Og Good

One of my new favorite blogs to read is This Mom Blogs. I don't always agree with Theresa on every topic (especially abortion), but I appreciate the humor and candor of her writing, and her love for her family and the graciousness with which she treats her readers. Plus she has a damned sexy logo.

The other day she posted her husband's response to her comments on the effects her menopause is having on him. In his response, he makes reference to Og, and she expressed both amusement and bemusement over the identity of this "Og". In her comments, I expressed surprise that she'd never heard of Og. Apparently, according to her email in response, no, Og is commonly known to only us guys. So, for all you ladies out there, I shall answer the important question, "Who is Og?"

Og is that caveman ancestor who explains so many of those mail behavior traits you ladies find at times endearing, at times maddening, but always mystifying. All men have a little Og in him, down deep somewhere. He is the instinctive male response to any situation.

Adam was the first man, father of us all. Og was the first guy, crazy-but-cool uncle of us all.

Prometheus gave man fire. Og first used it to barbecue, and first employed it in a practical joke.

In the Bible, Nimrod was the Mighty Hunter. Og was the inventor of the story of The One That Got Away.

The ancient Mesopotamians invented the Cuneiform Alphabet. Og invented writing your name in the snow.

Og is the hunter focused on his prey who explains why men go to the store for something, not go shopping.

Og is the inventor of the tried-and-true "Give it a good whack" school of equipment repair.

Og, contrary to popular belief, did not woo women by whacking them over the head with a club and dragging them into his cave. He wooed women by dragging a mammoth carcass to their cave, whence they would cook it, and while he ate, hit him over the head with his own club and drag him into THEIR cave. To this day, this is the way men prefer it.

And Og, for all that we chuckle at his alleged social ineptness, is the primal man whose drive is to protect and provide, who stands, spear in hand, between his clan and the dire wolves and cave bears, who treks across the ice for miles in search of meat, who stays awake at night, vigilant against the dangers in the darkness.

Og Good.

It' Hard To Enjoy Wine's Bouquet With Your Nose In The Air

In recounting the festivities surrounding the 27th anniversary of her birth, Bobgirrl over at 1 Girl, 4 Martinis describes an unpleasant experinece at one California winery, A. Rafanelli, and a pleasant one at another winery, Unti. The crux of the difference between the two is what she calls the "Snootiness Factor".

It caught my eye because the "Snootiness Factor" is the main reason that it took me so long to become a wine drinker. My father was a pastor and a staunch teetotaller, so I didn't start drinking alcohol at all until my mid-20's, but it wasn't until I was almost 30 that I began to drink wine. Part of the reason was that I was intimidated by wine and wine culture. I would try a wine that was supposed to be good, and hate it, and feel like I just wasn't getting it. So I just stopped trying.

Then one day I had a wine at a wedding rehearsal dinner that I liked -- a Lambrusco. It was sweet, and semi-sparkling, and very refreshing, and I liked it. I also knew from comments I'd heard that it wasn't highly regarded as a "serious" wine. My dalliance with wine may have stayed limited to closet Lambrusco drinking if it hadn't been for a trip I took back here to Oregon (I was living in San Diego at the time). While stopped in my old home town, I made a visit to the Winery of Phillipe Girardet. Phillipe and his family had attended my father's church, and were family friends. I also knew from my interactions with the family in the past that their "Snootiness Factor" was so low as to possible be measured in negative numbers. These people were and are about as down-to-Earth as is humanly possible.

Phillipe and Bonnie met in college, where they were both students in a very demanding scientific discipline (which escapes me) at a very prestigious university (I'm inclined to say UC Berkeley or Caltech, but I'm not certain) when they decided to get into the wine making business. Phillipe pored over topography maps, geological surveys, and meterological studies to find a region with as close to identical an average daily temperature, rainfall, and soil composition as his home region in Switzerland as possible, and ended up in humble little Tenmile, Oregon. Over the years they've established a name for themselves, especially in local circles. But they and their kids still work in the tasting room, they still hire local teens to help harvest the grapes, and you can still see Phillipe out on his tractor or walking among the vines. The tasting room is small and rustic, and I suspect Bobgirrl would be at least vaguely reminded of George Unti if she ever met Phillipe Girardet.

It's also obvious, at least to me, that Phillipe engages in a very hands-on approach to monitoring the quality of his wines. His cheeks and nose are ruddy (and a bit weathered from the sun), and he is always smiling.

So on this gorgeous June day some time in the 90's, I decided to stop by and visit the Girardet's, and to give their wines another try. I figured that if anyone would be able and graciously willing to help me expand my palate, it would be the Girardets. I approached the subject after a few minutes of small talk and catching up on old times. I explained that I'd started drinking wine, but didn't know what to try next. I knew what I'd liked so far, and was hoping they could point me towards others I'd like to. I prefaced my naming of Lambrusco with an apologetic, "I know it's not the best wine, but..." Phillipe got a sly grin oin his face, leaned in to me, and in a conspiratory tone of voice said, (in that charming French Swiss Accent) "You know, Brian, the best wine is the one you like!" and winked.

Well, hell. Why hadn't I thought of that? It was the best piece of advice I've ever received about wine, and probably one of the best pieces of advice I've ever received period. It has informed my exploration into wine ever since. If I like a wine, I like it, and if I don't, I dont, and I refuse to be apologetic or feel inferior because of my subjective preference.

Now, to be sure, as time has passed, my tastes have changed -- my preferences have become drier, yet broader, my palate more discriminating, my ability to note complexity greater, and my understanding of things like pairing, etc. more advanced. But to this day, I abhor snootiness. The difference is, now, instead of letting it intimidate me, I blow off the snobs, raise my glass, and enjoy the wine.

I've Been Cooking on the Railroad

UPDATE:
03/20/06:
Welcome to all the Carnival of the Recipes readers. I've altered the recipe a bit based on the results of the stew I made friday. Half of a head of cabbage and 1 leek is sufficient, and the slurry is unnecessary, but it's best to add a full pint of beef broth.

Somewhere between the original solemn holiday and the modern excuse to get drunk, Saint Patrick's day is still, for many Irish Americans, a day to celebrate our heritage. While my family has been in America for so long that my exact ethnic makeup is unclear, we do know for certain that it includes Scots Irish. So I'm excited about this coming Friday.

In preparation for it, I plan to make an Irish meal, and have decided to give it the same treatment I've given other dishes -- give them an Oregon/Western US twist, to express my pride in THAT part of my heritage. But how to do that without rendering it no longer Irish?

It was The Feared Redhead who provided me with the inspiration. We were watching Food Nation with Bobby Flay, and she commented that an Irish Stew he was highlighting looked delicious, but she doesn't like lamb, so she wondered if we could make it using our favorite red meat, buffalo.

Eureka!

Along with the Chinese, the Irish comprised the majority of the laborers who built the transcontinental railroad. We Irish Americans are proud of the significant amount of this country that was built on our backs. And while they were building the railroad, I have to surmise that they were fed buffalo, since it was so plentiful. And while the railroads would eventually lead to the decline of the bison population, I think that it's a fitting meat to use to combine both my Irish and Western heritages.

Irish American Railroad Builder Stew

2 lbs buffalo skirt steak
4 oz. bacon (Irish or American)
1 small yellow onion
1 leek
1 lb carrots
1/2 cup Jameson's Irish Whisky
1 bottle beer (I know, it's usually Guinness these days, but here's where I add an Oregon twist: I'm using a 22 oz. bottle of Rogue Brewery's Kells Irish Style Lager -- TFR hates Guinness)
1 pint beef broth
1 bunch celery
1/2 head cabbage
4 large russet potatos
1 lb carrots
salt
pepper


Wash leeks, cut to separate the white bulbs from the green stalks. Cop the leek bulbs, the onion, and the bacon. Cut the buffalo into 1-inch cubes. Cut the carrots into 1-inch long pieces. Cut the cabbage head into quarters, slice each quarter into 1-inch wide strips. Cut the potatos into 1-inch cubes, DO NOT PEEL. Chop the parsley fine.

Place the bacon into a cast iron Dutch oven and heat over medium hih heat. when the bacon is beginning to brown, add the onion and leek bulbs. Sautee intil the onions are clear, add the buffalo cubes, salt and pepper lightly and brown. Degalze with Jameson's and light to burn off the alcohol. Pour in the beer and broth, add the leek stalks, cabbage, carrots, potatos, and parsley. Salt and pepper lightly, bring to a boild. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 2 hours. Stir in the slurry, bring the stew back to a boil, then remove from heat and serve with Irish soda bread or American Baking Powder Biscuits.

The Worst Cuts Are The Cheapest

Last night I made my Beef Oregon, A variation on Boef Bourgognon that highlights the ingredients of my home state. As usual with my recipes, I modified it a bit -- honestly, I usually just go with what I know about a dish in my head, I only commint them to paper/electrons so that I can share them. I left out the rosemary, added parsley, and used a water/flour slurry instead of the butter/flower mix (not quite a roux since it isn't heated) in order to make it leaner, but it still came out really damned good.

One of the things I LOVE about this dish is that it can take the toughest cut of meat, and after cooking it for several hours in an acidic wine-base broth, it will be as tender and succulent as possible -- oh, yes, very tender indeed.

Last night was the first time I made it since The Lad started eating solid foods (and will probably be the last batch until fall -- it's a cool weather dish in my book). He went nuts for it, especially the meat.

The Feared Redhead jokes that our son will have the most discriminating palate of any child around. She teasingly postulated the following conversation:

Other Little Kid: My sandwich is a Peanut Butter and Jelly with the crust cut off! What's yours?
The Lad: Grill-Seared Flank Steak with crimini mushrooms, blue cheese, baby greens, and a mustard vinaigrette on rustic Ciabatta.
Other Little Kid: ........ Want to trade?

Rewind My Spring!

Yesterday I blogged on the signs of Spring I've been seeing.

Today, those budding trees, daffodils, and I awoke to this:



Yes, that's snow on top of my car. Big, heavy, wet, snow. Only an inch, and it melted with the sunrise, but snow nonetheless.

In Oregon, March may come in like a lion and go out like a lamb, but in the interim, it reels about like a drunken mental patient.

Tiny Monkey Wrenches

I just got off the phone with the two childcare centers at the local Community College. At one, the minimum age they accept is 2 1/2, at the other, it's 3. At the first, I'll have to wait until this time next year, then apply to have The Lad cared for there for my last year of the culinary program. For the first year, I'm on my own.

Pray we can find affordable daycare, without it, I can forget about school.

Feeling Crabby

Well, I made the crab ravioli last night, and it was delicious. There were only a couple of kinks in the whole thing, but try as they might, they didn't ruin the meal. The first was that I made the ravioli a day ahead of time to save me some time last night. TFR has the Lad with her until 5:30 or later on monday nights, and last night I took over childcare duties at 3:30, so it was a good idea -- in theory. The problem was that the ravioli stuck together, and about a third of them tore apart when I tried to separate them. I refuse to let that good crab meat go to waste, so tonight I'll probably make some sort of crab dumpling soup. So let that be a warning to you -- make the raviolis and IMMEDIATELY cook them. The second bit of advice is to make sure you roll the ravioli dough as thin as humanly possible -- use a pasta press if you have one. My dough was a wee bit thick, and that made for very doughy ravioli. But the filling and the pesto were both excellent. The wine was disappointing -- we had the Eversham Wood 2004 Blanc du Puits Sec. It was too acidic, and strong -- there was no complexity to it, no subtelty. It was VERY disappointing. The salad went over well. I started with fresh baby greens, and added cucumber, heirloom tomatos, and watermelon radishes.

So while the dinner was a bit disappointing because of some of the goof-ups, I'd have to say the recipe itself was a success. The romano held the crab together well without stealing the show -- you really tasted the dingeness. and the pesto was the perfect complement to it -- fresh but subtle. So without further ado, the recipe:

Dungeness Crab Ravioli with Filbert Pesto

Ingredients:

Pasta Dough
1 1/2 cups semolina
1/2 tbsp salt
2 eggs, beaten
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp cold water

Crab Filling
1 packed cup (approximately 1/2 lb.) chopped Dungeness crab meat
1 1/2 tbsp finely chopped parsley
1 1/2 tbsp grated fresh Parmesan Reggiano cheese
1 cup grated fresh Romano cheese
1 pinch salt

Filbert Pesto
2 cups fresh basil leaves, washed, dried and lightly packed
2 garlic cloves
1/4 cup filberts, roasted and with skins removed
1/2 cup hazelnut oil
Salt and Pepper to taste

Preparing the pasta:
In a small glass bowl, mix the salt and semolina. Stir in the eggs, oil, and water. Remove from bowl onto a lightly floured (with semolina) board and knead until elastic. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 20-30 minutes. While dough is resting, prepare filling and pesto.

Preparing the filling:
In a bowl, combine the crab, cheese, and parsley (the finer the parsley is chopped the better). Add just a pinch of salt, and mix thoroughly.

Preparing the pesto:
Place the basil, garlic, and hazelnuts in a food processor and pulse 3-5 times to start the chopping process. Turn the machine on and drizzle in the olive oil in a thin stream. Season with salt and pepper.

Making the ravioli:
Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Place the dough on a lightly floured flat surface, and roll flat, as thin as possible. It should be thin enough that you can see through it if the surface beneath is highly contrasted. Use a medium ravioli press to cut out your raviolis. Using a spoon, scoop out 1 ½ to 2 teaspoons of crab filling, press together, and place one scoop each on half of the ravioli cutouts. Place the other cutouts on top, pinch together, and roll the sides. Once all ravioli are assembled, drop into the boiling water. Cook until the ravioli float, about 5-10 minutes. Pasta should be al dente. Strain the ravioli in a colander, move them to a bowl, and stir in the pesto. Garnish with fresh parsley or basil.

Makes about 20 ravioli, serves 2.

Passion and Necessity

Today I downloaded and completed the application for the Culinary Arts program at Lane Community College. I'm taking the first steps towards making the best of the situation I'm in. I noticed that part of the application process is an interview. In anticipation of the kinds of things they may ask me if I make it to the interview stage, I have been pondering my love of cooking and cuisine, and the path I took to reach apoint where I knew it was something I'd want to pursue as a career.

I've known how to cook almost my whole life. Both of my parents were (and my mother still is) excellent cooks, and they not only allowed my sister and I to help in the kitchen, they encouraged it. They taught us the basics -- safety, cleaning up, measuring, controlling temperature, how different ingredients and different methods of cooking effected the outcome of the dish. I think that's why I'm such a huge Alton Brown fan -- his show is about HOW to cook, not just WHAT to cook.

But for a very long time, cooking was, shall we say, a pleasant necessity. You have to eat, you might as well eat something that tastes good. Sure, I enjoyed it, took pride in having a couple of dishes that were pretty good (I was once threatened with bodily harm if I showed up at a particular event WITHOUT my homemade Butterscotch Skor Bar Crunch ice cream), and enjoyed contributing to cookouts for friends, etc. But it was still just food.

I remember the day I was awakened to the idea that there was more to food than just eating. Well, I don't remember the exact date, but I remember the evening. I was living in San Diego, California, and had several circles of friends with whom I associated. One of these was a group of gaming geeks (guilty as charged). Among our various activities, we often hung out at a place called Gelato Vero, on the corner of Washington Avenue and India Street. We would usually smoke our pipes on the outdoor patio, drink coffee, eat gelato, and play Hearts. Often we would be joined by a young man named Davide and his girlfriend (wife?). Davide was a pleasant young man, and best of all, he owned a restaurant, All' Italiana in La Mesa. So when I wanted to go out to eat with my friend Shawn and his wife (from another circle of friends), I decided to go give Davide our business.

I don't know if he's moved since then, but back in those days, Davide's place was tiny. Ten tables rops. Davide was the chef, he had one sous chef, his girlfriend bussed/did dishes, and his sister was the waitress. The place was decorated with your stereotypical Italian Restaurant theme -- posters of Italy, candles, roped chanti bottles. At least the linen was white, not checkered. But what it lacked in originality, it more than made up for in warmth and intimacy.

And the food! Davide learned to cook at his family's resort restyaurant on Italy's adriatic coast, and he learned well. We started with his Tomato Basil Soup. I've never tasted its equal. Then I had his linguini with clams in red sauce (yes, RED sauce!). In those days my wine palate was sweeter than now, so I had a glass (or two) of Lambrusco Amabile. We spent the evening talking and laughing and eating. And for the first time, as the meal ended, I realized that not only had it made me full, it had made me happy. My mood was visibly improved by the meal, and by the experience surrounding the meal. I'm sure I'd had many such evenings before, but this was the first time I'd become consciously aware of the power of cuisine -- not just food, but cuisine -- to affect people on a level beyond just sating hunger. This was the moment I fell in love with cuisine. Eventually I honored Davide by choosing his restaurant as the place where I proposed to The Feared Redhead.

But while I was waking up to the enjoyment of cuisine, and dabbled a bit in making it myself, I still was nowhere near the place where I had a desire or the skills to pursue it as a career, or even a serious hobby, for that matter. Several events had to transpire before that would become a reality.

The first was my marriage to The Feared Redhead. This helped in several ways. First, it got me out of my parents' house. I was one of those twenty-somethings that had moved back in with my parents. And while I contributed to the household, my parents did a significant portion of the cooking. Second, it gave me an audience. Even during the times when I had moved out on my own as a single adult, I didn't often do much serious cooking, because I was the only one who would be eating it. I call this the bachelor syndrome -- the only reason to go to the trouble of cooking seriously was to entertain friends or impress women. Surprisingly, even after marriage, the "impress women" motivation stuck -- I wanted TFR to be impressed, to be pleased by what I cooked for her, to lust after me for my culinary skills. Sadly, I did not always succeed as dazzlingly as I desired. But this led to the third benefit that marriage provided for my cooking skills -- a resident food critic. The Feared Redhead is not feared without good reason, and as a typical redhead, she is not averse to expressing her opinion. When she likes my food, she will praise me. But when she doesn't, she'll communicate that as well, and in detail -- not just "ick", but "too salty", "too sweet", "too dry", etc. Her candor regarding my efforts has taught me how to take constructive criticism, and has provided the additional benefit of refining both my skills and my recipes. I can list several recipes that left her far less than impressed the first time I tried them, but that are among her favorites now.

The second event was our return to Oregon. As previous posts have made apparent, I am fiercely proud of this state. It is the only place I've ever felt at home, and I have embraced everything about it I can. Part of my development as a cook has been specifically to develop recipes that highlight as many Oregon ingredients as possible.

And the third major event was when I took up blogging. This blog has afforded me an outlet for the expression of my passion beyond cooking for TFR and occasionally for friends. Here I can share my recipes, here I can read the praise of gracious readers, and here I pick up tips and insightes that further hone my skills.

That's how I find myself where I am. By sharing with others -- those I love, those I respect, those I admire -- and my receiving in return love, admiration, and respect, and by developing a sense of what I like, and what fires my passions, I have realized that this is what I want to do with my life. I've taken what was at first a "pleasant necessity", that then progressed into a passion, and am ready to turn it into a passionate necessity. I must work to provide a living for myself and my family. I might as well make a living by working at my passion.

Just So You Know....

From my last post, some of you may have gathered that I'm a bit of what I call a regionalist. That is to say, I try to give preference to Oregon wineries and food producers in my cooking and eating. It also means that when I visit other places, I try to sample the local offerings there. When in Rome, and all that.

In the past few years, Oregon has started to develop a culture of good food and wine. The 45th Parallel runs through Oregon, placing us at roughly the same latitude as Bordeaux and Burgundy. Oregon is only the 5th largest wine producing state in the US, and there are indivisual wineries in California that outproduce our entire state, but what we lack in volume we make up for in quality. Our dominant grapes are Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, but you'll find many different varietals here. We have the strictest wine labelling laws in the country. One of theones I find most interesting and admirable is the ban on using foreign regional wine names -- you'll never see an Oregon Bordeaux or Burgundy or Champagne. Oregon wines are named either for their varietal, their color (Girardet's Grand Rouge is a highly drinkable blended table red -- not memorable, but agreeable), or any other fanciful naming convention the weinery desires, but NOT for somewhere outside of Oregon. If it's labelled a varietal, such as Pinot Noir, the rules are stricter. A varietal label must include the appelation (growing region within Oregon) from which it comes, and except in the case of Cabernet Sauvignon, must contain at least 90% of the stated varietal.

Along with the wine, we make excellent beers, and our mild climate and fertile soild makes this an ideal place to grow produce, fruits, and berries, and we have recently become renowned for our (non-hallucinogenic) mushrooms. Rogue Creamery, in Southern Oregon, has over the past few years won several international competitions for Best Blue Cheese in the world.

I recently watched an episode of $40 Dollars a Day in which Rachel visited Salem, our capital. While I was pleased with the comparisons she made between Oregon and Tuscany, Napa Valley, California, has adopted for itself the name "America's Tuscany", and perhaps rightly so. I'd actually compare us more to, say, Provence, or even more like Alsace. The lifestyle here is more laid back, there's a mix of old west rural and hippy which, while politically causes me frustration at times, makes for a friendly, relaxed, warm attitude. The old "Welcome to Oregon, now leave" reputation we cultivated for years has faded, and was a front to begin with -- Oregonians are actually quite hospitable.

Not That Anyone Cares

A couple of years ago, before TFR got pregnant, before I even blogged, I found something I'd been wanting for some time at a flea market -- a nice wine rack. It dodn't LOOK nice at the time -- it was water stained and the varnish was cracked and chipped -- but it has a solid teak tray top, and holds 16 bottles. I bought it for $4, took it home, and restored it. I used a simple oil for the finish: no varnish, urethane, etc. My goal was to eventually stock it with wines from Oregon wineries we've visited. Pregnancy and parenthood intervened, and our winery touring has been scaled back.

But I have managed to stock it with Oregon wines, and while only one bottle was purchased at a winery, several bottles are from wineries we've been to. It took me time, since I can't afford 16 bottles of wine all at once, and has required some persistence, but I've got it stocked. And while it is dominate (like Oregon's wine industry) by Pinots, there are some other wines in it that are quite nice as well. I don't exclusively drink Oregon wines, but I do exclusively stock the rack with Oregon wines, and we do drink mostly such.

So I thought I'd share with you my collection. Not being a wine expert, but having my own esthetics in mind, I decided to stock 4 white wines, 4 blushes, 4 reds, and 4 dessert wines. I also have 1 semi-sparkling sitting on top of the tray, next to the decanter and rabbit.

Wineries we've actually visited are in italics.

Whites
Fries Family Cellars 2004 Duck Pond Pinot Gris
Eversham Wood 2004 Blanc du Puits Sec (a gewurtzstraminer/Pinot Gris blend)
Saginaw Vineyards 2003 Estate Grown Pinot Gris
St. Josefs 2000 Pinot Gris

Blushes
High Pass Winery 2004 Pinot Noir Rose
Girardet 2003 Whit Zinfandel
Saginaw Vineyards 2002 Pinot Noir Blanc
Chateau Lorane 2003 Gamay Noir Rose

Reds
Girardet 2001 Barrel Select Pinot Noir (our favorite)
King Estate 2002 Pinot Noir
Abacella 2003 Tempranillo
Amity 2004 Gamay Noir

Dessert
Montinore Estates 2003 Late Harvest Riesling
Made in Oregon Cellars Nog (a blended sweet red intended for mulling at the holidays)
Chateau Lorane Life Force Raspberry Mead
Honeywood Blackberry Wine

Semi-Sparkling
Silvan Ridge 2004 Early Muscat

Good News!

They moved my brother-in-law out of the ICU this weekend into a regular hospital bed. They may release him as early as this week. The doctors have been amazed by his progress. Thank you all for your support.

Weekend Update

I took some pictures yesterday using my camera phone. They're a bit fuzzy (I really need to get a digital camera), but I hope you enjoy anyway.

'Twas a busy weekend indeed, but ofr once, a fairly enjoyable one. Saturday started out as normal -- I dropped The Feared Redhead off at her work, then stopped at Dutch Brothers on my way home for my traditional Saturday Morning Latte'. The Lad, the Laundry, the Dishes, and the Vacuuming kept me busy the rest of the day -- no time to go shopping for dinner. So my idea was to stop at the Fish Merchant (our local fishmongers) to pick up something for dinner after picking up TFR. I ficured I could grab some shrimp or fish to cook. Fate was to intervene, this time on our behalf. When we pulled up to the shop, we saw that the giant stainless steel gas-fired kettle out front was steaming away. This time of year in the Pacific Northwest, that means only one thing -- Dungeness! That night, crab sat happily in our tummies that had just that very day met their maker. I also picked up some pre-shelled meat, and later this week plan to try my hand at Dungeness Ravioli with a Filbert Pesto.

Sunday Morning, while TFR and the lad slept in, I got the grocery shopping done for the rest of the week. Then, we headed out for a day in the country. We live only a couple of miles from one of the most scenic roads in America -- Highway 126. To the west of Eugene, it makes its way over the Coast Range to the Oregon Coast at Florence. To the east, it heads up into the Cascades along the McKenzie River:







This time of year is a great time to see the small waterfalls along the way. We stopped at one to take the above pictures and some of the waterfall itself:



after running under the road it fed into the river:



On the way home, we saw some beautiful views of Mt. Washington and Three-Fingered Jack, but the clouds didn't provide enough of a contrast to get a good shot. The most beautiful view of the day was of a smaller mountain we past as the sun was setting. We, most of that mountain, and the other mountains around it were in shadow. But one snow-covered, bare, rocky slope faced to the west, and the setting sun lit the high points of the slope, painting them with a fiery golden color that was just gorgeous. The following picture doesn't do it justice:



Soon after that, we decided to stop to grap a pop. This is where the story gets weird, but in a cool way. We pulled off the road in Blue River, a small town just off the highway that is about 3 blocks long by 2 blocks wide. We pulled into the gas station about 10 minutes before it closed (at 6 PM), and parked in front of an old school bus (a 1950 White) that I call "That's Far Enough" (Kudos to anyone who gets why that's appropriate for the Eugene area):



The gas station's selection of beverages was quite limited, and it took me several treks to the car to figure out what TFR wanted to drink. It took longer when I had to use the restroom. In the meantime, TFR let Little Big Dog out to potty. When I returned to the car, TFR was standing out in the street, and said to me, in an excited voice, "Brian, come here, you have to see this!" I went to see what she was talking about. There, on the side of the bus:



Were the words "Lorane School District 36". Lorane is a small town SW of Eugene where my father spent his teenage years. In those days, it had its own high school, but nowadays kids in Lorane go to High School in Crow.

When we got back into town and cell coverage, we called my mom, then my uncle. It turns out that Lorane HS had three(!) buses, and the bus we saw in Blue River was the very bus my father and uncle rode to school every day during their high school years. The sense of connection was really neat, and a little eery.

VP of Death

Thanks for the Memory to Vulture Six.

Guns don't kill people, Dick Cheney kills people.

BS, PHD (BullSh**, Piled Higher and Deeper)

Thanks for the Memory to GroovyVic at Fiddle Dee Dee and to Vic (just Vic) at Darth Apathy.

If you still require proof that in this day and age, receiving an advanced degree does not necessarily guarantee that one will in the course of that education increase ones native intelligence, read no further than this article by Michelle Malkin.

This is why I'm going to home school The Lad.

I shall be forthright and acknowledge up front that I (quite obviously to those who know me) disagree strongly with this man's politics. Be that as it may, there are concerns raised by the transcript of this little "episode" that go much deeper than honest disagreement over politics.

To begin with, I find it disturbing that an individual who is tasked with shaping young minds would display such a lack of command of both critical thinking and the English language. Education is, or at least should be, teaching a child as much about how to think as what to think, as much about how to learn as what to know. Yes, the subject material taught is important, and it is good for children to learn the facts. But if you give a child the skills and encourage in a child the inclinations necessary for learning -- curiosity, thesis and synthesis, critical thinking and logic, research skills, and a love of that sudden bright burst of amazement when you make a discovery -- then they WILL learn the the facts. Train a child to investigate, and the evidence is there waiting for them.

And that is how I intend to educate The Lad. Yes, admittedly, I will teach him certain subjects with a slant that is biased by my own world view. But if in the process, I teach him how to think for himself, and the day comes when he disagrees with me on a given subject, if he can present to me a rational, intelligent reason for his dissention, I will have done him a service, and he will have "done me proud".

But it is obvious that Mr. Bennish is either unable to or uninterested in accomplishing this goal. His entire screed is intended only to vent his personal opinions and hatreds, and to indoctrinate his class in them. Takes your notes, children, write them down. Did you get that? It's spelled H-i-t-l-e-r. And when the student who recorded the episode did speak up, he was not asked to or given the chance to explain his position, he was simply talked down to by this teacher.

Furthermore, while I myself am unable to listen to the recording, and can only read the transcript, I have been told that the teacher's tone and volume display a significant amount of, shall we say, Sturm und Drang. If that is true, that disturbs me as well. Such antics may be effective tools of televangelists to gain donations, but fire and brimstone is a bit out of place in the classroom, except perhaps to address unruly pupils. The implication I've gathered from several (albeit biased) sources is that the man sounds not just angry, but unhinged.

I have to ask myself if this is the kind of individual I want in close contact with children, especially my own. And I find I am ready with an answer to myself: an emphatic no.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up!

Thanks for the Memory to Vulture Six.

Oh my. From Drudge:

NBC White House correspondent David Gregory, who apologized last week for calling White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan a "jerk," called into MSNBC's IMUS Thursday morning -- apparently drunk!

I really have nothing to add. This one speaks for itself Apparently, they're drinking more than the KoolAde in the MSM these days.

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

I've Been Tagged!

GroovyVic over at Fiddle Dee Dee has tagged me. Hmmm... seven songs I'm listening to, huh?

Well, lately in the car I've been playing one Johnny Cash CD over and over, but the songs on it I especially listen to are:

1. Folsom Prison Blues
2. A Boy Named Sue
3. Sunday Morning Coming Down
4. John Henry's Hammer
5. One Piece at a Time
6. Ring of Fire
7. The other songs don't really rate such a list, but I'll add one more song I've been listening to INVOLUNTARILY. It comes from one of The Lad's toys and goes:

I'm Mack the Truck and my wheels go round.
I lift my load both up and down.
Honk honk, beep beep, oh look at me,
trucks are busy as can be.

Not as Bas as It Could Have Been

I found out yesterday that my job is one of the jobs slated to be eliminated in the last round of layoffs, so I'll be employed until July 1. So that's going to help.

Java Jones

I love coffee, but (oddly enough for a Pacific Northwesterner), Im not as deadly serious about it as I am about Scotch or beer. I approach it more like wine, only moreso: As long as it's not bad, I'll drink it, even if it's not excellent, and when I do have time and/or money for the really good stuff, I count my blessings. Don't get me wrong, I love a good Americano, but I'll drink the stuff they provide us for free here at work.

Which is why today sucks. The coffee maker at work is not, well, WORKING, and I didn't have tome to stop at Dutch Brothers (a local drive-thru coffee stand chain where their idea of "Just a cup of coffee" is Americano -- they have no percolators or drip coffee makers, just espresso machines), because it was out of the way, so I'm left drinking tea.

I'm not complaining about the tea -- it's Stash's White Tea & Green Tea fusion, a very delicate yet flavorful blend that is one of the few teas I enjoy without sugar, but its tea. Which means that it has all the caffeine I usually get in my first sip of morning coffee.

Not a pretty way to start the morning.

Pun Fun

If a jazz singer weaves the telling of a joke into the impromptu vocals of a song, is that a form of "scat"ological humor?

Third Times Really Can Be The Charm

A while back I mentioned that I was working on but hadn't yet perfected a pork medallion recipe with a Northwest twist. Well, this weekend I kept an old cliche alive. The trick was switching from a white wine to a red for the reduction.

This dish goes well with the rice dish I shared in the post I link above. Also, it has a long prep time, so if you start following the recipe below about the time you put the broth for the rice recipe on the stove, they'll come out about the same time.

Pair the dish with a soft red like a pinot noir. If you can, use the same wine for the recipe as you serve with it.

You will need a meat tenderizing hammer, kitchen twine for tying the pork, a large metal-handled skillet that can go from stovetop to oven, and a food processor, as well as your cutting board, knife, measuring cup, turning tongs, and a spoon for stirring.

Ingredients:
4 medium-sized pork chops, trimmed of fat
2 peeled & cored grannysmith apples
One quarter of a sweet yellow onion
1 tbsp fresh rosemary
2 tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup raw filberts (hazelnuts)
1/4 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup red wine
salt
pepper

Using a meat tenderizer, pount the pork chops out until they are flat and about 1/8-1/4 inch thick. Wrap in plastic wrap and let the chops rest in the refrigeratior for about 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.

In a food processor with the chopping blade, combine the onion, apples, filberts, and rosemary. Pulse until the ingredients form a slightly chunky paste.

Lay the pork chops flat. spread the paste ofer one side of each chop, roll the chop into a roll and tie with the kitchen twine, using several loops along the length of each roll. salt and pepper the outside of the roll generously.

In a skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium high heat. Once the oil is hot, place the pork in the skillet, searing all sides. After the last sides have seared, place the skillet in the oven for 10-15 minutes.

Remove the skillet from the oven and return it to the stovetop over medium heat. Remove the pork rolls to a cutting board and allow them to rest. There will be a lot of liquid left over from them in the skillet -- that is a good thing. To the skillet add the dried cranberries and the wine, let it come to a boil and reduce by half, then remove from the heat.

Carefully slice the pork into approximately 1 inch medallions. For the best results, cut at the inentations left by the string loops. Plate 3-4 medallions on each plate, spoon sauce over the medallions, and garnish with sprigs of rosemary.

Serves about 4.

Last night I paired this with a nice soft red recommended by the wine steward at our local market, my wild rice recipe, and a salad made with baby greens and other veggies. For dessert we had strawberries with dark chocolate frosting (yes, frosting. Trust me). Very yummy.