Brain Cloud: Call to Son, Mountain View Farmers Market, Woodside Bakery, Call to Ying

July 27, 2008 at 11:58 pm (Brain Cloud, Conversations, Food and Drink, Relatives, Son)
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It is Sunday. You made yourself go to the Mountain View Farmers Market because the last time you went was who-knows-how-long-ago. Before you left the house, you did as hubby requested and called sole fruit of self’s loins (even though your last call was only yesterday, and calling two days in a row significantly lowers your “coolness” quotient, which you have been steadily stoking ever since son got to Spain, because you know about the Guernica and the black Goyas). So you called and son was in the Prado (Oh miracle of miracles, self has raised a child who goes to museums of his own accord!) and he was (as you suspected) none too pleased to hear from you again, and as soon as you had hung up you turned to hubby and asked, What time is it there? And hubby said, 6:30 p.m., and since self had distinctly heard a guide talking somewhere in the background, it was a matter of no small amazement to self that the museums were still open at that hour.

And then you were in Mountain View. And the thing you never expect to happen happened: that is, your mind went wending down all the highways and byways of memory, and you thought of son’s 11th birthday party, which we celebrated at Colonel Lee’s Mongolian Barbecue, and this you remembered as you wended among the booths in the (exceedingly crowded) Mountain View Farmers Market, and it seemed to you that the cookie lady had grown much grayer since you’d last seen her (only a few months ago!) And then you wended your way home bearing peaches and organic tomatoes and seven different cookies (pecan, chocolate chip, coconut macaroon, you name it) and a 12 oz. package of artichoke, gorgonzola and walnut ravioli (for dinner tonight, $8.25) and you were so pleased with yourself.

In the middle of the afternoon, hubby, who’d been declaring all summer that he was fat and wanted to take up bicycling again, announced that he was going to actually go biking. You waited but he did not move from his computer and was still there an hour later. So, finally, you suggested dropping by the Woodside Bakery for some coffee — a little change of routine. And after much dithering hubby finally decided that that was exactly what he had in mind to do. And after you had gotten your iced coffees (which was such a bargain, really, only $3.50 for two) you walked across to Emily Joubert, one of your favorite home and garden stores and, as luck would have it, there was a 50-75% off sale of selected items, and you got yourself a big throw pillow (originially $83) for $20, and a beautiful handmade ceramic bowl (called “Small Rain,” how lovely is that) for $13.75, perfect for holding the peaches you’d bought in the farmers market that morning.

And you can’t end this post without mentioning that today you finally got to talk to Ying, for the first time since her bone marrow transplant. And she sounded much the same as she always does (in fact if you closed your eyes you could very well imagine you were in Manila, both of you, sitting across from each other at the breakfast table). You asked her if you could send her audio books but she demurred. And you asked her if she was eating and it worried you exceedingly when her voice faltered because you knew she was going to tell a fib, you just knew it, and you told her that she mustn’t lose anymore weight, and you also told her this really stupid thing, “You will pull through,” which is something you swore you would never ever say to anyone who is sick, it is totally asinine, but Ying only laughs. And you hear the doubt in her voice (which makes you want to smack hubby, who is standing right next to you, smacking his lips because he’s just stuffed his mouth with a slice of prosciutto slathered with melted butter).

And after Ying tells you that she is being fed intravenously, you turn your attention to dinner. And the memory of Ying stays with you while you cook: lentils, rice, curry.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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End of Fourth of July Weekend, Another NYTBR Twofer

July 7, 2008 at 12:21 am (Books, Brain Cloud, Pleasures of Travel, Son)
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Son e-mailed, and that was excellent. He said he was back from Salamanca, and tired. His message even included pictures! Here’s a list of the pictures son took:

  • cathedral interior, from “right balcony”
  • cathedral interior (from another angle)
  • old Roman bridge
  • view of Salamanca from a cathedral balcony

Self pretty frustrated that there are no people in any of these pictures. She knows son has two traveling companions, a boy named Sean and a girl named Emily. Could not one of them have taken these pictures while son posed with one or the other?

Anyhoo, what else happened today? Nadal beat Federer! And it was a veritable slug-fest! Self was so happy that Federer did not get to break Bjorn Borg’s record of five consecutive Wimbledon wins!

Later in the afternoon (after self returned from attending Heather’s baby shower, in Il Fornaio in Burlingame), self was able to get to the downtown library and borrow yet another book: this one a biography by Barbara Goldsmith of “the obsessive genius” Marie Curie (Self seemingly on a non-fiction reading kick this summer!)

Without further ado, here are the books self is interested in reading after perusing the June 22 and June 29, 2008 issues of The New York Times Book Review:

From the 22 June 2008 NYTBR:

(1) After reading Michael Hirsh’s review of Joe Nocera’s collection of his best business writing, Good Guys and Bad Guys: Behind the Scenes with the Saints and Scoundrels of American Business (and Everything in Between):

(2) After reading Jay McInerney’s review of Andre Dubus III’s novel, The Garden of Last Days:

    André Dubus III’s House of Sand and Fog
    André Dubus III’s The Garden of Last Days

(3) After reading Sarah Kerr’s review of Eleanor (wife of Francis Ford) Coppola’s memoir, Notes on a Life:

    Eleanor Coppola’s Notes on a Life

(4) After reading Michael Hirschorn’s review of David A. Price’s The Pixar Touch: The Making of a Company:

    David A. Price’s The Pixar Touch: The Making of a Company

(5) After reading Marilyn Stasio’s Crime column, the following new releases:

    Ruth Rendell’s 21st Inspector Wexford mystery, Not in the Flesh
    Jeffery “The Bone Collector” Deaver’s latest, The Broken Window

* * * *

From the 29 June 2008 NYTBR:

(1) After reading James Panero’s review of Vanity Fair writer Marie Brenner’s Apples and Oranges: My Brother and Me, Lost and Found:

    Marie Brenner’s Apples and Oranges: My Brother and Me, Lost and Found

(2) After reading Mark Sarvas’ review of Ed Park’s first novel, Personal Days:

    Ed Park’s Personal Days
    Nicholson Baker’s Mezzanine
    Upton Sinclair’s Jungle

(3) After reading Rachel Donadio’s end-paper essay, “Cultural Crossroads of the Levant”:

    two novels by Israeli writer S. Yizhar : Khirbet Khizeh and Days of Ziklag

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Brain Cloud, Thursday, 3 July 08: Farmer’s Market, Shopping for Baby, Buying Stachys

July 4, 2008 at 2:18 pm (Brain Cloud, Calls, Relatives, Son)
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Kind of up and down, yesterday.

Dug holes for two new plants, ruined three-day-old manicure but physical exertions extremely beneficial to self’s frame of mind at the moment.

Went to San Carlos Farmers Market, did the following:

  • Paid $3.50 for a basket of supposedly organic strawberries (sold by two flower children: authentic 60s look, hair), which are the “wee-est” strawberries, small and mis-shapen, that self has ever had the opportunity to purchase.
  • Stopped by stall of favorite baker, Fleur Chyld, but this one seems always overwhelmed with customers lately. Stood and stood and stood while a woman tried every single biscuit and cookie on display. Finally dug up temerity to ask whether self could have a sample of a raspberry bar. Though Fleur Chyld man freely gave samples to other customer, he told self he had no samples. So self walked away without purchasing anything.

Stroller shield for Heather’s baby shower arrived in the mail. Self panics, thinks it is much too paltry-looking for a shower that is being held in Il Foranio in Burlingame, rushes to Hallmark Store and purchases green and blue tissue paper, and cute, matching blue and green gift bag decorated with the words B-A-B-Y. Self decides to throw in a greeting card for good measure.

Went to Redwood City Nursery with list of shade plants to put underneath trees in the backyard (helleborus, campanula). Instead, ended up purchasing several quart containers of sun-loving Stachys (Lamb’s Ears) because she fell in love with their gray color. Also, contemplated buying an iron trellis, but price was $295.

Late in the afternoon, received e-mail from sole fruit of self’s loins, who complained that someone called his newly acquired global phone AT 4 IN THE MORNING, and as a consequence he did poorly in class that day. Self remembers that, the day before, upon receiving an e-mail from son with his global phone number, self did in fact pick up the phone and did in fact try giving son a “test call.” Son did not pick up; instead, a woman speaking Spanish came on, and self was so disoriented that she forgot all her four years of high school Spanish and hung up. This must be the call son is referring to.

Placed a call to Dearest Mum, who inquired why self had to go and send out an e-mail to all the relatives, asking for prayers for Ying so that some higher force (God, Buddha, or whoever) will give sister-in-law the strength to undergo the bone marrow transplant everyone wants her to have. Self informed Dearest Mum that she only sent out a very WEE e-mail, “not even four sentences,” just an update. Dearest Mum then informed self that there was nothing to worry about, she herself called Ying and Ying has agreed to go ahead with the transplant after all. Next week.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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On Beginning GEEK LOVE, Beijing Buffet, Draeger’s Blueberry Pie, and Other Delights (Including NYTBR of 30 March 2008)

April 20, 2008 at 12:20 am (Books, Brain Cloud, Calls, Conversations, Food and Drink, Places, Relatives, Surprises)
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Jury still out on novel self began reading two days ago: Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love.

Self had not heard of this writer before, but her novel is considered something of a “classic” — among novels with a circus theme, that is. Self read a NYTBR piece in which the reviewer showed off by naming all the circus-themed novels she knew of, and these made up quite a list (Self was suitably impressed).

The book began with quirky voice and unusual syntax. OK. In the first couple of pages, we learn that Mum came from a well-off family, but ran away with Dad because of a yearning for adventure. Then, Mom and Dad colluded by ingesting all kinds of drugs with sole purpose of producing freaky babies, which resulted in Aquaboy, Siamese twins joined at the waist, albino humpback, and youngest child with yet-to-be-disclosed physical aberration.

Wow! How did Ms. Dunn get away with writing that! Self mighty encouraged and is plowing on with great interest.

This morning, self acquiesced to meet Dearest Aunt at some place called Beijing Buffet on South Airport Boulevard. The occasion was Aunt’s second husband’s 70th birthday. So, self wished hubby a blithe “Good Day!” (Hubby makes it a point to make himself scarce at all of self’s family gatherings) and hot-footed it north on 101.

And then self got lost. And self placed four calls to aunt from her cell, and aunt kept throwing out markers like:

    “The Lyons! At Lyons turn right!” So self turned right and found herself back on the freeway, pointing homeward.
    Then aunt said: “It’s at Grosvenor’s Inn! Can you see Grosvenor’s Inn?” Self said no, but she could see a See’s store. Aunt said, “What See’s store?” So then self made another wrong turn.
    Then aunt said, “When you see the gas station, make a right.” And self did so, and found herself on Grand Avenue.

By this time, self was getting might frustrated, and thought she might just stop to get a bite to eat from a place called Galli’s Sanitary Bakery on Grand, which self has heard carries the most divine mango tres leches. Self also saw a Salon called Crimpers Bizarre Salon. She kids you not, that is exactly what she saw on a sign.

But no, self decided to make one last effort, and found herself in Costco. At which point, what else was there to do but to investigate? This was a huge Costco — self means huge! And the fast food section had the feel of an actual restaurant, not the rinky-dink service counter they have in the Redwood City Costco. The signs advertising sodas and pizzas were almost seven feet high. It reminded her of the drive-in from the movie “American Graffiti,” minus the cars.

And then self detected an insistent bzzz bzzz bzzz coming from her bag, and when she realized it was her phone she picked it up, and it was her Tita, begging — no, pleading — for self to make one last attempt.

And so self hurried out of Costco, and made a right turn, and she finally saw Grosvenor’s Inn, then saw a Holiday Inn, then, then — set back from the road a bit, and attached to some nondescript hotel, was a small one-story place with a yellow sign saying, in red block lettering: BEIJING BUFFET. And there were hordes — hordes — of Asian people heading there, whole vanloads.

And when self entered, almost the first person she saw was uncle-who-used-to-be-a-security-guard. And the first thing he did upon seeing self was pull open his shirt and reveal a row of fresh stitches all the way down to his navel. And so that self would not have to eat while thinking about that all through her meal, she opted to sit at another table, this one with Dearest Aunt and the 70-year-old birthday celebrant. And this is what self ingested, all in the space of 45 minutes:

roast duck
fried rice
fried mackerel
shrimp fried in honey
clams with a white topping (tasted like gummy cheese)
fresh oysters
steamed flounder
fresh manggo
fresh watermelon

Hmmm, let’s see, what else? Oh, yes, self learned that one of her nephews, the one with the long hair spilling fetchingly over his eyes, was going to be a father in September. No word about the wedding. “His girlfriend’s Burmese royalty,” one of her cousins informed her.

Then self does what she always does when attending a family gathering: she called son (And it suddenly occurred to her that she’d been calling son rather a lot lately, but — too late! Her finger had already speed-dialed) And self had barely passed the phone to uncle-with-a-fresh-scar-down-his-chest when he suddenly handed the phone back to self. “I dunno, he has to work or something,” Uncle mumbled, and self said, “Hello?” and she heard son say, “Gotta go!” And then self said, “Hello?” again, but there was no sound so she knew that son had hung up.

But that did not at all deter self from eating. And eating. And eating. And then self went home.

And hubby was watching a basketball game, and self saw that Shaq was exerting himself but not getting anywhere, and so she suggested that she go to Draeger’s and bring home a pie. And hubby agreed with that plan of action. So self took herself off to Draeger’s. And was filled with quiet love for this store, where she used to meet son after school almost every day of the week, while he was in middle school and high school. And, since she was in a slightly daring mood, she bought a blueberry pie even though she had never eaten one before.

And then she went home. And now, if dear blog readers are still there, still awake, and still eager for more, she will now list all the books she is interested in reading after perusing The New York Times Book Review of 30 March 2008:

(1) After reading Steven Brill’s review of John Grisham’s latest, The Appeal:

John Grisham’s The Appeal

(2) After reading Pamela Paul’s review of Mary Roach’s latest, Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex:

Two previous books by Ms. Roach: Stiff and Spook

(3) After reading Lisa Fugard’s review of Lorna Goodison’s memoir, From Harvey River: A Memoir of My Mother and Her Island:

Lorna Goodison’s memoir, From Harvey River: A Memoir of My Mother and Her Island

(4) After reading Liesl Schillinger’s review of Tobias Wolff’s new collection, Our Story Begins:

Tobias Wolff’s Our Story Begins

(5) After reading Christopher Benfey’s review of Gerard Woodward’s new novel, A Curious Earth:

Gerard Woodward’s A Curious Earth

(6) After reading Evan Thomas’ (riveting) review of Max Hastings’ Retribution: The Battle for Japan, 1944-45:

Max Hastings’ Retribution: The Battle for Japan, 1944-45

(7) After reading Floyd Skloot’s review of Larry Woiwode’s new memoir, A Step From Death:

Larry Woiwode’s 2000 memoir, What I Think I Did

( 8 ) After reading Julia Scheeres’ review of Edward Docx’s second novel, Pravda:

Edward Docx’s second novel, Pravda

(9) After reading Michael J. Totten’s review of Sandra Mackey’s Mirror of the Arab World: Lebanon in Conflict:

Sandra Mackey’s Mirror of the Arab World: Lebanon in Conflict

(10) After reading Barry Gewen’s review of Charles Ferguson’s No End in Sight: Iraq’s Descent Into Chaos (which expands and updates the material he collected for his powerful 2007 documentary of the same name):

Charles Ferguson’s No End in Sight: Iraq’s Descent Into Chaos

(11) After reading Lori Leibovich’s review of Amy Sutherlands new book, What Shamu Taught Me About Life, Love, and Marriage:

Amy Sutherland’s earlier book, Kicked, Bitten, and Scratched
Amy Sutherland’s What Shamu Taught Me About Life, Love, and Marriage

(12) After reading Nancy Kline’s review of N. S. Koenings’ short story collection, Theft:

N. S. Koenings’ first novel, The Blue Taxi
N. S. Koenings’ short story collection, Theft

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Self Asks, “Why?”

April 9, 2008 at 12:25 am (Brain Cloud, Places, Surprises, Tel Aviv)
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Blog views back to pre-Tel Aviv levels. Self watching glumly as the flag on the Carinis’ front lawn, across the street, snaps and crackles in blustery winds. This afternoon, students trudged around xxxx community college in parkas trimmed with fake fur. Only a few days ago, self was sweating while wandering the Neve Tzedek neighborhood of Tel Aviv with Dearest Mum. Why, oh why?

The Olympic Torch arrives in San Francisco tomorrow. Which should be extremely exciting, as protesters will be sure to try and grab/douse it. Did anyone see what happened to that poor woman who was holding the torch aloft in Paris? Why, she was practically clobbered by a group of very tall men in track suits. She momentarily disappeared from view and self was sure she had bought it. Also on the news last night was an extremely entertaining clip showing a daring Frenchman attempting to douse the torch by flinging a bucket of water over it. (Self, have you completely forgotten? Tomorrow, you will be in the City, specifically in the Ferry Building, where you and Nona will be reading and discussing the short story writing process. Let’s hope torch relay is over by then)

In the mail today, a furniture catalog, addressed to Dear Hubby. Now everyone wants to sell him stuff, ever since he ordered self-forgets-what from Hammacher Schlemmer last year. And self now recalls that almost the first thing she heard husband doing, the day after she got back, was placing a phone order with Hammacher Schlemmer for: a) Something that looked like a giant green Pogo stick, which hubby explained he would strap on his feet for the purpose of aerating the lawn. You see, one maneuvers on the thing by jumping, and so hubby will be jumping — hop, hop, hop — all over our front lawn, like a giant Easter rabbit, and b) a special rear view mirror that is so wide it successfully eliminates those blasted driver “blind spots” and c) an exceedingly interesting gadget which– self knows not what it does, but it did look interesting.

Also in today’s mail is the latest issue of Vanity Fair with — hallelujah — a person close to self’s age on the cover. This is none other than the Material Girl, looking very hip in black unitard and almost-thigh-high leather boots. The caption is: MADONNA: UNBOWED, UNCOWED, STILL TAKING ON THE WORLD.

Oooh, and here’s Condoleeza, popping up on the Ch. 2 news. She was in Tel Aviv last week, and that city’s Hotel Row, Hayarkon Boulevard, was crawling with cops and security details. Now it seems there is a rumor going around that she is interested in being McCain’s Vice President? But even more interesting is the gossip self heard that Oliver Stone is about to direct a Bush movie, with Josh Brolin to play Bush, Thandie Newton to play Condee and Welsh hottie Ioan Gruffud to play Tony Blair. Say what?

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Evening, 3rd Sunday in March (08): Taxes, Costco, Oranges, and a Student Paper

March 17, 2008 at 1:29 am (Brain Cloud, Conversations, Food and Drink, Quotes, Son, Surprises, Voices)

Turned out to be quite a stressful day, perhaps because hubby was grumbling about owing taxes. Self tries to soothe him by saying: “Sandy owes $5,000.” “What’d she do?” hubby wants to know. Self has no idea.

Conversation falls by the wayside. A little later, it perks up again. Hubby comes out to the living room, waving a 1040EZ which he says he is filling out for son. But he needs son to fax a W-2 over to us. Oh, that fabled W-2, which we have been asking son to hunt down for what feels like weeks now. At 10:30 AM, self places a call to son. He sounds sleepy. She requests that he get on this little problem ASAP. He promises he will. Hubby wants to know if self was sufficiently stern when she spoke to son. To which self can only reply, in her usual indecisive way: Read the rest of this entry »

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Brain Cloud, Sunday, 9 March 2008: Drew, “The Blue Afternoon,” Niece G, and the Fifth Most Gorgeous Day

March 10, 2008 at 2:33 am (Books, Brain Cloud, Calls, Conversations, Food and Drink, Relatives, Surprises, Writing)

Self and hubby almost never get phone calls, not even from son. So, when the phone rang, around 1 PM today, we both jumped. Self was thinking: It must be son!

But the number had a 212 area code. A publisher? From New York? Could it be–? But why would they call on a Sunday? And how would they have gotten a hold of self’s home number? Self is not even remotely famous, after all (though, let’s not kid ourselves, self for one mad moment thought that she might be!)

The caller turned out to be Drew. The first thing he did was apologize for being so busy last week that he couldn’t call to discuss our grant proposal to the Creative Work Fund.

“It’s OK,” self told him. “I couldn’t get the application together in time.”

“But, don’t we have six more days?” Drew said. “Isn’t it due on the 15th?”

“No,” self said. “It was due on the fifth.”

And there followed a most depressing silence.

Anyhoo, after that, self decided she needed to do something nice to lift her spirits. So she picked up William Boyd’s novel, The Blue Afternoon, which is set in Manila during the Philippine-American War. Only, the novel begins in a very roundabout way and is taking an exceedingly long time to get to Manila. So, after a few pages, self decided she needed to do something else. So she picked up the phone and called niece G.

Niece G said she was in Green Library, cramming.

“Want to take a half hour break and have some gelato at Bravo Fono?” self asked.

But niece demurred. She really had too much work.

So, self thought, she’d call Sandy. But Sandy was painting her house.

Okey-dokey, self asked hubby. But he was doing the taxes.

So self decided to set out by herself. And, halfway to Palo Alto, she called niece G again and said, “Look, I’m going to be in Stanford to do some research at Green. So let’s meet at the coffee shop right outside and have a latte.”

And niece said, All right!

(What a liar you are, self!)

Anyhoo, self found parking about a mile away, and then walked very slowly (as she had decided to tote along, not only the Boyd novel, but also her journal, and various other magazines, and it was a very very hot afternoon). Self arrived at Green all sweaty-faced. She looked closely at the various co-eds reclining around the fountain, and made for a dark-haired woman in shades and a pink tank top. Self had almost reached this woman when her cell phone rang, and it was niece G.

“I’m coming, Tita!” she exclaimed. “I’m with my boyfriend in Meyer. I’ll be right there!”

Whew! That was close! So self sat on a bench and continued reading The Blue Afternoon. Apparently, the protagonist is female (Very clever, Mr. Boyd! Showing the reader how well you are able to get into the point of view of a woman!), 32 years old, and an architect. And, before self can read much further, niece G arrives.

And we line up at the cafe (even though she is already holding an iced moccha), and the line is about 20 people long. Niece says she doesn’t want anything — well, maybe just a bag of chips. And then self orders a banana creme milkshake (Bad, self! Bad!) and we settle down on yet another bench.

And then niece G starts telling self about how stressed she is, that she has to fly to London next week for a job interview.

“With what company?” self inquires.

“Oh, it’s an investment bank,” niece G says. “I’m only doing it because it will look good on my resume.” And then niece G pulls out a cigarette and makes self swear that she will not tell her parents that she smokes. And self is on the point of saying, Well, my husband smokes and I have inhaled second-hand smoke for over 20 years. But she bites her tongue. Instead, she inquires, “Isn’t Stanford a smoke-free zone or something? I wouldn’t like anyone to start yelling at us.”

And niece G says, indicating a very hip-looking young woman seated a few yards away, “That girl was smoking just a few moments ago.”

(She was??? Self’s powers of observation are exceedingly lame today.)

Then, niece realizes she doesn’t have a match. “I know!” she says. “I’ll ask that girl.”

And she walks right over. And the girl (who is very, very hip, with spiky hair standing straight up from her head, and at least three layers of t-shirts, all in different shades of grey) gets up without so much as cracking a smirk and lends niece G a light.

Then, when niece is calmly smoking, self reveals that she didn’t see girls who looked like that (Self meant the spiky-haired girl) when self was at Stanford.

“Oh, there’re lots of girls who look like that now,” niece G said. “She’s probably from the Art Department.”

“Or from the English Department,” self said. “When I was in the English Department, everyone wore black and was seeing a therapist.”

“Oh, Tita, everyone sees a therapist. For stress! The only one who doesn’t seem to suffer from stress is A!” Meaning, of course, the one and only fruit of self’s loins, who is down in San Luis Obispo consorting with the Christians at Cal Poly. Then, niece G goes on to tell self how she went to a counselor at Stanford, and the counselor told self’s niece that she was probably having “issues” from having lost her mother at a very young age (Niece was five).

“G!” self exclaimed. “Stop listening to that woman! She is crazy! You do not have issues over losing your mother! You are a normal Stanford undergrad!”

And niece then asked self if she experienced stress. And self said that she did, indeed. For instance, she had been so stressed that she totally fell apart and couldn’t complete a grant application. And she had received about 40 rejections in the last four months.

So, then, niece said she felt better. Then her cell phone rang and it was her boyfriend, wondering what was taking her so long. So we said good-bye, and self went into Green and pretended to do research, though all she actually did was stare at all the students and try to figure out how she herself looked when she was 22.

Then, self went home. And did a heroic job digging a hole that was at least two feet deep, all in order to accommodate her newest rose, a Blanc Double de Courbet (and hubby better not forget to water it while self is in Tel Aviv, because it took self a full two hours to dig that damn hole!)

Then, self, like the good little wife-y she is, commenced to cook dinner (lamb chops). And she snipped some rosemary from her garden (like Martha Stewart) and then had the wild idea of pouring Christian Brothers brandy over the chops, just to see what they would taste like. And self is really, really excited to eat now, but she has to wait for hubby to get back from walking the dogs.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Brain Cloud, Saturday, 23 February 08: Waiting for the Rain, Coughing Up a Storm, Condé Nast Traveler on American Food

February 23, 2008 at 4:45 pm (Brain Cloud, Food and Drink, Home, Insomnia, Publishers, Quotes, Some Interesting Articles, Surprises)

Ah, the rain, the rain, the rain. Weather reports say to expect it at any moment (in fact, it was supposed to have arrived already, while we slept). All day yesterday, TV weathermen directed viewers’ attention to an ominous green glob, moving inexorably toward the coast of California. Self, an extremely light sleeper, expected to be awakened in the middle of the night with the first drops.

But, no! Sometimes the heavens are merciful! Self was awakened, not by rain, but by sound of Gracie whimpering piteously to be fed, at 7 a.m. Which meant that self probably had approximately five hours sleep (in spite of staying up late listening to hubby converse with his mother on his new toy, webcam) — HALLELUJAH!

Self still coughing up a storm, however, which is extremely detrimental to her equanimity, not to mention her vanity (nose is as red as Rudolph’s) Still, self is determined to head to Costco at some point, to pick up a box of Duraflame logs (for if there’s no power tonight, at least she will have a fire)

In the meantime, self multi-tasking by watching “Dog Whisperer” and reading an extremely interesting article by Alan Richman in November 2007 Condé Nast Traveler, an article entitled “The Great American Food Odyssey.” Here is how it begins:

Before we were able to pay attention to food, Americans had to perfect democracy, settle the West, free the slaves, crush the Nazis, and fight the commies. Meanwhile, we ate whatever was at hand. We stewed squirrels. We turned turtles into soup. Food was secondary. Oh, we had raw materials aplenty: fields of waving grain, herds of juicy protein, oceans of non-farmed fish. We just didn’t know what to do with it all.

Our first uniquely American restaurants appeared in the fifties and sixties. We called them Polynesian, even though none of us knew where Polynesia was or what Polynesians ate. We concocted Sesame Chicken Aku-Aku and Shrimp Bongo-Bongo. It was our first date food. In the seventies, food started to change, courtesy of a place called California — home to Alice Waters and Wolfgang Puck, fresh vegetables and wood-grilled meats.

Once we discovered how much fun it was to eat, there was no stopping us. We freed chickens from their pens — and ate them! We let pasta get cold — on purpose! We shunned preservatives that prevented spoilage — and called it health food!

Soon we had a culinary tradition all our own. We named it New American cuisine (although to be honest, there never was an Old American cuisine).

Mr. Richman then proceeds to list all the dishes that make up this new, elevated American cuisine, such dishes as Chez Panisse’s famous Baked Sonoma Goat Cheese with Garden Lettuces (When was the last time self dropped by Chez Panisse? Probably over a decade ago); Barbecue Pork Sandwich from North Carolina (Self would love to try); Beef Cheek Ravioli (admittedly, sounds rather eeeeuuw) courtesy of Mario Batali’s Babbo; Blackened Redfish courtesy of K-Paul Prudhomme; Breast of Pork courtesy of Daniel Boulud; and Baltimore crab cakes.

And here is a list of desserts that Richman classifies as typically American:

Apple Brown Betty — “a triumph of colonial American cooking”
Devil’s Food Cake — “Chocolate. Need we say more?”
Hot Fudge Sundae — “Perfection in a tulip-shaped glass”
Pecan Pie — Hubby’s favorite, but self never could get into the “Karo syrup, nuts, and way too much whipped cream” thing
Strawberry Shortcake — “The beauty queen of desserts”

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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Help for the Fashion-Challenged Writer

February 10, 2008 at 5:48 pm (Brain Cloud, Holidays, Publishers, Surprises)

This is a strange, strange Sunday morning.

    For one thing, self has already caught Gracie eating crap — again.
    For another, self has planted, single-handedly, huge 5-gallon rhododendron (without changing out of her nightgown, all covered with clumps of clayey soil now, my bad)

This morning, self is mulling about fashion. Read the rest of this entry »

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Brain Cloud, Saturday Morning, 9th of February: Cricked Neck, Hubby’s Web-Cam, Ledger Funeral, and Bagoong Sightings

February 9, 2008 at 3:53 pm (Brain Cloud, Food and Drink, Home, Movies, Places, Surprises)

Fell asleep on the sofa, right after watching excellent Iraq documentary by Charles Ferguson, “No End in Sight” (which self thinks she might try showing to her students next week, if she feels their minds sufficiently ready to receive her “wisdom” — which they weren’t this week, but never mind). As always happens when self falls asleep on the sofa, she awakens with a terrible (and she does mean terrible) crick in her neck.

And where was hubby in all of this? Well, at last sighting, he was excitedly chatting on his webcam with mystery friend “Rommel,” who from what self could gather from a brief peek over hubby’s shoulder, is a twenty-something pinoy with a rather “hip-hop” look — long shoulder-length hair, beanie, etc. And this morning, when self awoke blearily from the sofa (in scene reminiscent of Naomi Watts awakening blearily in Toby Jones’ house after night of watching Toby’s Chinese mistress do the Dance of the Seven Veils, or something similar, in movie “The Painted Veil”), she rubbed her eyes and ascertained that those snores shaking the house rafters were emanating from the bedroom.

Anyhoo, self struggles valiantly toward laptop (green light blinking merrily away, like a siren calling Read the rest of this entry »

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