Quote of the Day

"Condoleezza Rice, returning from her Sunday interview on “Meet the Press” and preparing for a trip to Great Britain later this week, could not be reached for comment."

-- Mr. Atoz at Agent Bedhead, in response to a comment from Madonna stating that “…In America, men are still afraid. And I don’t think women are too comfortable with the idea of a female in charge. I find that really amazing.”

UPDATE:
We now have a tie. As Mr. Atoz pointed out, the Madonna quote was a bookend to a comment from Sharon Stone: “Hillary still has sexual power and I don’t think people will accept that,” explained the former sex symbol. “It’s too threatening.”

Gullyborg decided that if Madonna could bookend Sharon, he could bookend Mr. Atoz:

"Monica Lewinsky was unavailable for comment."

(Original post was at 2:30 PM PDT, Mar 27 2006)

I'm Honored

I learn the coolest things from my Sitemeter visitors. Apparently I'm the #2 result if you Google stupid greenpeace (sic).

Rest in Peace

Thanks for the Memory to Gullyborg at Resistance is Futile.

Caspar Weinberger has passed away. May he rest in peace. He deserves it -- he helped Reagan make sure we all live in peace.

There's a Hole in My Bucket, Vincente, Vincente!

This morning I had an interesting conversation via the internet with The Maximum Leader. I expressed to him my displeasure over our inability to control our borders. He pointed out, quite rightly, that we've NEVER really controlled our borders. In fact, almost exactly 100 years ago, one of the biggest issues facing the US government was Pancho Villa and his incursions from Mexico into the United States. A century later, our immigration problems are being caused by a different type of incursion, but while they're still mostly from Mexico, the ones that are scarier still are the possible incursions by terrorist cells from other parts of the world. The importance of stopping these incursions and securing our borders are more important now than even in the days of Pancho Villa.

We began discussing what we think are the steps needed to secure our borders. We disagreed on the importance of a secure system of walls and fences, but agreed on the need to increase Border Patrol Personnel, and to equip them with the tools and the legal clout to really enforce our borders. I am convinced that this is essential for stopping the influx of illegal immigrants. It isn't the only thing that needs to be done, but any other efforts at curtailing illegal immigration are useless without a strong, secure border.

I proposed another measure, with which The Maximum Leader disagreed, and I see his point. Earlier in the morning I had commented over at Mean Mr. Mustard in a post on Immigration Reform. In it I suggested that diplomatic and economic pressure on the countries from which the majority of the illegal immigrants come. Mike again had to remind me that the largest source of illegals is Mexico, and there is not amount of pressure we could put on Mexico that would outweigh the economic benefits they gain from all the money sent back to Mexico by the illegals. He argued that the only thing that will stop the flow is economic development in Mexico. For starters, he advocated more investment in Mexico by US Corporations.

There was a time when I was much more sympathetic towards illegal immigrants, I made a similar argument, and to a certain extent, I still agree, though now I'm more inclined to side with Mike in advocating investment than I am to go back to believing, as I did then, in Federal aid to Mexico. But I have one big caveat: While living in San Diego, I had occasion to talk to MExicans quite often, including discussions of Mexican politics. To anyone living near the border, it wqas obvious that corruption is rampant in Mexican politics, at every level. And we're talking about a degree of corruption that our worst Scandals in the US can't even come CLOSE to matching. As things stand in Mexico, any economic development is highly likely to end up doing little more than further enrichening and empoweirng those in Mexico who are already rich and powerful. Without some real reform at all levels of government, things won't get that much better in Mexico. And until they get better, illegal immigration to the United States will still be an attractive option. And it's a vicious cycle, because as long as the United States lies waiting as an attractive destination for illegal aliens, as long as they know they can seek a better life by crossing the border, there is little incentive to reform Mexico. Why do the hard work of improving Mexico when going Norte is so easy?

Which places the burden squarely on our shoulders. If our borders are to be secure, we must secure them. If illegal immigration is to be curtailed, we must curtail it. In the long run, not only is this the sane and necessary policy for the United States to follow, it will provide the impetus for the citizens of Latin America, especially of Mexico, to take the initiative and clean their own houses. And that way leads to the opportunity for real economic development, for jobs and opportunities at home in Mexico. The only real losers in such a plan are those in Mexico already getting rich off the suffering of their people.

Is it any wonder that some of the loudest voices coming from Mexico in opposition to US immigration reform are from those in power?

Quote of the Week: Rock and a Hard Place Edition

"[I]f this thing passes on the floor, the Republicans deserve to lose. That much is obvious.

I'm still unsure, however, whether I want them to. "

-- Mean Mr. Mustard

Thanks For Asking

Yes, as a matter of fact, I AM So.Freaking.Ready.For.Summer.

It's not just about the weather for me. It's about the fact that I haven't had a real summer since before the last Olympics. Last summer, The Lad was barely of his apnea/Bradi monitor, was needing to be fed every 2 hours at the LONGEST, and The Feared Redhead was pumping -- this limited our travel range AND our time away from the house (or other source of electricity and privacy). The summer before THAT, it was job hunting as a result of the pending layoff, and dealing with TFR's hyperemesis. Most of my time was spent by the bedside of a very sick pregnant woman.

So for both of us, this summer is being looked forward to quite expectantly. The Lad is old enough to take camping, and for drives in the country. We're already thinking about where we want to go camping, and I'm starting to get the Itch.

And yes, the weather has been part of the problem. But not because it's miserable. Au contraire, we're having quite a pleasant early spring. Today, despite a bit of chill in the air, the sun is shining brightly. Yesterday was similar, and warmer, and we enjoyed a lovely walk through Alton Baker Park. But it's still too cold for camping and other TRULY Summer activities, so the fact that it's pleasant enough to hint at what's to come, but still cool enough to make me wait is driving me CRAZY.

In fact, Saturday I was singing along with THomas the Tank Engine's theme music, but changed the lyrics to "They're 2, they're 4, they're 6, they're 8, shunting trucks and hauling freight. Watch daddy go 'round the bend, Thomas and his friends."

I do need to get out.

I'm It!

Thanks for the Memory to GroovyVic at Fiddle Dee Dee.

You Are Coke

A true original and classic, you represent the best of everything you can offer. Just the right amount of sweet, just the right amount of energy... you're the life of the party. Your best soda match: Mountain Dew Stay away from:Dr Pepper

What Kind of Soda Are You?

Honey Bee Mine

Last week I mentioned Terroir, the idea that due to factors like soil composition, location has an effect on the way wine, and indeed food in general, tastes. One of the most common foodstuffs of which this is true, yet often is overlooked, is honey. Interestingly, when I opened my email this morning, I had received a link to an online culinary publication that highlights honey this month. That's right -- the type of flower from which the bees extract nectar has an effect on the flavor of the honey. And bees being the little energy conservationists they are, if you place hives near a large source of one particular flower, odds are strongly in favor of that flower predominating the honey produced.

As the article alludes to but does not state, the most common honey in the United States is clover and/or alfalfa honey. There are a few regional favorites of which I'm aware -- in California, Orange Blossom honey is popular. In some other western states, sagebrush honey is. Here in the Northwest, it's blackberry honey.

But as the article also mentions, wildflowers make a dark, sharp-tasting honey. And growing up in Southern Oregon, I developed a taste for honey from an all-too-common local variety of, ahem, "wlidflower". It' s a local secret that not many people even here in Oregon know about, but for those of us raised rurally, especially in the southern end of the state, it can be a passion. The wildflower in question?

Poison Oak.

You heard me right. Poison oak is indeed a flowering plant, and there is SCADS of the stuff all over Southwestern Oregon. And yes, bees produce honey from its flowers. The honey is, like most wildflower honey, darker and sharper than clover honey. It's also a bit stronger, with a wilder flavor, almost spicy or musky. It's an acquired taste, but once acquired, it will haunt you, because it can be hard to find.

But over the weekend I discovered that Market of Choice is stocking it. Glory Bee, a local honey company, produces it, and I knew this, but not many stores will stiock it. MoC has taken a chance, and from what the clerk was telling me, it's getting the same "I've found the Grail!" reaction from other shoppers that it got from me yesterday.

Wine Whine

As mentioned in previous posts, we have a local market chain here in the Eugene-Springfield area called Market of Choice which is a hybrid between a regular small grocery chain and a whole Foods-type store. It carries a large selection of organic produce, free range meat, aned other health foods, as well as homeopathic remedies, etc.

It also, as I've said, has one of the best wine sections around, and a fantastic cheese department. Every store has a cheese steward and a wine steward on staff to assist customers in selecting the right wine or cheese for a given occcasion or meal. One of the things I appreciate about them is that they are happy to bear your budget in mind, and will try to find the right selection within your stated price range -- not to push the most expensive wine or cheese they can on you.

The wine steward at the location nearest our house (the MoC on Franklin, for my local readers) is a young man named Will. and when I say young man, I mean young even compared to my not-that-old age -- he's probably in his late 20's (bobgirrl, I'm looking at you). But despite his youth, the kid knows what the hell he's talking about when it comes to wine. He has recommended numerous wines to me, and not once have I regretted taking his advice. And calling the position wine steward may be a bit restrictive -- he's actually the assistant beverage department manager, and he is just as good at picking beer. If we were ancient Greeks, he'd be favored by both Ceres AND Dyonisius. That's a pretty happy subset of the Pantheon to have on your side.

This past Monday I was in another part of town, and had a limited amount of time to shop, so I stopped at another Market of Choice. One of the things I needed to pick up was a bottle of wine. I intended it to go with the Shrimp Campeche, but we went with margaritas instead, so I ended up serving it with another Mexican meal last night. I spoke to the wine person at this other store, and explained my dilemma: I needed a white wine that would go well with a spicy meal, and my wife thinks Gewurtztraminer (which I consider ideal with spicy food) is too sweet. He recommended a White Burgundy, which he said is essentially a Chardonnay. I told him I try to pick Oregon wines as much as possible, but he assured me that this French wine was superior.

Now, I try to avoid buying French products as much as possible -- I come as close to boycotting France as you can get without actually actively boycotting France. I respect French cuisine, but I believe their government is intentionally charting a policy course to set itself as a foil to US interests, and I am disinclined to financially patronize a semi-hostile nation. But I occasionally relent, and he was adamant that this was the right wine for me, so I bought it. Last night I served it. We had blue corn nachos with black beans, white cheddar, and a Mexican-spiced chicken sausage. I made sure I tried the wine both before and after eating any of the food.

I was unimpressed. It lacked the mellow richness I'm used to from Oregon and California Chardonnays. All I tasted was tartness and up front acid, with maybe a little bit of fruit trying to fight its way through to my taste buds. There was no depth, no complexity. It was boring, and the only redeeming feature was that it contained alchohol. It wasn't even that thirst quenching.

I should have listened to the warning signals in my head when I noticed that he thought it would be better simply because it was French. Look, the French make some great wine, but that doesn't exempt them from occasionally making swill.

Lesson learned: If I'm going to take someone's advice on somehting like wine, I want them to have proven to me their ability in this regard.

My goal in going to culinary school is not only to become a chef, but one day to own my own restaurant. In the past couple of years, as my home cooking has blossomed, I've recognized the importance of serving the right wine with a meal. Hence, I have reached the conclusion that one of my priorities if I ever do have my own restaurant will be to find the right Sommelier -- someone with not only a good knowledge of wine and food, but also someone with whom I establish a rapport, and who shares my vision for the cuisine of the restaurant. And yes, in this case, it will be someone who understands how good Oregon wines can be, and is willing to give them preference.

Why, you ask?

One of the oenological concepts that the French established is terroir, the idea that "the special characteristics of geography tbestowed individuality upon the food product" (to paraphrase from Wikipedia). I used to dismiss the idea, but the more I drink wine, the more apparent it becomes. And I've become convinced that the concept applies to other foodstuffs, not just wine. This has led me to believe that the best wine to pair with food from a given region is wine from that same region. And since my goal is to highlight Oregon food ingredients in my menu, it only makes sense to pair them with Oregon wines. It's not that French wines or California wines or australian wines suck (they don't), it's that they'd be better paired with French or California or Australian foods.

The short term lesson learned is that when I need help picking a wine, I'm going back to the MoC on Franklin and talking to Will.

Another Wine Heaven

I got into a discussion of wine regions in the comments to this post over at the Llama Butchers, and it got me thinking about all of the wineries right here in the Eugene area. There are some good ones, and so I decided to list them and see which ones I've been to. I've italicized those:

Benton-Lane
Briggs Hill
Chateau Lorane
Eugene Wine Celllars
High Pass
Iris Hill
King Estate
LaVelle
Rainsong
Saginaw Vineyards
Secret House
Sweet Cheeks
Sylvan Ridge/Hinman
Territorial
Pfeiffer

Update:
What do you think, folks? Was I being oversensitive?

Fuzzy Furry Logic

Thanks for the Memory to Courtney at Midvale School for the Gifted Alumni Association and MJ at Several Moving Cars.

Mostly Calvin You are 70% Calvin and 30% Hobbes

Your inner Calvin often prevails, but, as in the image below, you have a significant Hobbesian component. I'm going to try to stretch the visual metaphor here: you have a good head on your shoulders, but when you don't use it, your crazy body gets you in trouble? Does that work? Odds are you're impulsive and imaginative, but it's possible you've collected just enough wisdom to hold your most anti-social urges in check. Most of the time. It's a precarious balance, like a boy on one foot with a tiger head.

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 89% on calvin You scored higher than 3% on hobbes

Link: The Calvin Or Hobbes Test written by gwendolynbooks on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

A Little Bit About Me

Recently one of my favorite bloggers, Theresa of This Mom Blogs, underwent surgery, and admitted to some nerves. One of the things that she mentioned was the fact that the surgery was being done at a teaching hospital. I commented in order to reassure her, telling her that two of my childhood surgeries were done at a teaching hospital, and my care was excellent.

The interaction got me thinking, and I decided to share with er my medical history. And since I'm going to be sharing anyway, it might as well be with my entire blog audience. I've alluded to it in the past, so now I'll come clean. My mother reads my blog, she can correct any discrepancies in my recollection of events.

As I said in that previous post, I was a very sick child. Over the course of the first six or seven years of my life, I was in and out of the hospital numerous times. I contracted just about every childhood disease then known to man, including some that aren't that common. I had mumps, measles, and rubella. I contracted a croup that caused my throat to swell so badly that a tracheotomy and an oxygen tent were necessary. Another time when my mother took me to the emergency room, the doctor who examined me called over a group of residents, showed them my symptoms, and told them how rare it was for such new residents to get to see a classic case of scarlet fever so early in their careers. We have somewhere a photograph of me as a boy, barely older than a toddler, standing in a hallway and looking back at my own butt, bare because I've lost so much weight, my pants won't stay on. My family was not entirely sure they weren't going to lose me.

Time and time again, they would take me to the doctors, and the doctors would treat whatever ailment I currently had. But it wasn't until I was almost ten that one of the doctors, a "Young Turk", just out of residency and feeling his oats, decided to ask "Why is this kid always sick?" He ordered a battery of tests (some more unpleasant than others -- more on that later), and the results revealed something most interesting. My left kidney was severely underdeveloped, and there were problems with the valves leading from my kidneys to my bladder. The doctors deduced that this was reducing my body's ability to flush toxins out of my system, and that this was weakening my immune system. It was decided that the defective kidney would have to be removed, and the valve between my right kidney and my bladder repaired.

As providence (or luck, for you agnostics & atheists) would have it, the man who was at that time the world's leading nephrologist, an Egyptian doctor named Tanaka (I think), was in the United States for an extended stay, and agreed to take my case.

The surgeries would be performed at the University of California Medical Center in San Francisco. To this day, despite the politics of that town, this fact alone retains for it a special place in my heart. They took place a couple of months apart. The first surgery would correct the valve, the second would remove the bad left kidney.

The staff at the hospital was fantastic. They went to a lot of trouble on a daily basis to make sure we were as comfortable, or at least comforted, as possible. The hospital was a research hospital as well as teaching, and almost all of the other children in the pediatric ward were terminal. Of course, I didn't realize it at the time. The nurses in particular were amazingle compassionate and professional. Two stick out in my mind -- Dave, the first male nurse I ever met, and Jackie, a large African American woman who exuded motherliness that could be seen from space. The doctors explained each procedure to me and my parents ahead of time so that nothing would be unexpected -- it was all frightening enough, adding surprise to the mix would have been awful. We were allowed to raid the kitchen for anything our doctors said was ok to eat. The day I left after my second surgery, one of the nurses offered to make me a milkshake, and I told her I'd have it later, only to be rerleased before I had it.

The surgeries went well, and I have few memories of the days of the surgeries themselves, but the two I do have are vivid: I remember my anesthesiologist, a Samoan mountain named Tony, putting the mask on me and having me breathe deep and count dwon from ten. I never made it to 1 as he began spinning above me, then dissapearing at the end of a tunnel into a technicolor psychedelia. But I wasn't scared -- when a man who looks like he could play linebacker in the NFL tells you you're going to be OK, you know you're going to be ok.

But when I awoke, that's when I got scared -- I was in the ICU post-op, but I didn't know where I was, and I was a wake for quite some time before anyone noticed I'd come to.

After the surgeries, I had to have a catheter interted into my lower abdomen to drain fluid. My body didn't appreciate this procedure, and tried to reject the catheter throughout my recovery. The doctors told my parents that what their 10-year-old was experiencing every 10-15 minutes for a week or so was almost identical in location and intensity to severe labor contractions (no wonder then that I was all for TFR getting an epidural when she had The Lad), and there was only one drug that was effective in easing my pain. That's how we discovered that I'm allergic to codeine. At one point in my recovery, I was placed in a wheelchair and taken to a classroom where a tutor tried to help me keep up on my schoolwork. She sent me back to my room after one of my contractions freaked her out -- apparently I reacted to it so violently that I had all four wheels of the wheelchair in the air at once.

Eventually I did recover, and my health has been normal ever since. I did have to go back for some follow-up tests a couple of years later, and was supposed to continue to do so until adolescence, but they were the most unpleasant of the tests I mentioned before. Remember, this was in the days before MRI, and the only way to look inside me was by using old-fashioned X-rays. The problem was that they needed to dye my bladder and kidneys. The dye couldn't be injected intraveninously, and it couldn't be ingested, or it would not concentrate in my kidneys. It had to be BACKED into me -- I'll leave it at that. The experience was so traumatic that my mother decided I was not going through THAT again.

And so that is my medical past. You can see why I am a fan of teaching hospitals, and why to this day I adore nurses.

UPDATE:
My mom came through, check out the comments.

Solomon I Ain't

*sigh* I knew this day would come, but I never expected it so soon in The Lad's young life. And now that it has, I don't know what to do. So I'm seeking the wisdom of other, more experienced parents.

A little background may be in order.

At almost 14 months, The Lad is almost entirely up to speed on normal development for his age -- the only thing that reflects the fact that he was a preemie is that he's a little behind with his Gross Motor Skills (he's not quite walking yet, but he crawls like a bat turtle out of hell). At this point his little personality is well-developed, as is his repertoire of facial expressions, body language, and pre-talking verbal cues (he can also say a few words, including his name), and he's showing signs of being quite bright -- he's curious, and has already done some problem-solving, including how to keep a ball away from the dog.

So we have a child who is self-propelled, inquisitive, and has a strong personality. I think the parents out there know where this is going. That's right, he's already finding that most cherished of childhood treasures, "trouble". At this point it mostly consists of trying to open drawers he is not supposed to, and coming into possession of things mommy and daddy SHOULD have been able to prevent (like TV remotes, etc.) and discipline consists of "no" and tutting, replacing the offfending item with a toy, and the occasional flick on the hand (not hard enough to hurt, just enough to startle). You can imagine, he does not enjoy it, and expresses this displeasure.

So that brings me to the dilemma, and I will present it as a question to my elders:

How do you deal with a situation where your child has done/is doing something you know they shouldn't, and must be corrected, but they're being so damned cute and funny while doing it that you can't look at them with a straight face, let alone a stern one?

UPDATE:
Memo
From: The Meme-Mental Moron
To: The Llama Butchers
Re: Parental Advice
Uh, thanks for the anecdote, Robert. Like things weren't bad enough without that stark glimpse of what the future holds.

Too Close to Home

Thanks for the Memory to Daniel at Daniel's Political Musings.

Not long after I posted on Hillary Rodham Clinton and Immigration, I hopped over to Daniel's blog and read the following:

Finnish man headed home because of fraud



3/22/2006, 1:08 a.m. PT
The Associated Press

Pentii Reino Tuomi, 58, used at least 16 aliases and false Social Security numbers as he hopped from one state to another performing a variety of jobs. He was Danny Cole; he was Dan Savage. He was a bouncer, a bartender and even a bodyguard for Walter Mondale when the senator ran for president in 1984.

Now it has come to an end.

Tuomi is scheduled to be arraigned in Eugene this week on charges of felony fraud and accepting more than $50,000 in public assistance benefits under a false identity during the dozen or so years he's lived in the Eugene area. Federal charges were filed against him in Portland last summer, accusing him of illegally receiving $68,835 in Social Security benefits.

Authorities told the Register-Guard newspaper that Tuomi will probably be given 30 days to leave the country and will not receive jail time because of his cooperation. Arrangements will likely be made for him to send the money he owes back to Oregon.

"I just wanted to make things right," Tuomi said recently while sitting in the Hosanna Christian Fellowship church in Eugene. "It bothered my conscience."

I know this man, who actually goes by his middle name, Reino. The Feared Redhead and I used to attend the church he still attends and on whose property he lives.

My heart breaks for Reino. He's a broken man, and is truly contrite. He knows what he did is wrong, and I admire him for turning himself in and trying to make things right. As a Christian, I believe there is forgiveness for sin when there is repentance. Despite his past, I consider Reino a brother.

But he and I also know that there are connsequences for our actions. It is just that he face those consequences, and right that the government uphold the law.

I agree with his deportation, but I'll miss him, and I'll pray for him.

Sooper Seekrit Message to Bobgirrl

Happy now?

Confession Time

OK, we all have our secret shames. Mine is this: I occasionally find some of the performances by American Idol contestants enjoyable, and the show in general entertaining. The Feared Redhead loves the show overall. I get a twisted pleasure from the train wreck with a laugh track that is the auditions, and while Seacrest, Randy and Paula annoy the hell out of me, Simon Cowell is delightfully. Yet I appreciate him most when a performer actually does well and he is equally blunt in his praise.

Last night the theme was music from the 50's. I was pleased that two of the performers chose country songs from the era. And what blew me away was Chris Daughtry's rendition of Johnny Cash's I Walk the Line. He performed a hard rock ballad version of it that was driving and passionate and, while off key in a place or two, was powerful (sounds familiar when discussing Johnny Cash's music). I think the Man in Black would have approved.

You Were Saying?

Thanks for the Memory to The LlamaButchers and Newsbusters.

Back in September of last year, I posted on a case in the Netherlands where a polygamous civil union was legalized. I argued that this was a logical extension of same sex marriage. As I said then, "the most commonly used and accepted arguments against limiting Marriage to heterosexual monogamy are just as valid as arguments against limiting Marriage to monogamy AT ALL." My point was and remains that once we establish that marriage is not solely a union between one man and one woman, we have undercut any argument that marriage be solely between only two individuals at all.

At the time, one of my readers -- I think I rememeber who, but am not certain *cough cough Smallholder cough cough* -- presented a couple of arguments against polygamy and in support of gay marriage that, while valid, are NOT the arguments that are commonly used. He further went on to argue, if I remember correctly, that polygamy would NOT become a "cause" the way gay marriage has, and would NOT become a popular cause celebrite the way gay marriage has.

Well, I suppose he's right, as long as you don't consider coverage on the Today Show and MSNBC/Newsweek, and sympathetic treatment in an HBO Series to be the beginning of a cause celebrite.

At the time I made the argument, I tried to keep my predictions pretty reasonable. I didn't make any wild predictions like, say, "Next, people will be marrying other species!" or anything absurd like that. But once you accept the argument that marriage is nothing more than an expression of love, the lid's off Pandora's box.

Second Verse, Same as the First.

Quick quiz. It's easy, only two questions:

1. Which Democratic Senator called in 2003 for a national ID card in order to help combat illegal immigration?

2. Which other Democratic Senator gave a speech last week accusing Republicans of wanting to create a "Police State" in their opposition to illegal immigration?

OK, put down your pencils. What did you put down? For question #1, the answer is Hillary Rodham Clinton. No big surprise there -- this is the woman who once said "We're going to take things away from you on behalf of the common good." Her position is that big government, intrusive government, nanny state government, is a good thing.

But while that view of government is common on the left, it's not as popular among liberals when applied to immigration reform -- as evidenced by that second quote.

So who made that second comment, the one so sharply in contrast with Hillary's view? It was none other than Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton, in a speech made last week to supporters of the legalization of illegal immigrants.

I seem to recall that this was one of the very traits the GOP was able to use against Senator Kerry (D- France) in the last presidential race -- the ability to pick a side to an issue, take a stand on it, and then pick the other side when THAT is convenient. Apparently Hillary didn't learn from that.

And she should be even more aware of the danger in making such flip flops -- Kerry was one of a herd of Democratic hopefuls who only emerged as the front-runner after a very lively primary race. People have been watching Clinton, speculating on her candidacy, since before her husband left office. She should know that everything she says is going to be very closely scritinized.

You can't have it both ways, Hillary. Establishing a national ID would be far more intrusive and "Police State" than anything that serious conservatives are advocating to secure our borders. By making these conflicting comments, you are revealing yourself as a two-faced political hack, and at the same time, revealing that you have more concern for helping people violate our laws to come here than for protecting the rights of those of us who are here legally.

The Dangers of Dressing in the Dark

I get up somewhere between 5:00 and 5:00 every morning so that I can be at work by 5:45. I try to keep the turning on of lights to a minimum so that TFR can sleep intil The Lad wakes her up between 6 and 7.

This morning I got up and realized I had forgotten to lay out my clotyhes last night. No problem -- there's a load of clean laundry in the dryer. I grabbed a shirt from the dryer and headed backinto the house to dress -- the laundry is in the garage and it's colder than Hillary out there. I got dressed in the dark and came in to work.

Where I removed my coat and discovered that this is one of muy work-around-the-house shirts -- you know, the ones so dingy and stained that you've seen nicer clothes on the people holding cardboard signs at intersections? Yeah, one of THOSE shirts.

Today is going to be just freaking splendid, I can already tell.

I'm Baaaaack......

Comments should be back up now.

UPDATE:

The double roster for the Blogs for Atkinson Blogroll is corrected, and Day by Day is also back up. Also, I've backed up the entire database and template (Thanks for the Memory to Sadie, that dead sexy lady, for instructions on how).

Culinary Compromise

Saturday evening, The Feared Redhead got off work early, so we decided to go shopping for dinner together. We decided on shrimp. I wanted to make Scampi, she wanted something with a Mexican twist. I came up with a compromise.

There is already a trational Mexican dish that combines shrimp with butter, called Camarones al Mojo de Ajo. It's delicious, one of my favorite Mexican dishes, but it positively swims in butter, and since TFR and I are both dealing with serious weight issues, I wanted something with just a hint of butter. Recalling my earlier grilled recipe for Mexican flavored shrimp, I decided to combine the idea of Scampi, Camarones Al Mojo de Ajo, and Tequila Lime Shrimp. The recipe I came up with, I call Shrimp Campeche, since Campeche is a Mexican seaport, and sounds a little like Scampi.

Usually, when TFR wants to compliment me on my success with a new recipe, she'll teasingly give me "permission" to cook it again. This time, she demanded I do so -- and soon. I believe her exact words were, "Like, Monday."

Here's the recipe, expanded to be cooked for four instead of 2.

Shrimp Campeche

1 lb. raw shrimp, shelled and deveined
2 tbsp butter
2-4 cloves minced garlic
1/2 cup tequila
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp chili powder
1 tsp powdered Mexican oregano
1 tsp ground cumin
3 fresh limes
chopped fresh cilantro

You will need:

medium glass bowl
12 inch skillet
slotted spoon
chef's knife
matches

In a glass bowl, combine the shrimp and all of the dry seasonings, mix thoroughly.

Place the butter in a skillet and melt over medium high heat. Add the garlic, sautee until clear, then add the shrimp, stir . Immediately pour in the tequila. As soon as the tequila begins to boil, light with a match. Allow to burn until the shrimp is pink. Douse by squeezing the limes over the skillet (be careful to do this from a sufficient height to avoid burning yourself), drop the squeezed lime halves into the skillet. Using a slotted spoon, remove the shrimp to a plate. Reduce the liquid in the skillet by half, remove from heat, stir the shrimp back in. The shrimp can be served on a plate like scampi or served on corn tortillas. Sprinkle with a little chopped cilantro as a garnish.

Serves 4

Bad News

I spoke with my mom on the phone last night. My grandmother is far worse, and probably has days to live. It breaks my heart that she never got to meet her eldest grandson's firstborn. And I'm sorry he'll never meet the lady who was so special to his father.

St. Patrick's Lorica

Thanks for the Memory to MJ at Several Moving Cars.

Morning Prayer of Saint Patrick

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth and His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion and His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection and His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In preachings of the apostles,
In faiths of confessors,
In innocence of virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.

I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me;
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's hosts to save me
From snares of the devil,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who desires me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone or in a mulitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and evil,
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of women and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that reward may come to me in abundance.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.

I arise today Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through a confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation

St. Patrick (ca. 377)

Pretty

I ask you. Isn't this a beautiful bottle?



The seal was real sealing wax, done so prettily, it broke my heart to have to remove it.

Although I did take comfort in the snifter I poured myself.

If You have to Explain It, It Isn't Funny.

So my good friend Vulture Six thinks I need to explain the name of my blog. Or at least the temporary name. You see, he's under the impression that I actually get new readers, not just the faithful dozen or so who visit me regularly. How special.

For my faithful readers, you get it, and it was for you I did it.

For those who might be new here, or accidentally stumbled upon my blog while googling for naked pictures of Giada De Laurentis (I have none, sorry. Giada's not that kind of girl.), the blog is usually called Memento Moron, and is a play on the old MEmento Mori. The Mement O'Moron is in celebration of St. PAtrick's Day, since I am part Irish.

Sooper Seekrit message to Vulture Six: Happy now?

Pity the Dog

Poor Little Big Dog. For the past few months, since The Lad began to crawl, she's enjoyed the numerical parity between the qudrupeds and bipeds in our household.

Her days of whine and roses are nearing an end. The Lad can now pull himself up to a standing-propped position, and will soon be a full-fledged member of the "erecter set".

O'No!

Dang it!

I made some changes to my blog template to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and lost all of my customizations. I meant to save the old template, but lost it.

So no, I did not intentionally de-link anyone, and no, I did not withdraw my support for Jason Atkinson.

Update:
Getting there. Haloscan's back up (sorry to those who commented in blogger itself), but the spacing isn't right between the comments and the post below. I'll get there.

Top Shelf

Just got back to the office after grabbing lunch. Next to the Subway shop (don't act so horrified, it's quick, cheap, and it's a work lunch) is a liquor store, so I decided to splurge on a bottle of Clear Creek Distillery brandy. Good stuff. But I also want to eventually stock up on their other spirits. I'm working on a pear dessert I call Pears Mazama, after the mountain on which Crater Lake sits. I'm thinking their pear brandy would be a perfect ingredient in it. And either their Framboise or Kirschwasser or both would be great in a Sangria-style drink with a Northwest twist.

I've had their apple brandy, and it's excellent. Seriously, if you see anyhting by Clear Creek in your local purveyor of spirits' establishment, I highly recommend it.

UPDATE:
Note To Vonski: Close, but not quite. Wait and seel, I think you'll like it. Don't want to spoil the surprise.

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.

And Oddly, No Mosques Were Burned

Thanks for the Memory toVodkapundit via The LlamaButchers.

Apparently the pro-Danish demonstrations went well. More from those on the scene.

It's Raining, It's Pouring

Bad news never seems to travel alone, and suddenly my job situation doesn't seem like such a big deal:

My brother in law in Portland has been hospitalized with a life-threatening illness. Yesterday, he was delirious and tried to leave the hospital after pulling out his IV's. They're having to restrain him, the nurses told my sister in law that he MIGHT have lived for two hours away from the hospital. He cannot take even water orally, he must be sustained with IV's for now.

Meanwhile, one of our best friends in California (with whose baby daughter we plan to arrange a marriage for the Lad) went in for a biopsy on a lump she found on her chest. We'll hear from her with results in a few days.

And to top it all off, my mom has given me an update: They have my grandmother on hospice care, which means they expect her to live 6 months at the most.

At least I have my health, if not my job or my sanity for long.

A Big Day

I received the following picture from my friend David A. Reed:



It's a picture of President Bush during his visit to Bethel College, where David is a professor.