Okay, so where were we?
Ah yes... I had agreed to meet him and we decided to do the deed on a Saturday afternoon at Eureka Joe, a wonderful coffee shop that USED to be on 5th Avenue (around 20th), but is no longer there.
I arrived first, and since there was the chance he wouldn't show up, I ordered my coffee and planted myself on a comfy couch with a book. About ten minutes later he walked in. We hadn't really described ourselves, I guess I figured Marcella had taken care of that when she was trying to convince us to hook up. In any case, he strolled over to the sofa and introduced himself. The fact that we were the only two black folks there may have made it a bit easier. He was wearing a tasteful black leather jacket** and jeans and seemed to be a very nice guy. I relaxed a bit.
He sat down on the sofa across from me and started talking. Since I wasn't sure if he knew the coffee shop, I pointed out that he would have to get his coffee at the counter as they didn't have table service. He said he'd get it later, then added:
"Does it bother you that I haven't ordered anything?"
I assured him that it didn't, which of course was not entirely true, but I didn't want to seem to weird about it. For the record though, we were there for almost three hours and he never ordered anything, while I drank a gallon of coffee to make up for him. He noticed this and said:
"I have money, don't worry. I just don't want anything to drink."
It wasn't like they only had coffee, there was a wide variety of beverages and snacks to choose from. He just wanted to talk. And so he did. About his mom (no longer living), his relationship with his siblings (strained), his job (excellent), and me (intriguing). At some points during his three-hour long introduction of himself, he actually started crying. This happened whenever he talked about his mother. He would also get really agitated when he talked about his siblings, and I was starting to get an idea of why he was in therapy.
Finally, I said that I needed to head home and he offered to walk me to the subway station. Once we arrived he asked if I'd like to have lunch with him the following week, as his office was quite near my own. Yeah, I know, but I said yes anyway. Then as I was about to descend into the subway, he politely asked if he could kiss me, to which I (equally) politely responded:
"No."
On Monday he called me at work and asked if I was free for lunch on Tuesday. I was, so we agreed on a time and a place. On Tuesday morning he called to ask if we could push it back an hour, and I said okay. At the appointed time he called and said he couldn't make it, but could we try again on Wednesday.
And so it went....
Wednesday arrived with apologetic phone calls, but no lunch. Thursday, Friday, and on into the next week. Finally, I suggested that he was simply too busy to be able to schedule lunch dates, so perhaps we should just forget it. He agreed that his schedule was indeed a bit crazy (he was, after all, an advertising executive), but why didn't we try something different. As I was new to NY and never ventured past Park Slope in Brooklyn or the East and West Village in Manhattan, he suggested that on the upcoming Saturday, I come to Harlem and he would show me around. Brunch, shopping, and a tour of his four-story brownstone (with four fireplaces).
This seemed reasonable. He had actually kept our first Saturday date and a day in Harlem sounded very cool. I agreed.
The Friday night before the big Saturday date, I was hanging out with one of my girlfriends and she wanted to go to another bar and I wanted to go home because I needed to get up early in order to meet my date in Harlem at 10:00 for breakfast. To which she replied:
"The guy who's been standing you up the past two weeks?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Check your voicemail at home."
"Why should I check my voicemail?"
"Because you'll feel like an idiot once you get home and he's stood you up for tomorrow morning and you missed the chance to have a nice evening out."
So I checked, and found the following message:
"Hi Inez, I'm so sorry, but something has come up for tomorrow and I won't be able to see you. I'll call you on Sunday."
How on earth did she know? Why on earth hadn't I suspected?
In any case, I didn't answer the phone when he called on Sunday. When he called me at work on Monday, I told him I was no longer interested and asked that he stop calling me. So he called back in an hour. And the hour after that, and the hour after that. He called countless times daily, and finally I had to slip the receptionist $20 to block his calls. After a week of talking to him every twenty minutes, she gave the money back and said it was my problem.
The last time he was put through to me I told him that the next time he called I would call the police. That seemed to do the trick.
I never did figure out the making/breaking dates game. If somebody out there can explain it, drop me a line.
Oh, and Marcella's take on all of this:
"God, you're picky. No wonder you're single."
___
**When I lived in Austin I met a very beautiful man, who happened to be in uniform. He asked me out, but when he showed up at my house to pick me up, he was wearing a crazy orange Michael Jackson leather jacket with about a billion zippers. Everywhere we went that night I ran into people I knew, who later asked: "That guy was fine, but what was up with that jacket?" Since then jackets have been a big deal. Shallow, but true...
17 March 2007
18 February 2007
Any Marvin Gaye Fans out There?
If so, check out this BBC Radio documentary celebrating the 25th anniversary of Sexual Healing.
Okay, so now you know that I'm a radio geek. Whatever...
Listening to this documentary, I think there's a very interesting case to be made about UK versus US approaches to soul music. But I'll let you lot sort that out.
Happy Sunday, and remember: When you get that feeling...
Okay, so now you know that I'm a radio geek. Whatever...
Listening to this documentary, I think there's a very interesting case to be made about UK versus US approaches to soul music. But I'll let you lot sort that out.
Happy Sunday, and remember: When you get that feeling...
16 February 2007
24
Who didn't like the real-time perspective 24 offered when it premiered all those years ago? One of the characters would fly to LA from DC and it would take five episodes until you saw that character again, in order to allow for his/her flight. Mad cool. Not so cool (or perhaps DEFINITELY UNCOOL would be a better way to describe it) has been the increasing use of torture to procure information from the bad guys, who more often than not were"radical Islamists bent on destroying the American way." Not that this was ever entertaining, but after Abu Ghraib it struck me as seriously irresponsible.
So I was fairly dismayed when I read a recent piece in The New Yorker on Joel Surnow, the show's co-creator and executive producer. Not only was Surnow unrepentant about the torture, but the suspicions I had of the right-wing politics behind the show were confirmed in the article. But apparently I haven't been alone in my distaste for the nasty turn the show has taken. I mean for heaven's sake, how bad must the show's use of torture be, when a Brigadier General (also the dean of West Point) has to fly out to LA to suggest that they tone it down?
It seemed, however, that this was going to be a lost cause... until I read a piece at IMDB.com today, stating that 24's producer had agreed to cut the torture scenes. Lord bless the The New Yorker is about all I have to say to that. Though as a parting shot, I'm tempted to send Joel a little note letting him know that if he's that right-wing, that hair under his bottom lip can't really be referred to as a "soul patch."
Now if only the Vanity Fair piece on SAIC would work a similar sort of magic...
So I was fairly dismayed when I read a recent piece in The New Yorker on Joel Surnow, the show's co-creator and executive producer. Not only was Surnow unrepentant about the torture, but the suspicions I had of the right-wing politics behind the show were confirmed in the article. But apparently I haven't been alone in my distaste for the nasty turn the show has taken. I mean for heaven's sake, how bad must the show's use of torture be, when a Brigadier General (also the dean of West Point) has to fly out to LA to suggest that they tone it down?
It seemed, however, that this was going to be a lost cause... until I read a piece at IMDB.com today, stating that 24's producer had agreed to cut the torture scenes. Lord bless the The New Yorker is about all I have to say to that. Though as a parting shot, I'm tempted to send Joel a little note letting him know that if he's that right-wing, that hair under his bottom lip can't really be referred to as a "soul patch."
Now if only the Vanity Fair piece on SAIC would work a similar sort of magic...
14 February 2007
The Mr. Wrong Series: The Guy from Marcella's Group Therapy Session (Pt. 1)
I moved to NY from San Francisco. About a year or so after I got to NY one of my former colleagues from SF also moved to NY. I had her over one Saturday morning for brunch, and at some point the conversation turned to my non-existent love life. She thought it was a "shame" that I was single, and in fact, she knew someone from her group therapy session who would be perfect for me. Of course I was too polite to ask about the issues her group was struggling with. I didn't know Marcella that well, but what I knew about her was that she was a pretty cool woman. Okay, there was that bit about being Sicilian-American with murder in her family history. Apparently her grandmother appealed to her brother-in-law to kill her husband (his brother) because he was mistreating her. Upon successful completion of the act, she agreed to marry him and emigrate to the United States. But I'm not sure that would have been enough to send someone into therapy.
In any case, I reluctantly agreed to at least talk with him on the phone, and gave her permission to give him my number. I waited a few days and heard nothing, which to be honest was a bit of a relief. He apparently wasn't in group because he was a telephone stalker... or so I thought. Well after about a week the phone rang one night/morning at 1:30 am. I checked the caller id and didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer it. Who on earth could be calling so late in the middle of the week? When I checked my voice mail later, the caller turned out to be the guy from group. Now of course the warning signals should have gone off right then. What kind of guy calls a woman he doesn't know, for the very first time, at 1:30 in the morning??
I didn't return his call, and was prepared to forget the whole thing, but he called again the next day at a more respectable hour. He apologized for calling so late the night before, explaining that he worked in advertising and had been up late working and didn't realize the time. Blessed/cursed with a forgiving nature, I accepted his apology. We chatted for about an hour, then made plans to meet on the following Saturday afternoon for coffee.
Thus began one of the strangest two-week encounters I have ever experienced.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
In any case, I reluctantly agreed to at least talk with him on the phone, and gave her permission to give him my number. I waited a few days and heard nothing, which to be honest was a bit of a relief. He apparently wasn't in group because he was a telephone stalker... or so I thought. Well after about a week the phone rang one night/morning at 1:30 am. I checked the caller id and didn't recognize the number, so I didn't answer it. Who on earth could be calling so late in the middle of the week? When I checked my voice mail later, the caller turned out to be the guy from group. Now of course the warning signals should have gone off right then. What kind of guy calls a woman he doesn't know, for the very first time, at 1:30 in the morning??
I didn't return his call, and was prepared to forget the whole thing, but he called again the next day at a more respectable hour. He apologized for calling so late the night before, explaining that he worked in advertising and had been up late working and didn't realize the time. Blessed/cursed with a forgiving nature, I accepted his apology. We chatted for about an hour, then made plans to meet on the following Saturday afternoon for coffee.
Thus began one of the strangest two-week encounters I have ever experienced.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
02 February 2007
Overheard at Ikea...
So I was at Ikea on Wednesday night. I went there to find a down comforter, but everything with feathers was being pulled from the shelves. When asked why, the sales clerk said it had to do with a safety issue. Bird flu feathers??
In any case, while I wandered around I witnessed the following exchange between an interracial couple (black woman/white man) shopping for furniture:
She: No, no, no. It doesn't have to match.
He: Well, I think it would be nice if it matched.
She: I'm telling you it doesn't have to match. Come on honey, WE don't match!
That made me smile all the way to the checkout line.
In any case, while I wandered around I witnessed the following exchange between an interracial couple (black woman/white man) shopping for furniture:
She: No, no, no. It doesn't have to match.
He: Well, I think it would be nice if it matched.
She: I'm telling you it doesn't have to match. Come on honey, WE don't match!
That made me smile all the way to the checkout line.
25 January 2007
And you thought you were having a bad day...
I know what you're thinking: After being away so long, I reconnect with my virtual self by writing about one of the most depressing films ever made? What's up with that, right? Well, the way I see it, it can only get more lighthearted after this... or not, we'll just have to see.
In any case, for your consideration I offer my take on Darwin's Nightmare. Yeah, I know it came out ages ago. In fact, I saw it in February 2006. How crazy is it though, that I'm only starting to recover from it in January 2007? But then again, perhaps it's not as crazy as it sounds once the facts have been considered.
Let's begin with the fact that I am a very sensitive person. I've been known to cry at McDonald's commercials. Remember the one in Eighties when the old guy takes a part-time job at Mickey D's and all the kids there are really nice to him and he comes home all smiley and proud of his new job? How sad that he couldn't just enjoy his retirement and hang out at home with his wife. But then again maybe she wanted some space. She probably wasn't used to having him around the house all day. She may have even cooked the books so that he would think that they needed the extra money. Who knows? I digress...
Okay, let's consider the particulars of the film. Imagine 107 minutes of absolutely EVERYTHING that's wrong with the world: environmental disaster, prostitution, street children, AIDS, corruption, exploitation, racism, sexism, hunger, poverty, gluttony, arms dealing, greed, murder, drug abuse, maggots, rotten fish, and the World Bank. Don't get me wrong, it's a brilliant film and one of the most extraodinary efforts by a filmmaker (Hubert Sauper) I have ever experienced.
It's just that I'm not sure this film was the best choice for a world-weary chick. Don't worry I can eat fish again, but given that this film was followed closely by Why we Fight, Syriana, and Cache/Hidden, I think that what was left of my idealism has eroded. I'm not going to go into details about the film, but if you've seen it I know you know what I'm talking about. Right Ina? Henry?? If you haven't seen it I'm not going to insist that you do so, cuz I know what you're in for, but I'll definitely respect your strength if you do so. Now that I think about it though, I do recall a sliver of hope there at the very end of the film obviously inserted so that we wouldn't all run out of the theater and fling ourselves off of the Brooklyn Bridge in despair... or not, maybe I just imagined it.
In any case, for your consideration I offer my take on Darwin's Nightmare. Yeah, I know it came out ages ago. In fact, I saw it in February 2006. How crazy is it though, that I'm only starting to recover from it in January 2007? But then again, perhaps it's not as crazy as it sounds once the facts have been considered.
Let's begin with the fact that I am a very sensitive person. I've been known to cry at McDonald's commercials. Remember the one in Eighties when the old guy takes a part-time job at Mickey D's and all the kids there are really nice to him and he comes home all smiley and proud of his new job? How sad that he couldn't just enjoy his retirement and hang out at home with his wife. But then again maybe she wanted some space. She probably wasn't used to having him around the house all day. She may have even cooked the books so that he would think that they needed the extra money. Who knows? I digress...
Okay, let's consider the particulars of the film. Imagine 107 minutes of absolutely EVERYTHING that's wrong with the world: environmental disaster, prostitution, street children, AIDS, corruption, exploitation, racism, sexism, hunger, poverty, gluttony, arms dealing, greed, murder, drug abuse, maggots, rotten fish, and the World Bank. Don't get me wrong, it's a brilliant film and one of the most extraodinary efforts by a filmmaker (Hubert Sauper) I have ever experienced.
It's just that I'm not sure this film was the best choice for a world-weary chick. Don't worry I can eat fish again, but given that this film was followed closely by Why we Fight, Syriana, and Cache/Hidden, I think that what was left of my idealism has eroded. I'm not going to go into details about the film, but if you've seen it I know you know what I'm talking about. Right Ina? Henry?? If you haven't seen it I'm not going to insist that you do so, cuz I know what you're in for, but I'll definitely respect your strength if you do so. Now that I think about it though, I do recall a sliver of hope there at the very end of the film obviously inserted so that we wouldn't all run out of the theater and fling ourselves off of the Brooklyn Bridge in despair... or not, maybe I just imagined it.
It's nice to be back!
Inez
21 January 2007
I'm Back...
I finished the Ph.D.
Now I have a new job in a new city and in two weeks I'll also have a new apartment. According to my calculations, DC is the 15th city I've lived in. I think I'm kinda ready to "settle down."
More about all of this newness later.
Now I have a new job in a new city and in two weeks I'll also have a new apartment. According to my calculations, DC is the 15th city I've lived in. I think I'm kinda ready to "settle down."
More about all of this newness later.
24 April 2005
"Separation" of Church and State
I wonder if Senator Bill Frist has actually ever read the Constitution. I'm inclined to think that he has not. In any case, the image below accompanied another brilliant piece by Frank Rich (and I'm not just saying that because he wrote me back when I wrote to compliment his work) in today's NYTimes. To access the article you need to register, but it's free and as long as Mr. Rich is there, worth it.
Barry Blitt, Courtesy of the The New York Times
Barry Blitt, Courtesy of the The New York Times
15 April 2005
In defense of my AMAZING culinary skills. . .
Wael, your memory is indeed faulty. CANNED lima beans?? First of all, I'm a southerner, and my grandmother would roll over in her grave if I did such a thing, though I will own up to Ranch dressing all over steamed broccoli. Steamed rice for sure, you gave me the steamer. Wonderful gift. One of many wonderful gifts as a matter of fact. The gifts that keep on giving. . .
But honestly, I ate out a lot in San Francisco. WE ate out a lot in San Francisco, Wael. My inner cook, which thrived in Austin, retreated a bit in SF, and was in FULL effect in Scotland. Which brings me to a story about a guy I used to work with. Last summer I waited tables in the restaurant in a 4-star hotel in Stirling. Great food came out of that kitchen to be sure. Horrors were to be encountered in the staff canteen, however. One night, while having my dinner in the canteen, the food and beverage manager for the hotel came in to have his dinner, too. Cool guy, we always had great conversations. In any case, on this particular evening he came in with 2 bags of crisps (that's potato chips for the Amis out there). He then took two slices of white bread, smeared butter all over them, and then placed the crisps on one piece of bread. He then covered that with the other piece of bread, creating a white-bread crisp sandwich, which he washed down with a Strawberry soda, while I looked on horrified. I told him it would be quicker to just shoot himself, which he found hilarious. And it's not like this guy doesn't know food. Whatever.
Finally Wael, the kitchen in my Post Street pad wasn't THAT tiny.
Coming soon: Bayern München 3 : 2 Chelsea
But honestly, I ate out a lot in San Francisco. WE ate out a lot in San Francisco, Wael. My inner cook, which thrived in Austin, retreated a bit in SF, and was in FULL effect in Scotland. Which brings me to a story about a guy I used to work with. Last summer I waited tables in the restaurant in a 4-star hotel in Stirling. Great food came out of that kitchen to be sure. Horrors were to be encountered in the staff canteen, however. One night, while having my dinner in the canteen, the food and beverage manager for the hotel came in to have his dinner, too. Cool guy, we always had great conversations. In any case, on this particular evening he came in with 2 bags of crisps (that's potato chips for the Amis out there). He then took two slices of white bread, smeared butter all over them, and then placed the crisps on one piece of bread. He then covered that with the other piece of bread, creating a white-bread crisp sandwich, which he washed down with a Strawberry soda, while I looked on horrified. I told him it would be quicker to just shoot himself, which he found hilarious. And it's not like this guy doesn't know food. Whatever.
Finally Wael, the kitchen in my Post Street pad wasn't THAT tiny.
Coming soon: Bayern München 3 : 2 Chelsea
10 April 2005
Just Say NO...Please
Listen, I'm no technophobe, but I'm stressed enough flying these days without having to listen to EVERYONE around me chattering away on their bloody cell phones. To that end, I have made the FCC aware of my feelings by submitting my comments on their website. According to Information Week, the majority of air travelers DO NOT support in-flight cell phone usage, but just to be on the safe side, I would encourage those of you who feel the same to let the FCC know before their May 26 deadline.
Now I realise that giving you the web address means that those of you who would like to be able to hear all kinds of inane conversations taking place around you, while you're jammed in that uncomfortable seat, peeping the guy across the aisle who's on his fourth gin and tonic and becoming loud and aggressive, will also want to comment. I can't stop you from using the link, but I'll stop speaking to you for a while if you do...
Now I realise that giving you the web address means that those of you who would like to be able to hear all kinds of inane conversations taking place around you, while you're jammed in that uncomfortable seat, peeping the guy across the aisle who's on his fourth gin and tonic and becoming loud and aggressive, will also want to comment. I can't stop you from using the link, but I'll stop speaking to you for a while if you do...
Martin Luther King dot Org
Last Monday, April 4 to be exact, I wanted to post something about it being the anniversary of the day Dr. King was assassinated, as I did for Malcolm X on February 21. I wanted to find a photo to post that wasn't too common, perhaps a childhood photo like the one I found for Malcolm X. In any case, I typed "Martin Luther King" into Google, and the third site on the list of thousands of sites featuring Martin Luther King, was www.martinlutherking.org.
Well I figured this had to be a good one, it ranked above the King Center (which I nevertheless tried first, but which took too long to open). Before you click on the link to check it out for yourselves, however, let me save you the trouble. The site is connected to Storm Front, the hate group. But I didn't know that. When I opened the site, there was a nice portrait of Dr. King, along with a banner inviting school children to take a quiz on Dr. King's life. To the right of his portrait were several categories about his life, which you could click on for further information, including information about sermons, etc. To the left of his portrait, however, was an alleged quote from Time Magazine, which included reference to Dr. King's taped extra-marital sexual activities.
As they say in Scotland, I had trouble getting my head around that.
I simply couldn't understand how the quiz for schoolkids, the sermons, and the quote from Time were related. So I scrolled down the page and saw a link about repealing the King Holiday, and then I was really confused. But because I'm a bit thick sometimes, I was still trying to put all of this in the context of a site owned by some King supporters and archivists. Okay, so I'm REALLY thick. Whatever. I kept scrolling and ended up at the bottom of the page where there was a link to a forum to discuss Dr. King; the forum was hosted by Storm Front. Needless to say I wasn't in the mood for doing the post after that.
So there you have it. A racist hate group owns MartinLutherKing.org.
And the only publishable thing I can think to say to that is, I hope that the Black Panthers own KKK.org...
Well I figured this had to be a good one, it ranked above the King Center (which I nevertheless tried first, but which took too long to open). Before you click on the link to check it out for yourselves, however, let me save you the trouble. The site is connected to Storm Front, the hate group. But I didn't know that. When I opened the site, there was a nice portrait of Dr. King, along with a banner inviting school children to take a quiz on Dr. King's life. To the right of his portrait were several categories about his life, which you could click on for further information, including information about sermons, etc. To the left of his portrait, however, was an alleged quote from Time Magazine, which included reference to Dr. King's taped extra-marital sexual activities.
As they say in Scotland, I had trouble getting my head around that.
I simply couldn't understand how the quiz for schoolkids, the sermons, and the quote from Time were related. So I scrolled down the page and saw a link about repealing the King Holiday, and then I was really confused. But because I'm a bit thick sometimes, I was still trying to put all of this in the context of a site owned by some King supporters and archivists. Okay, so I'm REALLY thick. Whatever. I kept scrolling and ended up at the bottom of the page where there was a link to a forum to discuss Dr. King; the forum was hosted by Storm Front. Needless to say I wasn't in the mood for doing the post after that.
So there you have it. A racist hate group owns MartinLutherKing.org.
And the only publishable thing I can think to say to that is, I hope that the Black Panthers own KKK.org...
07 April 2005
Lemon and Saffron Risotto
Rumor has it that single people don't cook. Further to that, it is offered as fact that women don't like cooking unless they're cooking for a partner. Don't believe it. I love to cook, and there's no one in the house except me. This doesn't mean, however, that I don't like cooking for others. I do, but I also LOVE taking care of myself.
So here, for your consideration, is one of my favourite recipes. It's inexpensive and tastes wonderful. I usually serve it with steamed sugar snap peas, but I can't find any here, so I've substituted a Feldsalat. The key to this recipe is the vegetable stock. If you don't have time to make your own stock, buy a low-sodium version. Otherwise it will be too salty. I usually make my own vegtable stock (the recipe is also below) and freeze it in 1-litre containers. The recipes are taken from Zest, a fabulous cookbook by Michele Cranston. What I love about the book is that the recipes are arranged by flavours: savour, tang, seasoned, piquant, zesty, aromatic, fragant, and ambrosial. Yum! Well, that and the fact that there's a photo of each dish, so you have some idea of whether or not your creation is anywhere close to what was intended.
In any case, if you try it I'm sure you'll love it (just check out the photos below). Or should you find yourself in Berlin, I'll be happy to make it for you!
Lemon and saffron risotto
1 litre (4 cups) vegetable stock (recipe below)
50 g (1 3/4 oz) butter
1 onion, finely diced
15 saffron threads
275 g (1 1/4 cups) arborio risotto rice
2 tablespoons lemon juice
80 g (2 3/4 oz) grated Parmesan cheese
Heat the stock in a large saucepan over a high heat. When it is almost boiling, reduce the heat to a simmer. Melt the butter in a large heavy-based saucepan over a medium heat. Add the onion and saffron and cook until the onion is soft and transparent. Add the rice and stir until the grains are glossy and well coated in the buttery saffron. Add 250 ml (1 cup) of hot stock and stir until it is absorbed. Continue to add the stock until it is all absorbed and the rice is tender. Add the lemon juice and Parmesan to the risotto and season with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Spoon into warm bowls.
Vegetable Stock
2 onions, roughly chopped
2 leeks, sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 carrots, sliced
3 celery stalks, sliced
2 parsnips, sliced
150 g (1 bunch) flat-leaf (Italian) parsley
2 garlic cloves
6 peppercorns
4 sprigs thyme
Heat a large saucepan over high heat and add the onions, leeks and olive oil.
Stir until the onions begin to soften, then add the carrots, celery, parsnips and 3 litres (12 cups) of cold water. Add the remaining ingredients and bring to a simmering heat. Continue to simmer for 3 hours. Remove from the heat and strain into a large bowl. Using the back of a large spoon, press the vegetables into the strainer to draw out most of the flavour.
Before
After
So here, for your consideration, is one of my favourite recipes. It's inexpensive and tastes wonderful. I usually serve it with steamed sugar snap peas, but I can't find any here, so I've substituted a Feldsalat. The key to this recipe is the vegetable stock. If you don't have time to make your own stock, buy a low-sodium version. Otherwise it will be too salty. I usually make my own vegtable stock (the recipe is also below) and freeze it in 1-litre containers. The recipes are taken from Zest, a fabulous cookbook by Michele Cranston. What I love about the book is that the recipes are arranged by flavours: savour, tang, seasoned, piquant, zesty, aromatic, fragant, and ambrosial. Yum! Well, that and the fact that there's a photo of each dish, so you have some idea of whether or not your creation is anywhere close to what was intended.
In any case, if you try it I'm sure you'll love it (just check out the photos below). Or should you find yourself in Berlin, I'll be happy to make it for you!
Lemon and saffron risotto
1 litre (4 cups) vegetable stock (recipe below)
50 g (1 3/4 oz) butter
1 onion, finely diced
15 saffron threads
275 g (1 1/4 cups) arborio risotto rice
2 tablespoons lemon juice
80 g (2 3/4 oz) grated Parmesan cheese
Heat the stock in a large saucepan over a high heat. When it is almost boiling, reduce the heat to a simmer. Melt the butter in a large heavy-based saucepan over a medium heat. Add the onion and saffron and cook until the onion is soft and transparent. Add the rice and stir until the grains are glossy and well coated in the buttery saffron. Add 250 ml (1 cup) of hot stock and stir until it is absorbed. Continue to add the stock until it is all absorbed and the rice is tender. Add the lemon juice and Parmesan to the risotto and season with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Spoon into warm bowls.
Vegetable Stock
2 onions, roughly chopped
2 leeks, sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 carrots, sliced
3 celery stalks, sliced
2 parsnips, sliced
150 g (1 bunch) flat-leaf (Italian) parsley
2 garlic cloves
6 peppercorns
4 sprigs thyme
Heat a large saucepan over high heat and add the onions, leeks and olive oil.
Stir until the onions begin to soften, then add the carrots, celery, parsnips and 3 litres (12 cups) of cold water. Add the remaining ingredients and bring to a simmering heat. Continue to simmer for 3 hours. Remove from the heat and strain into a large bowl. Using the back of a large spoon, press the vegetables into the strainer to draw out most of the flavour.
Before
After
05 April 2005
Did I say Carolina by 3?
Okay, so I was off by two points. Man oh man, how sweet it is, as Jackie Gleason used to say. No, he didn't say the "man oh man" bit, I said that. He said the "How sweet it is" bit. IN ANY CASE, I woke up this morning almost frightened to log on and check the score. But there it was. A CAROLINA VICTORY. And my prediction wasn't bad, either.
The last time we won the National Championship I was living in San Francisco, and was lucky enough to have friends who were from North Carolina and who hosted a party the night of the finals. We put money into a pot which allowed us to bet on the sum of the final score. I don't remember anymore what my individual scores were, but my sum won and I got the pot. Eighty bucks I think. And a Carolina victory. That was truly sweet.
Last night I couldn't find my T-shirt from that 1993 victory, but I did go to sleep in my Carolina Alumni sweatshirt. Actually I only just realised that it was my Carolina sweatshirt. I wore it to bed because it's a bit chilly in my apartment and since it's April, they've already turned off the heat. That said, I'm sure that on a sub-conscious level I knew what I was wearing because it could just as well have been my Pink Panther sweatshirt, but it wasn't.
Okay. And to my brother who was at the game, I sincerely hope my NEW shirt is in the post...
Once again the photos are courtesy of the Los Angeles Times.
Coming Soon: How I tried to get photos of Martin Luther King, but ended up with hate material from Storm Front instead.
The last time we won the National Championship I was living in San Francisco, and was lucky enough to have friends who were from North Carolina and who hosted a party the night of the finals. We put money into a pot which allowed us to bet on the sum of the final score. I don't remember anymore what my individual scores were, but my sum won and I got the pot. Eighty bucks I think. And a Carolina victory. That was truly sweet.
Last night I couldn't find my T-shirt from that 1993 victory, but I did go to sleep in my Carolina Alumni sweatshirt. Actually I only just realised that it was my Carolina sweatshirt. I wore it to bed because it's a bit chilly in my apartment and since it's April, they've already turned off the heat. That said, I'm sure that on a sub-conscious level I knew what I was wearing because it could just as well have been my Pink Panther sweatshirt, but it wasn't.
Okay. And to my brother who was at the game, I sincerely hope my NEW shirt is in the post...
Once again the photos are courtesy of the Los Angeles Times.
Coming Soon: How I tried to get photos of Martin Luther King, but ended up with hate material from Storm Front instead.
03 April 2005
Carolina by 3 over Illinois
Although the world (at least according to me) doesn't make a lot of sense these days, college basketball still does. Of course that's because I'm a Carolina alum whose nerves have been stretched to the limits during the NCAA tournament. Compounding my misery is the fact that no one I know in Berlin cares about college basketball, though I've spotted a few hip hoppers wearing Carolina baseball caps. I asked one kid about it and he said that his friend got it for him when he was in the States, that he didn't know anything about the University or the teams, but that the light blue really matched his eyes.
Okay, whatever. We've made it to the finals and that means I will spend Monday night tossing and turning (much like I did on the night of the presidential election when BBC Radio led me to believe that Kerry had a chance before I drifted off to sleep).
Like I said, whatever.
My brother John, who is a basketball coach at Texas Southern University, is at the Final Four and you'd think he'd get his big sister a T-shirt or something. Particularly as I introduced him to Carolina players when I was a student and he was a little kid. We'll see..
In any case, it promises to be a great matchup and I guess I'll have to be content with the excellent coverage from the LA Times, which is where I swiped the photos.
Go Heels!!!
Carolina's SEAN MAY
Illinois' LUTHER HEAD
Okay, whatever. We've made it to the finals and that means I will spend Monday night tossing and turning (much like I did on the night of the presidential election when BBC Radio led me to believe that Kerry had a chance before I drifted off to sleep).
Like I said, whatever.
My brother John, who is a basketball coach at Texas Southern University, is at the Final Four and you'd think he'd get his big sister a T-shirt or something. Particularly as I introduced him to Carolina players when I was a student and he was a little kid. We'll see..
In any case, it promises to be a great matchup and I guess I'll have to be content with the excellent coverage from the LA Times, which is where I swiped the photos.
Go Heels!!!
Carolina's SEAN MAY
Illinois' LUTHER HEAD
01 April 2005
A van Gogh Christmas...
I had just moved to Berlin and into my new apartment. No furniture, no TV (still no TV as a matter of fact), no internet. My boxes had arrived from Scotland on December 23, so I did have music. There's so much I could say about time between Christmas and New Year's, but I won't. The pictures speak for themselves. In retrospect, however, I think this probably looks more pathetic than it actually was...
28 March 2005
Mike's Coffeeshop and other Wonders
Okay Wael, you’re right. I’ve been back a while now. And clearly I have a responsibility to my readers…particularly as I just Googled myself and this site came up.
Back from New York a few weeks and my head is still in a whirl. I hadn’t been there since April 2002, and since I had only moved away in January of that year, the April trip doesn’t count. I don’t think I realised in April 2002 that it would be three years before I’d be there again. Ah well, just goes to show ya...
In any case, a lot has happened since I left–the war and the re-election dominate my list—and I wasn’t really sure how I’d feel being back in the land of the free and the home of the brave. But then again, it was NY, a blue city in a blue state. And aside from the realisation that you can watch over 500 television channels (Ramona get rid of that Direct TV, it’s evil), there wasn’t a lot to annoy me. In fact, quite the opposite.
Don’t get me wrong, the cost of living is still obscene, and it’s common for people to take more than one job to support themselves, while others there have a lot more money than sense and flaunt it shamelessly. The subway is still loud and often dirty, and there’s an awful lot of attitude floating about the city in general.
But you know what? It’s also a very friendly city. People talk to people they don’t know, and no I’m not talking about guys trying to pick up women, though there is quite a bit of that going on. I’m talking about people who speak to you when you’re walking down the street and who are really patient when you ask for directions or information.
But let’s get to the important stuff, shall we? There’s nowhere in Berlin that serves up the likes of this:
And no, I’m not going to mention how many times I had it during my short stay. God Bless Mike’s Coffeeshop in Brooklyn, is all I have to say.
I was also able to be a part of an historical event. Though fabulously derided by Jon Stewart and the gang at Comedy Central as the Pile of Sheet(s), I found The Gates to be marvellous.
Perhaps it was just seeing so many happy faces, or the fact that my luggage had finally arrived, or that I had just had the breakfast pictured above, but whatever it was I thoroughly enjoyed the installation and I’m thrilled that I had the opportunity to experience firsthand. I even scored a piece of the fabric, as they were giving away little squares the day I was there.
I got the chance to hang out with friends I hadn't seen in ages and I had some decent bagels. I searched the city for underground hip hop for my boys in Berlin and saw a couple great flicks (Sideways, The sea Inside, and Hero). And as for the purpose of my trip, the conference at NYU, that was great and my paper went over very well. All in all a fabulous trip.
And to Ramona, Ejim, Tweedie, Sebastian, Kay, Wolfgang, Peter, Lesley, Sumita, Paolo, and Wendelin, it was great seeing you!
Coming soon: Photographic evidence of how I spent the depressing week between Christmas and New Year’s.
Back from New York a few weeks and my head is still in a whirl. I hadn’t been there since April 2002, and since I had only moved away in January of that year, the April trip doesn’t count. I don’t think I realised in April 2002 that it would be three years before I’d be there again. Ah well, just goes to show ya...
In any case, a lot has happened since I left–the war and the re-election dominate my list—and I wasn’t really sure how I’d feel being back in the land of the free and the home of the brave. But then again, it was NY, a blue city in a blue state. And aside from the realisation that you can watch over 500 television channels (Ramona get rid of that Direct TV, it’s evil), there wasn’t a lot to annoy me. In fact, quite the opposite.
Don’t get me wrong, the cost of living is still obscene, and it’s common for people to take more than one job to support themselves, while others there have a lot more money than sense and flaunt it shamelessly. The subway is still loud and often dirty, and there’s an awful lot of attitude floating about the city in general.
But you know what? It’s also a very friendly city. People talk to people they don’t know, and no I’m not talking about guys trying to pick up women, though there is quite a bit of that going on. I’m talking about people who speak to you when you’re walking down the street and who are really patient when you ask for directions or information.
But let’s get to the important stuff, shall we? There’s nowhere in Berlin that serves up the likes of this:
And no, I’m not going to mention how many times I had it during my short stay. God Bless Mike’s Coffeeshop in Brooklyn, is all I have to say.
I was also able to be a part of an historical event. Though fabulously derided by Jon Stewart and the gang at Comedy Central as the Pile of Sheet(s), I found The Gates to be marvellous.
Perhaps it was just seeing so many happy faces, or the fact that my luggage had finally arrived, or that I had just had the breakfast pictured above, but whatever it was I thoroughly enjoyed the installation and I’m thrilled that I had the opportunity to experience firsthand. I even scored a piece of the fabric, as they were giving away little squares the day I was there.
I got the chance to hang out with friends I hadn't seen in ages and I had some decent bagels. I searched the city for underground hip hop for my boys in Berlin and saw a couple great flicks (Sideways, The sea Inside, and Hero). And as for the purpose of my trip, the conference at NYU, that was great and my paper went over very well. All in all a fabulous trip.
And to Ramona, Ejim, Tweedie, Sebastian, Kay, Wolfgang, Peter, Lesley, Sumita, Paolo, and Wendelin, it was great seeing you!
Coming soon: Photographic evidence of how I spent the depressing week between Christmas and New Year’s.
10 March 2005
Jet Lag
There's much to tell about my recent trip to NY, but not now. I'm REALLY tired. In the meantime, chew on this article from the BBC. If you've ever had a pop song stuck in your head, you'll want to check it out. It even helps to explain why we have visual images for some songs.
More later. . .
More later. . .
25 February 2005
One Nation Under a Groove: The year that was 1978
It was the year I graduated from high school. The year I went to Europe for the first time. The year I began my studies at UNC-Chapel Hill. It was the year that Parliament released “One Nation under a Groove.”
Sometimes my life has its own special soundtrack. This was the case in 1978, 1983, and 2000. It is as if the events of these years are burned in my memory, not only in terms of their significance, but also by the music that accompanied them.
Take 1978. Or more specifically, take the fall of 1978 when I entered Carolina as a 17 year-old freshman ( I would turn 18 about a month later). Two weeks before the University’s official orientation, where freshmen were given the time and space to adjust to being away from home and at university, there was Black Pre-Orientation. This was where black freshmen were given the time and space to adjust to being away from home and at a major university that had only recently started admitting black students.
Edith Hubbard was one of two black women admitted to Carolina in 1964. The (publicly-funded) university was founded in 1789. Hers is a fascinating story, and suffice it to say that there was not Black Pre-Orientation gathering to help her acclimate to the new environment.
But to be honest, I didn’t know anything about Edith Hubbard until I started doing a bit of research for this post. I didn’t learn about the history of black students at Carolina during Black Pre-Orientation, I just knew that we hadn’t been there very long and that there weren’t many of us. What I did learn was other “useful” information such as:
1. To determine if the party being advertised on the flyer was going to populated by blacks or whites, look for key words, such as “jam” (blacks) and “40 kegs” (white).
2. On the first day of any maths or statistics classes look around to see if there were any Asians present, if so, switch to another section because they were math geniuses and would mess up the grading curve.
3. Do NOT sign up for Chinese 50 (a history course) because it USED to be a slide, but there had been a recent article in Newsweek on the university in which the course was named and shamed, so it had become super tough.
4. In response to black students from traditionally black institutions who came to our parties and criticised us for going to a “white” school, suggest that they go back to their own campus to party.
I’m sure I probably learned other very important information about support systems, etc. but since I had just graduated from a predominantly white high school, and had just spent the summer in Europe living with different families etc., I wasn’t too worried about my “minority” status, and so perhaps I tuned the useful stuff out.
And George Clinton?
Well, each Saturday during football season when there was a home game, the Black Student Movement (BSM) would reserve about 200 seats, in a practice called block seating. Then black students who wanted to sit with the BSM would request this block when going to pick up tickets for the game. The BSM block was a riot, so it was critical to pick up these tickets as soon as they were available. [If only I had been as diligent about registering for classes.] Food, fun, music, it was ALL good. The kick though, was the beginning of each game when everyone was supposed to stand for the national anthem. As the band began to play and voices began to sing, “Oh say can you see. . .” someone in the BSM block would fire up the box and we would dance and sing, “One Nation under a groove, gettin’ down just for the funk of it. . .” Although I realise the offense it must have caused back then, I still chuckle at the thought of it. A handful of us in an enormous stadium in an act of defiance that always resulted with us getting pelted with something. Is there anything like being 18?
These thoughts came flooding back a couple weeks ago when I listened to a brilliant radio documentary on George Clinton done by the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). I remembered the joy and excitement I felt being at Carolina, the crazy friends I had, and a university experience I will cherish for a lifetime.
Music can do that.
Sometimes my life has its own special soundtrack. This was the case in 1978, 1983, and 2000. It is as if the events of these years are burned in my memory, not only in terms of their significance, but also by the music that accompanied them.
Take 1978. Or more specifically, take the fall of 1978 when I entered Carolina as a 17 year-old freshman ( I would turn 18 about a month later). Two weeks before the University’s official orientation, where freshmen were given the time and space to adjust to being away from home and at university, there was Black Pre-Orientation. This was where black freshmen were given the time and space to adjust to being away from home and at a major university that had only recently started admitting black students.
Edith Hubbard was one of two black women admitted to Carolina in 1964. The (publicly-funded) university was founded in 1789. Hers is a fascinating story, and suffice it to say that there was not Black Pre-Orientation gathering to help her acclimate to the new environment.
But to be honest, I didn’t know anything about Edith Hubbard until I started doing a bit of research for this post. I didn’t learn about the history of black students at Carolina during Black Pre-Orientation, I just knew that we hadn’t been there very long and that there weren’t many of us. What I did learn was other “useful” information such as:
1. To determine if the party being advertised on the flyer was going to populated by blacks or whites, look for key words, such as “jam” (blacks) and “40 kegs” (white).
2. On the first day of any maths or statistics classes look around to see if there were any Asians present, if so, switch to another section because they were math geniuses and would mess up the grading curve.
3. Do NOT sign up for Chinese 50 (a history course) because it USED to be a slide, but there had been a recent article in Newsweek on the university in which the course was named and shamed, so it had become super tough.
4. In response to black students from traditionally black institutions who came to our parties and criticised us for going to a “white” school, suggest that they go back to their own campus to party.
I’m sure I probably learned other very important information about support systems, etc. but since I had just graduated from a predominantly white high school, and had just spent the summer in Europe living with different families etc., I wasn’t too worried about my “minority” status, and so perhaps I tuned the useful stuff out.
And George Clinton?
Well, each Saturday during football season when there was a home game, the Black Student Movement (BSM) would reserve about 200 seats, in a practice called block seating. Then black students who wanted to sit with the BSM would request this block when going to pick up tickets for the game. The BSM block was a riot, so it was critical to pick up these tickets as soon as they were available. [If only I had been as diligent about registering for classes.] Food, fun, music, it was ALL good. The kick though, was the beginning of each game when everyone was supposed to stand for the national anthem. As the band began to play and voices began to sing, “Oh say can you see. . .” someone in the BSM block would fire up the box and we would dance and sing, “One Nation under a groove, gettin’ down just for the funk of it. . .” Although I realise the offense it must have caused back then, I still chuckle at the thought of it. A handful of us in an enormous stadium in an act of defiance that always resulted with us getting pelted with something. Is there anything like being 18?
These thoughts came flooding back a couple weeks ago when I listened to a brilliant radio documentary on George Clinton done by the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). I remembered the joy and excitement I felt being at Carolina, the crazy friends I had, and a university experience I will cherish for a lifetime.
Music can do that.
22 February 2005
21 February 2005
February 21, 1965
"Brothers and sisters, let me tell you, I spend my time out there in the street with people, all kind of people, listening to what they have to say. And they're dissatisfied, they're disillusioned, they're fed up, they're getting to the point of frustration where they are beginning to feel: What do they have to lose? And when you get to that point you're the type of person who can create a very dangerously explosive atmosphere. This is what's happening in our neighborhood, to our people. I read in a poll taken by Newsweek magazine this week, saying that Negroes are satisfied. Oh yes, poll you know, in Newsweek, supposed to be a top magazine with a top pollster, talking about how satisfied Negroes are. Maybe I haven't met the Negroes he met. Because I know he hasn't met the ones that I've met."
This excerpt was taken from a speech delivered in Detroit on February 14, 1965, hours after his house was firebombed and a week before he was murdered.
In Memory of Malcolm X
(Photo courtesy of www.malcolm-x.org)
This excerpt was taken from a speech delivered in Detroit on February 14, 1965, hours after his house was firebombed and a week before he was murdered.
In Memory of Malcolm X
(Photo courtesy of www.malcolm-x.org)
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