Homecooking

This kinda a follow-up to my earlier entry on dining.

Like I said, when Kip and I go out to eat, it’s ov er at a friend’s house more often than not. Almost all our friends have at least one or two things they can cook and cook well. In the same way I enjoy scoping out the books, video and Cds that people keep out in public, I like seeing what people choose to cook.

For example, I was very charmed the time Christopher had us over for dinner and actually used the lasagna recipe printed at the back of Bruno book 3, These Troubled Soles. (And, oh yes, it was yummy)

Actually been treated to quite a bit of lasagna lately, a nice veggie one at Elaine and Mark’s a couple of weeks ago and then a few days after that John and Becca brought over a white lasagna that John made full of tasty things like spinach, artichokes and green olives. It was made with a white sauce because John has a sensitivity to tomatoes. Which is actually what prevented us having a lasagna when Victoria and Johnzo had all four of us over a few weeks ago. Instead, we had a tofurkey dinner with all the trimmings— the first time Kip and I have had tofurkey, which is a feat considering Kip has been a vegetarian since we first got together about nine years ago.

Before this dinner, the first we had with Johnzo and Victoria, Johnzo emailed to find out any dietary restrictions we might have, remembering that one of us was vegetarian. I wrote back not only mine and Kip’s, but John and Becca’s as well.

Many of my friends have this small part of their brains dedicated to their people’s eating preferences and needs. Everyone I know has something they can’t or won’t eat, from lactose intolerance to cutting out wheat to citrus allergies to nausea when confronted with soy sauce. Not to mention temporary fasts and diets. (Just try getting all these people together to share one meal. Oy.)

When most of the vegetarians you know dislike eggplant, you just can’t assume anything when you invite people to dinner. Gets stressful at times.

So when my co-worker, Chelsea, read aloud the following questionnaire composed by her husband Brian Vandiver, I had to laugh. And share:

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Where has the horror of war has gone?

Went to the Anti-war rally at Pioneer Place today , and it naturally stirred up some thoughts and feelings.

First off, I don’t hate America, nor am I ashamed to to be an American. If I did or was, I’d be gone, somewhere else, dedicated to learning to be a citizen of another country.

But it probably wouldn’t be Canada. How did Canada become the Shangri-La of lefty liberals of the USA? Sure, they do do some things better than this country, but some things not so well. Canada, like here, has racism, censorship, kidnappings, murders and gun nuts to boot. Maybe their gun deaths are less per capita than ours, but I’d like to see some specific statistics, as L.A. and Manhattan are unique creations onto themselves and always have been. (For the record, I’m for gun control)

I have nothing against Canada and think certain parts and people of Canada are wondrous. It’s just that it’s full of humans like everywhere else. And Canada does get special points with me for issuing a travel advisory for the USA because of our habit of detaining suspicious nationals and whisking them away to God knows where.

My attitude certainly is not one of love-it-or-leave-it. Am I happy with the state of my country? Hell no. Do I some things are mindblowingly fucked up? Hell yes. Just because I am thankful to have been born in this country, especially as a female, doesn’t mean that certain policies and officials don’t excite my rage and disgust. I was particularly gratified to see my favorite bumper sticker slogan at the rally: “If you aren’t outraged, you aren’t paying attention.”

Many of those present at the rally were challenging the accusation of being unpatriotic by simply protesting. Hell, this country was founded on protesting. Our constitution and Bill of Rights were created to ensure we could continue to do so. Funny—the Founding Fathers: a bunch of essentially elitisist slave owning snobs who established the electoral college under the assumption that the common man was too dumb to know how to vote. But they crafted some excellent documents that enabled many civil liberties that might make them shudder if they knew. (like my sex being able to vote)

I can actually be moved by the sight of the American flag in certain con texts. What can I say, I’m deeply affected by symbols and icons. Kip moans how badly designed it is, but that actually makes me the more fond of it. But I don’t think I would be if we weren’t allowed to burn it, it just wouldn’t mean so much anymore.

I remember the resurgence of flag pride after September 11th 2001. And how I couldn’t help but wonder how many of these vicious flag waving, try-and-burn-this patriots actually voted? Or were registered to do so? And why don’t they know how to treat the flag? You don’t let it get wet, touch the the ground or leave it out at night without a light on it. (you have to burn it immediately after any of these infractions) And you most certainly don’t staple gun it to the side of a house. Backwards. My friend Brad actually had a great anecdote about the first heavy rain on the highway October 2001. All those antennae flags ripped off from the weight of being wet and then ground into so mush patriotic mush underneath many, many tires.

I love my mother, and respect her, but there are some things we will never see eye to eye on. Whether we should have the right to burn the flag is one. The other is the definition of “military target.” Which honestly the Pentagon was on September 11th. Mom decried that, speaking of all he civilians that worked there. Now who the hell works the factories and bases of the USA enemy of the week? The generals? Fanatical devotees to the destruction of the free world? Or people in need of a job, any job to support themselves and their families? Military targets, god, I always despised that slippery moral dodge.

But let’s go back to my original question, when did we loose the horror of war? As one of the speakers at the rally asked, when did an act of war move from being our last resort to our first response? I was pleased this same speaker pointed out that the majority of people who join the various military services aren’t looking for the glory of war, they are looking for a chance, for a job and the possibility of a college education they normally wouldn’t be privy to. Pity that the true war glory hounds aren’t the ones charging into battle, writhing in trenches and dodging our “smart’ bombs.

Send them all to Quaker school, I say. Not learn peaceful behavior or brotherly love but to put the fear of war into them like my classmates and I had done with explicit accounts, books and films.

The Heart of Portland

Since my current mode these days is manic, it wasn’t that unusual that on Wednesday at 12:07pm, the only thing I’d had to eat so far that day was an orange Luna bar. So I skipped down to a local food cart popular with me and my coworkers called “The Whole Bowl.” Which is the only thing they sell, that is, the Whole Bowl: a base of brown rice, followed by a generous slathering of Tali sauce (named for the proprietor and chef), then a mixture of red and black beans, a quarter of avocado, salsa, a dollop of sour cream, cheddar cheese (which I pass on), black olives and fresh cilantro. I will often add some sweet chili sauce from the condiments provided. This has become my new comfort food, especially at the day job. Simple yet flavorful with a good starch base and protein.

While waiting my turn, I heard passersby give a thorough and favorable critique of the Whole Bowl before discussing the merits of other food carts about town. The variety is astounding, and some of them are as established as housed restaurants. Everything from hot dogs to vegan soul food to Hawaiian bento to crêpes to some of the best Indian food in town, and each has a following.

And this is just the carts—then there are the restaurants, coffee shops, bars, bakeries and, yes, deli counters in stores. Every one distinct and expertly critiqued. And everybody I know has a strong like or dislike in every category.

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Cabaret in Camouflage

Kip and I saw the Residents
last night at the Crystal Ballroom with Charles, Sarah and Brad—the tickets actually came from Brad as part of my payment for some design work I ’m doing for him.

Personally, I couldn’t think of a better group to see on All Souls’ Day, especially since this was the Residents’ Demons Dance Alone tour.

Thanks to Brad and Charles, we ended up right in front of the stage, which was draped in camouflage netting and accented with sand bags and rough hewn posts. Right on schedule the band—also draped in camouflage netting— shuffled, minced and limped on stage carrying lanterns that they hung about the set.

After the overture, the two singers, one female, one male, appeared. Both had large rubberband “hair” pieces, expressive rubber masks and were dressed in generic camo patterned outfits—his a tux, hers a short skirt dress with falsies sewn in that resembled two extra large paper cones, giving her a body built for spasmatic fits. They were soon joined by the demon from the cover of the album that this tour is named for. He wielded hand held spotlights with great effect and continuously insisted on doing obscene things with a trumpet.

I thought the music and performance was wonderful. I had a much lower opinion of the space and general crowd. Most people there didn’t seem to get that it was a theatre piece and that shouting requests would do no good. Not to mention the appreciative catcalling and raucous applause between movements. But I do think that the space gave the wrong cue as to what this show was. As much as I adore the Crystal Ballroom, Demons Dance Alone belonged in a more cabaret atmosphere, like Dante’s or at least in a proper theater like the Aladdin.

Still, great show and one definitely worth catching if you can. The masks alone are worth it.