Good morning!
Yes, dear readers, a month has passed since I was wrestling with the onerous duties of hostessing, making a rich dessert, and finding a place for fourteen people to sit in an eight-person living room.
Now it is time for me to go to someone else's house tonight, where I shall as the "presenter" be parading mostly my ignorance, I fear, before the same fearsome gathering. The book chosen was The Book of Evidence by John Banville. Last year I presented The Sea, by the same writer. The Sea was published some twenty years later than The Book of Evidence, but has the same protagonist: a bumbling, selfish fellow who is now coming to grips with the picture of himself that is rapidly impinging upon his consciousness as he works toward becoming (at last) self-aware.
Banville is a wonderful writer, with a near-mastery of his craft. His command of words is truly awesome, his vocabulary astounding. Christopher Derrick, in his book, The Writing of Novels, describes the novel as both a thing TOLD, (the story), and a thing MADE (how it is done.) You can see in The Book of Evidence the hand of a newer, clumsier craftsman. His potter's wheel is a little more erratic and less under control, the clay slapped on a bit more crudely. That book was Banville's "breakout" novel, but it is still unmistakeably the same hand forming it.
When I am reading a book to talk about, I read it through and then I read again looking for what I might have to say about it. "Wonderfully descriptive passages about scenery," or "startlingly brusque descriptions of human physical existence" won't cut it.
I found what I was looking for when I found the dialogue from Powell's books on the web. You can see it on Youtube.com if you wish. But since I have about thirty to forty five actual minutes to be onstage, it's best for me if I pick one little thing that leads me to some insight I might not have inferred for myself. Here is the gist of the thing that Banville had to say. He seeks to "make the familiar unfamiliar, showing us how the ordinary is in turn extraordinary." He mentions Freud's essay on the uncanny. Bringing back the familiar in unfamiliar shapes and thus showing things to us in a "terrifying" way. Banville is aiming at clarifying the simplest, most routine aspects and attitudes of our lives into a truly terrifying intensity. Of course, nobody will have liked the book, probably. How intense does vomiting have to be, or masturbation, or mites strolling on our skins have to be? For his art, the view must be very intense. And from this intense scrutiny may arise "delight." Art.
Then Banville speaks about looking at a thing until it "blushes." As you concentrate on something it begins to glow with the same light that illuminates the loved one...well, he said all this off the top of his head but he means it. The protagonist, Freddie, is very taken with an old Dutch painting of a woman. His stealing of this painting begins the series of events which this book is dealing with. He stares at the painting, but the painting stares at him. He blushes. The artist's way. Freddie imagines the old painter who did the portrait (Franz Hals? Steen? Even Vermeer?) whose gaze at the subject is uncannily invasive. The whole portrait is gazing back at Freddie in the same way. Freddy blushes. Art has transcended reality and made art of the viewer.
Intermingled with all that are wonderful descriptive passages...."the muslin light of evening," and "girls with faces as frail and blank as flowers," the achingly true and sad sex scene with Foxy in an empty room at Charlie's house when Freddie is truly at the end of his rope....wonderful reading. Delight.
And as for the tale, the author wraps it up in a couple of tossed-off sentences toward the very end of the book: "Oh, by the way, the plot--," for those who have to have one. I thought it was a good book. I don't know, by reading this little posting I have just written, that I'll do justice to it in my critique this evening. YAZZYBEL
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Sunday, March 6th
Yes, I will write some more about Laredo.
Another early memory from Laredo is, like all early childhood memories, brief. An image enshrined in memory forever. My mother took me with her to buy tortillas. We went to a busy small plaza-like area (I was too young to know where, exactly) and an old woman draped in black shawls sat in the cold winter evening, with a huge basket of warm tortillas, wrapped by the dozens I guess. I remember the iconic old woman, the dark, the cold, and the pleasure of Going Somewhere alone with my mother, a rare treat. I have always loved going somewhere.
Another: my little sister (only one, then)and I are riding in the dark as my mother drives us. You may not realize how dark the dark was, in those days. Nowadays there are lights everywhere but then it was not so then, even in a big town like Laredo. Ahead in the headlights, there is a little old man with a "Nieve" sign on a small cart. My mother stops, asks him, "What flavor?" I guess she asked him in Spanish, because I can hear his answer: "Canela, Señora." My mother impatiently shook her head and drove off, to our disappointment. "What is canela, Mama?" we asked. "Cinnamon! It's always cinnamon! Why don't the Mexicans make some other flavor?"
In the years since, I have had a few blissful bites of helado de canela, and now I am sorrier than ever that she didn't get us one cone, at least. Cinnamon ice cream is best made with real cinnamon, that is, Ceylon cinnamon bark. There are many cinnamons going around out there now, as my latest little bottle of harsh McCormick's Ground Cinnamon can attest. I am reluctant to even put it on cinnamon toast, it's so strong. And even Spice Islands cinnamon bark is as hard and woody as--tree bark. Good cinnamon bark is soft and thin and ragged, and it smells and tastes like heaven. I have found it mostly in little cellophane (plastic, now) packages in third world type markets. If you can find some, put a few sticks into some milk and cream,and simmer. Or boil it in sugar syrup and add it to milk or cream--perhaps that is better. Taste. Don't add any powdered cinnamon unless you know your source is the real thing. Freeze that ice cream in any freezer method and you will have a delicious ice cream, even if you do it in an ice tray in the refrigerator freezer. My mother made us lots of delicious ice cream (vanilla) by that method. It just takes a fork and plenty of beating at intervals.
The interesting thing to me now is that my mother was doing all that gadding around at night. Dark as it was, and wild as Laredo was thought to be, she didn't hesitate to walk alone into a strange almost deserted marketplace, or to stop to address a little old man on the street. She spent plenty of time alone in those border places while my dad would be working in Mexico, she alone in charge of everything. At night, she would sometimes fill up the window sills with toys and such so that she hear an intruder. The windows had to be open because of the weather. And she sometimes had a baseball bat beside her bed. I wonder if she slept, with those little kids dreaming there in the house, but I guess she did. Brave mama. YAZZYBEL
Another early memory from Laredo is, like all early childhood memories, brief. An image enshrined in memory forever. My mother took me with her to buy tortillas. We went to a busy small plaza-like area (I was too young to know where, exactly) and an old woman draped in black shawls sat in the cold winter evening, with a huge basket of warm tortillas, wrapped by the dozens I guess. I remember the iconic old woman, the dark, the cold, and the pleasure of Going Somewhere alone with my mother, a rare treat. I have always loved going somewhere.
Another: my little sister (only one, then)and I are riding in the dark as my mother drives us. You may not realize how dark the dark was, in those days. Nowadays there are lights everywhere but then it was not so then, even in a big town like Laredo. Ahead in the headlights, there is a little old man with a "Nieve" sign on a small cart. My mother stops, asks him, "What flavor?" I guess she asked him in Spanish, because I can hear his answer: "Canela, Señora." My mother impatiently shook her head and drove off, to our disappointment. "What is canela, Mama?" we asked. "Cinnamon! It's always cinnamon! Why don't the Mexicans make some other flavor?"
In the years since, I have had a few blissful bites of helado de canela, and now I am sorrier than ever that she didn't get us one cone, at least. Cinnamon ice cream is best made with real cinnamon, that is, Ceylon cinnamon bark. There are many cinnamons going around out there now, as my latest little bottle of harsh McCormick's Ground Cinnamon can attest. I am reluctant to even put it on cinnamon toast, it's so strong. And even Spice Islands cinnamon bark is as hard and woody as--tree bark. Good cinnamon bark is soft and thin and ragged, and it smells and tastes like heaven. I have found it mostly in little cellophane (plastic, now) packages in third world type markets. If you can find some, put a few sticks into some milk and cream,and simmer. Or boil it in sugar syrup and add it to milk or cream--perhaps that is better. Taste. Don't add any powdered cinnamon unless you know your source is the real thing. Freeze that ice cream in any freezer method and you will have a delicious ice cream, even if you do it in an ice tray in the refrigerator freezer. My mother made us lots of delicious ice cream (vanilla) by that method. It just takes a fork and plenty of beating at intervals.
The interesting thing to me now is that my mother was doing all that gadding around at night. Dark as it was, and wild as Laredo was thought to be, she didn't hesitate to walk alone into a strange almost deserted marketplace, or to stop to address a little old man on the street. She spent plenty of time alone in those border places while my dad would be working in Mexico, she alone in charge of everything. At night, she would sometimes fill up the window sills with toys and such so that she hear an intruder. The windows had to be open because of the weather. And she sometimes had a baseball bat beside her bed. I wonder if she slept, with those little kids dreaming there in the house, but I guess she did. Brave mama. YAZZYBEL
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Subdued Saturday
Gracious!! It's already twelve-fifteen, and too late to tell you good morning.
I slept late (rare for me) and got up with pressing errands on my mind once I got breakfast out of the way.
Then, my husband and I had words. He had more words than I did, so I guess he won.
Next week, I was going to have a surprise for you. I was going to go up to the Bay Area, and visit Benjamin, our youngest son, and go to a recital in San Franscisco. Theo never did commit to going, and yesterday or so he bowed out almost entirely. Then I belatedly got on with Ben for last-minute confirmations of dates, etc., and it turned out that he wouldn't even be in town (Concord) until Saturday...I guess I should have gotten that little detail into my head before I planned a Wednesday departure....So, since I am sometimes a reader of Signs, I decided that the Signs were negative for this trip at this time, and donated my ticket back to the SF Symphony Orchestra. Too bad, I was going to listen to Bronfman play the Chopin Etudes and tell you how he did. I am sure I would have been kind.:) I just love to watch Bronfman play.
Also I was going to see the spring-time emerald green hills of the Bay Area. If there were such a color as Blinding Green, that would be the name of that color. It is unbelieveable. And the oaks are almost black-green, and it's a glorious combination. Something so wonderful from this little brought-up-in-South-Texas denizen, that color. Ah well, perhaps next year. If the Signs are right. YAZZYBEL
I slept late (rare for me) and got up with pressing errands on my mind once I got breakfast out of the way.
Then, my husband and I had words. He had more words than I did, so I guess he won.
Next week, I was going to have a surprise for you. I was going to go up to the Bay Area, and visit Benjamin, our youngest son, and go to a recital in San Franscisco. Theo never did commit to going, and yesterday or so he bowed out almost entirely. Then I belatedly got on with Ben for last-minute confirmations of dates, etc., and it turned out that he wouldn't even be in town (Concord) until Saturday...I guess I should have gotten that little detail into my head before I planned a Wednesday departure....So, since I am sometimes a reader of Signs, I decided that the Signs were negative for this trip at this time, and donated my ticket back to the SF Symphony Orchestra. Too bad, I was going to listen to Bronfman play the Chopin Etudes and tell you how he did. I am sure I would have been kind.:) I just love to watch Bronfman play.
Also I was going to see the spring-time emerald green hills of the Bay Area. If there were such a color as Blinding Green, that would be the name of that color. It is unbelieveable. And the oaks are almost black-green, and it's a glorious combination. Something so wonderful from this little brought-up-in-South-Texas denizen, that color. Ah well, perhaps next year. If the Signs are right. YAZZYBEL
Friday, March 4, 2011
More About Laredo
Good morning!!
We'll talk more about Laredo, Texas, today, especially since it is right there on the front page of the newspaper. The Laredo in the paper today bears no relationship to the Laredo of my childhood, yet I feel that I must comment about it.
President Obama and President Calderon are there on the front page, smiling broadly as they have concluded an agreement which will allow Mexican trucks and truckers access to all American highways and destinations. The Goody-Two-Shoeses among us will smile beatifically and think, how nice for the poor Mexicans. I am not a Goody-Two-Shoes, and I don't think that way.
I first heard about this deal on midnite-gun-nut radio, which I listen to in my insomniac hours, and I first heard about it ten or fifteen years ago. This truck agreement was to cut a lot of money out of US control, by importing goods from China to ports in Mexico (instead of Long Beach, etc. in the USA. Not as many people employed in the USA on that one, right?). Then the Mexican truckers, who are poorly paid by comparison to the United States truckers, will pick up those Chinese goods and cross the border without inspection or hindrance, and zoom up several massive freeways towards a central US port of deposit, from whence more webs will pick up the goods and head for the nearest Walmart, supermarket, or wherever they are bound for. Do we or do we not understand that there are many many US truckers who will not get paid for this work? And that the ones who do will be competing for the work at the lower rates earned by the Mexican drivers? This is a business deal for the sake of Big Business. Nobody else. Like the China trade.
Back to Laredo. This massive freeway will lead from Laredo up Hwy 35 towards San Antonio, then skirt around the southeast portion of the outside San Antonio go-around. (San Antonio has two go-arounds.) From there it will rejoin 35 and head north by northeast through (but not quite through) all those cities along that freeway. I am a devotee of Realtor.com, and wondered for a time why those lovely houses in the towns of Round Rock, New Braunfels, etc., were going for such a low low price. Well, I think it's because the owners had heard the distant early warning. I would not buy anything remotely near highway 35 now. Get out your map and trace a line on 35 from Laredo up to Little Rock, Arkansas. This is where the depot is supposed to be. Nowadays, since the trucks can go anywhere, we have no need for a depot to switch over to American trucks which was part of the first idea.
You will notice that Texas is neatly divided into two by this procedure. When last in Brownsville, Texas, two years ago, we noticed that the huge freeway which chops that city in two and has been in a confusion of non-completion for years, was approaching completion. That freeway is to head along the southeastern section of Texas and terminate in Louisiana somewhere, but you know what? They won't need to terminate it anywhere now. The truckers can just barrel on through all the states even if their wheels are falling off and their combustion is fouling the air, because they are not to be inspected at the border. What border?
If I sound crazy or confused on this subject, I urge you to try on Google, "Trans-Texas Corridor." In fact I think I will do it right now; should have done it before starting this garbled post. Well, there it is. Wikipedia says that the one huge corridor idea was abandoned in 2009-2010, in favor of leaving the more traditional system in place. Somebody figured out that, if we give up all the regulations, let Mexican trucks come in, willy-nilly, we would not have to have those big 12 lane superfreeways and toll stations. Phyllis Shaffley was one of the people wailing most about that old plan; I would read her and reluctantly agree with her. It was the end of Texas as we knew it, and have you-all noticed it? It's the end of the United States as we knew it....but of course, you've noticed that already. Haven't you? YAZZYBEL who promises more childhood, sunny skies, and return to sanity tomorrow.
We'll talk more about Laredo, Texas, today, especially since it is right there on the front page of the newspaper. The Laredo in the paper today bears no relationship to the Laredo of my childhood, yet I feel that I must comment about it.
President Obama and President Calderon are there on the front page, smiling broadly as they have concluded an agreement which will allow Mexican trucks and truckers access to all American highways and destinations. The Goody-Two-Shoeses among us will smile beatifically and think, how nice for the poor Mexicans. I am not a Goody-Two-Shoes, and I don't think that way.
I first heard about this deal on midnite-gun-nut radio, which I listen to in my insomniac hours, and I first heard about it ten or fifteen years ago. This truck agreement was to cut a lot of money out of US control, by importing goods from China to ports in Mexico (instead of Long Beach, etc. in the USA. Not as many people employed in the USA on that one, right?). Then the Mexican truckers, who are poorly paid by comparison to the United States truckers, will pick up those Chinese goods and cross the border without inspection or hindrance, and zoom up several massive freeways towards a central US port of deposit, from whence more webs will pick up the goods and head for the nearest Walmart, supermarket, or wherever they are bound for. Do we or do we not understand that there are many many US truckers who will not get paid for this work? And that the ones who do will be competing for the work at the lower rates earned by the Mexican drivers? This is a business deal for the sake of Big Business. Nobody else. Like the China trade.
Back to Laredo. This massive freeway will lead from Laredo up Hwy 35 towards San Antonio, then skirt around the southeast portion of the outside San Antonio go-around. (San Antonio has two go-arounds.) From there it will rejoin 35 and head north by northeast through (but not quite through) all those cities along that freeway. I am a devotee of Realtor.com, and wondered for a time why those lovely houses in the towns of Round Rock, New Braunfels, etc., were going for such a low low price. Well, I think it's because the owners had heard the distant early warning. I would not buy anything remotely near highway 35 now. Get out your map and trace a line on 35 from Laredo up to Little Rock, Arkansas. This is where the depot is supposed to be. Nowadays, since the trucks can go anywhere, we have no need for a depot to switch over to American trucks which was part of the first idea.
You will notice that Texas is neatly divided into two by this procedure. When last in Brownsville, Texas, two years ago, we noticed that the huge freeway which chops that city in two and has been in a confusion of non-completion for years, was approaching completion. That freeway is to head along the southeastern section of Texas and terminate in Louisiana somewhere, but you know what? They won't need to terminate it anywhere now. The truckers can just barrel on through all the states even if their wheels are falling off and their combustion is fouling the air, because they are not to be inspected at the border. What border?
If I sound crazy or confused on this subject, I urge you to try on Google, "Trans-Texas Corridor." In fact I think I will do it right now; should have done it before starting this garbled post. Well, there it is. Wikipedia says that the one huge corridor idea was abandoned in 2009-2010, in favor of leaving the more traditional system in place. Somebody figured out that, if we give up all the regulations, let Mexican trucks come in, willy-nilly, we would not have to have those big 12 lane superfreeways and toll stations. Phyllis Shaffley was one of the people wailing most about that old plan; I would read her and reluctantly agree with her. It was the end of Texas as we knew it, and have you-all noticed it? It's the end of the United States as we knew it....but of course, you've noticed that already. Haven't you? YAZZYBEL who promises more childhood, sunny skies, and return to sanity tomorrow.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Memories of Laredo
Good morning!
When my sister was here last week, we talked about Laredo and Laredo memories. And she was saying, "Remember this or remember that," and I realized that since I am six years older than she, my memories go back a lot farther (childwise).
I was born in San Benito, but Brownsville was always our home base. San Benito, Brownsville, and Port Isabel are the three main compass-points of my early childhood. All these towns were definitely tropical in climate (sub-tropical, really, which means that they were rarely cold...) with a stiff southeast breeze blowing in from the Gulf on most days to keep the air moving and the inhabitants amiable.
Laredo was another story. Laredo was up along the Rio Grande about a hundred and fifty miles, along to the northwest. There was no mitigating tropical Gulf breeze there. Laredo was hot and hotter. Two of my cousins graduated from medical and dental schools and chose Laredo for their homes and their practices. My father's cotton business required connections with Anahuac, Nuevo Leon (or was it Anahuac, Tamps.?) --anyway, it was over in Mexico and quite close to Laredo and Brownsville both--so he would frequently drive back and forth from Anahuac, often going to Laredo along the way. The River Road was a very important conduit for automobile traffic on the American Side.
When I was very young, we moved away from my American grandparents' rented house in San Benito and went to Laredo to live so that my parents could be closer to Daddy's work in Anahuac. We also moved to Anahuac for a short time but that is another story. We'll stick to Laredo on this one. Those early visits were probably before my cousins graduated from school and set up their practices, so we had no real connections there at that time. I remember my mother moving us into an apartment there, red brick with wrought iron balconies. On one of those balconies, I stuck my head between the bars and it was--stuck!! No amount of pulling could move it back out, and finally the firemen had to come and get me out somehow. I remember my feelings of rage and humiliation, and the smug expression on my little sister's face as she watched with the rest.
Wait a minute--I'm hearing--that could have happened anywhere! It's not about Laredo after all. Well, if you want to know about Laredo in general, you want to go to Wikipedia. I am telling about MY Laredo. Another part of my Laredo is our move to another place (perhaps one without wrought iron balconies) and the main thing I remember about that place is the bathroom. I had never seen such luxury. The bathroom was huge and it was purple. Lilac-colored Mexican tile covered every surface, and the fittings were all of the same beautiful color. Purple tub, toilet, wash basin. Even the toilet paper was of that color! I had never seen such a thing in the humble grocery aisles of San Benito, and remarked about it to my mother. "You can buy that colored toilet paper in Nuevo Laredo," she said. However, we did not indulge in that luxury and our paper was white after that brief introduction to the luxury of matching everything.
Another Laredo happening of those early times happened one Sunday morning, when my mother, the maid, and my little sister and I drove across the bridge to buy aguacates (avocadoes). The aguacates of those days were very different from the sleek things you get in a bag of four at the supermarket. They were small, and black, and full of a hideous fiber you had to pull out before eating them. (That's how guacamole was invented.) Their flavor was heavenly. My mother got a huge bagful of them, and we drove back across the bridge.
Now on this bridge was a wicked troll called the U.S. Customs. Rules for bringing in fruits and vegetables fluctuated often, depending upon the caprices of some insect pest or other, probably. My mother declared the aguacates, but the customs man said that she would have to surrender them for they were at present contraband. She was furious. I remember her arguing and sassing back the customs officer, but to no avail. He had to take those aguacates into custody. Fire was in my mother's eyes, as she said to us toddlers, "He'll just take them home for his own family!" Probably true. So she said to the maid, Lupe, "Lupe, take these aguacates and walk back to the middle of the bridge and throw them into the river!" And, while we stayed parked there, Lupe did so and we all went home grumpy but triumphant, having won over the U.S.Customs.
It's funny, I wouldn't have remembered that maid' s name, but as I was writing you this story, her name just popped out of my mother's mouth as natural as anything. Memory is a strange thing....you-all will sign out of my posting today and say, "She sure didn't tell us much about Laredo!" Well, I told you a little, and, as my mother would have said, "And that's not the half of it!!!" YAZZYBEL
When my sister was here last week, we talked about Laredo and Laredo memories. And she was saying, "Remember this or remember that," and I realized that since I am six years older than she, my memories go back a lot farther (childwise).
I was born in San Benito, but Brownsville was always our home base. San Benito, Brownsville, and Port Isabel are the three main compass-points of my early childhood. All these towns were definitely tropical in climate (sub-tropical, really, which means that they were rarely cold...) with a stiff southeast breeze blowing in from the Gulf on most days to keep the air moving and the inhabitants amiable.
Laredo was another story. Laredo was up along the Rio Grande about a hundred and fifty miles, along to the northwest. There was no mitigating tropical Gulf breeze there. Laredo was hot and hotter. Two of my cousins graduated from medical and dental schools and chose Laredo for their homes and their practices. My father's cotton business required connections with Anahuac, Nuevo Leon (or was it Anahuac, Tamps.?) --anyway, it was over in Mexico and quite close to Laredo and Brownsville both--so he would frequently drive back and forth from Anahuac, often going to Laredo along the way. The River Road was a very important conduit for automobile traffic on the American Side.
When I was very young, we moved away from my American grandparents' rented house in San Benito and went to Laredo to live so that my parents could be closer to Daddy's work in Anahuac. We also moved to Anahuac for a short time but that is another story. We'll stick to Laredo on this one. Those early visits were probably before my cousins graduated from school and set up their practices, so we had no real connections there at that time. I remember my mother moving us into an apartment there, red brick with wrought iron balconies. On one of those balconies, I stuck my head between the bars and it was--stuck!! No amount of pulling could move it back out, and finally the firemen had to come and get me out somehow. I remember my feelings of rage and humiliation, and the smug expression on my little sister's face as she watched with the rest.
Wait a minute--I'm hearing--that could have happened anywhere! It's not about Laredo after all. Well, if you want to know about Laredo in general, you want to go to Wikipedia. I am telling about MY Laredo. Another part of my Laredo is our move to another place (perhaps one without wrought iron balconies) and the main thing I remember about that place is the bathroom. I had never seen such luxury. The bathroom was huge and it was purple. Lilac-colored Mexican tile covered every surface, and the fittings were all of the same beautiful color. Purple tub, toilet, wash basin. Even the toilet paper was of that color! I had never seen such a thing in the humble grocery aisles of San Benito, and remarked about it to my mother. "You can buy that colored toilet paper in Nuevo Laredo," she said. However, we did not indulge in that luxury and our paper was white after that brief introduction to the luxury of matching everything.
Another Laredo happening of those early times happened one Sunday morning, when my mother, the maid, and my little sister and I drove across the bridge to buy aguacates (avocadoes). The aguacates of those days were very different from the sleek things you get in a bag of four at the supermarket. They were small, and black, and full of a hideous fiber you had to pull out before eating them. (That's how guacamole was invented.) Their flavor was heavenly. My mother got a huge bagful of them, and we drove back across the bridge.
Now on this bridge was a wicked troll called the U.S. Customs. Rules for bringing in fruits and vegetables fluctuated often, depending upon the caprices of some insect pest or other, probably. My mother declared the aguacates, but the customs man said that she would have to surrender them for they were at present contraband. She was furious. I remember her arguing and sassing back the customs officer, but to no avail. He had to take those aguacates into custody. Fire was in my mother's eyes, as she said to us toddlers, "He'll just take them home for his own family!" Probably true. So she said to the maid, Lupe, "Lupe, take these aguacates and walk back to the middle of the bridge and throw them into the river!" And, while we stayed parked there, Lupe did so and we all went home grumpy but triumphant, having won over the U.S.Customs.
It's funny, I wouldn't have remembered that maid' s name, but as I was writing you this story, her name just popped out of my mother's mouth as natural as anything. Memory is a strange thing....you-all will sign out of my posting today and say, "She sure didn't tell us much about Laredo!" Well, I told you a little, and, as my mother would have said, "And that's not the half of it!!!" YAZZYBEL
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
All Sorts of Morning Thoughts
Good morning!
Do you all get a little supplement with your morning paper called Relish? Relish is one of those throwaway magazine supplements that have proliferated in latter years as newspapers have abdicated most of their responsibility to their readers. This one is about food, and today's issue is about breakfasts. Ours comes out on Wednesday, "Food Day" to the SD Union Tribune...The photography is excellent, and the recipes sound good.
The cover to the magazine today is about bacon and eggs and it adds a side of baked tomato. When I saw this picture I remembered an article I read in the early sixties about Irishmen and Americans and their heart attacks. The Irish ate bacon and eggs and sausages every day and hardly had any heart attacks compared to the Americans. The article, which was in the New York Times, I think, attributed the difference to the fact that these Irish men who were studied rode their bicycles everywhere they went, as opposed to the Americans who drove their cars. Another item occurs to me now. The real English or Irish breakfast isn't just bacon and eggs; it is bacon and eggs and tomatoes and mushrooms. Potatoes too sometimes. But let's think about those tomatoes and mushrooms. Isn't it possible that the addition of this fresh fibrous food to the breakfast converted it into a more salubrious menu?
My grandmother made yummy French Toast. Her method was to use eggs, beaten with a little milk (that is so it will sink into the bread), salt and pepper, and fry. I guess she often fried in bacon grease. If not, Crisco. This French Toast was always served with sliced tomatoes. Nothing sweet. No syrup. No sugar in the eggs. French Toast served with good sliced tomatoes is DELICIOUS. I never even saw French Toast served in a sweetened way until I grew up. Don't you all think that the addition of sliced tomatoes might make the fact that the eggs and bread were fried somewhat less dangerous? Anyway it's an acquired taste that we also see in Mexico where tomatoes are often added to an egg breakfast, along with onions and chiles. A savory combination, and more healthful perhaps than just laying down that sausage or bacon and egg in front of somebody.
The second person plural I have been using in those paragraphs up above is written as you all, but I don't mean to address you all...I mean to say, you-all, which in my Texas childhood was one hyphenated word with the emphasis on the first syllable. YOU-all....Now persons from the more purely Southern states like Louisiana and Georgia and so on, say, "y'all," with the emphasis on the second syllable. I just write it yall in my emails to save energy. But that was not what we said, there in the Central and Southern parts of Texas in my childhood. We always included the "all" in the second person plural of address, but the accent was as I said. "YOU-all," two distinct syllables with the accent on the first syllable.
Well, I could write more, but himself has arisen and is prowling around looking hungry. The bacon is in the pan and beginning to fry, so I will have to terminate this quickly. I was going to tell you about the pleasure of receiving an unexpected gift of wine from an acquaintance at church (now a friend!) after a chat at the Annual Luncheon a few weeks ago...what a kind thing to do, actually purchase the wine we were discussing and bring me a bottle of it!
And there was more pleasure this past week, with an invitation to a mid-day dinner with some old friends whom I've not seen much of in recent years. The food was very very good. The main dish was carne con chile, which is just like chili con carne but the pieces of meat are bigger. Really.
Well, I had to abandon ship and finish up that bacon before it burned, so didn't finish this post without an interruption. I don't mind interruptions except for the fear that I will get blown off the site if I don't stick right with it. But I did go into the kitchen, feed my husband, make myself an egg fried in the same (clean) skillet and wrap it in a tortilla that was toasting over the gas flame next to the skillet. The reason the skillet was clean was that I use Spectrum Spray Grapeseed Oil to grease the skillet and it is such a superior product--it will leave the scrambled egg skillet almost clean. I sprayed a little more and threw in my egg. No tomato today, though. I will go into the pantry and look for a tomato juice to drink. I was going to write about memories of Mexico all this week but it just hasn't come up. I will scatter those memories over a number of days, off and on, soon. Maybe starting tomorrow. YAZZYBEL
Do you all get a little supplement with your morning paper called Relish? Relish is one of those throwaway magazine supplements that have proliferated in latter years as newspapers have abdicated most of their responsibility to their readers. This one is about food, and today's issue is about breakfasts. Ours comes out on Wednesday, "Food Day" to the SD Union Tribune...The photography is excellent, and the recipes sound good.
The cover to the magazine today is about bacon and eggs and it adds a side of baked tomato. When I saw this picture I remembered an article I read in the early sixties about Irishmen and Americans and their heart attacks. The Irish ate bacon and eggs and sausages every day and hardly had any heart attacks compared to the Americans. The article, which was in the New York Times, I think, attributed the difference to the fact that these Irish men who were studied rode their bicycles everywhere they went, as opposed to the Americans who drove their cars. Another item occurs to me now. The real English or Irish breakfast isn't just bacon and eggs; it is bacon and eggs and tomatoes and mushrooms. Potatoes too sometimes. But let's think about those tomatoes and mushrooms. Isn't it possible that the addition of this fresh fibrous food to the breakfast converted it into a more salubrious menu?
My grandmother made yummy French Toast. Her method was to use eggs, beaten with a little milk (that is so it will sink into the bread), salt and pepper, and fry. I guess she often fried in bacon grease. If not, Crisco. This French Toast was always served with sliced tomatoes. Nothing sweet. No syrup. No sugar in the eggs. French Toast served with good sliced tomatoes is DELICIOUS. I never even saw French Toast served in a sweetened way until I grew up. Don't you all think that the addition of sliced tomatoes might make the fact that the eggs and bread were fried somewhat less dangerous? Anyway it's an acquired taste that we also see in Mexico where tomatoes are often added to an egg breakfast, along with onions and chiles. A savory combination, and more healthful perhaps than just laying down that sausage or bacon and egg in front of somebody.
The second person plural I have been using in those paragraphs up above is written as you all, but I don't mean to address you all...I mean to say, you-all, which in my Texas childhood was one hyphenated word with the emphasis on the first syllable. YOU-all....Now persons from the more purely Southern states like Louisiana and Georgia and so on, say, "y'all," with the emphasis on the second syllable. I just write it yall in my emails to save energy. But that was not what we said, there in the Central and Southern parts of Texas in my childhood. We always included the "all" in the second person plural of address, but the accent was as I said. "YOU-all," two distinct syllables with the accent on the first syllable.
Well, I could write more, but himself has arisen and is prowling around looking hungry. The bacon is in the pan and beginning to fry, so I will have to terminate this quickly. I was going to tell you about the pleasure of receiving an unexpected gift of wine from an acquaintance at church (now a friend!) after a chat at the Annual Luncheon a few weeks ago...what a kind thing to do, actually purchase the wine we were discussing and bring me a bottle of it!
And there was more pleasure this past week, with an invitation to a mid-day dinner with some old friends whom I've not seen much of in recent years. The food was very very good. The main dish was carne con chile, which is just like chili con carne but the pieces of meat are bigger. Really.
Well, I had to abandon ship and finish up that bacon before it burned, so didn't finish this post without an interruption. I don't mind interruptions except for the fear that I will get blown off the site if I don't stick right with it. But I did go into the kitchen, feed my husband, make myself an egg fried in the same (clean) skillet and wrap it in a tortilla that was toasting over the gas flame next to the skillet. The reason the skillet was clean was that I use Spectrum Spray Grapeseed Oil to grease the skillet and it is such a superior product--it will leave the scrambled egg skillet almost clean. I sprayed a little more and threw in my egg. No tomato today, though. I will go into the pantry and look for a tomato juice to drink. I was going to write about memories of Mexico all this week but it just hasn't come up. I will scatter those memories over a number of days, off and on, soon. Maybe starting tomorrow. YAZZYBEL
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
What I'm Eating in that Picture
Good morning!!
That picture above was taken on my 81st birthday, last May, by my friend Patricia. Yes, the very one who comes to play the piano with me on Wednesdays. She had just given me that awesome apron for my birthday. I think it's my favorite garment ever. It was from the French Provincial shop but I note that it was made in India. I love everything from India: towels, napkins, clothes.
I usually give Patricia a lunch when she comes over, and this time it was a very simple recipe, and delicious too.
Boil a box of mini-farfalle. Farfalle are those bow-shaped pasta and I just love that shape. Mini-farfalle are even better, being smaller with more surface to take the sauce.
I got this recipe out of some magazine last spring. It just looked good! So I have made it, amended...and love it.
First, you chop up a lot of walnuts pretty small. You may use your mini-Cuisinart or just do it on a board with your good good old Oklahoma flea market English old style steel knife. The best knife in the world. Oh, I love it.
Then you cut up some fresh herbs pretty small. I used parsley, a little sage, and a very little thyme, some chives, and some basil. In other words, parsley was my staple because I love it. I have loved parsley since I was a child. At some point in my preschool childhood, we had a rabbit. Probably an Easter present. We used to feed him parsley by hand, and I loved the avaricious way he ate it, dainty and gluttonous at the same time. I used to try to imitate him, wrinkling my nose, and in the process I learned that I loved parsley too. Use plenty of chives, too, or add some very finely chopped shallot or green onion.
Your walnuts should be a bit toasted, by the way. You can do it actually after you chop them and then they won't fly all over the kitchen as badly when you cut them.You need very little toasting time by the way. Almost immediately you will get a toasty smell from them in the dry skillet and that is when you take them off the fire. And get them out of the skillet.
You should grate a small pile of Parmesan cheese. You should cut up some bread for crumbs and those crumbs should be toasted too. Put a little olive oil in the skillet after you've poured out the walnuts, and toast the bread crumbs there. Then put the pasta into a bowl, pour over the heated olive oil and crumbs, add the walnuts, add the herbs, toss, and there you are. Oh, and add s and p.
If you want a garlic flavor, I would cut a clove in two and rub the bowl that the herbs are in before you mix it all together. I went through a big garlic phase and had garlic in everything. The main thing I learned there is that often garlic is more delicious and less intrusive if you use two or three cloves in a dish instead of just one. For some reason, I tapered off my use of garlic in recent years and I don't think my health has been improved by that. I just have tapered it off, don't know why. Perhaps I should go back to it.
Anyway, the other thing on the plate is a slice of those really long skinny baguettes that are so good buttered and put in the oven for a few minutes. I don't think there is any white wine up there but there should be. My favorite at this moment is Gloria Ferrer Sonoma Brut sparkling white wine. A champagne, really. How delicious it is. I also like other dry white wines, but not Chardonnay. You should drink your favorite. Oh, and I also like Prosecco, an Italian sparkling white wine. Maybe I just think white wine should sparkle. Anyway, that is a delicious little pasta dish and you should make it with the herbs you love best. YAZZYBEL
That picture above was taken on my 81st birthday, last May, by my friend Patricia. Yes, the very one who comes to play the piano with me on Wednesdays. She had just given me that awesome apron for my birthday. I think it's my favorite garment ever. It was from the French Provincial shop but I note that it was made in India. I love everything from India: towels, napkins, clothes.
I usually give Patricia a lunch when she comes over, and this time it was a very simple recipe, and delicious too.
Boil a box of mini-farfalle. Farfalle are those bow-shaped pasta and I just love that shape. Mini-farfalle are even better, being smaller with more surface to take the sauce.
I got this recipe out of some magazine last spring. It just looked good! So I have made it, amended...and love it.
First, you chop up a lot of walnuts pretty small. You may use your mini-Cuisinart or just do it on a board with your good good old Oklahoma flea market English old style steel knife. The best knife in the world. Oh, I love it.
Then you cut up some fresh herbs pretty small. I used parsley, a little sage, and a very little thyme, some chives, and some basil. In other words, parsley was my staple because I love it. I have loved parsley since I was a child. At some point in my preschool childhood, we had a rabbit. Probably an Easter present. We used to feed him parsley by hand, and I loved the avaricious way he ate it, dainty and gluttonous at the same time. I used to try to imitate him, wrinkling my nose, and in the process I learned that I loved parsley too. Use plenty of chives, too, or add some very finely chopped shallot or green onion.
Your walnuts should be a bit toasted, by the way. You can do it actually after you chop them and then they won't fly all over the kitchen as badly when you cut them.You need very little toasting time by the way. Almost immediately you will get a toasty smell from them in the dry skillet and that is when you take them off the fire. And get them out of the skillet.
You should grate a small pile of Parmesan cheese. You should cut up some bread for crumbs and those crumbs should be toasted too. Put a little olive oil in the skillet after you've poured out the walnuts, and toast the bread crumbs there. Then put the pasta into a bowl, pour over the heated olive oil and crumbs, add the walnuts, add the herbs, toss, and there you are. Oh, and add s and p.
If you want a garlic flavor, I would cut a clove in two and rub the bowl that the herbs are in before you mix it all together. I went through a big garlic phase and had garlic in everything. The main thing I learned there is that often garlic is more delicious and less intrusive if you use two or three cloves in a dish instead of just one. For some reason, I tapered off my use of garlic in recent years and I don't think my health has been improved by that. I just have tapered it off, don't know why. Perhaps I should go back to it.
Anyway, the other thing on the plate is a slice of those really long skinny baguettes that are so good buttered and put in the oven for a few minutes. I don't think there is any white wine up there but there should be. My favorite at this moment is Gloria Ferrer Sonoma Brut sparkling white wine. A champagne, really. How delicious it is. I also like other dry white wines, but not Chardonnay. You should drink your favorite. Oh, and I also like Prosecco, an Italian sparkling white wine. Maybe I just think white wine should sparkle. Anyway, that is a delicious little pasta dish and you should make it with the herbs you love best. YAZZYBEL
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)