caleb walker

reservations

I got us reservations at Legume for Friday. Legume is my favorite restaurant. Sure, the food's good and all, but the owner/hostess and that one waitress make every visit a warm experience. We're greeted by name. We're lingered over. We're given special treatment. It's one of my favorite places to spend an evening.

This is the place where I'll try anything. I've tried (yuk) oysters. Head cheese. Pork belly. I drew the line at marrow, which KR ordered and gobbled up - using the little spoon she was given, then picking up the bones and licking them clean. I was once in the neighborhood at dinnertime and bought a gingerbread to go. They gave me two take-out boxes, one for the whipped cream. It was the most ginger-y gingerbread I've ever experienced. It reminded me that gingerbread has ginger in it.

It's a BYOB place, so people bring their own prefered beverages. We've seen, several times, people come in not only with their fancy wines, but also their own glasses, as if the bistro glasses Legume provides weren't good enough. We once saw a table of elderly women set a bottle of vodka on their table.

So Legume is moving in about 10 days and, honestly, I'm nervous. They're moving farther away. They're acquiring a bar. They're gaining size. I'm nervous that all these changes - all good things, sure - will change the place too much. As if the small space and BYOB and location made it what it is and any changes will make it something else. 

But of course the owner/hostess and that one waitress will still be there, so maybe my fears will be unfounded. In any case, we'll visit to welcome them to their new space and wish them well, secretly hoping that some of the familiar remains.

ten less

Yesterday I dropped in at KR's shop after work since it seems like I hadn't been there for a while. While I waited for her to get off the phone, like I sometimes have to do when I visit, I looked at the magazines on her counter, watched the traffic outside, paced back and forth, checked my watch, washed my hands, drank from her water glass.

Then I spotted a bathroom scale way in the back of her office and, like one does, I had to step on it. It showed that I weighed ten pounds less than what I thought I weighed. We don't have a scale at home, so I don't ordinarily see my weight. And I don't remember when I last stood on a scale. Now I was looking at a number I hadn't seen for probably ten years.

This morning I told KR about this and she said, "That's good, isn't it?" And I said, "Well, it didn't happen through clean living." I don't exercise, except a daily walk, and I don't eat badly, though I do manage to have a portion or two of ice cream and alcohol every day. Look for my Ben and Jerry's and Tequila weight loss program on an infomercial channel near you.

stuff learned at the end of 2008

I learned two things today, the last day of god-forsaken 2008:

1. We had dinner at a special Legume event. Dinner began with oysters and champagne. The oysters were served six on a plate, two each of three varieties. One each for KR and me, though I was prepared to give mine to KR since I'm not an oyster guy. The first was, um... I'm gonna call it mildly unpleasant. The second was good. And the third, oh lordy, the third was delicious. Today I learned that I like kumamoto oysters.
2. Dead Man arrived in the mail from Netflix today, so KR and I watched it tonight. We'd both seen it before. My first time was in a little basement theater in Northampton MA. (I remember chairs arranged in rows. I don't remember if there was a real screen or if the movie was projected on the wall.) Darn good movie. Afterward, KR went to bed. I stayed up a bit longer before coming upstairs to poke around online and unwind until midnight. Before turning the tv off I flipped around the channels and paused at the Fox station. Robbie Knievel, the talking head said, son of childhood hero Evel Knievel, was born two days before me.

That's the two. Happy, hopeful new year, everyone.

the thanksgiving pie report

Well, we made it through another Thanksgiving. We had my parents and my sister's family up to the house for a Thanksgiving feast like no other: lamb on the grill, mashed potatoes, and KR's special green-been salad. My mother brought a grape pie (what, you haven't experienced the awesomeness that is known as grape pie?), my sister brought a Reese's peanut butter ice cream pie or whatever it's called, and I made a pumpkin pie.

I needed to make two pies, one for Thursday's feast and one for a friend who eats her Thanksgiving dinner alone at a nice restaurant every year. She told KR she didn't mind doing that, except the restaurants never have pumpkin pie. So KR told her I'd make her one. But I have only one pie tin.

(What - are you still reading this ridiculous post?) Okay, so I made the one pie Wednesday night and resolved to buy a second pie tin. And one of those crust shields since I burned both my hands trying to maneuver strips of tin foil onto the crust so it wouldn't get too dark. And I called my sister to have her bring a second pie tin and shield when she came for dinner. I made that second pie last night and it looks fantastic. In fact, I think I'll go have a slice (of the first one) now.

a thanksgiving rerun

Some time ago (wow - five years!) I posted about the real best way to eat a pomegranate. I was reminded of that old post because Boing Boing recently posted about pomegranates and KR came home from work the other day with one. When she bought her oriental rug business an old Persian man came with it. He was a very interesting old guy, and introduced KR to elements of the rug trade that she wouldn't have ordinarily seen.

He also taught her that technique of eating a pomegranate, and gave her one every year at this time. (This technique works only with the thin-skinned variety, not the thick-skinned poms.) He died some years ago, so not only does a pomegranate bring in the holiday season, but it's a memorial to Nassar.

a compliment

I don't usually go to Whole Foods. We used to, when it was new and the only alternative to the Giant Eagle. But then Trader Joe's came to town and we've been happy ever since without Whole Paycheck or Food Hole or whatever you want to call it.

But today I was at the state store near the Whole Foods and I had milk and eggs on my list so I walked over. It was crowded like crazy. Full of beautiful people buying beautiful food, as always. The cashier asked if I found everything okay and I said yes, but it took a while.

"Oh? What did you have trouble finding?"

There's a cooler in the back of the store full of cartons of eggs. The cartons all say stuff like "Cage-free" and "Hormone free" and "PCV-enhanced" and "Brown" and I walked around the store three or four times looking for a carton that cost less than $3.00. Finally I asked someone, who told me that case was all there was. So I said this to the cashier: "I was looking for regular cheap white eggs laid by regular chickens in cages. But you just have happy eggs."

Yeah, today I told a young woman she had happy eggs.

nablopomo, final entry

Oops. I meant this to be my final NaBloPoMo post (as the title indicates). Good thing I posted that strike post yesterday, because I forgot to post this last night. I worked on it yesterday, then when KR got home after a long day at the shop we watched 30 Rock, which I had taped earlier, and she went to bed. But then I thought I'd watch a few minutes of Sicko, our latest arrival from Netflix, just to see what it was like and I couldn't stop. It was so good I couldn't stop until it was over and I was shaking with rage and it was 1am. The post I meant to post last night follows.

It's the end of November and I can now say that it really wasn't really that hard to complete NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), the spinoff from National Novel Writing Month, which I decided not to participate in this year because there was too much going on, things like teaching a class and rewriting a troublesome story from scratch for my writing group and i think i did a couple other things this month too, though I can't remember them right now.

Anyway, some of the bloggers who successfully posted something every day will win prizes. I'm not sure how the lovely and talented Mrs. Kennedy knows for sure who fulfilled the requirements and who didn't, but I suppose I can trust that she possesses some elements of omnipotence in addition to her loveliness and talent. (I hope she's also susceptible to flattery too. I'd like her to award me the Archie McFee gift certificate.)

As I was saying, committing to a daily posting schedule was not that hard once I let go of the notion that the posts had to be good. And that's really the issue that keeps me from posting more often. I don't have it in me to write a post worthy of Fussy or Dooce or Defective Yeti every day. I can jot a few thoughts and click the "Save" button, but the funny, the poignant, and the logical do not flow from my fingertips quickly and easily. If I want to work toward one or all of those qualities I have to let the thing simmer and revisit it a couple days later.

That's what I do over at Intrepid Media. I jot notes or a full rough draft then give it a second look a day or two later. Then if I don't delete it immediately I might be able to shape it into something. The problem with this process is obvious when you see the long list of notes (some just a single sentence) and unfinished columns saved in my Intrepid portfolio. So if this blog is to improve, it won't be done by posting daily.

PS: I called KR last night (she was keeping the shop open late) and asked her if pumpkin pie was okay to eat after you'd scraped off the mold.

dinner out

True story.

KR and I went to a Greek restaurant last night with a friend from out of town. We stepped inside the door and stood to the side, waiting to be seated. Nobody was behind the front counter, though there was a woman on our side of it talking nonstop to a nodding man at its end. A few minutes passed before a man came out from the back and grabbed a stubby woman in a Steeler jersey by the arm. He pointed at us a few times as he explained something to her again and again. Finally he released her and she showed us to a table. She explained that a lot of people had just come in, so they were swamped.

Our waitress came to our table before too long and asked to take our drink orders. She was young. KR ordered a Corona. I asked what was on tap. Bud, Miller Lite, Yeungling, and something I'd never heard of. "Is that a Greek beer?"

"No."

I ordered a Yeungling.

Our friend asked, "Do you have a full bar?"

The waitress stepped back from the table to look at the bar. "There are a few empty seats."

"I mean is it a fully stocked bar? Do you have Campari?"

"Calamari?"

"I'll have a gin and tonic."

We placed our dinner orders then too. Our friend and I both had the choice of sides. One option looked interesting: "What are lemon potatoes?"

She was at a loss.

"Are they fried? broiled?"

"They're hard to describe."

"Are they mashed?"

"They're not mashed."

"Are they baked?"

"They're kinda like baked."

We both ordered the lemon potatoes. True enough, they were hard to describe. Quartered, probably baked, then broiled in a salty, lemony oil.

When she had gone, KR said, "You're going to blog this aren't you?"

sugar yogurt

Turks know how to have breakfast. The best meals I had in Turkey were breakfast. I still pine for the spread laid out at the Kybele Hotel. Pastries, hard-boiled eggs, slices of fresh cucumber, pear, apple, orange. And yogurt. I was never much of a yogurt fan until I had Turkish yogurt at Kybele. Less solid than Dannon from a tub. Tart but not sour. With a light drizzle of honey it's perfection in a bowl.

Not only was it delicious, but, I was told, it's good for you. Its bacteria are good for your guts in some way. So on our return to the States I started buying those little containers of Dannon for lunches at work. It wasn't the same, of course. It is more jelly than yogurt, but it has in it all the good stuff yogurt gives you, right?

Recently I saw on 60 Minutes or the CBS Sunday Morning show a story about sugar. Sugar is in everything these days, the reporter said. And it's usually not real sugar. Usually it's the phony stuff, whatever it's called. But here's the important fact: a teaspoon of sugar is four grams. So I went to the kitchen and discovered that a six-ounce container of Dannon Strawberry-Banana yogurt has 26g (6.5 tsp) of sugar in it.

How the hell do they fit six teaspoons of sugar in that little container?

So anyway, I've had sugars and yogurts on my mind lately. Then this weekend I had dinner with friends who make their own yogurt by mixing a gallon of whole milk with a little yogurt starter. And this morning Head Butler goes on about the benefits and joys of genuine homemade yogurt.

Maybe it's time to try a yogurt maker.

the bachelor's life

Our friend T is moving to Santa Fe. KR is driving there with her to keep her company and to help unpack. So I am home alone with the dogs for a week.

It's funny how my routines crumble when I'm alone. For one thing, they have to change. I have to cook for myself. I have to get up early in the morning to feed and walk the dogs. I have to rely on myself to remember to pick up our organic order, water the plants, and--uh, the other things I can't remember right now. Those few changes throw my usual routines into disarray. I end up on the bus to work, wondering what I forgot to do that morning.

Anyway, last night I cooked for myself and posted the recipe over at Intrepid Media. I call my concoction Spinach and Eggs in Twelve Easy Steps.