Latest Posts



Recently someone on Twitter started a thread of punny movie names, replacing words in the movie's titles with names of fish (search on Twitter for #fishyfilms.) Normally I don't pay much attention to such things, but for some reason this one grabbed a hold of my medulla and won't let go.

Here then is the ridiculous set of fishy movie titles that have been spilling out of my brain:

·         Of Mice and Minnows
·         Forest Guppy
·         Angelfish and Demons
·         The Crawfish from the Black Lagoon
·         The Da Vinci Cod
·         Agnes of Cod
·         Morays, Inc.
·         View to a Krill
·         Dr. Ono
·         Dolphin are Forever
·         The Fry who Loved Me
·         On Her Majesty's Secret Salmon
·         Goldfishfinger
·         Live and Let Fry
·         Goodbye, Mr. Fish and Chips
·         The Tartar Sauce Affair
·         The Beatles: Smelt!
·         The Barramundi of the Vanities
·         Farewell, My Lumpfish
·         The Fishes of Eastwick
·         A Clockwork Orange Roughy or A Cockle Orange
·         The Day of the Jackfish
·         Three Days of the Flounder
·         What’s New Octopussycat?
·         Death of A Salmon
·         Cool Hand Fluke
·         Big Gills Don’t Cry
·         Bill & Ted’s Excellent Abalone
·         Five Easy Perches
·         A Fistful of Sand-dollars
·         No Country for Old Minnows
·         All The Puffer’s Men or All the President’s Minnows
·         The Seventh Eel
·         Star Trek II: The Wrasse of Khan
·         All Quiet on the Western Grunt
·         The 5000 Fillets of Dr. T
·         The Hake Locker


Ones that I didn’t come up with, but were posted by others:

·         When Harry Met Trevally
·         When Harry Met Salmon
·         When Herring Met Sally
·         Guys and Dolphins
·         Trout of Africa
·         A Starfish is Born
·         Anemone Mine
·         Eat, Lamprey, Love
·         Dr. Roe
·         What’s Up Haddock?
·         Lord of the Herrings
·         Baitman
·         Eel Magnolias
·         The Karate Squid
·         Starship Groupers
·         Fish Me, Skate
·         Fiddler-crab on the Roof
·         The Cod Father
·         The Swordfish in the Stone
·         Silence of the Clams

  and on and on.

Now maybe I can get a good night’s sleep!
"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines." Says Ralph Waldo Emerson. With surprising frequency I hear this misquoted as "Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds," but that is just stupid. There are many, many, many things in life where consistency is terribly important (e.g. it helps if the guy that monitors the guages at the Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant shows up to work consistently.) But foolish consistency is the Siamese twin of dogma, and 2nd cousin to the fallacy of misplaced concreteness.

Early on in blogging I decided to always use one-word titles for my blog entries. It was an interesting constraint to put on myself. A couple of times I dabbled in two word titles, but always returned to that single word idea.

It was, as I noted, an entertaining constraint - but the entertainment was primarily for myself. It makes it hard for readers to know what they might be about to read, and if it will be something that would interest them. I have decided that always using single-word titles is a foolish consistency. So, though I may title the occasional future blog with a single word, this is the final posting that is intentionally monolexical. [Yeah, yeah, I'm slightly misusing the word "monolexical." Well, screw all y'all lexicographers ;-)  .]


Here in California we have a really problematic little invasive ant called the Argentine ant (Linepithema humile.) They are real pain in the ass. They look quite similar to what we used to call "sweet and grease ants" when I was a kid back in Boston. But as far as I can tell these little invaders from Argentina are nothing but six-legged sweet tooths – grease doesn’t interest them. There are a variety of interests that are concerned about Argentine ants for a number of important reasons – most notably they drive out native species, thereby unraveling an important part of the natural ecosystems. My concerns are much more prosaic: they are major herders of aphids and scale, and, given the opportunity, they get into my kitchen and start going after anything sticky and sweet.

[For those of you that don't know this, many species of ants actively herd various pests that feed on the sap of plants. Insects such as aphids and scale exude a sweet "honeydew" from their abdomens. The ants feed on this, and will protect and defend their herd against predators. They will even move their wards from plant to plant to maximize their yield. Co-evolution. Go figure.]

I have been battling the Argentine ants in my yard for a couple of years now as part of the overall “low-impact” effort to deal with infestations of aphids and scale on my plants. As needed I would go to the hardware store and buy some ant traps of one type or another to put around the affected plants. They seemed somewhat effective, but not 100%. I assume that this is because controlling ants in the great outdoors without a significant broadcast of very nasty chemicals is basically impossible. But, these little traps did assist in managing the pest problem.

A couple of months ago some of these little bastards found a way into my kitchen for the first time [though technically they aren’t “bastards,” they are “bitches,” since all worker ants are female.] I gotta tell ya, when Argentine ants find something they like their numbers are astonishing. I decided it was time to research ant traps further. Around here the most common brand of ant trap is "Grants." Their tagline is, "Grants! Kills! Ants!" As far as I could tell, with Argentine ants, the Grants motto ought to be "Grants! Thrills! Ants!" Other ant traps sold in my area are branded Raid, TAT, Combat, and Terro. I wanted to see if I could figure out which of the different active ingredients in these offerings would best.

Terro ant traps contain a sucrose solution and Borax (boric acid.) Pretty straightforward. Boric acid acts on ants as a metabolic poison. In larger animals it is basically safe and has been used for ages as an antiseptic, antibacterial, and fungicide for humans. It is only harmful if ingested in very large quantities, or administered in small quantities over a long period of time. If you’re looking for something to off your rich uncle, this aint it.

Grants’ active ingredient is Hydramethylnon, a metabolic inhibitor which is claimed to work against Argentine ants, but either it doesn’t, or the bait component isn’t attractive to Argentine ants.

Raid traps contain Abamectin, a nerve toxin which, though naturally derived from bacteria, is pretty nasty stuff. The small quantities in an ant trap are unlikely to cause harm to a large mammal, but with my lovely dog around, I’m not interested.

TAT traps contain Baygon (Methylcarbamate). Baygon is an Acetylcholinesterase inhibitor – again, a nerve poison. As with Abamectin, a large mammal would have to consume a big dose of Baygon to be harmed, but…

Finally, Combat traps use Fipronil. Fipronil is yet another nerve toxin, attacking the central nervous systems of insects. However, it is also the active ingredient in “Frontline,” the anti-flea medication that I already use on my dog. Apparently Fipronil does not affect mammals, because it acts on a nerve receptor that does not exist in mammals (whew.)

OK, that’s was a really long preamble…

Based on my research, the only two ant traps I was willing to touch were Terro and Combat, which, interestingly, were the two that I had found most effective against Argentine ants in my yard (go figure!) But here’s the thing; all of these traps, safe or not, end up being pretty expensive if you are using a lot of them, and I have an endless supply of Argentine ants.

In the course of all this study I kept running into pages on the web describing homemade ant baits. It turns out that boric acid, aka Borax, the primary ingredient in Terro ant traps, is also the primary ingredient in many roach poisons. It is relatively benign, has been around in use for a very long time, and is really cheap. There are two main differences between Borax-based ant traps and Borax-based roach poison. With roaches you just want the insect die – as fast as possible. So roach poisons tend to be 100% Borax powder. You sprinkle it around where the roaches travel, they walk through it, and drop dead. Ant traps contain both Borax and bait. You need to attract the ants to the Borax. Even more importantly, the Borax is quite dilute. You don't want the ants to die right away – you want them to take the poison and bring it back to the nest where it will be fed to the Queen and to all the developing larvae. 100% Borax, while it will create a satisfying little pile of dead ants, won't ever deal with the actual problem: the nest.

Making homemade ant poison turns out to be very easy and astonishingly cheap. I bought the least expensive bottle of 100% Borax roach poison I could find. It was about four dollars for a 1 pound bottle, which should be enough for the next 30 or 40 years. The formula for the bait is approximately 16 parts water to 8 parts sugar to one part boric acid. For a modest quantity that translates to 1 cup water, ½ cup sugar, and 1 tablespoon Borax. It’s easiest to mix if the water is hot.

For outdoor use I got a (non-medical) utility syringe. I just squirt fresh poison mixture into the old traps once in a while (how’s that for reduce-reuse-recycle!) Inside the house (since I don’t have any kids, cats, or pooka’s hopping about that might get into the stuff,) I put small squares of aluminum foil at the back edges of my counters where the ants are, placing a tablespoon or two of mixture on each one. For two or three days there will be an astonishing army of ants endlessly, tirelessly marching to the pool of bait, drinking, and then leaving. It’s actually fascinating to watch. Furthermore, with this easy access sweet liquid, they leave everything else in my kitchen alone. After about three days suddenly the number of ants goes way, way down. A day or so later there might be one or two ants stumbling around looking confused. I usually put these stragglers out of their misery.

Two days ago a new army of ants arrived in my kitchen, but already this virtually-free mixture is doing its work. Thought I’d pass it on to the rest of you.

Notes:
  • This mixture is not my invention. I take no credit for it – I am just singing its praises. 
  • There are a lot of different recipes online for Borax ant poison. They mostly differ in the concentration of the sugar solution, ranging from 2:1 water to sugar to 1:2. My ants seem delighted with the relatively dilute sugar solution given here. At my home a higher concentration of sugar just wastes sugar and causes the solution to solidify faster.
  • Different types of ants are attracted by different baits. They will also require different amounts of Borax to hit that crucial level that is fatal, but not so deadly that the workers die before bringing the poison back to the nest. You may need to experiment to get the right ratios for the ants in your area.

Bon Appetite!


[Update: I have found the liquid form of my homemade ant poison inconvenient to distribute, so I am now making ant-poison gum drops. Here is my updated recipe.]




Shortly after Halloween, Berkeley Bowl, our local high-end, gourmet, organic supermarket, had bins full of pumpkins out in front of the store marked 10 cents a pound. I could not believe it. I don't think you can buy water for 10 cents a pound at Berkeley Bowl. I went in to check with customer service just to make sure that the sign was right. It was. So I bought a couple hundred pounds of pumpkins and put them in my root cellar. This, then, is one of those non-recipe recipes for using a root-cellar full of pumpkins, where everything is approximate and based on the whims of the moment. I heartily recommend that you read this recipe, then throw it away and do whatever you damn well please.

Start with one nice orange pumpkin (not the jack-o'-lantern kind,) weighing somewhere between 10 and 15 pounds (or 30 or 40 or 50 pounds, adjusting everything accordingly.) Using your chef's knife, cut a large round disc out of the top (retaining the stem as a handle if possible.) Scoop out the seeds and guts. Depending on the type of pumpkin, the seeds may or may not be worth saving and toasting as a snack. Pumpkins have good structural integrity, but won't stand up under their own weight through long cooking, so rest the pumpkin in some kind of ovenproof pot, and place, empty and topless, in a 350°F oven.

You will want to cut up some amount of a flavorful, tough cut of lamb. The quantity will depend on the size of your pumpkin. In my case I took a three or four pound hunk of lamb shoulder from my local halal butcher, hacking it to bits, willy-nilly, with a nice heavy Chinese cleaver. This is a rustic dish, so niceties like careful separating of the bones and proper muscling out of meat go right out the window. Salt the lamb pieces and sear on all sides, then set them aside and deglaze the pan with water to create a nice instant lamb stock. [I find that a wok works great for this.] Chop and slice up some vegetables to add to the mix. I used carrots, onions and some rutabaga. I also threw in a nice handful of dried apricots and something like a cup of pecans.

When the pumpkin is nice and hot, toss in the lamb, stock, vegetables, dried fruits and nuts, and whatever else you might be using. I like to add precooked rice (it takes too long for raw rice to cook inside the pumpkin, and it soaks up too much of the juices.) I also add barley, which I par-cook in a pressure cooker (again, I don't want the barley to be undercooked and I don't want it to absorb too much liquid.) My main spices for this dish are sumac (which you should be able to find at any Middle Eastern grocery store,) cumin, coriander, and salt pepper to taste.

Cover with the pumpkin’s lid, return to the oven, lower the temp to 300°-325°F, and cook until done. This is likely to be something like two or three hours depending upon the size and weight of your pumpkin, what you’ve chosen for fillings, and how full it is. You may also find that the ingredients cook more thoroughly if allowed to bake for a longer time at a lower temperature. Again, this is a function of what ingredients you've chosen to use, and if you like some of the ingredients (e.g. carrots) to remain toothsome, etc.

To serve, spoon out portions of the stew and scoops of the inside of the pumpkin. Use care when scooping out pumpkin, as it can collapse if the walls are breached – much like a medieval castle. Garnish with chopped parsley, yogurt, and more sumac. I also like to add sprinkles of ground, burnt mint leaves, especially on top of the yogurt where the black color contrasts with the white background. Don't bother looking for ground, burnt mint leaves in any store, you'll need to make your own.


 


As always, if you or any of your diners don't enjoy the results, the secretary will disavow all knowledge of your actions. This recipe will self-destruct in 10 seconds. Good luck Jim.


Postscript:


Pumpkins in my root cellar


Since posting this blog entry I have received questions about what kind of pumpkins I cook with. It is a little bit hard to say. Some of the bins of pumpkins at Berkeley Bowl were marked, others weren't. Moreover, though marked with individual varietal names, many of the bins were a jumble of different pumpkins. I believe that I purchased Cinderella (used in the recipe above,) Fairytale, Jaradale (not shown - I ate 'em,) Blue Hubbard (unfortunately, a rat got to them before I did - no joke,) and one Sugar pumpkin which, sadly, turned to mush very quickly - quite a mess! I haven't tried cooking any of the pinkish-white pumpkins you see in the photo, and so far I have failed to ID them. Possibly they are Blue Max (suggestions?) [BTW, the plastic container with red liquid is fermenting red-cabbage sauerkraut - the jar in top is full of water and is just being used as a weight.]


Unfortunately, pumpkins are hard to get in the US after mid-November. My understanding is that this is purely a function of demand. Americans only demand pumpkins in October; after mid November they are gone. However, pumpkins store very well. It should not be difficult for wholesalers or grocers to keep pumpkins as easily as other squashes, apples, tubers, etc. Furthermore, pumpkins could be grown in most of the places that we get all of our out-of-season produce. They could be available year-round, they just aren't.


Also, I had always heard that "jack-o-lantern" pumpkins were grown only for size and appearance and not for flavor - thus not worth cooking. Recently people have been telling me that, while not as good as other varieties, jack-o-lanterns are OK to cook with. Your mileage may vary.




P'u, often translated as "the uncarved block," is a Taoist idea of simpleness. It refers, in a sense, to the calm, still, empty mind, unfettered by the judgments that come along with knowledge. The uncarved block has not yet been carved. It can become anything. There are no lines, cuts, or grooves, to guide or inhibit the carver’s hand. P’u isn't something I am – it is more like a state I aspire to and occasionally obtain. If I had been P'u when making my first batch of bacon (see http://andrewsigal.blogspot.com/2011/02/bacon.html,) I wouldn't have screwed up Alton Brown's bacon brine recipe. Without the existence of vinegar in my mind, I would not have been able to mix up "cider" and "cider vinegar."

But I do like to ask naïve questions. My whole entrée into the field of culinary history was based on a set of naïve questions I asked myself several years ago while traveling. First I asked, "why aren’t Chinese food and Mexican food the same?" By which I meant: Chinese people and Mexican people are each Homo Sapiens. They have approximately the same taste buds. They have approximately the same digestive systems. They have aproximately the same nutritional needs. Why would they eat different things? 
My next questions were: "Are chimichangas and eggs roll the same things?" Then, “are pierogi and calzones the same things?" And what about Chinese hum bao? Does the idea of wrapping meats and vegetables in dough travel with the dough, or does it arise independently in each place where dough is invented?

A decade later the #1 thing I have learned is the naïveté of those questions. "Chinese food" isn't one thing. Neither is Mexican food. Furthermore, all of these questions ignore the time element: one must not ask merely "which ‘Chinese food,’” but also “at what time in history?" When looking at Mexican food, are we considering food of one region or another? Are we talking about pre- or post-Columbian cuisine? How about cuisine from before or after the Mexican-American war and the annexation of Texas? And so on. Worse yet, a chimichanga (probably) isn’t even a Mexican dish – it is generally thought to have originated in Arizona in the second half of the 20th century. The “egg roll” that I had in mind when I asked my question is also an Americanized food. It has its roots in a variety of Asian wrapped rolls, but it is not Chinese per se. When I asked "is a chimichanga and an egg roll the same thing," I intended to ask a question about the relationship between Mexican and Chinese cuisines. Instead, it turned out that I was asking a question about how Americans have adopted, co-opted, and modified immigrant cuisines and ingredients.

So these questions were in a sense the "wrong" questions. On the other hand, they sprang from a simplicity, from a state of P’u, that allowed me to wonder about such things and started me down a very interesting road. Had I already been aware of the errors underlying the questions themselves, I might never have been inspired to start trying to find the answers, and more importantly to find the right questions.

So here's to P’u, and Pooh too! [With special thanks to Benjamin Hoff.]


I have joined the bacon making bandwagon. It feels kind of silly really, since there are so many delicious bacons available at fine organic grocery stores at reasonable prices. On the other hand, the whole thing is completely silly because bacon is one of those foods that we don't "need." By that I mean that bacon started simply as a means to store meat. Since I have an excellent refrigerator, bacon is completely pointless. Well, not completely… it is delicious. That is why humans continue to make and consume bacon, ham, smoked salmon, pickles, sauerkraut, duck confit, soy sauce, fish sauce, and all the zillions of other food products we enjoy that were originally invented solely to solve the storage problem. And that is why I am making my own bacon – it is an attempt to squeeze even more deliciousness from a food that doesn't “need” to exist at all.

Last August I watched Alton Brown's episode of Good Eats entitled "Scrap Iron Chef," in which he made bacon in a junk yard. As with so many episodes of Good Eats, it was funny, silly, sometimes stupid, and ultimately informative. It was extra funny if you are familiar with the TV series Iron Chef, and are aware that Alton Brown is the host of Iron Chef America, so, he was really making fun of himself. In any case, that is what inspired me to try making bacon. I basically followed his recipe, brining my pork bellies in a vinegar/water/salt/sugar/spice mix and then smoking them. I had fun building my own "MacGyver style" smoker, then smoked the bacon for six hours using a combination of store-bought mesquite chips, rosemary wood from a huge dead rosemary bush, and a few handfuls of old star anise. The result had a very nice smoky flavor; however, the vinegar came through quite strongly. It wasn't awful, but I just don't want my bacon to taste like vinegar. [If you are now thinking, "Vinegar, huh? What?" Please be sure to read the Epilogue at the end.]

[Smoker V1 - The box holds a hot plate which is heating a metal dish of wood chips. The air is blown via a case fan from a computer through a piece of dryer ducting into my BBQ (which is cold.) The bacon is sitting on the racks of the BBQ getting smoked. All the cracks in the BBQ are taped with duct tape.]

Some time later I was talking with Ken Albala. Ken is a Professor of History at the University of the Pacific. He teaches courses on the Renaissance and Reformation, Food History and the History of Medicine, and has written several books on these subjects. His most recent book is entitled, The Lost Art of Real Cooking: Rediscovering the Pleasures of Traditional Food One Recipe at a Time. It is really all about foods that we don't "need" but make anyway. In fact, I think it's fair to say that it is a celebration of such foods and a celebration of taking the time and effort to make these foods as slowly and painstakingly as our forebears once did.


[Ken Albala and I at a CHoNC party. I'm the one with my tongue discretely hidden away.]


So I told him about my experience making Alton Brown's version of bacon, and how I wasn't pleased with the vinegary flavor. I don't recall his exact answer, but it was something like "why on earth did you use a wet brine to make bacon?" He told me in no uncertain terms that bacon should be cured with a dry salt rub. Needless to say, the next time I tried my hand at bacon I first consulted Ken's book. To my surprise, while he had a fair bit to say about curing meats, he barely touched on the subject of bacon. So I consulted the repository of all human knowledge, the Internet.

The recipes I found online for dry curing bacon largely followed the same general proportions for salt, sugar, and spices, but were all over the map for the amount of time that the pork bellies should be cured. They ranged from a few days to many weeks. In the end I chose to cure the pork for three weeks using a fairly simple salt and sugar rub, rotating and turning the pieces daily, and pouring off any liquid extracted from the meat. I was impressed with the amount of moisture that was drawn out of the meat in just the first 12 hours. Another noticeable quantity was extracted in the following 24 hours, a teaspoon or two in the 24 hours after that, and virtually nothing thereafter.

I took out the bits and pieces of my homemade smoking get-up and used them to produce the new and improved version 2 home smoker. This time I smoked the bacon using a variety of hardwood scrap that I got from my cabinetmaker - a much cheaper approach (gotta love free!) Six hours later I had three slabs of really beautiful looking bacon. Firm, brown, and very, very smoky. My mouth watered - so much so that I made bacon and eggs for dinner – I simply couldn't wait for breakfast the next morning.


[The V2 smoker eliminated the BBQ, which was a pain in the "A" to duct tape. The bacon is now hanging in a tall "dish-pack" box.]





To my horror, as I cooked my thick slices of bacon they turned white in the pan. I kid you not. There was so much salt in the bacon that as the fat cooked out salt was driven to the surface of the meat turning it completely white. It was, in a word, "inedible." I tried to eat some as it was. I tried washing the white powder off. No go. Now you might be thinking, “Hmmmmm, maybe Andrew just doesn’t like salt.” Oh contraire. I love salt. I’ve been known to eat the salt at the bottom of a bag of pretzels after the pretzels themselves are all gone. This was some kind of mondo-bacon-salt-from hell.

I dumped the pieces I had made for dinner in the trash and threw the remainder of that first slab in the fridge. The other two I wrapped in aluminum foil, vacuum sealed, and put in the freezer. While doing so I was thinking that was a fairly silly thing to do, since this bacon contained so much salt, so much smoke, and so little water that it probably would have lasted 100 years sitting out on the kitchen counter. Still, inedible as it was, I had put so much effort into making it that I felt it deserved the finest long-term storage that the 21st-century could provide.

I pretty much decided that the moral of that story was that if you ask a Renaissance professor for a bacon recipe, you end up with Renaissance bacon. From time to time if I was cooking something like beans or greens, to which I wanted to add a salty, smoky, bacon-ey flavor, I would toss in a piece of the slab that was resting in my refrigerator. Since it seemed like it would pretty much never go bad, I imagined that I would slowly use up each of the three slabs in that way over the course of years. But once again, Alton Brown came to my "rescue." In his episode "Ham I Am," Brown notes that if you buy a country ham, you must soak it in water for two days (with one change of water) prior to cooking.

So, I took the remainder of that first piece and put it in a non-reactive Pyrex glass dish of water for two days, changing the water on the second day (in the refrigerator of course.) When I then sliced it and cooked it up it was delicious. Clearly, the Renaissance bacon makers were producing a product whose primary purpose was long-term storage; having to soak it before use was not an issue. My friendly Renaissance professor had left that step as an exercise for the student. Furthermore, the cooks of that time would probably have found it very useful to have a super salty, super smoky, meat product that could be added to tired old stews and pease-porridge. Once I discovered that it was possible to make this bacon become delicious, I gave one of the packages from the freezer to my cabinetmaker as a "thank you" for the wood scraps.

Not long ago I took a third shot at making bacon. This time I dry rubbed the pork bellies with salt, leaving it to pull out the moisture for only 12 hours. I then put them in a wet brine consisting of water, salt, curing salt, pepper, sugar, and Maple syrup (absolutely no vinegar.) I let it brine for three days, then smoked it for six hours in my new and improved V3 home-hacked smoker, again using wood scraps from my cabinetmaker. The result was good, but not great. It was still saltier than I would have liked. Not bad, but not worth the expense or effort involved.


[The V3 smoker brings back the BBQ, but this time the wood is burning inside the BBQ, since unlike the earlier cardboard, it is a fireproof box. The fan is on the outside of the smoker box, pulling smoke from the BBQ into the box. Oh, yes, I did cut a hole in the top of my BBQ, but it is old and tired and the non-stainless parts are all rusting away. Note the fire-extinguisher - it was always there, just not visible in the photos of the earlier versions.]



I have by no means given up. Next time I am going to skip the dry rub altogether, decrease the salt in the wet brine, and significantly increase the sugar. Also, though the MacGyver-esque quality of the homemade smoker has its charms, I think I'm tired of running the risk of burning my house down. I found a really bitchin’ BBQ grill at my local Orchard Supply Hardware that does both propane grilling and charcoal grilling, and with an optional side smoker box will do cold smoking too. Besides, it makes it look like I have a locomotive parked on my patio! Woo hoo!




PS: after you cure your bacon, but before you smoke it, it needs to be dried so that it will form a "pellicle.” My local CVS was blowing out an inventory of Hamilton Beach multi-layer, fan blown, quick-dry sweater drying racks for $3.99. I have no idea why they were selling them so cheaply, since they work quite well for drying sweaters (and besides, the cord is worth $3.99.) However, what they really excel at is drying pork bellies. So if you're thinking of making your own bacon and you can lay your hands on one of these babies for under four bucks, go for it.


PPS: I had one unexpected additional piece of learning in this process: I had never realized how tough cured, smoked pig skin is. As it happens, footballs, though often called “pigskins” are not made from the skin of a pig. But I can say without reservation that they could be. Frankly, I think bullet-proof vests could be made from the stuff! I have some spectacularly sharp knives in my kitchen, but even with my beautiful Japanese-made Glestain chef’s knife it takes real effort to cut through the skin on this bacon. It absolutely must be removed before cooking, unless you enjoy chewing on bacon-flavored rubber bands.




Epilogue:[Added one night after posting this blog entry]

There's nothing like waking up in the middle of the night, one year later, and realizing your mistake - especially after you've told the whole world about it!

Brown's Good Eat's recipe called for apple cider. After viewing the episode I trundled off and started hacking away in the kitchen while my synapses, thinking about brining, pickling, preserving, etc, cheerfully turned "apple cider" into "apple cider vinegar." Doh!

Sometimes an error like that will produce some fabulous new concoction. Not so in this case. That is why my bacon tasted unpleasantly vinegary. Brown's bacon brine is probably delicious - as long as you use cider and not cider vinegar.

At first I thought, oh my god, I've got to pull that blog post right away. But then I thought of my favorite Brian Eno Oblique Strategy: "Honor thy error as a hidden intention." So, with that in mind, I considered the fact that had I followed Brown's directions correctly the first time I might well have produced delicious bacon and stopped right there. Instead I was forced to stumble head-first down this path. Therefore, in the honor of Oblique Strategy "Look closely at the most embarrassing details and amplify," I leave this blog in all its glory for you to enjoy, ridicule, or ignore.


In January of 2000 my friends Mike, Richard, Heather, and I visited Wat Suthep, the magnificent temple atop Mt. (Doi) Suthep outside Chang Mai, Thailand. There is a long, steep stairway leading up to the Temple with golden sea dragons on each side acting as banisters. It had taken some time for us to get to the Wat, so we were all anxious to get going on the long climb up the staircase. But just as we were about to begin our ascent, a food vendor at the base of the stairs shouted out, "Waffle!"

“No, thank you,” we replied.

"Waffle! You want waffle?" She asked again.

"Mai ow. Mai ow, khrap,” (No. No thank you, in Thai.)

"Banana inside!" She added, undeterred.

“Oh my God,” we all said to each other in unison, “banana inside.”

So of course, we stopped for waffles. As with virtually all street food in Thailand, they were spectacular.

Several months ago, I got on a pancake and waffle kick for a while. I began searchingfor different kinds of pancakes and waffles to make for breakfast. Eventually I thought, "Hmmmmmm, Thai waffles… with banana inside!" I searched around in the books I own and online, but didn't find a recipe for Thai waffles with bananas inside. I did, however, find a recipe for Thai coconut waffles with pandan extract that are delicious.

Pandan extract is a flavoring that is extracted from the leaves of the pandanus tree (pandanus utilis), though frequently it is artificially made. You should be able to find pandan extract at any Asian market, or it is available at ImportFoods.com. Pandan leaves give a really nice mild coconut-like flavor to things, and in sufficient concentration turn foods slightly green. Pandan extract is made with prodigious quantities of green food coloring turning everything it touches bright, vivid green. These waffles are no exception. Kids go crazy for them. A while back my friends David and Eva were visiting with their children. David and Eva had bought a box of Lucky Charms for the kids to eat for breakfast. I made these coconut pandan waffles, but the kids had had their hearts set on Lucky Charms, so they didn't want any. They didn't want any, that is, until they saw them. Their bowls of Lucky Charms turned soggy as they devoured plate after plate of waffles.

The recipe originates from Viet World Kitchen, to whom I am indebted. However, I have made many of edits to their version, including doubling the quantities. My rendition of this recipe follows. It makes 4 waffles on my Black and Decker 4-square waffle iron.

Ingredients:
2 Cups all-purpose flour [see note 1]
¼ Cup sugar
3 tsp. cornstarch
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. baking powder
2 eggs, separated [or whole if you are feeling lazy – see Note 2]
1 13.5oz can coconut milk [see Note 3]
3/4 Cup water [see Note 3]
4 Tbs. unsalted, melted butter
2 tsp. pandan (la dua)

Method:
Preheat waffle iron

In one bowl sift together the flour, sugar, cornstarch, salt, and baking powder.

Separately combine the egg yolk (or whole eggs), coconut milk, butter, and pandan extract.

Stir and fold the liquid ingredients into the dry ingredients, using a rubber spatula. The resulting batter will look lumpy. Expect the batter to be thick. Avoid over-working the batter, which will toughen the glutens in the flour, making the waffles tough.

[See Note 2 below] Separately beat the egg whites until they hold peaks but don’t become dry. Gently fold into the batter.

Cook on your waffle iron as per the manufacturers instructions.


Note 1: I sometimes use 1 cup AP flour and 1 cup pastry flour for more tender waffles.

Note 2: Separating the eggs, beating the whites, and then folding them in makes a lighter, fluffier waffle; however, it is a pain in the ass, especially early in the morning, and especially when you are hungry. The result will be almost as good if you just use whole eggs above.

Note 3: The original recipe calls for 2 cups of coconut milk (16oz). Where I live in California, USA, coconut milk comes in two sizes of cans. For me, the most convenient size is 13.5 oz. To make 2 cups of liquid, I would add 2.5oz of water. However, I have found that the resulting batter is just too thick. So, I have taken to adding 6 oz. (3/4 cup) of water along with one 13.5oz can of coconut milk.

These waffles don’t have banana inside, but they are delicious with banana on top. I am told that they freeze well, but I’ve never managed to retain enough of them to try that :-) .

The Dogs of my Youth

One day mom brought home a puppy. We called it Honey Patch because of its markings. All I remember is that it cried all night and shat all day. It didn’t last long. At that age I’m pretty sure I did the same thing, but they didn’t get rid of me.

It was summer when King the Collie arrived. He showed up all on his own. He knew how to cross the street, I didn’t. He had no collar and no one had reported him missing. He just walked up to the front door and came inside. Orange, brown, and white with majestic flowing hair and kind brown eyes. The strong, silent type, he rarely said a word. He stayed with us for a while, but one day he decided his visit was over and moved on.

Spot was my sister’s dog. My aunt and uncle foisted him off on us when they couldn’t deal with his neuroses. They didn’t tell us that. Spot was king of the high-strung Dalmatians. He came from a long line of champions and was the most beautiful Dalmatian anyone had ever seen. His fatal flaw was that he had a little bit of pink coloration on his nose, so he couldn’t compete. Dalmatians must have completely black noses be show dogs. That was ostensibly the reason my aunt and uncle got rid of him – he couldn’t be shown or bred. I suggested we could fix him with a magic marker. His full name was “Johnny on the Spot”, but we called him either “Spot,” or “Spot on the johnny” because he liked to drink from the toilet. One day I was playing with a toy that made an annoying whizzing sound. It drove Spot crazy. After a while he couldn't take it any more, so he bit me. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that biting me was his fatal flaw.


My first dog was Seymour. Nearly 60 pounds of torso covered in acres of smelly brown and white coat, Seymour was the biggest English basset hound our vet had ever seen. His legs were so short they were almost vestigial. In his later days he needed a push to get running… unless he spied a female German shepherd. One whiff of shepherd and Seymour was transformed into super-dog. None of us could image what he expected to do if he ever caught one. We assumed it was the legs that turned him on. Seymour lived well beyond the normal life expectancy for a Basset; based on the smell we were pretty sure he’d been dead for a long time before a car helped him on to that place in the sky where bassets endlessly frolic with shepherds.

After I moved out of my parent’s house, my Aunt and Uncle entered the picture again. They convinced my mother that she really needed a dog to keep her company and for protection. Careful study of a multitude of dog books indicated that black Labrador retrievers were the most faithful dogs. My mother found a breeder where she bought “Truffle” for a small fortune - plus kennel, food, drugs, collars, leashes, bones, beds, combs, and special doggy toothbrushes.

Truffle loved my mother. Oh did he love her. She was the apple of his eye, his sun, his moon, and his stars. He loved her with the simple, unquestioning love that only a puppy can possess. And he loved the vitamin enriched, protein fortified puppy chow. And he grew. And grew. And grew. Before long my 5-foot tall, 100-pound mother had a 75-pound puppy that loved her. Truffle would stand on his hind legs, put his front legs on my mother’s shoulders and try to lick her face. In short order he would knock her over. People would come to the house to find my mother on the ground with Truffle ecstatically licking her face.

One day Truffle chased a car. The car won. Truffle broke his left front leg, which the vet dutifully set and bound in a cast. Thereafter people coming to the house were likely to find my mother flat on her back with Truffle licking her face while simultaneously clubbing her with his cast. The breeder cheerfully accepted Truffle back, free of charge, along with the kennel, food, drugs, collars, leashes, bones, beds, combs, and special doggy toothbrushes.

Every year I go to the Vancouver Music Folk Festival. The festival starts on a Friday evening in the middle of July and ends that Sunday night. At the festival they have an area set up for vendors to sell various kinds of foods to the festival goers. This past year on Friday evening I went to see what there was for dinner. I noticed a new vendor who hadn't been there in prior years: Opa’s Suppenküche. It was a cool evening and I thought to myself, “Mmmmmmmmmmm, soup. A nice, rich, hearty bowl of some kind of German soup with a hunk of rye bread slathered with butter. That would be perfect."

I walked over to peruse the menu:

·         Chili – $8.00
·         Vegetarian – $7.00
·         in bread bowl – add $2.00
Top with your choice of chopped onions or cheese.

There was an old man standing behind the counter. I said to him "Opa’s Suppenküche?

"Yes," he replied, "I'm Opa,” then he leaned in and added, "Opa is German for grandfather."

"Yes, I know, and ‘Suppenküche’ is German for ‘soup kitchen,’” I replied. He looked pleased that I knew what it meant. "But you don't have any soup," I said.

"We have chili," he said. "It's very good chili."

"But if you don't have soup," I said, "you can't call yourself Opa’s Suppenküche.”

Opa no longer look pleased. "It's $8.00," he said, "or $10.00 if you want it in a bowl made of hollowed out bread. It's very good chili."

"I was really wishing for a nice, rich, hearty bowl of a German soup. Perhaps with a hunk of rye bread. And butter. That would have been perfect. Beans, er, give me… ah... gas. It's not something I really want to eat here at the festival." I said.

Opa did not look happy. "It's very good chili," he said.

"No, thank you." I said as I walked away.

The next day around lunchtime I went back to the food area to get something to eat. I glanced over at Opa’s Suppenküche. A sheet with the word "chili" had been pinned over “Suppenküche,” so now the sign read, “Opa’s Chili." I still didn't want chili, but I looked around for Opa to give him a thumbs-up on changing the name. He wasn't there. Instead there was a young man behind the counter. I didn't see Opa again for the rest of the festival.

In my head I made up a story of a conversation the night before:

“I wanted to make soup," Opa said, "but noooooo, you said that people would want chili. You said it had to be chili."

"You wait and see grandpa," said the younger man. "Canadians love chili."

Of course, I have no idea why Opa was only there Friday night, but I like the story that I made up.

Opa, if you're out there, thumbs-up on changing the name, and next year, if you are returning to the festival, don't listen to your enkelchen. Serve soup. It's what you know.



Not long ago someone asked me why I'm blogging. I suspected my reasons are pretty much the same as anybody else's: I have some things I want to say, and I enjoy writing. I started this blog two and half years ago, primarily to get myself writing again. I had been involved in another project and had stopped writing. Virtually all writers, and writing teachers, will tell you that if you want to be a writer you have to write every day. The blog concept seemed like a good motivator to start writing again. But there are a lot of other ways to exercise one's writing muscles: diaries, journals, and of course working on the book that I will never complete. The main difference with a blog is that it's public, while each of those others is a private endeavor.

So the main driver for this being a blog, rather than some private writing exercise, is the notion that I want other people to read what I have to say. I suspect that that's true of virtually any blogger, anyone with a personal webpage, anyone posting a review on Amazon.com, anyone posting a video on YouTube or photos on Flickr, etc., etc.

I read somewhere that the average blog is read by six people and maintained for three months. In terms of duration, my first shot at this blog beat the average. I kept it going for four months. I'm not certain, but I don't think I made it to six people. Six months later, two more postings – almost like a hiccup, or perhaps a flashback. A year and a half after that, for some reason I started up again.

The distinction between a blog and a private journal is that others are reading the blog. The author is looking for feedback, or a reaction, or something. Throwing a blog out into the void is spectacularly frustrating. If I were writing a private journal that no one would ever see, feedback would be surprising and possibly horrifying. But writing a public blog with no feedback just feels ridiculous. Hello? Hello? Is there anybody out there? There are little buttons at the bottom of each blog that say "like," and "dislike." No one ever pushes them. Is that because there's no one reading the blog, or because no one makes it through an entire blog entry, or because no one has an opinion, or because no one has an index finger with which to click their mouse button? Most of all, of course, what I'd really like to see are comments. The most interesting comment I've gotten in the last two and half years is from my friend Ken, correcting an error. Hi Ho.

Somewhere in the back of their mind I think every blogger wants to be the next “Daily Kos,” or Huffington Post. They want to pretend that they'll be recognized as the next great writer and thinker, heralded far and wide both for the quality of their ideas and the quality of their prose. With approximately 6 people reading my blog, and none of them offering any feedback whatsoever, it certainly feels like an exercise in futility – shouting out into some black empty void.

I wonder if it's time to plant potatoes.