Sunchokes, Who Knew?

So, I have done this twice now. Sunchokes, AKA Jerusalem artichoke, AKA Helianthus tuberosus. It looks like if tumors and babies were combined, then dug up from the ground, but much more delicious. It is a tuber, a root. Specifically, it is the root of a certain species of sunflower. And, as the Israel-themed nomination indicates, it tastes like its above-ground namesake, the artichoke. If you like artichokes, but hate the dedicated defense system, I would defer to this ugly cousin (they are actually unrelated).

What do I do with it? Well, wash them first. Then slice them up a little and put them in a bowl. Olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic. And mix.

Put it all on a baking sheet and spread them out. We want to roast them, not steam them. If they are bunched up they will steam and not get crunchy and beautiful. Then, at 375 degrees, cook for some time. Maybe twenty minutes or longer. Check it every once in awhile and take them out when they look ready, soft and caramelized. 







What you end up with will be great. You can thank me later.

Entertainment From Me to You

Yes:



Yes:



And yes:

Island Wilderness Camping

Recently, we went on a camping trip. On the Island of Whidbey, just North and West of Seattle. Half a mile from a beach that looks out on the Puget Sound and behind that, the great Pacific Ocean. Accompanying us on this sleeping-in-the-out-of-doors expedition were two other couples, whose celebrity mash-up names would be Zamie and Aargan (pronounced air-gun). Here are shameless plugs of their websites: Zack, Jamie, Aaron, and I don't know if Meagan has a website. Anne's is on the sidebar.

We camped, specifically at South Whidbey State Park. It was fun though there was little in the way of hiking, unlike the massive forests of the Olympic Peninsula, still my favorite place to camp. We set up camp, each couple with our own four-person tent, and set to making food before the sun fell too far down over the horizon. Then we drank around the fire. The weather was nice, though a little cool at night, and the beach was beautiful, full of various beached life-forms ready to have their pictures taken. We, the boys, threw rocks at inanimate objects until we were tired and wanted beer. We, the boys, played with the clay that made up the cliff abutting the beach, and formed it into unidentifiable nothings until our hands were covered in clay and we were wearing stupid smiles. We, all, took pictures of the oddities of the beach (including ourselves) as the tide was at its lowest. Then we walked back up the hill to our camp, in order to sate our desires for food, booze and the mesmerizing behavior of flames. We slept in between eating and playing and drinking, such an insignificant detail though.

I felt like life should be like that more than it is. Void of bank statements and the forty-hour-a-week deal. Just throwing rocks at things and making food. Simple and wonderful. But, I must say, the shower was amazing when I got home, as well the warm bed and the laying about in front of a movie. The camping was fun, for awhile. And it didn't rain. I have sloppily explained the whole thing but the following pictures will help.

The Tent!

More After The Jump

NPR contest

A few days ago I submitted a little (and I mean little) story for an NPR contest. Three-Minute Fiction, I think it is called. Six hundred words or less. Including the words "plant," "button," "fly" and "trick." It was novelist Ann Patchett's (writer of Bel Canto) as the judge. I am not sure that it will see the light of public radio day, but this is the one that I put in, with the editorial help of Ms. Anne Petty:

Flight

Where emotion was concerned, the man was a plant. He stared at things as though they had no innate emotional condition within him. He could name them off like anything else. This is my mother's handkerchief. This is my father's wristwatch. But, they were like other people's parent's things. He walked along heavily, enumerating not the quantity of beauty within the trees' myriad blooms with their myriad colors, but only the things he needed to do that day in order to live. These things were: drink three cups of water, full to the brim; eat four square meals; do twenty push-ups and twenty pull-ups (on a bar he bought at the drug store because it was on sale and he felt that exercise was important based on the facts) which he did not for the sake of flattering himself in the mirror or attracting women he might only have casual sex with (which he didn't do), but because he felt exercise was important based on the facts; cross the street if he saw anyone smoking cigarettes to avoid second-hand smoke; avert eyes from intimidating looking people which might cause harm upon him; wear sunglasses to preserve his eyes; have a child to carry on his name (this was one thing which he hadn't done much legwork on achieving seeing that he had little to no social skills); sleep seven hours and forty-five minutes because eight made him feel tired the whole day and seven did the same .... And this list went on in his head while he stared forward. This man has little to no social skills, and even has trouble purchasing gum from the corner store. He can't form sentences and is only really relieved when it is a foreigner taking the money he puts on the counter, even though foreigners also make him nervous. He felt he had many nameless diseases and disorders, all of which racked him with a vague dread that almost approached emotion yet not in any substantial or winning way. He stayed in his apartment most the time and worked from home. He ate nuts and fruit and chicken and wheat bread. These are things that were supposedly good for you. He didn't keep chocolate bars or ice cream. He didn't eat out of desire but only to create a working person and stop the aching that sometimes pained his gut. Sometimes, without his approval, his dreams would bring him to the skies, that is, he would fly. Once he dreamed he flew across America, seeing the delineated states as on maps pasted on high school geography walls, skimming over the topography of that U.S. map, seeing the sites that made America famous. That is to say: the Grand Canyon, the Twin Towers before they were exploded, Mount Rushmore, the hills of San Francisco, the ocean to each side, the sunsets from all angles the country afforded in the late Spring. In his dreams he felt a rushing uncomfortable strain on his chest, stomach and mind. Emotion. He wanted. He wanted to do stupid things like tear his shirt off, not caring about the falling buttons, and make love to a woman or climb a mountain and get a little hurt in the process. He wanted to be a kid and walk the neighborhood with other kids yelling, "trick or treat!" and smiling for no good reason. He wished, in these dreams, to be reckless, and was, in his dreams. Then he would wake up and enumerate the ways that he could stay alive that day, dreamless and careful and very very logical. 

Just under six hundred words and initially realized on 750words.com. It is what it is.

San Francisco Pt. 3

Today will concern the our initial day in San Francisco. It will be briefer than other posts. We were tired and it was a bit of a gray day. It seemed as if the landmarks of Seattle had merely changed for the sky looked exactly the same. Regardless we had a good time. Our hosts, Jill and her boyfriend Jade, gave us a walking tour of their neighborhood (near Golden Gate Park and the famed and drug-addled Haight-Ashbury) after a wonderful breakfast of homemade (Jade-made) crepes, which were delicious. We had been to SF before but didn't make it to Golden Gate Park and only saw a little bit of the Haight. The Haight itself is known for its Beat and Hippie constituency back in their heyday, the 50's and 60's. Now, though, it seems it has partly gentrified and partly become a sad advertisement for its famed anti-consumerist former inhabitants (a store covered in one too many peace signs and selling bad crepes comes to mind). Despite the bad, it still houses some great bookstores and boutiques as well as an amazing plant culture. I became quite taken with the plants that took over this part of the city. Jades and other Succulents flourished on sidewalks and porches. It was, for me, truly beautiful.

We ended up heading towards de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park. The building itself was a work of art on its own, as you will see. Anne and I, being Bank of America users, got in free by some great luck. The museum's tower looks out over the whole city, which despite being clouded over was beautiful. Then we perused the art downstairs, including an exhibition of Amish quilts that I found very cool in their own right. There was a good deal of great art, most interesting of which, in my opinion, was the work by the artists of the Bay area such as Richard Diebenkorn, Elmer Bischoff and David Park. This was the highlight of our day. Plus, the sun began to peek its head from the clouds and the clouds gave way to blue. This was nice.

The highlight of our night was a restaurant that I had been dreaming of since my last SF experience, three years before. The restaurant is called Dosa, located in the Mission District of San Francisco. Indian food varies greatly from region to region. A lot of Indian food hails from the Northern Indian tradition. This restaurant was of the Southern tradition, which is mostly vegetarian and uses dosa (rice and lentil flour crepes) as a vehicle for tastiness. In my mind, this is the best region for Indian food. It was delicious but I have no pictures. Also not pictured is our full-bellied stroll to a bar in the "deep Mission" (i.e. part of the Mission less subjected to gentrification than other parts and therefore covered in neon-lit nail parlors and authentically and prominently Mexican bars) where we drank a few beers and couldn't keep from watching the muted cheesy horror flicks on the TV in the corner. Then sleep. A long day, well-spent.

 

So many plants.

More after the jump~

Affectionate Portraits of Houseplants

Now that we have gotten to know each other, who ever you are reading this right now, I can expose my inner world to you. Inner as related to inside of my apartment, and outside of my kitchen. Over the last two and a half years I have hosted various potted lifeforms, some going by the way side (Scott, the spiky devil has been relinquished, only to possibly haunt our nightmares from the beyond the dumpster) and some becoming bonafide characters of the household. Although the following cast may not all become these iron-clad members of my abode, they all have a portrait as realized by my new camera (which I may or may not be using overzealously). So, either pass by this post with haste if it is that the simple idolization of various plants isn't your "thing" or enjoy the small glimpse into my living room. Without further ado:

 

Motley Crew.

 

Gentle Loner.

 

Mother-In-Law's Tongue and Wine.

 

Awkward Pariah.

More after the jump~