I got five gallons of diesel for the tractor yesterday, so I'm of a mind to wish for snow. This winter has started off well but we need more. We haven't had a really good winter for snow for a few years. Bring it on! I have plenty of wood stored up for the stove.
Now for the subject of Christmas Eve, which Rebecca reminded me of at Sam and Deb's house yesterday before she convinced me that I have to bit the bullet and yank my jammed toe back into proper alignment. . . which I may do once I get up the nerve when Linda isn't around to hear the scream. And then again, I may not. Who declared Rebecca a toe doctor to know whether I should torture myself intensively by yanking at that thing or whether I should simply leave it alone to torture me subtly and naggingly until it gives up?
Enough with the toe. It's mildly throbbing down there; but I have more important things to concern myself with, namely a rant on the general disrespect for tradition among the younger generation.
We deep fry battered vegetables and breaded fish on Christmas Eve because in the proper scheme of things, before the beginning of the decline of Western Civilization, no meat was allowed until midnight. This tradition has, of course, been corrupted for many a year by the introduction of red tomato gravy made with meat, which some barbarians insist on putting on my Spaghetti Aglio e' Olio, thus turning it into a fusion cuisine nightmare.
This practice is by no means new. It started in the 1990's, thankfully after Pop was no longer around to see it. Mom, however, was still around, and we had many a discussion about whether it should be permitted, the uneasy compromise being that we would not make the red gravy but would turn a more or less blind eye to its introduction into the house.
This year, however, Rebecca went further. She suggested that she would bring stuffed olives and I agreed to the suggestion in a moment of weakness. Thus did meat, actual meat, impossible to deny, enter the house on Christmas Eve. I agreed, of course, because stuffed olives are perhaps the finest achievement of Italian cuisine, at least in the appetizer category.
But then, when Rebecca brought what she said were stuffed olives they turned out to be olives in the middle surrounded by little meat balls. She made some claim that her dog had eaten the olives meant for stuffing, so she had to revert to pimento stuffed olives. Then she went further and claimed that putting the meat outside of the olives was actually the original Marche' recipe. Sam's Marche' cook book quickly proved that wrong; but it wasn't necessary.
My memory may have degenerated a bit over the years; but this is something impossible to get wrong. I distinctly remember Mom and Aunt Mary discussing the people who used pitted olives and the people who put the meat on the outside of the olive as they spiral cut the olives away from their pits, a fairly delicate task.
I just finished, by the way, a porchetta sandwich on a Corropolese medium kaiser roll. And I'm fairly confident you didn't. There was quite a bit of porchetta left over on New Year's Eve from that 9 pound roast I cooked; but I somehow neglected to give any of it away to the departing guests. I have five containers of it in the freezer, plus the bowl I've been finishing sandwich by sandwich since New Year's day.
Meanwhile, a large flock of starlings is flying and walking around the lawn out there even as a fifteen or so mile an our wind is whipping the 25 degree air around. It's hard to imagine just how those birds survive in this cold. Why don't they go south? They're clearly finding stuff to eat out there on the frozen ground; but wouldn't they find tastier and warmer stuff in Georgia or South Carolina where they would have warmer feet?
Sam and I talked to Al and Jas down in Florida yesterday and they were whining about the temperatures dipping into the fifties during the day. These starlings should be down in Florida annoying them.
There are, however, some small consolations for living up here in the cold. I have the woodstove roaring away in there. Sitting by it as those damned starlings freeze there little feet off because they're too stupid to fly south is one of those consolations.
In other news: Five scientists, no doubt working very hard down in Australia, where it is summer for those of you who are geographically challenged, have figured out how bees land. I was intrigued by this paragraph:
"First the scientists built a bee landing platform that could be inclined at any angle from horizontal to inverted (like a ceiling), then they trained bees to land on it and began filming."
One has to wonder whether it really took five scientists to do that; or whether a couple of those scientists were looking for an excuse to go to Austrialia and catch some rays.
http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/12/091223074657.htm
Showing posts with label Christmas eve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas eve. Show all posts
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Monday, December 29, 2008
Traditions
Family traditions are important.
Linda and I, for instance, have a tradition of putting a little reminder on the inside of the front door each Monday morning so we don't forget to take the trash out to the curb on Monday evening. This morning we had to search for the hallowed "Trash Tonight" sign because Linda took it off the refrigerator and put it into a drawer as part of her traditional pre Christmas Eve cleanup operation which moves all sorts of things from their normal places to new surprising places. Linda thinks the "Trash Tonight" sign dates from before Aunt Mary R died,. which would make it more than ten years old. That little scrap of notebook paper has made a lot of trips from the refrigerator to the front door and back again over the years, recently accompanied by the blue Mascaro elephant refrigerator magnet. It used to travel in company with the carrot magnet that wasn't quite strong enough to secure it if you put it too close to the swinging open side of the refrigerator door; but the carrot magnet disappeared some time ago. Perhaps it will turn up again in a surprising place one of these days. I wonder if Al Gore is so careful in recycling his "trash tonight" sign so as to avoid putting stress on the planet.
Speaking of Fat Albert, we also have a tradition of eating healthy meals before we get our cholesterol tests so as not to needlessly alarm our doctors. Our blood chemistry is always at its most healthy when we go for our blood tests. We would probably live forever if they gave us blood tests every week, or perhaps if the doctors were smart enough to institute random blood testing procedures. I'll bet a lot of people would be a lot healthier if the doctors set up a system that held the threat of cholesterol tests over their heads like so many personal Swords of Damocles. I picture community service "volunteers" stopping random motorists - "Just the blood sample Ma'am." Maybe Barry will make that part of the brave new world order he hopes to implement.
On that note, the other day Jas charged me with calling President Elect Barack Hussein Obama "Barry" in imitation of Rush Limbaugh. For the record Sam is the Limbaugh fan. I'm very seldom aware of what Rush Limbaugh is saying because I use my car sound system to listen to book tapes. And, even though I tend to agree with much of what he says when I do hear him say things, I'm not a big fan of Limbaugh. He's a bit too forgiving of large corporations for my taste. Large corporations are not in favor of free markets. They are nearly as much in favor of fascist and totalitarian regulations and policies as Barry is because government intrusion in the marketplace almost always squeezes the little guys who threaten the cozy situations of the big guys. That only makes sense because the big guys are the ones who have the most money to buy folks like Barry and/or the regulators he will install to "protect the little guys". But the main point is that I wasn't aware that Rush Limbaugh was calling The One "Barry". For all I know Limbaugh's been imitating me.
But I was talking about Linda's desire to lower her cholesterol level before her blood test. So last night we had Indian food. I made Punjabi Chhole with the help of a spice packet. And I made spinach and potatoes that I made by cutting the top off the pouch it was in and microwaving the disgusting looking mixture which turned out to taste pretty good. The Chhole also turned out pretty darned good despite the fact that I kind of winged it with the proportions.
The Chhole spice packet was intended for a 30 ounce can of garbanzo beans; and it was a pretty disappointing spice packet in that the little print instructions on the back wanted fresh ginger and cilantro. Who keeps fresh ginger and cilantro on hand? And what good is a spice packet that doesn't include all the spices? So I had to go out to the market. And I had to adjust the recipe for a 19 ounce can of garbanzo beans. And I'm pretty disrespectful of recipes in the first place, let alone recipes on traitorously incomplete spice packets, so changes were made; but it turned out very good over Basmati Rice. If you haven't discovered Basmati Rice you need to get a package of it.
In addition Linda made a spinach, clementine segment and cucumber salad with a very good dressing that may never be reproducible because she used a spoonful of the honey mixture from the preserved kumquats we bought in Corfu. I'm doubly glad we took that cruise before the market collapse for a couple of reasons. First off we would definitely have thought twice about the money if we had already observed our 401Ks being ravaged. And secondly, the fact that we had already spent that dough meant that it wasn't in the market to be ravaged. The delights of the cruise are safely in our heads, completely insulated from the vagaries of the stock market. Grandpop L always said that you can't waste money on something that you put in your belly. I would add that you can't waste money on travel and new experiences as long as you don't cut into the assets you need for essentials like Basmati Rice. It's great prepared according to the package directions; but even better if you put a dribble of toasted Sesame oil and a tablespoon or so of Olive Oil in with the cooking water.
There are going to be some interesting meals around here if I remain in this semi-laid off state for a while. Linda got me an Indian cookbook for Christmas so there will soon be no more Indian cooking with spice packets and pouches and little tins of premixed curry powder. One of these days I'm going to go down to that Indian market in Trooper and outfit myself with the genuine individual spices. I may even go all the way and pick up a mortar and pestle.
Perhaps next Christmas Eve we'll have Rijsttafel instead of the traditional Italian foods. Or maybe we'll replace the angel atop the tree with a little Ganesh after New Year's day next year and have Rijsttafel on the fourth day of the next waning moon. Maybe Sam can arrange for someone to wear the Mascaro elephant suit to the party.
I've got to get going now. I need to pick up a couple of pork roasts to make for New Year's Eve, and I need to reserve a couple dozen medium kaiser rolls at Corropolese for pickup that morning. We're having Sam, Deb, Jas, Kathy, Mark and Linda over for porkette, potato salad and some other stuff. Linda's blood sample will be on the way to the lab by then, and my blood test is months away, so cholesterol is not a problem. We'll probably be pretty well behaved anyway because we're eating at 5:00 and we have to be sufficiently recovered to dance by 7:00 since that's when Deb has her church hall reserved. Have I mentioned that Linda and I have retained almost all of the intermediate Rumba moves that Jas and Kathy taught in the last series of lessons up at the Ballroom on High?
Linda and I, for instance, have a tradition of putting a little reminder on the inside of the front door each Monday morning so we don't forget to take the trash out to the curb on Monday evening. This morning we had to search for the hallowed "Trash Tonight" sign because Linda took it off the refrigerator and put it into a drawer as part of her traditional pre Christmas Eve cleanup operation which moves all sorts of things from their normal places to new surprising places. Linda thinks the "Trash Tonight" sign dates from before Aunt Mary R died,. which would make it more than ten years old. That little scrap of notebook paper has made a lot of trips from the refrigerator to the front door and back again over the years, recently accompanied by the blue Mascaro elephant refrigerator magnet. It used to travel in company with the carrot magnet that wasn't quite strong enough to secure it if you put it too close to the swinging open side of the refrigerator door; but the carrot magnet disappeared some time ago. Perhaps it will turn up again in a surprising place one of these days. I wonder if Al Gore is so careful in recycling his "trash tonight" sign so as to avoid putting stress on the planet.
Speaking of Fat Albert, we also have a tradition of eating healthy meals before we get our cholesterol tests so as not to needlessly alarm our doctors. Our blood chemistry is always at its most healthy when we go for our blood tests. We would probably live forever if they gave us blood tests every week, or perhaps if the doctors were smart enough to institute random blood testing procedures. I'll bet a lot of people would be a lot healthier if the doctors set up a system that held the threat of cholesterol tests over their heads like so many personal Swords of Damocles. I picture community service "volunteers" stopping random motorists - "Just the blood sample Ma'am." Maybe Barry will make that part of the brave new world order he hopes to implement.
On that note, the other day Jas charged me with calling President Elect Barack Hussein Obama "Barry" in imitation of Rush Limbaugh. For the record Sam is the Limbaugh fan. I'm very seldom aware of what Rush Limbaugh is saying because I use my car sound system to listen to book tapes. And, even though I tend to agree with much of what he says when I do hear him say things, I'm not a big fan of Limbaugh. He's a bit too forgiving of large corporations for my taste. Large corporations are not in favor of free markets. They are nearly as much in favor of fascist and totalitarian regulations and policies as Barry is because government intrusion in the marketplace almost always squeezes the little guys who threaten the cozy situations of the big guys. That only makes sense because the big guys are the ones who have the most money to buy folks like Barry and/or the regulators he will install to "protect the little guys". But the main point is that I wasn't aware that Rush Limbaugh was calling The One "Barry". For all I know Limbaugh's been imitating me.
But I was talking about Linda's desire to lower her cholesterol level before her blood test. So last night we had Indian food. I made Punjabi Chhole with the help of a spice packet. And I made spinach and potatoes that I made by cutting the top off the pouch it was in and microwaving the disgusting looking mixture which turned out to taste pretty good. The Chhole also turned out pretty darned good despite the fact that I kind of winged it with the proportions.
The Chhole spice packet was intended for a 30 ounce can of garbanzo beans; and it was a pretty disappointing spice packet in that the little print instructions on the back wanted fresh ginger and cilantro. Who keeps fresh ginger and cilantro on hand? And what good is a spice packet that doesn't include all the spices? So I had to go out to the market. And I had to adjust the recipe for a 19 ounce can of garbanzo beans. And I'm pretty disrespectful of recipes in the first place, let alone recipes on traitorously incomplete spice packets, so changes were made; but it turned out very good over Basmati Rice. If you haven't discovered Basmati Rice you need to get a package of it.
In addition Linda made a spinach, clementine segment and cucumber salad with a very good dressing that may never be reproducible because she used a spoonful of the honey mixture from the preserved kumquats we bought in Corfu. I'm doubly glad we took that cruise before the market collapse for a couple of reasons. First off we would definitely have thought twice about the money if we had already observed our 401Ks being ravaged. And secondly, the fact that we had already spent that dough meant that it wasn't in the market to be ravaged. The delights of the cruise are safely in our heads, completely insulated from the vagaries of the stock market. Grandpop L always said that you can't waste money on something that you put in your belly. I would add that you can't waste money on travel and new experiences as long as you don't cut into the assets you need for essentials like Basmati Rice. It's great prepared according to the package directions; but even better if you put a dribble of toasted Sesame oil and a tablespoon or so of Olive Oil in with the cooking water.
There are going to be some interesting meals around here if I remain in this semi-laid off state for a while. Linda got me an Indian cookbook for Christmas so there will soon be no more Indian cooking with spice packets and pouches and little tins of premixed curry powder. One of these days I'm going to go down to that Indian market in Trooper and outfit myself with the genuine individual spices. I may even go all the way and pick up a mortar and pestle.
Perhaps next Christmas Eve we'll have Rijsttafel instead of the traditional Italian foods. Or maybe we'll replace the angel atop the tree with a little Ganesh after New Year's day next year and have Rijsttafel on the fourth day of the next waning moon. Maybe Sam can arrange for someone to wear the Mascaro elephant suit to the party.
I've got to get going now. I need to pick up a couple of pork roasts to make for New Year's Eve, and I need to reserve a couple dozen medium kaiser rolls at Corropolese for pickup that morning. We're having Sam, Deb, Jas, Kathy, Mark and Linda over for porkette, potato salad and some other stuff. Linda's blood sample will be on the way to the lab by then, and my blood test is months away, so cholesterol is not a problem. We'll probably be pretty well behaved anyway because we're eating at 5:00 and we have to be sufficiently recovered to dance by 7:00 since that's when Deb has her church hall reserved. Have I mentioned that Linda and I have retained almost all of the intermediate Rumba moves that Jas and Kathy taught in the last series of lessons up at the Ballroom on High?
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night
I've been told that some folks have been wondering why I haven't posted anything here for a while. Part of the truth is that my laptop, on which I'm writing this, has a virus that has been causing it to crash regularly. Another part of the truth is that I've been immersed in a couple of pretty good novels. And the final part of the truth is that I've started several blog entries that haven't worked.
So, I'd be working on a frustrating blog entry and the laptop would crash. And when the laptop crashed I would use it as an excuse to pick up one of the novels. Then when I returned to the laptop after it restarted, I would find myself facing the still unsatisfactory blog entry. So I would try a new start for it, or a new middle, or a new end, and then the laptop would crash again. And I would go off to one of the novels again.
The two novels were Fleet of Worlds by Larry Niven, which I finished a couple of days ago and Playing for Pizza by John Grisham, which I finished an hour or so ago. Both were excellent, but now they're done. I plan to loan Playing for Pizza to Sam and Jas because it's about football, Italians and food; but Fleet of Worlds will go up on the shelf with the other science fiction since nobody around here likes science fiction.
We had a great Christmas Eve gathering here earlier even though we missed Al R and Angela. Al's down in Florida crowing about the warm temperatures every time we talk to him on Saturday mornings. Angie's out in San Diego waiting on a back operation that's now scheduled for New Year's Eve day, of all the days. Hopefully they'll get to cutting on her back before they get to partying.
Thankfully Catherine and Liana came over to help with the food preparation. Linda and I couldn't have done it without them. There is a tempo necessary to preparing the various fried foods.
Incidentally, the laptop crapped out after the line above and restarted itself. I went out and had a cigarette and read the beginning of The Godfather Returns by some schlemiel named Mark Weingardner. How can it be that the best writer they could hire to continue the godfather saga can't write one tenth as well as Mario Puzo? Well, at least this novel is set in the time of the original novel and uses some of the original characters.
Anyway, we had a great Christmas Eve gathering of the tribe. Marianne and Dave managed to find the old pogo stick I wrote about a few days ago and gave that to me as a Christmas present. I was encouraged to try it out; but I'm not that stupid. Nor was I that drunk. I'm told that Samuel managed to do ten jumps on it when the younger and more foolish folks took it out to the driveway, so the darn thing still works fifty three years after I first got it as a gift. Meanwhile it's now propped out there by the front door, so I'm stuck with it again.
Rebecca brought very serviceable red baccala stew, although it wasn't a hundred percent Aunt Mary style, and Rebecca fessed up to messing with the recipe. Caramelize some tomato paste indeed! Mom would have said "quan de gatsa de mossa." But I think Mom would have approved of the flavor. Also, Rebecca gave Sam a Marche' cookbook which looked interesting. It had what looked like some of the traditional recipes in there. I have to borrow it from Sam and read it.
The fried foods were as delicious as they were unhealthful. And, as usual, the folks ate an unbelievable amount of garlic and oil spaghetti. Some of them corrupted it with a topping of the quite good tomato gravy that Deb brought, but all seemed to enjoy it. There is a segment of the family that refuses to recognize that garlic and oil spaghetti is too good to mess up with tomato sauce.
I'm always amazed when they compliment that spaghetti on Christmas Eve. Just for the record there's nothing magical about why it tasted the way it did. The secret is in the garlic, the fresh instead of dried parsley and the egg noodle spaghetti instead of water based pasta. It's an everything to excess recipe.
One bulb of garlic for each 14 ounce package of egg pasta even though your hands get cramped from chopping so much garlic. Buy a chopper if you don't want your hands to get cramped. Don't cut down on the amount of garlic. And one supermarket bunch of chopped fresh parsley for four packages of pasta, which is how much we went through tonight. Also, a couple of tablespoons of salt at least in the pasta cooking water and a tablespoon or so of salt in the couple of cups of olive oil in which the garlic is cooked until some of it is browning. Forget all that stuff you were told about not overcooking garlic. Some of the garlic has to be overcooked.
Truth to tell, in my own opinion, I could have browned the garlic a bit more than I did tonight. I was a bit too quick to put in the water and parsley. But things were a bit hectic over there what with the four packages of pasta being a bit too much for the size of the cauldron that Kathy loaned us. Also, I was getting a bit tired of cooking by that point, and I had forgotten the garlic and oil for a bit and they were on high. So I panicked a little when I saw the first brown bits and put the water and parsley in maybe a couple of minutes too soon.
So, I'd be working on a frustrating blog entry and the laptop would crash. And when the laptop crashed I would use it as an excuse to pick up one of the novels. Then when I returned to the laptop after it restarted, I would find myself facing the still unsatisfactory blog entry. So I would try a new start for it, or a new middle, or a new end, and then the laptop would crash again. And I would go off to one of the novels again.
The two novels were Fleet of Worlds by Larry Niven, which I finished a couple of days ago and Playing for Pizza by John Grisham, which I finished an hour or so ago. Both were excellent, but now they're done. I plan to loan Playing for Pizza to Sam and Jas because it's about football, Italians and food; but Fleet of Worlds will go up on the shelf with the other science fiction since nobody around here likes science fiction.
We had a great Christmas Eve gathering here earlier even though we missed Al R and Angela. Al's down in Florida crowing about the warm temperatures every time we talk to him on Saturday mornings. Angie's out in San Diego waiting on a back operation that's now scheduled for New Year's Eve day, of all the days. Hopefully they'll get to cutting on her back before they get to partying.
Thankfully Catherine and Liana came over to help with the food preparation. Linda and I couldn't have done it without them. There is a tempo necessary to preparing the various fried foods.
Incidentally, the laptop crapped out after the line above and restarted itself. I went out and had a cigarette and read the beginning of The Godfather Returns by some schlemiel named Mark Weingardner. How can it be that the best writer they could hire to continue the godfather saga can't write one tenth as well as Mario Puzo? Well, at least this novel is set in the time of the original novel and uses some of the original characters.
Anyway, we had a great Christmas Eve gathering of the tribe. Marianne and Dave managed to find the old pogo stick I wrote about a few days ago and gave that to me as a Christmas present. I was encouraged to try it out; but I'm not that stupid. Nor was I that drunk. I'm told that Samuel managed to do ten jumps on it when the younger and more foolish folks took it out to the driveway, so the darn thing still works fifty three years after I first got it as a gift. Meanwhile it's now propped out there by the front door, so I'm stuck with it again.
Rebecca brought very serviceable red baccala stew, although it wasn't a hundred percent Aunt Mary style, and Rebecca fessed up to messing with the recipe. Caramelize some tomato paste indeed! Mom would have said "quan de gatsa de mossa." But I think Mom would have approved of the flavor. Also, Rebecca gave Sam a Marche' cookbook which looked interesting. It had what looked like some of the traditional recipes in there. I have to borrow it from Sam and read it.
The fried foods were as delicious as they were unhealthful. And, as usual, the folks ate an unbelievable amount of garlic and oil spaghetti. Some of them corrupted it with a topping of the quite good tomato gravy that Deb brought, but all seemed to enjoy it. There is a segment of the family that refuses to recognize that garlic and oil spaghetti is too good to mess up with tomato sauce.
I'm always amazed when they compliment that spaghetti on Christmas Eve. Just for the record there's nothing magical about why it tasted the way it did. The secret is in the garlic, the fresh instead of dried parsley and the egg noodle spaghetti instead of water based pasta. It's an everything to excess recipe.
One bulb of garlic for each 14 ounce package of egg pasta even though your hands get cramped from chopping so much garlic. Buy a chopper if you don't want your hands to get cramped. Don't cut down on the amount of garlic. And one supermarket bunch of chopped fresh parsley for four packages of pasta, which is how much we went through tonight. Also, a couple of tablespoons of salt at least in the pasta cooking water and a tablespoon or so of salt in the couple of cups of olive oil in which the garlic is cooked until some of it is browning. Forget all that stuff you were told about not overcooking garlic. Some of the garlic has to be overcooked.
Truth to tell, in my own opinion, I could have browned the garlic a bit more than I did tonight. I was a bit too quick to put in the water and parsley. But things were a bit hectic over there what with the four packages of pasta being a bit too much for the size of the cauldron that Kathy loaned us. Also, I was getting a bit tired of cooking by that point, and I had forgotten the garlic and oil for a bit and they were on high. So I panicked a little when I saw the first brown bits and put the water and parsley in maybe a couple of minutes too soon.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
On the Ninth Day before Christmas
We all want consistency in our parents; but we treasure and remember the surprises.
Today, for instance I was remembering Pop on a certain Christmas Eve, probably the Christmas Eve of 1954 or so because we were still living down on Penn Street, and I had to be old enough for Doc to have taken it to mind that I was old enough to need a pogo stick. For the record I didn't weigh enough to be able to make that pogo stick work for at least several years after I got it.
Anyway, Pop is hopping on the pogo stick in front of our house on Penn Street sometime after Midnight. It takes him a few tries; but eventually he gets up to being able to maintain a string of about ten pretty good hops. This I know because I was watching from the second floor window.
Mom, meanwhile, is hissing at him from the open door of the house. "Get in here you damned idiot. You're drunk. You're going to fall and break your neck." Mostly she's not happy with the spectacle because Midnight Mass is about to let out down at Holy Saviour Church and the neighborhood will be filled with quiet upstanding neighbors shortly. This I know because it was one of Mom's favorite stories concerning what I'll call the Christmas Eve follies.
We had that pogo stick for a long time because it was practically indestructible. It was made to last of heavy gauge metal; and it had a spring that was so stiff that it took a real jump by someone weighing at least a hundred and forty or so pounds to get it to work at all. When you mounted that thing you either jumped on for real or you wouldn't depress the spring enough to get any kind of a bounce.
To get up to even a few continuous bounces was very hard. I never got beyond six or seven bounces; but then I never tried the thing after a dozen or two shots of Canadian Club, which would have alleviated the concern that I would break my neck and thus made me more daring. The heads of the simpering nannies at the Consumer Product Safety Commission would explode if someone tried to sell a similar toy today.
To imagine Pop healthy enough and athletic enough to get up to ten or so continuous bounces on a pogo stick is probably impossible for those of you who didn't see him do it. But I'm here to tell you that there was a time when he made that thing work for him. I've often wondered how many continuous bounces he would have gotten up to if Mom hadn't coaxed him into the house just after he really started getting the knack of the thing.
Today, for instance I was remembering Pop on a certain Christmas Eve, probably the Christmas Eve of 1954 or so because we were still living down on Penn Street, and I had to be old enough for Doc to have taken it to mind that I was old enough to need a pogo stick. For the record I didn't weigh enough to be able to make that pogo stick work for at least several years after I got it.
Anyway, Pop is hopping on the pogo stick in front of our house on Penn Street sometime after Midnight. It takes him a few tries; but eventually he gets up to being able to maintain a string of about ten pretty good hops. This I know because I was watching from the second floor window.
Mom, meanwhile, is hissing at him from the open door of the house. "Get in here you damned idiot. You're drunk. You're going to fall and break your neck." Mostly she's not happy with the spectacle because Midnight Mass is about to let out down at Holy Saviour Church and the neighborhood will be filled with quiet upstanding neighbors shortly. This I know because it was one of Mom's favorite stories concerning what I'll call the Christmas Eve follies.
We had that pogo stick for a long time because it was practically indestructible. It was made to last of heavy gauge metal; and it had a spring that was so stiff that it took a real jump by someone weighing at least a hundred and forty or so pounds to get it to work at all. When you mounted that thing you either jumped on for real or you wouldn't depress the spring enough to get any kind of a bounce.
To get up to even a few continuous bounces was very hard. I never got beyond six or seven bounces; but then I never tried the thing after a dozen or two shots of Canadian Club, which would have alleviated the concern that I would break my neck and thus made me more daring. The heads of the simpering nannies at the Consumer Product Safety Commission would explode if someone tried to sell a similar toy today.
To imagine Pop healthy enough and athletic enough to get up to ten or so continuous bounces on a pogo stick is probably impossible for those of you who didn't see him do it. But I'm here to tell you that there was a time when he made that thing work for him. I've often wondered how many continuous bounces he would have gotten up to if Mom hadn't coaxed him into the house just after he really started getting the knack of the thing.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Fish stories
Don A down in Florida helpfully provided a list of baccala recipes. The one below looks pretty much like the one Grandmon L and Aunt Mary R used to make on Christmas Eve, and which Angela made more recently, but without the green olives, capers and pignolis which are only appropriate if Don Corleone is coming to visit. There are some other interesting looking baccala recipes on the document Don sent me. If you want the full list send me an email or leave your email address in a comment.
A warning - If you decide to make this or anything else with baccala you need to remember, as I often haven't, that two pounds of dried salted cod is a lot, a very lot. After you soak it, it will swell up like a monster set loose in Phoenixville into something like four or five pounds of fish. I think this recipe must mean two pounds after it's been soaked; so it's a recipe intended for maybe half of one of the hard as wood dried cod fillets that you find being sold right out of the wooden box in a proper market.
One time I showed up at Mom and Pop's house with three dried cod fillets of which I was pretty proud because I had ignored the dirty looks of the clerk and leafed through the fillets in the box just like Mom used to do to get the ones with the thickest thick ends. Pop, who didn't like baccala, took one look at the maybe six pounds of dried cod and said, "What the hell are you gonna do with all of that damned stuff." Mom just laughed. As I recall she kept one of the fillets to use for Christmas Eve and one for later and sent me home with the third along with instructions about how to soak it. So me and Linda had a second Christmas Eve, at least from a baccala standpoint, in late January of that year. Come to think of it I made the red baccala that year myself, so Mom must have said something like, 'soak the fish, fry some garlic in olive oil, put in a can of chopped tomatoes, some potatoes and some raisins and cook it 'til it's done.'
You need to start forty eight hours before you plan to cook the fish by putting the dried fillet in a big pot of cold water. Bend it or cut it in half if need be so it's fully submerged and put the pot in the refrigerator. Change the cold water at least twice and finally change it again before boiling the now swelled up and soft fish. The fact that the whole house will smell like a Portuguese fishing boat for a day or so after you boil it is part of the fun, it adds atmosphere. The fish ends up looking pure and white, surprisingly like fresh fish, given that it starts out yellow and fibrous; but it has more body, more texture and bite, than fresh fish.
I'm always amazed that only me and Sam and Angela really look forward to the red bacalla on Christmas Eve. The rest of the family at best tolerates it and at worst takes Pop's attitude. Pop never met a fish he really liked even though he liked to fish when he was younger.
PESCESTOCCO ALLA MESSINESE
This classic bacalla dish includes potatoes and green olives, found in many sicilian dishes
2 lbs of bacalla (soaked, cleaned & deboned)
1 cup of olive oil
2 med onions - sliced
2 celery stalks - sliced
4 tomatoes - peeled, seeded and chopped
1 lb potatoes - peeled
10 green olives - pitted
2 tbls capers
2 tbls pignoli nuts
4 tbls raisins
Heat the oil in a deep skillet or sauce pan/saute the onions & celery and cook till softened/add the tomatoes and 1/2 cup of warm water/bring to a slow simmer/cut the bacalla into fairly large uniform pieces/cut potatoes into quarters/add the bacalla, potatoes, and the rest of the ingredients to the pot & simmer for 30-40 minutes
A warning - If you decide to make this or anything else with baccala you need to remember, as I often haven't, that two pounds of dried salted cod is a lot, a very lot. After you soak it, it will swell up like a monster set loose in Phoenixville into something like four or five pounds of fish. I think this recipe must mean two pounds after it's been soaked; so it's a recipe intended for maybe half of one of the hard as wood dried cod fillets that you find being sold right out of the wooden box in a proper market.
One time I showed up at Mom and Pop's house with three dried cod fillets of which I was pretty proud because I had ignored the dirty looks of the clerk and leafed through the fillets in the box just like Mom used to do to get the ones with the thickest thick ends. Pop, who didn't like baccala, took one look at the maybe six pounds of dried cod and said, "What the hell are you gonna do with all of that damned stuff." Mom just laughed. As I recall she kept one of the fillets to use for Christmas Eve and one for later and sent me home with the third along with instructions about how to soak it. So me and Linda had a second Christmas Eve, at least from a baccala standpoint, in late January of that year. Come to think of it I made the red baccala that year myself, so Mom must have said something like, 'soak the fish, fry some garlic in olive oil, put in a can of chopped tomatoes, some potatoes and some raisins and cook it 'til it's done.'
You need to start forty eight hours before you plan to cook the fish by putting the dried fillet in a big pot of cold water. Bend it or cut it in half if need be so it's fully submerged and put the pot in the refrigerator. Change the cold water at least twice and finally change it again before boiling the now swelled up and soft fish. The fact that the whole house will smell like a Portuguese fishing boat for a day or so after you boil it is part of the fun, it adds atmosphere. The fish ends up looking pure and white, surprisingly like fresh fish, given that it starts out yellow and fibrous; but it has more body, more texture and bite, than fresh fish.
I'm always amazed that only me and Sam and Angela really look forward to the red bacalla on Christmas Eve. The rest of the family at best tolerates it and at worst takes Pop's attitude. Pop never met a fish he really liked even though he liked to fish when he was younger.
PESCESTOCCO ALLA MESSINESE
This classic bacalla dish includes potatoes and green olives, found in many sicilian dishes
2 lbs of bacalla (soaked, cleaned & deboned)
1 cup of olive oil
2 med onions - sliced
2 celery stalks - sliced
4 tomatoes - peeled, seeded and chopped
1 lb potatoes - peeled
10 green olives - pitted
2 tbls capers
2 tbls pignoli nuts
4 tbls raisins
Heat the oil in a deep skillet or sauce pan/saute the onions & celery and cook till softened/add the tomatoes and 1/2 cup of warm water/bring to a slow simmer/cut the bacalla into fairly large uniform pieces/cut potatoes into quarters/add the bacalla, potatoes, and the rest of the ingredients to the pot & simmer for 30-40 minutes
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