Occupy Optics

Some very good things happened this year, thanks to a strange, leaderless, constantly morphing group of protestors. Who have only had the last three and a half months to make their mark!
And they ain't done yet.
Thank you Occupy Wall Street and all your permutations. You have made the issue of income inequality huge in our minds. The income inequality was there all along, but it took OWS to get us to notice it, to get us heated up about it.
Occupy has also brought the simple right to assemble peaceably into the spotlight. If cops in riot gear think they can bust up nonviolent groups of demonstrators for no good reason, we, the 99%, now have more work to do.
But the cops persist in busting up law-abiding gatherings with batons and pepper spray, putting the fat, stupid bastards in the news, and shining a favorable light on the people. Thanks, cops. It makes our work easier, even if it hurts for a while, and you are prancing imbeciles until you get put on administrative leave.
When OWS burst onto the news back in mid-September, I felt immediately we had a new form, a new context, a new theater. Camping all night in pup tents? Crazy optics. Embracing the homeless, feeding everybody? Angelic. Making rules up as you go along? (Human Mic, those hand wiggles for approval or disapproval at general assemblies.) Radical.
I've seen remarks from ordinary people, even people I know, who don't dig OWS. They have decided that THEY know how OWS should be run: Get a leader, get an agenda, focus on jobs.
Enlighten me, what butt-headed Tweeter thinks he or she should tell OWS what to do? Are they running secret underground railroads through their apartment that I don't know about? No, they are in constant search of lattes, mani-pedis and coiffeur blow-outs, which seriously cuts into their revolutionary credentials.
When OWS needs leadership, it will emerge from the movement. Agendas are already there, if invisible to the un-punk eye. And jobs? Really, Occupy has to say "We need jobs"? We ALL need jobs. It's practically a moot point.
I hope you are looking forward to the New Year. It's going to be important.
I hope it's great.

Break the Rules; Sometimes It Works

When is Christmas dinner? On Christmas Eve, or on Christmas Day?
I know, it depends on your family tradition. I didn't know when Christmas dinner was when I was growing up. Mom was always changing the family tradition. One year she had us all open every present on Christmas Eve! I was horrified. What would Christmas Day be? (Nothing, as it turned out. And no special dinner. What a waste.)
Cranky and I decided, long ago, that Christmas dinner would be on Christmas Day. It just makes sense. It's Christmas. And Christmas Eve is a little bit fraught with anxiety; no fun munching on a green bean casserole then. For Christmas Eve, we usually go a little swanky-appetizers style. Last Saturday we had fresh Dungeness crab with squeezes of lemon and dabs of mayo.
OK, not the point, really. Whichever day you choose for your feast, I have a little suggestion. If you are having roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, that is. The reliable old recipe for Yorkie from the Joy of Cooking can't be beat. But I beat it the other night, easy-peasy and worth a dare.
The cookbook advises that you cook the pud in a glass or ceramic dish. Fine; I've always done so, and got great poofy corners, but sad, sunken middles. The other night, we had seared our beef in a cast-iron skillet before oven time, and there was a great, well-flavored vessel just sitting there.
We didn't have enough beef fat, but we slid the skillet into the oven with pats of butter until everything got hot and brown. Yes, brown butter! I scraped the pudding batter right into the forbidden skillet, and got a souffle effect like I've never seen.
A work of explosive culinary art. Don't have to wait a whole year to try this again. (But what will we call the dinner?)

On, Dasher!

I'm snuggled in bed with the most selfish and smug of feelings. Christmas is nearly here, and all I have to do is cuddle with Cranky and Bartlett.
I did most of my shopping online (and I'm pleased with the results, so pleased), but there was one undelivered snafu. I could remedy that by going to the mall today, although Cranky kindly suggested that we wait until later next week. He is such a good boy.
Decorating the house has gone slowly, meaning we might not get the "tree" up. There's a wreath on the door, though, so the neighbors and delivery people have to assume we enjoy a skosh of festivity at this house. We do, really, but I'm finding it unimportant to get all tinselly indoors. That's what fireplaces are for (if it's not another Spare the Air day; we've had a rash of them in this sunny December). And I have a fantastic Christmas music channel on Pandora.
Enough about me and mine. I wish you and yours a wonderful holiday season. I love that Hanukkah is overlapping Christmas this year; gonna fry up some latkes tonight. 2011 was a stinker of a year, but it went fast, ending (so far) with Boehner's bag o' toys of a cave-in.
Let's all hold cybernetic hands and feel the love. I love you! I'm so happy to know you. May the soft-focus colored soft-drink bottles spray you with good cheer. Oh, wait, that's a close-up of Christmas lights. Good cheer!

Food You Should Eat

This would be good on Meatless Monday. But Cranky wanted a little meat. So the chopped-off ends of a few fatty rashers of bacon found their way in. (Yum.)
You are looking at the classic pot o' greens. This was a two-hour endeavor -- not counting washing and trimming the greens, which Cranky picked up fresh at the farmers market this morning.
You have to be careful what you talk about while you're still snuggling in bed with the Sunday paper. I mentioned greens, merely because I think our diet could use some healthin' up. Cranky was all, like, "Bang! Wow! Done." Still, largely, nothing wrong with that.
I'm traditionally the greens cook around here, but we collaborated today, and I know that Cranky picked up some really good lessons.
He also cooked a pot of rice and a pot of red beans; combine however you see fit.
That dude is my salvation.

A Wind in the Willows Lunch

It's a peasanty kind of meal, even if you're out of bread and Marie Antoinette orders you to eat brioche.
It was a simple matter of food on hand. What to do, how to eat?
Well, naturally you cut and sautee the mushrooms (crimini and trumpet). With a shallot, yas? Then you drizzle in some cream and stir lovingly, until you can no longer wait: you add a glug of rum (because there is no sherry in the house, and the rum works surprisingly well).
Just toast and mushrooms, really, but so damn fancy. The flavors, the rustic presentation, a collision of sensations.
I was going to say something about maybe winter's not so bad... But it's still fall.

If You're Gonna Be a Lush, Be a Proper Lush

You've noticed that cocktails are all the rage. Probably always been all the rage, except during the late 60s, when they were considered mommy drinks. My mommy.
I was one of those hippies who avoided liquor in favor of junky red wine, and didn't have my first martini until I was in my 30s.
At the time, there was a little "cool" revival. Sinatra. Dark bars. Attitude.
Oh, let me tell you about the attitude. Cranky and I went to a hipster waterfront restaurant and ordered martinis.
"Vodka martinis?" growled the bartender.
"No, a martini is made with gin unless I ask for something else," said Cranky, the cranky ex-bartender. "And we like a little vermouth."
Grrr! The bartender hated us now. He turned his back, did a little mixing, and served us the best martini I've ever had. By accident. He wanted to skunk us by following the old formula, which we would surely hate. He didn't understand the reasoning behind the old formula. (And he was flattered and embarrassed when we complimented, and tipped, him. Attitude collapse.)
Look, if you want a dry martini, fine. Leave out the vermouth altogether, if you like, but then you'll just be drinking chilled gin, straight. Gah. Gaseous. And, frankly, a one-booze drink isn't a cocktail.
I have a feeling a lot of the fine young cocktailians have never had a true, decent martini. All those silly tricks about whispering "vermouth" to the shaker, or dampening the glass with vermouth and pouring it off.
Try a real martini.

Blog Ennui Again, Ongoing

No, I don't mean "you" are the source of my ennui. Just couldn't resist a little Sluggo.
I've just been ripped up by the Occupy events. The last encampment of any size to be taken down, Occupy Boston, survived its deadline last night and people remained in Dewey Square. Seems the Bruins lost, and the cops were needed elsewhere. Ha!
I'm eating, but never anything pretty or ambitious. We have a few ideas in the fridge, though.
The weather is not killing me. The short days are fine. It's not raining. It's not depression; just ennui.
Besides, one of my favorite blog pals seems to have abandoned her blog (and this is fair warning, Ms. you-know-who-you-are). It's a little disheartening, because our time zones are too out of sync to Tweet with much overlap of awakeness.
I could blame her, couldn't I?
Ms. Redacted, you are the You in the Nancy cartoon.

Eat Mostly Plants

You know about adding some beets to your salad plate. This was a plate of beets with some salad added!
So damn good.
Are beets in season? I honestly don't know the lifecycle of this glorious orb. But I can tell you how to cook them. Bonk them, unpeeled, into a small covered casserole dish with a tiny puddle of water, and roast for an hour. Take them out and plunge into a bowl of cold water (in the sink), where you can easily massage the skins off.
Cranky decorated this salad with blue cheese, a little too much for me.
But let me tell you about cheese. The Crankycrumbs are considering an experimental vegan diet, for a week. Probably after the holidays. Laugh, monsters, but a lot of the food we eat is vegan already.
I'll tell you about it next month.