Passing the Buck.

I'll be honest: I was going to write something crappy and half-hearted tonight. I didn't want to, but between navigating crazy-busy times at work and failing miserably this evening at being an Arabic language student, I'm grasping at empty straw wrappers.

So, instead, I'm going to share with you one of my favorite pieces of writing. It's from David Rakoff, describing a moment at a fashion show when he meets Karl Lagerfeld.

Here it is:

“All of the designers I have met up to this point have been very nice, although upon being introduced to Karl Lagerfeld, he looks me up and down and dismisses me with the not super-kind, "What can you write that hasn't been written already?"

He's absolutely right, I have no idea. I can but try. The only thing I can come up with right now is that Lagerfeld's powdered white ponytail has dusted the shoulders of his suit with what looks like dandruff but isn't....seated on a tiny velvet chair, with his large doughy rump dominating the miniature piece of furniture like a loose, flabby, ass-flavored muffin over-risen from its pan, he resembles a Daumier caricature of some corpulent, overfed, inhumane oligarch drawn sitting on a commode, stuffing his greedy throat with the corpses of dead children, while from his other end he shits out huge, malodorous piles of tainted money. How's that for new and groundbreaking, Mr. L.?”

― David Rakoff, Don't Get Too Comfortable: The Indignities of Coach Class, The Torments of Low Thread Count, The Never-Ending Quest for Artisanal Olive Oil, and Other First World Problems

:)

Seeds of Strange.

It was while I was squishing goopy, pungent tamarind pulp through my fingers that I discovered this fruit’s incredible seeds. Normally, at least in my house, seeds of any kind get discarded with the rest of the waste, but these were too surprising to me to cast off. Smooth like polished stones, rich brown, much like the color of deeply-roasted coffee beans, oddly shaped, weighty, and, when tossed together, unusually acoustic.

I rinsed every one and saved them aside to dry on a towel. Since then, I have been irresistibly grasping handfuls and letting them fall together in a clamorous explosion of sound. I’m not sure what I will do with them. Maybe they are just here for my tactile (and musical) enjoyment.

Tamarind on My Mind.

Even though I’m not a much of a jam eater, for some reason, I really enjoy making it. I love mixing different ingredients to see what will happen and how the flavors will marry. But, jam making is actually a more delicate process than you’d think. If the balance of fruit to sugar is off, your end product can be a soupy mess or a brick of concrete.
 
Over the years I’ve had some failures, like a cantaloupe and melon conserve that came out the consistency of honey, a dried apricot and yellow raisin spread with sunflower seeds that required a steak knife to break into, and a lime and orange blossom jelly that set up perfectly, but tasted as you might expect. On the flip side, some experiments have yielded the kinds of results that have given me the confidence to keep at it, like cucumber-watermelon, peach-maple-pecan, and apple pie.

Today I’m going to tempt the gods of calamity with a coupling of tamarind and yellow plums. Shhhh…they might be busy elsewhere this afternoon! I don’t really have a recipe, but I do have some guidelines to follow that I hope will shepherd this process.

Here’s what you need:

1 - 1½ lbs. of tamarind, with shells and strings removed (make sure to look for uninvited guests or any parts that look unsavory, and tear off and discard those bits)
2 lb. yellow plums
2½ cups of sugar
Half a package of Sure-Jell Pectin for Low Sugar Recipes (about 3 tablespoons)
About 8-10 4 oz. canning jars with screw bands and dome lids

What to do:

Put prepared tamarind in a glass bowl and cover with hot water. Microwave for one minute, then cover and set aside for about four hours.

After the four hours are up, prepare plums by cutting a circular slice around each one. Put them in a large saucepot and add about half an inch of water (this should just cover the bottom of the pot and not fully cover the plums). Cook on medium, stirring as needed, until the flesh is soft and breaks under a wooden spoon.

While the plums are cooking, prepare the tamarind by draining all the liquid and placing them in a colander over a large bowl. With a wooden spoon, press the pods to strain out the seeds and fiber. It’s easier to start by squeezing the flesh with your hands to remove the big chunks and then pressing it in the colander. This should yield about one cup of pulp. Set aside for now.

When the plums are ready, let them for cool a few minutes, then pour them into a colander over a large bowl. With a wooden spoon, press the plums through the colander, leaving just the peels, pits, and fibers. This should yield about three cups of pulp.

Mix the plums with the tamarind in a large saucepot. From here, I defer to the Sure-Jell instructions (with my changes inserted where needed): 

• Bring boiling-water canner, half-fill with water, to simmer.
• Wash jars and screw band inserts in hot soapy water; rinse with warm water. Pour boiling water over flat lids in saucepan off the heat. Let stand in hot water until ready to use.
• Mix half of one box of Sure-Jell with ¼ cup of sugar into fruit in saucepot.
• Bring mixture to full rolling boil. (a boil that doesn't stop bubbling when stirred) on high heat, stirring constantly.
• Stir in remaining sugar (2¼ cups) quickly. Return to full rolling and boil exactly 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat, Skim off any foam.
• Ladle quickly into prepared jars, filling to within 1/8 inch tops. Wipe jar rims and threads. Cover with two-piece lids. Screw bands tightly. Place jars on elevated canner rack. Lower rack into canner. Water must cover jars by 1 to 2 inches; add boiling water if needed. Cover; bring to gentle boil. Process jams 5 minutes.
• Remove jars and place upright on a towel to cool completely. After jars cool, check seals by pressing middle of lid with finger. (If lid springs back, lid is not sealed and refrigeration is necessary.)
• Let stand at room temperature 24 hours (or time indicated on recipe). Store unopened jams in a cool, dry, dark place up to 1 year. Refrigerate open jams up to 3 weeks.

 

Note: I tested it and it turned out perfectly! Good consistency and excellent, super-complex tart/sweet flavor. Yea & yum! 

Me, Myself, & I.

I have the evening to myself while my husband is off doing something wonderfully nerdy with his friends. He’s been doing this about once a month for more than 10 years, and never once in all this time have I ever thought to call up my girlfriends and have a night out. I savor these nights as time for myself to be by myself—and I can’t imagine anything better.

I just got home from Saugatuck where I explored the shops, had dinner, and spread out on the beach all on my own. It was anything but lonely. It was perfect. As the sun was going down at the lake, the visitors packed up one by one and left me there to watch the waves. Alone. Just how I like it.

Oval Beach, July 28, 2012

P.S. This Snap Judgement rerun, called Isolation came on this afternoon while I was devising my evening plans. How appropriate!

Sentimental Journey.

In the summer of 1986, while Journey’s Escape was spinning on my turntable, a boy broke it off with me over the phone. It’s actually quite a bit more complicated than that, but considering that I’m on excellent terms with everyone involved and have no hard feelings myself (as expected, considering that was more than 25 years ago AND it was high school!), I won’t elaborate on the gruesome details. Stone in Love was playing (of course), and as my adolescent heart shattered into pieces, that song seeped into all the cracks and fissures and became one with my agony.

By the time I reached the anger stage of my grief, I wasn’t sure if I was more infuriated at the boy or the fact that an album I loved was destroyed through its symbiotic relationship with my rejection.

ouch!

It took time, but I eventually healed on both fronts and was able to hear Steve Perry’s voice again without reverting to the fetal position. 
 
But something funny happened today: Stone in Love came on at random while I was at work, it released a trigger, and I cried. Not inconsolably or anything. Just a swelling in the throat, some heat in the cheeks, and a couple of drops.

What surprised me was not the crying. (I actually do that all the time, as most of you know. Not because I’m perpetually sad, but because it is therapeutic. Like yoga for my psyche.) It was that I still had an emotional connection to that specific moment. Whoa, the power of the unconscious mind. And the power of music—for those of us who form deep relationships with it, that is. 

I’ll spare you another playing of the omnipresent and share instead a different song that stirs me up in a different way for a different reason every time I hear it. 

Or maybe I'm just a jerk...

I need to get something off my chest: I hate the olympics. (<auto-correct just tried to capitalize the word. I went back and demoted it; it’s no longer worthy). I used to just be disinterested, dismissing them as pointless and boring. But this year, I’m actually pissed off about them. 

For one, the inconsiderate folks at public radio have been saturating my ears with updates about the games—and they haven’t even started yet. (Is this the fault of the olympics? Somehow, I’m sure…) In doing so, they have stolen from me news of the worthwhile. An important, thoughtful, or informative story has been silenced because I need to be told, again, about irrelevant and overwrought happenings in London. 

I guess I also don’t see why nobody seems to care that it’s just a giant corporate spectacle, with the celebration of athletic talent as merely a sideshow. Or more, just a façade. 

Every time I think about the astronomical waste it all is: from resources to piles of McDonald’s trash to my brain cells during my morning commute, my head nearly explodes in incredulity. 

I’m not saying I would be any more satisfied with them if they had maintained the integrity of what they were once meant to be. To me, they’d still boring; but at least not a five-ring circus.