've just been thinking about soft-serve ice cream.

Yes, incidentally, I do realize that that's an odd thing to be thinking about.  What can I say? 

Monday evening, after I dropped friends off at the airport (good to see you guys!), I stopped at IKEA on my way home.  I failed to buy what I wanted, because I hadn't really measured the space into which I want to put a shelf, and thus wasn't sure if anything would fit.

I did, though, get an ice cream cone.  And for some reason, it rocketed me back to being a kid and getting ice cream from the Village Custard Shop.  Or was it Shoppe?  (ooh, it seems to still exist as "Hole in the Wall Custard"!!)

Anyway, it was a tiny, tiny shop that sold frozen custard, with the classic option of dipping the custard into melted chocolate (or other flavors?) which then formed a hard shell around the ice cream.

I've got sort of vague, scattered memories of it.  I think I remember that I didn't really like the hard shell thing, and tended to get my frozen custard without it.  (I was a kid who didn't really like my foods mixing or touching each other... I've totally grown out of that, fortunately.)  I did, though, like watching the process of dipping.

I think I remember bicycling over there as a family, because I remember we had these battery-powered lights that strapped on to your arm to wear when biking after dark (and Chicago's summer nights aren't as long as the summer nights here... that's the problem with being at the far eastern end of a time zone).

But I don't really have a memory of how often we did this, or if the biking thing was normal or unusual (it was on kind of a busy street, so I'm just not sure), or what.

I'm also wondering if this was something we tended to do before we all (I think?) fell under the spell of Baskin Robbins' Peanut Butter and Chocolate ice cream.  Because I also remember going there as a family, and getting that in a sugar cone, and occasionally having a problem because the peanut butter would goop up the bottom of the sugar cone making the "bite off the end and suck the ice cream through" technique a challenge.  (Man, I hope that's not going to give me skeevy google hits.)

Seriously, I've been thinking about ice cream so much over the last couple of days that I almost bought an ice cream maker yesterday.  I spent more than two hours at the Russian Consulate yesterday, in a humid, overcrowded, unpleasant room, waiting in line to get some paperwork I need to get permanent residency (that is, "landed immigrant" status) here (apparently the Canadian government worries that my completely uneventful life in the US is just a cover for nefarious activities abroad).  I should perhaps mention that it's entirely possible I could have cut to the front of the line, but I was brought up to respect lines.  In fact, I may respect lines too much, because I get really, really annoyed when others don't.  This is why I identified with Liz Lemon on 30 Rock, because she's getting really, really annoyed with line scoflaws in her first appearance on the show.  (I'd put a link, but I can't find it on youtube, and since I'm in Canada I can't look at anything on nbc.com or hulu.)  Oh, and I should also mention that the man who ended up helping me was very, very nice, even if the cost of the document I needed magically went up from $10 to $40 between a phone call last week and my trip there yesterday, which necessitated running between the consulate and a bank downstairs, since they only accept money orders.  ARGH.

Anyway, on my way home from the consulate I stopped in a Williams Sonoma and gazed at an ice cream maker.  And then realized that I sort of on principle don't really buy anything there unless it's on sale, since everything always seems to be more expensive there than it is elsewhere.

So instead, perhaps I'll treat myself to ice cream more often.

Phases

I go through a lot of phases of enthusiasm for different things, in all sorts of spheres of life.  I wonder, sometimes, if this is in part a side effect of being single--I get to choose my food and entertainment, and thus am only guided by whatever my current enthusiasm is.

Anyway, I tend to go through phases for different breakfasts--I'll eat one cereal for a year, then switch to another one.

Or I go through phases when I very frequently make the same dish.  Sometimes it's a matter of expediency, like during graduate school when I went through first a macaroni and cheese phase (made yet simpler when a friend pointed out that you could make it without butter and milk by just saving a little of the pasta boiling water, which gives the cheeze powder a bit of body) and then a scrambled eggs mixed with fresh salsa from Hyde Park Produce (huh... I just googled them to see if they have a website, and they don't, but there's this, which is sort of interesting, too... and going to its current entries reminds me of another phase, the summer in graduate school I spent mostly at Promontory Point, alternating swimming with German homework, after which someone said I looked "tan and rested," which I may never have been since then) eaten over whole wheat toast phase.

In recent years I've been going through a lengthy beet phase.  Mostly a roasted beet phase, except for my time in Russia, when the garlicky beet salad was very much in my regular rotation at the cafeteria at the Lenin library.

Much more often, though, I like my beets roasted, in part because they taste good, but also in part because it's fun (and messy) to slip off their skins.  They're wonderful with strong flavors like blue cheese, walnuts, and balsamic vinegar.

(As an aside, I'm sort of sad that I haven't found my favorite beet, the chioggia beet, which is the target striped one I've written about before, here in Toronto.  I'm sure they must exist somewhere, but where?)

Very recently I've been going through a cauliflower phase.  This is surprising, because even though my tastes have broadened considerably over the years, I had somehow managed to maintain the thought that I didn't really like cauliflower, even if there were a couple of individual dishes involving cauliflower I do like.  And, honestly, this lasted until this past holiday season, when I actually ate a piece of raw cauliflower and realized that, actually, I do liked cauliflower.  So I've been mostly making a bastardized version of aloo gobi, based--yes, seriously--on a dvd extra from Bend it Like Beckham.  But with some major differences, based on what I usually have around, and on the fact that I often throw in a can of chickpeas, which means that it becomes... something else.

And for the this past year I've been going through a huge sweet potato "fry" phase.  In other words, sweet potatoes (wait, have I already blogged about this?  if so, sorry) cut into fry like shapes, tossed with a bit of oil, spread on a baking sheet and put in a fairly hot oven until done.  Here, they've then been sprinkled with a bit of fleur de sel and a Penzey's herb mix called "mural of flavors," which is really very good.

I love these so much I'd eat them every day if I weren't worried that that would make me sick to my stomach.  But I think they probably would, so I don't.

I'll also go through entertainment-based phases, like when I'll "discover" an author and then read every book that person's written all in a row.  This has been more something I've done since leaving Chicago and moving to places with easier to use public libraries (probably it'd now be easier in Chicago, too, but when I left I never went to the Hyde Park branch of the library).

Over the last few years I've tended to go through summer entertainment phases, too, based largely on Netflix, initially.  It's something caused by a somewhat more relaxed schedule combined with my desire to knit combined with my desire to be entertained while knitting combined with the lack of anything on TV in the summer combined with TV shows on DVD.  I haven't really had that since moving here, in part because I've only been around for partial summers and in part because there is no Netflix here (and the copycat version, though it now has a similar "unlimited" rental plan, also makes you pay if the post office loses a DVD, which I fear is likely to make the service less cost effective for me as a subscriber, so, hmpf).

But remember how I off-handedly mentioned I'd been watching a bunch of Doctor Who while knitting?  HOLY CRAP, you guys, I have just spent the last week and a half being completely obsessed with the new Doctor Who, thanks to youtube.  I've watched every episode now, plus assorted supplementary behind the scenes videos and the like.  No clue.  It's got the combination of utter silliness, frequent scariness, and moments of joy and woe that for some reason I find very appealing, in much the same way as Buffy the Vampire Slayer, back in the day.

So, to end, here's the first part of a great episode, which has a bit of the silliness, a LOT of the scariness (but not gross scariness), and a bit of the joy and woe.

Also, for what it's worth, this new obsession (which is likely to pass soon, because there's nothing new to see--the final episode of the season, which played in Britain Saturday evening, was already up on youtube within an hour or so of its ending) does NOT really extend to the show's spin off, Torchwood.  That has redeeming moments, but is just not nearly as good, I think in large part because it doesn't have the silly part down as well.

Well, poo.

See that?

That's where my lovely little seedlings were sprouting, getting ready to send up green tendrils with red flowers to brighten the weathered wood of the deck.

And now, nothing.

I'm not sure that I should blame the squirrels for this.  I don't think they're totally innocent--I know I saw marks of digging in this box--but nor do I think they deserve the lion's share of the blame.

It's the weather, the hard, heavy rain and even a bit of hail that hit early last week.  Again, I know, this is hardly an event compared with the results of rain along the Mississippi, but, still, poo.

(Sorry, by the way, for using "poo" in the title of this.  I know it's a little childish and gross.  If you're really grossed out, don't read the rest of this parenthetical.  This week I went to the gym for the first time in... forever, and was reading through some of its materials.  I couldn't believe their pool guidelines.  Six or seven points, all of which boiled down to "try not to get poo in the pool, and by the way, don't drink the pool water in case people are disgusting, anyway."  Ick.  Ickety ick ick.)

Ahem.

Despite that, my lettuce has been growing fantastically, and I've already had two salads based on it.  So, yay for that.  It's pretty good salad, too--I think I chose some nice varieties.  And, actually, I've probably got to be better about eating more of it, because it's getting a little crowded.

And, really, what I need to eat is basil.  That's taken off like you wouldn't believe.  Since I like basil, this is not a hardship.  Ooooh, I just thought of something I haven't made in ages.  Mom found this recipe somewhere, and though it's odd, it's also really good.  It's a very quick sauté of leeks and tomatoes, to which you add a vast amount of basil, feta cheese, a little chicken stock (optional, obviously) and lemon juice, and then toss with pasta.  You wouldn't necessarily think all those flavors would meld together, but, wow, they really do.

Man, I think I've got to head off to the grocery store.

Day 6 (of the tomatoes)

 And already a bud!

A tiny one, barely anything, really, but suggesting flowers and tomatoes to come.

The weather's been lovely and mild, perhaps a bit cool in the evenings, but generally conducive to growing.  And rain, even, which absolves me of the responsibility of watering.

Though, really, I've for some reason gotten into the habit of going out every morning to check to see if there's any signs of digging or eating, and to check on water and all that, too.

All's good so far.

There's baby (wee tiny baby) lettuce.

The evil squirrels currently seem more interested in EATING THE SILL OF THE WINDOW ACROSS THE WAY.  That can't be normal.

I, meanwhile, am interested in eating yummy things like strawberries and rhubarb.

Here I've cut up a big stalk of rhubarb and a bunch of strawberries and tossed them with a little sugar.  They're sitting in a pot, looking pretty, releasing juices.

Then they cook down into a lovely... well, to be perfectly honest, they sort of cook down into a lovely goo.  But a yummy goo, not an unpleasant or gross one.  Perfect over yogurt or ice cream.  Though I'm out of both of those things at the moment, unfortunately.

And while this was cooking (OK, that's a total lie.  After this cooked, and then on and on and on... this turned into a HUGE project that took all afternoon) I worked on this:

I added fringe to my (now completed) reversible ribbed shawl.

How huge a project was this?  Each side had approximately 180 pieces of fringe to be crocheted on.  THAT'S A LOT.  Especially when you're dealing with black yarn that makes it tricky to see the individual stitches you're trying to pick up.

AND THEN.

I did a fancy knotted edge.  (Inspired by this. [Scroll down a bit.])

(None of this was called for in the pattern, incidentally, but I thought it'd be cool, and make the whole thing seem more finished.)

But a picture of that will have to wait.

Possibly the best thing I've ever cooked

Well, maybe not.  But it was very good, and very, very easy.  And I have no pictures, because when I made it I was SO HUNGRY I ate it all right up.

(Never mind, I found some pictures around the web of the ingredients, at least, so it won't be a totally boring post.)

So, there's this recipe I've made a number of times from a Jacques Pepin cookbook, involving trout (though I usually use salmon), mushrooms, leeks, chives, and baking.  It's excellent, but certainly not a thing to make for one or two.

Sunday I experimented with a stove top version, and it turned out so well I thought I'd write about it.  This made two servings, but could easily be changed to more or less, given a big enough pan.

The ingredients are very simple:

a leek;

some mushrooms (I used cremini, which are now usually sold as "baby bellas" or something like that; I had probably a good 8 oz or so, perhaps even a bit more--they cook down so much you almost can't use too many, even if the initial pile looks crazy)

a chunk of salmon big enough for two good-sized portions.

And then a bit of olive oil, salt, and pepper.

The instructions aren't much more complicated.

Slice the leek thinly, and wash well (leeks can be sort of sandy/dirty between their layers, so give them a good swish).

Slice the mushrooms, and wash (I put the sliced ones in a colander and ran water over them--there are those who say you're not supposed to wash mushrooms, but a) Mark Bittman says no, and b) you actually want them to expel water for this.)

Heat a pan of reasonably large diameter (and which has a lid) over medium heat.  Add a bit of olive oil (a tablespoon or so), and a bit of salt and pepper.

Add the leeks, and sauté, stirring, for a minute or two.

Add the mushrooms, and continue to sauté, stirring, for another minute or two.

Then mostly cover the pan (turn the heat down a mite at this point--you should hear things moving along in the pan, but you also don't want it to be too hot) and let cook for about 10-12 minutes, checking occasionally to make sure that a) the mushrooms don't exude too much water--you want the liquid that gathers to be nice and mushroomy, not too watery, so if it seems too watery cook with the lid off for a bit, but also that b) they don't dry out, and some liquid remains in the bottom of the pan.

At this point, push the mushrooms to the outer edge of the pan, letting the liquid gather in the middle.  Then plop the piece of salmon down on the liquid.  Cover, and let poach/steam/whatever it's doing for 4-5 minutes.  Then turn the salmon over and cook (covered) another 4-5 minutes, or until just about cooked through.

Uncover the pan, and let the juices burble up and reduce a bit, until the salmon's done.

(It strikes me that stirring in a little sour cream here would not go amiss, but I didn't have any... or, rather, the sour cream I had had seen better days.)

And... eat.  Eat it all right up.  I had it with green beans and crusty country bread, toasted.  I think it'd be lovely with some simple diced boiled potatoes, too.

Apologies, Colorado folk

My Colorado relatives have been singing the praises of Crocs since before I left.

And I just yesterday finally acquired my first pair.  (Costco!  Woohoo!)  I know, I know.  So late!

But.  They are, indeed, great.  I've barely had them off since getting them home.

So, thanks for the recommendation, and sorry it took me so long to convert!

I have another foot-related thing to show, a pair of socks in the new super fancy Noro sock yarn.

Pretty!  The color way, with the purple/pinks and the greens made me think of spring, which is actually coming now.  Despite my "blah" post from Friday, the weekend was quite nice and sunny.  There's still little in the way of blooming anything (hey, I haven't seen any forsythia here, which saddens me), but I'm sure that's coming.  At least, I assume that Canadians plant bulbs and the like.

Anyway, the pattern I'm using is a variation on the "Broad Ripple" pattern; I'm doing them toe up, which changes the orientation of the chevrons.  And I'm purling a few stitches to give it a bit of ribbing.  And, biggest new thing for me, I'm attempting to make them footed.  That is, there will be distinct left and right foot socks--I'm hoping this will help solve the problem of holes in the toes that I've been having.

OK, and one more thing.  This totally and completely amuses me. 

Robots. And a lace shawl. (Not together.)

For some reason, I've been going through a robot phase in my popular culture consumption.  Even more, a "humanoid robots don't know they're robots" phase.  Which means reading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and watching a bunch of the new Battlestar Galactica.

Both are things I probably ought to have done before now, given my general pop culture proclivities (I'm not a huge sci fi person, but I'm enough of a dabbler in sci fi that I'm at least familiar with a lot of big name things).

This picture, by the way?  An example Ziti's moments of turning into an attack cat.  Every so often, he decides that the paper towels are his enemy.  It's as if suddenly his true Cylon nature is emerging from his normal sweet cat persona!

OK, that's a stretch.

Anyway, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about either of them.  I'm not sure what I expected from the novella--I know I've seen Blade Runner, but I don't remember when, or which version.  So I had vague expectations for the novella, plot-wise, few of which were realized.

And the TV show?  Again, I think there's a bit of a problem in that I have at least a vague sense of where the whole story goes, from general pop culture, which takes away some of the suspense.  As a result, I find bits of it kind of draggy.  And the whole thing needs a significantly higher dose of humor, as far as I'm concerned.  I think it's possible that the Dr. Baltar/Six stuff is supposed to be funny.  But I find it deeply, deeply annoying, unpleasant, and unfunny, but for a couple of exceptional moments.  So, there you go. 

The BG watching has been part of my general catching up on pop culture things I've been behind on over the last couple of year.  I've gone to see very few movies in theatres since moving here (the film festival was an exception).  While I was in Chicago at the holidays, my parents and I watched Ratatouille, which I thought was pretty darned brilliant.  And just today, I came across a link to this:  "The Rat's Ratatouille," which I'm now hankering to make.  I think, though, that it probably deserves to be reserved for the harvest.

And now the lace shawl.

I finished the Queen Anne's Lace shawl!  For some reason this past weekend I was struck with an intense desire to finish, so finish I did.

It was a lovely knit.  Different every round, so it kept my interest.  The pattern was virtually error free--I think two rows in the chart were off by a stitch, but it was easy to see and correct the mistake.  The only issue for me was the yarn I used.  It broke.  Several times.  And at one point the skein itself seemed to be broken internally.  And at various points I could see that one of the two plies was broken.  My solution, perhaps not the best one, was a whole bunch of spit splicing, with a loooooong overhang, so that even if the felting gives way, the two ends are well knitted in.  Hopefully it'll survive.

This isn't, by the way, its final blocking.  I need a larger blocking surface, so I'm either going to start the process early in the day and use my mattress, or I'm going to hit Home Depot and buy a couple more panels of foam insulation.  But, I wanted to get a sense of how big it'll be, and how it'll look blocked, so I pinned out this half.

Not bad, eh?

(And, oh, crap, now I have to run and teach.)

Don't try this at home.

Since getting back from Russia, I've been shopping at Costco a lot.  And in order to deal with the large quantities of food one sometimes acquires at Costco, I've also gotten a vacuum sealer in order to freeze more efficiently.  In general, it's great.

However.  Here's a hint.  Bread doesn't vacuum seal well.

These started out as cute little demi-baguettes.  And they turned into... man, I don't even know what.