tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55399181683446855182024-03-06T01:05:16.464-08:00Oh.Stories here are probably not accurate at all. Just so you know.GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.comBlogger1099125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-1406843966605243282013-09-27T13:41:00.003-07:002013-09-27T13:41:52.129-07:00I've moved to Tumblr!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi friends, I've moved my blog over to Tumblr. We'll see how it goes! You can find me at <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.tumblr.com/">pigletsandfishes.tumblr.com</a>. Hope to see you there!</div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-80213552054615291682013-09-18T15:29:00.000-07:002013-09-18T15:29:42.663-07:00Please let it be true<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman <a href="http://www.readability.com/read?url=http%3A//the-toast.net/2013/09/17/oscar-wilde-and-walt-whitman-did-it/">may have had a liasion</a>. </div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-29864968791213732392013-09-17T13:59:00.001-07:002013-09-17T13:59:38.853-07:00I'm back<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hello! It's been a few weeks! I've been busy...I guess? Sort of hunkered down, really, mostly cooking, and baking, and traveling. I just got back from a week in New York, which included a few days in the city (not enough, I didn't get to see nearly as many people as I would have liked) and then a trip upstate for Mike's cousin's wedding. I have pictures and stuff that I'll post soon. But for now, I'll leave you with this:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">As a replacement for children who split no wood this year, dad and I have adopted a 100 pound baby. It doesn't talk or eat either. She's a beauty. Love mom</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqAL14G2UePTn_HhD0HZss86i0hidS9mJ7f1eLQ8E8AEOKIpu5pDchRpPhgrIfX0YMKQwRbgJEg0P_EUOdbWxAMsDLqchupKU3JtEU_z6JMU2yxgbP0tvG-BvztBtXDCypbwVejmITo4/s1600/IMGP6871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqAL14G2UePTn_HhD0HZss86i0hidS9mJ7f1eLQ8E8AEOKIpu5pDchRpPhgrIfX0YMKQwRbgJEg0P_EUOdbWxAMsDLqchupKU3JtEU_z6JMU2yxgbP0tvG-BvztBtXDCypbwVejmITo4/s400/IMGP6871.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-37923451775254132022013-08-29T13:41:00.000-07:002013-08-29T13:51:24.977-07:00Adventures with Ma Brennan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My mama was here this past weekend! She and my dad each visit about twice a year (for elder-dog-care reasons, they almost never come together), but it's been a while since her last trip, so I planned us a day in Napa. I usually gravitate toward more laidback Sonoma, but with the moms, why not fancy it up?<br />
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My mom showed up in San Francisco with a huge suitcase full of produce from her garden: zucchini, tomatoes, green beans, potatoes, an 8 pound cabbage (!), and, hallelujah, a re-up on my honey stash. Muchas gracias mama.</div>
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Her visit coincided nicely with an outing to Cal Shakes, a theater in the Berkeley hills where my friend coordinates group trips a few times a season. It was an Oscar Wilde play, Lady's Windermere's Fan, and was therefore delightful. I made us a kale and pasta salad and a plum almond tart to picnic on before the show.<br />
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Over the weekend we went north to wine country to seek non-Chardonnay whites, because oaky = gross. At <a href="http://www.honigwine.com/">Honig</a> we made friends with their sauvignon blanc (though not so much with the rose pictured below) and a rich cab.<br />
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Caitlin scooted us over to <a href="http://www.adhocrestaurant.com/addendum/">Addendum</a> in her Mini to pick up boxed lunches, which are the best and cheapest way to get your hands on Thomas Keller's fried chicken. We tolerated ten minutes in the car with the fried chicken aroma tickling our bellies before we scarfed it at our next stop. I love <a href="http://www.casanuestra.com/">Casa Nuestra'</a>s laid back vibe - there are goats on the property, their tasting room is a slightly rundown old house, and they have folk music posters on the walls. We stocked up on a chenin blanc (not officially released yet, but ask and ye shall receive) and their tinto.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghH3YuOE0-GXq6NfQhbTuRrN7GcZ-XzKlyaH1vB1RxzJoTvW4EQV1MHm0HsXvRX4Ygl2jl_zJhp9p-BWrum_TTExfQY_eMhz_w2g2B7AZ9sOHiqRAxOJYqPrVSeY95HIpeb5VkLqSYLg/s1600/IMG_20130829_134818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghH3YuOE0-GXq6NfQhbTuRrN7GcZ-XzKlyaH1vB1RxzJoTvW4EQV1MHm0HsXvRX4Ygl2jl_zJhp9p-BWrum_TTExfQY_eMhz_w2g2B7AZ9sOHiqRAxOJYqPrVSeY95HIpeb5VkLqSYLg/s400/IMG_20130829_134818.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
At <a href="http://www.stsupery.com/">St Supery</a> we tried some super peachy and crisp sauvignon blancs that mom loved, as well as a sauvignon blanc-semillon blend. I don't know much about semillons, but I did brew a saison last year that used semillon grape juice, and it was one of my best beers. We ended the day at <a href="http://www.chandon.com/">Domaine Chandon</a>, which was overrun with dudes in tight shirts and bachelorette parties. The vibe was off, but it was nice to wrap up with a glass of bubbly, and Caitlin snapped a photo of me and my mom where we're both smiling, which is an absolute miracle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XoboWjMPsgE6IopEE_GowoIuK0b5A5ZFZU609tErqIqEu5vVeJIRx_v97v1kfXXnMRWsxRJLarmpIqFAaqsmRzAa449Sk8nVRw-ssx6TY-W-eZMxY4lqZsOTlPHEO5az0H9bBWSMN1k/s1600/IMG_20130827_100848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XoboWjMPsgE6IopEE_GowoIuK0b5A5ZFZU609tErqIqEu5vVeJIRx_v97v1kfXXnMRWsxRJLarmpIqFAaqsmRzAa449Sk8nVRw-ssx6TY-W-eZMxY4lqZsOTlPHEO5az0H9bBWSMN1k/s400/IMG_20130827_100848.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Other Things That Happened:<br />
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Street art on Divis: $$$ won't love you back.</div>
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A visit to Temescal Alley in Oakland brought us to Esqueleto, a beautiful jewelry shop.</div>
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I finished off the plums we got at the farm via a plum crumb tart. Cooking the plums in a little bit of port first was a good off-the-cuff move.</div>
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I also whipped a cake via <a href="http://casayellow.com/2013/08/21/peach-cornmeal-upside-down-cake/">The Yellow House</a>. It has peaches, butter, cornmeal, fresh lavender (the first time I've clipped any from the plant in our backyard!), basically all the good things.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2c6tPMa1yJgl6h6Xpl0q2yCfDnqNy7gERo-wTvYiNzBHKtv8H0w64y6uxpR9K9q3RciSiC_bdghZZTQduW5PH-HX7T0JAJ0FY7rAVGu9MMga-FQ4cUgApA_nhHXHF5BVjbNOpTcM-2RU/s1600/IMG_20130826_141157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2c6tPMa1yJgl6h6Xpl0q2yCfDnqNy7gERo-wTvYiNzBHKtv8H0w64y6uxpR9K9q3RciSiC_bdghZZTQduW5PH-HX7T0JAJ0FY7rAVGu9MMga-FQ4cUgApA_nhHXHF5BVjbNOpTcM-2RU/s400/IMG_20130826_141157.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Speaking of the garden, I found three cucumbers ready to be picked! These suckers really know how to hide.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1KfE889ZEuRGZ8R8yBlVYhRWrX3-9V1enOXBfGBGvaD9IAQd1d4acxYO7WzM61XBYSH3nZyAptOj2pA4RhVfUfPFerqDq_6qAvNyGv0Pcpbfq7FKXte1tXs_HhvQ4yqcyRdhbJD8xPbU/s1600/IMG_20130826_185900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1KfE889ZEuRGZ8R8yBlVYhRWrX3-9V1enOXBfGBGvaD9IAQd1d4acxYO7WzM61XBYSH3nZyAptOj2pA4RhVfUfPFerqDq_6qAvNyGv0Pcpbfq7FKXte1tXs_HhvQ4yqcyRdhbJD8xPbU/s400/IMG_20130826_185900.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Or maybe we're just not so good at looking, since this zucchini managed to grow to over a foot long before I saw it. Holy moly. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9J2ylgG6lPv1v-8q__FaD6mTOIaikGUys9-hE5qZJdi0KOy5EbBkQxsXeHr0bLybLfX8pgjdAMb83trJu9j_3nsNfXEbcMPm_wUyYIfzIRhbPYMvK2Q4iZypxnWuXYb9mDkzKoeLmDQ/s1600/IMG_20130822_133229+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9J2ylgG6lPv1v-8q__FaD6mTOIaikGUys9-hE5qZJdi0KOy5EbBkQxsXeHr0bLybLfX8pgjdAMb83trJu9j_3nsNfXEbcMPm_wUyYIfzIRhbPYMvK2Q4iZypxnWuXYb9mDkzKoeLmDQ/s400/IMG_20130822_133229+(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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All this zucchini went into a vegetable paella, along with some of its vegetable brethren.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0enM95Z17WQ0q0UwSxCFv3KbCK6aCswIxZgMGa0vnYwKcNcIAOKAAU0kiSTgMu5VqUNQF44yE66lPmAz49eTSkdFJm_O7gKKsDQf5zQekt816kfxqoi8bICaCexDz4xrPD3U_x9hlpk/s1600/IMG_20130828_103312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0enM95Z17WQ0q0UwSxCFv3KbCK6aCswIxZgMGa0vnYwKcNcIAOKAAU0kiSTgMu5VqUNQF44yE66lPmAz49eTSkdFJm_O7gKKsDQf5zQekt816kfxqoi8bICaCexDz4xrPD3U_x9hlpk/s400/IMG_20130828_103312.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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On a completely different note, Helene and I went to dinner and discovered this bizarre urinal in the women's room. Why is it there? Why is it filled with flowers? And why is it so high up? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzHEVMTTQ9lPThIbAj-PbHWurtuGJGrkfHD446C2oiCu4nnppX8IrXVl2G7H7lSUI7jeLnGjflP-5qJSqgwMqyp9X13c80vtmyrsWBRF-0sb-h7ZTSPgGtYr1igEk3SvlxLMxAmacghE/s1600/IMG_20130827_211616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzHEVMTTQ9lPThIbAj-PbHWurtuGJGrkfHD446C2oiCu4nnppX8IrXVl2G7H7lSUI7jeLnGjflP-5qJSqgwMqyp9X13c80vtmyrsWBRF-0sb-h7ZTSPgGtYr1igEk3SvlxLMxAmacghE/s400/IMG_20130827_211616.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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We'll never know.</div>
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-52676277380948487212013-08-27T11:37:00.003-07:002013-08-27T11:37:24.272-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Oh my goodness, our friends' baby Pele is a wee little model for Pottery Barn Kids. She's on the right <a href="http://www.potterybarnkids.com/products/emerson-nursery-wrap/?pkey=e%7Cnursery%2Bcritter%2Bwraps%7C1%7Cbest%7C0%7C1%7C24%7C%7C1&cm_src=PRODUCTSEARCH||NoFacet-_-NoFacet-_-NoMerchRules-_-">here</a>...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRecOvhTJq5nJCyybKElkX-bNSsZ5qG7prN1BjKPKa8UFRaoJwCovIelWdJyEtyAoF1YgJ4cakAGNC3biZniV3hZKqjU4K8BRAvthu1u3PrAVRYIQKAuEBpVYa2swgIq2kwuQWAV4-5kM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-08-27+at+11.33.01+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRecOvhTJq5nJCyybKElkX-bNSsZ5qG7prN1BjKPKa8UFRaoJwCovIelWdJyEtyAoF1YgJ4cakAGNC3biZniV3hZKqjU4K8BRAvthu1u3PrAVRYIQKAuEBpVYa2swgIq2kwuQWAV4-5kM/s400/Screen+Shot+2013-08-27+at+11.33.01+AM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
And is a precious pumpkin <a href="http://www.potterybarnkids.com/products/puffy-pumpkin-costume-baby/?pkey=e%7Cbaby%2Bpumkin%2Bcostume%7C3%7Cbest%7C0%7C1%7C24%7C%7C1&cm_src=PRODUCTSEARCH||NoFacet-_-NoFacet-_-NoMerchRules-_-">here</a>.<br />
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If you have ovaries, I apologize for setting them a-stirring.</div>
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-27574047707885214502013-08-22T12:28:00.000-07:002013-08-22T13:49:12.416-07:00Gimme all your produce<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/redearthfarmsonora">Red Earth Farm</a> is owned and run by our friends Katie and Larry in the Sierra foothills, and it is a magical place. Katie and Larry are not only two wonderful humans, but they grow food that is so delicious and nutritious that people clamor to buy it, all while raising two unimaginably delightful children. It boggles the mind.<br />
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Last week was Katie's birthday, so we headed out to the farm to celebrate. Now that I am 30, I get a sense of satisfaction every time a friend joins me in old age, because I am a really good friend. Welcome to 30, Katie! Mike and I packed the California Raisin (which will soon go to car heaven - more on that in a later post) full of homebrew and warm-weather clothes - see ya later, Fogust! - and drove east.<br />
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Nestled in a cooler alongside the bomber bottles of Chocolate Orange Porter and Semillon Saison was my contribution to Katie's potluck, a homely fig and almond cake. You know when something comes into your life and is just what you need at just the right moment, kismet? I had placed my first order with <a href="http://www.goodeggs.com/welcome">Good Eggs</a> (thanks to a $25 off coupon), and when the delivery arrived, it turned out they were out of lemon verbena, but gave me a beautiful basket of ripe figs to make up for it. The figs were plump and squishy and perfect, and after gorging myself, I turned to <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/recipes/1014976/Fig-and-Almond-Cake.html">this fig and almond cake recipe</a>, which came together quickly and turned out beautifully. I didn't photograph it, alas, but it looked exactly like the one in the New York Times, sans the fancy lighting and charmingly rustic tablecloth.<br />
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In Sonora we drank and ate and played with kiddos (Mike ably handled balloon-inflating duty), and at some point in the night I got bit on the lip by an unfelt and unseen bug. Ice and Benadryl were not match for the swelling; by midnight I looked like the below, and by the next morning my left eye was almost swollen shut as well. I had a little snout. It was very attractive. At one point Mike said, "You still look beautiful." "Aw, thanks babe," I said, leaning in for a smooch. He jumped back in instinctive horror and went "Oh, no, yeah, no." It cracked me up - he looked terrified, like monster lip was catching.<br />
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By midday on Sunday I was back to normal, though I am pleased to note that the little ones didn't react to my puffyface at all. Thank you, Avery and Una. In tribute, please enjoy this series of Una photos, in which she is the cutest little nosepicker the Jamestown Historic Steam Train has ever seen.<br />
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The farm has gotten bigger and more impressive year after year, and now they've added meat to the mix. Meet Stinkerton, who is supposed to root up the johnson grass until he becomes dinner, but mostly just wallows around in the mud and eats melon rinds.<br />
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It wouldn't be a trip to the farm if we weren't spoiled with mounds of produce upon leaving, which this time included squash, peppers, Armenian cucumbers (crunchy, sweet and divine), stone fruit, grapes, and the preciousest eggplants I've ever seen. They're called Fairytale Eggplants, and you can see why.<br />
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When we got home, I made a tasty riff on bi bim bap, with crunchy-bottomed coconut rice (a first for me - so easy! just plug in coconut milk for half the water), quick pickled cucumbers, chickpeas (canned, but fried up in oil and spices), garlic sauteed kale, grilled fairytale eggplant, peppers, jarred artichoke hearts, and basil and parsley. I could eat this every. day. </div>
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Then we went to watch the Giants get spanked by the Sox from fancy club-level seats. At least the moon looked good. Way to go, moon.</div>
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-19637118461808714142013-08-16T16:29:00.003-07:002013-08-16T16:29:54.196-07:00Pretzels redux<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We came home from <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.blogspot.com/2013/08/belle-ville-de-montreal.html">Montreal</a> with a dozen bottles of mustard, courtesy of a friend of the newlyweds who made a bottle for each wedding place setting. As is inevitable, many people left theirs behind, and Mike scooped them up. They now have pride of place on our countertop, and I've been slathering mustard on everything I can - homemade bread, a dinner omelette (trust me!), and, appropriately, pretzels.<br />
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I've made pretzels before, so I was an old hand this time around, and they turned out beautifully, aside from one that inexplicably came apart into fluffy goo during the boiling process. I used <a href="http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/german-style-pretzels?xid=DAILY012713GermanStylePretzels">this Food & Wine recipe</a>, but replaced step 4, the dunking in lye, with a dunking in boiling water souped up with baking soda. Much less hassle that way.<br />
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Just to make you extra jealous, in addition to piling them with grainy mustard, I also dipped the pretzels in a jar of strawberry chevre that <a href="https://www.facebook.com/redearthfarmsonora">Katie</a> made from her goats' milk and roasted strawberries from her garden. It was heavenly.<br />
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-91774726664641931872013-08-15T17:18:00.000-07:002013-08-15T17:23:59.670-07:00Belle Ville de Montréal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sometimes, at the end of a trip, all you can think about is your own home and your own bed. And sometimes, instead, you want to stay, maybe forever, get a little apartment with exposed brick, and learn French. The latter is what summertime Montreal did to Mike and I.<br />
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We were in Montreal for an auspicious union, the wedding of our friends Ronak and Uchenna. First, though, we stopped in Boston (after <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.blogspot.com/2013/08/on-being-only-chick-in-business-class.html">a weird flight</a>) and I worked from the Cambridge office. I caught up with some old friends, got my fix of lobster and ale, and had brunch at <a href="http://www.theneighborhoodrestaurant.com/">The Neighborhood</a>. All the necessary things.<br />
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We headed out of Boston by car, driving up through New Hampshire and Vermont so that Mike could see the glory that is New England in the summer. Montpelier, by the way, is just precious. We arrived in Montreal at sunset, with hot air balloons and gliders suspended over the fields on the outskirts of the city as the sun fell behind Mont Royal. Well, hello.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="text-align: left;">Our Air Bnb host had stocked the fridge with sparkling wine, and there was the aforementioned exposed brick wall. Charmed already. We wandered out into our neighborhood, the Gay Village (best neighborhood name, yeah?), under pink garlands. Charmed again.</span><br />
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Friday I awoke from a sticky sleep to go for a very sticky run - Montreal does, alas, have humidity - down to the waterfront. Then I headed to the mehndi ceremony, where two ladies wielded bags of henna like fountain pens and calligraphed our hands in super speedy fashion.<br />
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Back in our apartment (less than 24 hours in, it was OURS) we had cocktail hour on the little terrace. I know it is silly to fall in love with a wall, but this one did a number on me. It was across from our terrace, and it was pristine white with a blue spiral staircase. The staircase had hoops intended for planters, but since they were empty, Leslie decided they were tiny basketball hoops. Oh, Leslie.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These stairs were decrepitly dreamy</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy hour</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really?</td></tr>
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Ronak and Uchenna are delightful at all times but were especially charming in their traditional Indian and Nigerian garb at the sangeet. I wore my Indian kurti without the matching pants, which I hoped was modern and cheeky and not blatantly disrespectful (I got the ok from the bride ahead of time). After drinking and dancing and watching Ronak's nephew do a 5 year old's version of breakdancing for hours, we got on Bixi bikes and rode home in our finery, warm air in our faces.<br />
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A note on the Bixi bikes: they are the best. Bikeshares now seem to me the only civilized way to travel in a new city. You could figure out the public transit system, sure; you could shell out for a cab; or you could walk, but when you're trying to make it to events and you're always running late (as we were), bike is the only way to go. There was a Bixi stand a block from our rented apartment, we paid $7 for 24 hours of access, and all rides under 30 minutes incurred no extra fee. I rode to the mehndi ceremony, to and from the sangeet, on a tour around town, and to the wedding itself. I am very sad to live in a city without a bikeshare system - I don't know how I'll go on.<br />
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Saturday morning we rubbed the sangeet from our eyes and headed across town to Mile End, ostensibly for bagels but also to see the city. We ate our bagels on a city bench and watched the hip young thangs go by, then hopped on bikes for a jaunt through town to the waterfront. I showed Mike and Shwin the "beaches" I had found on my run the day before, stretches of sand along the river with tables, chairs, and misters for hot days. We were all thoroughly charmed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Street art</td></tr>
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The wedding itself was on the waterfront, on a deck high above the river. As the ceremony got started a huge cruise ship trundled by and blasted its airhorn for the wedding. All the passengers on the decks waved wildly at us. Ronak looked drop dead gorgeous in her red sari and the bridesmaids sparkled in the sun. I picked up rose petals from the aisle and crushed them to get their scent. There was some crying, and some cheering. Congratulations to Ronak and Uchenna!<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">Then, of course, we ate, drank, and made merry - in other words, danced our booties off. Late at night, poutine was served. We wrapped it up at 2 a.m. with one last song, "Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangster", which tickled Mike to no end.</span></div>
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Three hours later we woke up for our flight home. I don't want to talk about what that felt like. But it was worth it. Montreal, we'll be back.<br />
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-49985573297407628992013-08-07T10:33:00.002-07:002013-08-07T10:33:49.512-07:00It frames our focus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="tr_bq">
A really well-written recipe is a delight. It brings a freshness to the ingredients, an elegance to the preparation, a feeling of accomplishment to the final product. It's inspiring. <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.blogspot.com/2012/12/an-everlasting-meal.html">Tamar Adler</a> and MFK Fisher are masters of food writing, but <a href="http://food52.com/">Food52</a> has been making a play for posterity lately as well.</div>
<br />
Case in point: <a href="http://food52.com/blog/7681-penelope-casas-garlic-green-beans-judias-verdes-con-ajo">this rough recipe</a> for green beans with garlic.<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">You throw raw green beans into a hot pan with butter and nothing else, and sear them over an irresponsibly high flame.</span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">When they start to get some brown splotches, cover the pan. Resist the temptation to add liquid. They'll stew in their own juices, and their flavor will be completely undiluted.</span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Then, just when they're looking a little saggy and soft and they taste sweet (roughly 15 minutes later), you take them off the heat and add ingredients 3 and 4: salt and pulverized garlic.</span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">You could leave the garlic out, but its pushy sting will soften a little on the warmth of the beans. It frames our focus.</span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Which, of course, is those green beans, sweet and singed and alive, with none of their goodness overwritten or left behind.</span></span></blockquote>
I want those beans. </div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-60624458356046177972013-08-06T06:35:00.004-07:002013-08-06T06:35:33.437-07:00On being the only chick in business class<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yesterday I got upgraded on my flight to Boston. It doesn't happen often, so usually I'm one of the horde shuffling to the back of the plane, eyeing the lucky ones with legroom and free booze. And usually, at least on business routes (I'm sure flights to Hawaii are different), there is at most one woman in business class. And she is almost always clearly part of a couple. Maybe there's a quota.<br />
<br />
On yesterday's flight, I was the token business class lady. It felt odd. When the agent called the first boarding group, I was standing in the half-line, half-scrum around the gate. Two men pushed right by me like it hadn't even occurred to them that I could be part of their group. Maybe they were just dicks who would have done the same had they been in the last boarding group instead of the first, but my assumption is that they figured I was part of the hoi polloi.<br />
<br />
When the flight attendant came around to take dinner orders (because that is a thing that happens in business class - also, ice cream sundaes!), she asked each guy individually what he'd like to eat. "And you, sir? And you, sir?" When she got to my row, she addressed me and the guy next to me together: "And what will you two be having?" Aside from the fact that I was sitting next to him, there was no sign that we were traveling together - we hadn't even spoken. It was awkward.<br />
<br />
Finally, the kicker: three hours into the flight, I used the business class restroom, and the rolls were still completely new, their ends glued down. Because everyone else had penises.<br />
<br />
None of these things was malicious, or even really upsetting - just discomfiting. Where my business class ladies at?<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-83566720901663409312013-07-31T17:23:00.000-07:002013-07-31T18:49:25.585-07:00Welcome, baby: here's a pizza<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's baby season! Or soon-to-be-baby season; right now I'm surrounded by pregnant ladies and their anxious partners. Yesterday I heard from my oldest friend (oldest as in friendship duration, not as in age) that she's going to be having a little girl this winter; college friends are spawning all over the globe; and don't even get me started on how many friends here in San Francisco are "trying", which is a phrase that really needs to be banned. The biggest concentration of bebbes, though, has been at my office, where you can barely walk down the hallway without squeezing by an enormously pregnant lady. I almost spilled hot coffee on a belly today - serious faux pas.<br />
<br />
I have learned so much about fetii in the last few weeks. Did you know babies hiccup in utero? It apparently helps with lung development. I watched my boss's stomach jump when her baby had the hiccups the other day. Did you know that a baby's fingers can get caught in the mother's ribs, necessitating chiropractic intervention? It happened to my coworker's wife. Did you know that a baby can kick its mother in the butthole from the inside? This happened to my coworker during a meeting last week. Her: Oop! Me: What's wrong? Her: Oh, the baby just kicked me in the butthole from the inside again. Me: THAZZ NOT OKAY.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
Since I have absolutely nothing helpful to say to those expecting a child (except "Jesus, really? Wow, gross."), last night I cooked up a storm for a few coworkers who will soon be heading out on leave. I also drank most of a bottle of red wine and muttered at the radio while Malcolm Gladwell talked on NPR - I can't decide if that guy would be a delightful or infuriating dinner party guest. My kitchen wound up covered in sauce and my freezer is stuffed to the gills, but it was worth it this morning when I opened my cooler and my coworker's eyes bugged out of his head. The fastest way to get people to love you is to drown them in enchiladas, pizza dough and tomato sauce when they are most overwhelmed.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>1/6 the output</i></span></td></tr>
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<div>
I feel like I had a breakthrough on the enchilada front, so I'm going to give you the lowdown. I find canned sauce a little too thin and bitter, so I pump it up with some added ingredients. Maybe making it from scratch is next, but I'm not there yet. I started off with three cans of medium red enchilada sauce, and added them to a pot of onions and garlic cooked in oil until soft. I started reducing the sauce, then added jarred sundried tomatoes and their oil, honey, and lemon zest to taste. My handy immersion blender smoothed it all out when it was reduced to my liking. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For the enchilada filling, I half-mooned a few different kinds of summer squash, drew out moisture by salting them for a half hour, then pan fried them for a few minutes to get some browning. On the bean front I went with canned kidney beans, but I usually prefer to go with dried beans cooked in a big batch at home with half an onion. The squash, beans, fresh corn right off the cob, and shredded cheddar went into the tortillas, into pans coated in the thickened sauce, into a final layer of sauce and cheese, into the oven at 375, and then, when the cheese on top was browned, into my belly.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I wanted the pans to cool completely before going in the freezer, so I put them out on the back porch. I wish I had a photo of them steaming into the fog.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPx6qr0anIWCK9pFPKDGmK4cVcYHbbg_JcRo8it-qi7Jb6D1YNQ-FEfDKDz0JuR_HiiIGjPKqevMyDqyg6V3kZBabn2zNwlWwz3tjYLT7n6bhyLZaqt6KPU1CkBIH5HNbqmW81xSB0ns/s1600/IMG_20130731_184040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPx6qr0anIWCK9pFPKDGmK4cVcYHbbg_JcRo8it-qi7Jb6D1YNQ-FEfDKDz0JuR_HiiIGjPKqevMyDqyg6V3kZBabn2zNwlWwz3tjYLT7n6bhyLZaqt6KPU1CkBIH5HNbqmW81xSB0ns/s400/IMG_20130731_184040.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>What Mike and I did at 10 p.m. Shameful.</i></span></td></tr>
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<div>
I also made a few batches of pizza dough and tomato sauce (which conveniently served as ice packs in the cooler today - when my boss was suffering from Pregnant Lady Overheating Syndrome I suggested she slap a pack of frozen sauce on her neck). My go-to tomato sauce recipe is simple: onions, garlic and red pepper flakes sizzled in olive oil, cans of whole tomatoes cooked down with some lemon zest (plus whatever I have on hand, usually basil, though last night I included arugula from the garden and olives), finished with some butter and whizzed together with the immersion blender.<br />
<br />
These babies are gonna have it good.</div>
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-38762900383692940882013-07-30T08:00:00.000-07:002013-07-29T16:19:58.277-07:00OhLife<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I signed up for <a href="http://ohlife.com/">OhLife</a> - a daily email service that prompts you to share thoughts on your day - on the <a href="http://erstwhiledear.com/writings/?p=4908">recommendation</a> of Rachel of <a href="http://erstwhiledear.com/writings/">Erstwhile Dear</a>. (As a side plug, I really enjoy checking in on her writing now and again - it's soothing, and presents a kind of alternate universe where I decided to stay in Boston and have some bebbes and not be frenetic.) I am intermittently obsessive about documenting my life, as evidenced by this blog and the fact that I carry a hardbound planner with me everywhere so that I can not only calendar future events but also scribble down past ones. OhLife presents an easy way to calm the obsessive in me. Time, it is slipping away! But at least it will be documented!</div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-3977609143390098102013-07-29T15:11:00.000-07:002013-07-29T16:19:02.983-07:00Summer weekend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You know how weekends can be full and lazy at the same time? That's how things have been going lately. It all started with Friday, </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">a good indulgent day. I met a friend for lunch at Tacolicious, and there may have been a pitcher of strawberry margaritas involved. We walked around the sunny Mission, then I forced some Bi Rite salted caramel ice cream upon him, because it is required. I finished up work for the day at home, then another friend came over to drink some fizzy gin cocktails and help me prep food for an outing on Saturday. Thank you for your watermelon juicing skillz, Esme.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Friday night we went to watch the Giants get spanked by the Cubs. Ugh. I am so in love with that ballpark, though, that I didn't mind a loss, or nosebleed seats, or crazy high prices (well, that I do mind a little bit). Good company and strong drinks don't hurt. Hot tip: if you're ever at a Giants game, get the Ghirardelli ice cream sundae with extra hot fudge, no matter how foggy and chilly it is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Saturday we woke up early and headed up to the Russian River to float for a friend's birthday. We left our beloved kayak behind and rented one for convenience's sake, but never again. That sucker was a tub, and we will forevermore be loyal to our inflatable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sun, redwood trees, river water, cupcakes, <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2008/08/bourbon-peach-hand-pies/">blueberry-peach bourbon handpies</a>, leis, fresh watermelon margaritas topped with champagne...but it was a little bittersweet after our epic week on the river earlier in the month, just a few weeks ago but already coated in a patina of nostalgia. Remember when we made that giant ice cream sundae? Or when Teppi missed the pinata and fell down? And I literally laughed until I wet my pants a little? And the Swedes climbed the rafters? And we made meal after delicious meal?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As expected, on the way home we drove right into a fog bank over the Golden Gate Bridge. I pulled on a down jacket and we ventured to Duboce Park for a screening of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, but it was a no go: too scary for me. We ordered Chinese and Japanese and I drank Timo and Ashby's vodka on ice. Saturday, you were correct.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sunday we went to the Mission for Sunday Streets, then sat in blustery Dolores Park for hours with friends. There was cheese and cherries, and sniffing dogs, and a dancing robot. Home for a bit, then friends came over for fresh springs rolls and <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.blogspot.com/2013/07/chile-nectarine-smash.html">chile-nectarine smash</a> and Chinese leftovers, and they brought an almond plum tart. When they left we just barely managed to clear the table before we drifted off to sleep on the couch. The weather may not scream dog days, but that doesn't mean we can't be lazy, right?</span><br />
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-29925576499594912652013-07-26T08:00:00.000-07:002013-09-25T17:21:51.269-07:00YxYY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Last weekend I went to Palm Springs with <a href="http://caitlinwinner.com/">Caitlin</a> for a gathering called <a href="http://yesbyyesyes.com/">Yes by Yes Yes</a>, an "unconference" for tech geeks, "makers" (sorry, nerdierarite it without quotes), and tech-adjacent folks like me. A friend was the organizer, and when she asked if I wanted to go, I said yes (a-ha!) for a few reasons. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I liked that it was a techy conference organized by women.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was feeling antsy in my professional life and it seemed like it would give me some food for thought, maybe even a career jumpstart. And going to the first year of an event like this appealed to the organizer in me, as well as the person who wants to be able to say "Oh, I was there in 2013" when something blows up. All equally honorable motivations, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The source of the name, by the way, is Ann Larie (my friend, one of the organizers). The founding group was discussing how SXSW had lost its early energy amid its increasing size and rapid transformation into a marketing free for all. Why not, they thought, pull together a smaller, more focused event, and have it be all the things that SXSW no longer was? No to the hype and yes to all the good things. Thus was Yes by Yes Yes born. The name seems to have become a real mantra for the group: say Yes to conversations, to ideas, to each other. A little too sincere? Also yes. But inspiring anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm still working through what the weekend meant to me. In some ways it was fantastic. We sat by the pool, got massages, drank cocktails, and had interesting conversations in a geeky safe space. It was baking in Palm Springs that weekend - I think it hit 110 degrees - and getting to dip into the water every few minutes was heavenly. The timing wasn't ideal, however, since I'd just come off <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.blogspot.com/2013/07/russian-riverpalooza-2013.html">a week on the Russian River</a> and was feeling like I needed some time at home. I was also already sleep deprived.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbEyd8hkFcyd0onua_nR4glfky3K_ev6PXWJ6-Fhw01xZ_ZUiVksMaHhciEdBewrDsC6tfnT6oGLqsT5ZdklQfDol7RB0oPxuWmGUh2NANZtK-W9PRygsaFaR7rJ3KR56pxEXAQZYERI/s1600/IMG_20130714_151826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbEyd8hkFcyd0onua_nR4glfky3K_ev6PXWJ6-Fhw01xZ_ZUiVksMaHhciEdBewrDsC6tfnT6oGLqsT5ZdklQfDol7RB0oPxuWmGUh2NANZtK-W9PRygsaFaR7rJ3KR56pxEXAQZYERI/s400/IMG_20130714_151826.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That sleep deprivation didn't get any better during YxYY; late nights were inevitable, given the party atmosphere. At the time, I felt a little lost, even though I had a few friends on hand. It's unusual for me to be out of my social element, and while I'm an extrovert, I'm not a great small talker. I have a hard time introducing myself to strangers, even a self-selecting group like the one at YxYY. The structure of the event was to do away with as much structure as possible. Bring hundreds of like-minded folks into one glamorous place, throw a cocktail party and a prom, and see what happens.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbVkZJ_AaPGIcLKsXJqNlu4-YVNiYVfC7VG3jCEdujkM6SyoMDpGpqIO1Luz9fNdwaBo3oo5Vt9QKfNODtmZWpI9i0DprbhRbJg0mH72bMHxNd0-c7kyZ0YxUuY_juC8i9ErTOpeGyP64/s1600/IMG_20130713_174601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbVkZJ_AaPGIcLKsXJqNlu4-YVNiYVfC7VG3jCEdujkM6SyoMDpGpqIO1Luz9fNdwaBo3oo5Vt9QKfNODtmZWpI9i0DprbhRbJg0mH72bMHxNd0-c7kyZ0YxUuY_juC8i9ErTOpeGyP64/s400/IMG_20130713_174601.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">What happened, it seemed, was more than anyone anticipated. I witnessed the expected - pool floating, flirting, imbibing of adult beverages, and sunscreen application - but also the unexpected. Friendship-bracelet making (hell yeah I did that), "miracle" berry eating, 3D printing, tshirt modification (i.e. slashing and fringing), underwater photo booths, kazoo jam sessions, late night cigar smoking, and a grownup prom featuring 80s outfits and a Chewbacca costume. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_4V3R03nAojxGhordwPEOhIexu5WTHMoTvHDTHOlJarOC_b_04r9ron2RAPb67ijT9EamnMUqYbzST3sCoEX5N9RXo_ge87bfd70R5hWKlgcrXoozZ7pfHjBVKg_PSOy8o4Qdc9h9wA/s1600/IMG_20130715_133220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_4V3R03nAojxGhordwPEOhIexu5WTHMoTvHDTHOlJarOC_b_04r9ron2RAPb67ijT9EamnMUqYbzST3sCoEX5N9RXo_ge87bfd70R5hWKlgcrXoozZ7pfHjBVKg_PSOy8o4Qdc9h9wA/s400/IMG_20130715_133220.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Did I have a life-altering experience that left me feeling recharged and full of creative energy? No. Did I appreciate being surrounded by people as nerdy as or nerdier than I am (I realize that's saying something) and interacting outside my comfort zone? Yes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I did a debrief with Ann Larie over the weekend and went to a Yaysayers happy hour last night, so clearly I'm still chewing on the experience. Most interesting, given that the weekend was for me an excuse to be lazy by a pool, is the ongoing conversation that is happening among the Yaysayers. Folks are DRIVEN. Projects are shooting out of this group at a wild rate: brunches and cocktail hours and dinner parties in cities around the country, videos and photo collages and online magazines, plans for co-rental apartments in New York and San Francisco, and techier stuff that I don't understand and am therefore tuning out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Even if this winds up not being my crowd, it's fascinating to watch a community bloom overnight into a multi-legged clamoring army of energy. I hope that it gets slightly less earnest since snark is more my style, but my comfort level isn't the important thing here. My only contribution is likely to be a Napa/Sonoma distillery tour, less creative but no less fun. When in doubt, say yes to booze.</span></div>
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-15860999109243269232013-07-25T08:48:00.003-07:002013-07-25T08:49:56.589-07:00Porch swing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yesterday I said I was going to whip a <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.blogspot.com/2013/07/chile-nectarine-smash.html">Chile-nectarine Smash</a> when I got home, but it turned out that the nectarines I had were still crisp and crunchy, exactly how I like to eat them. So instead of attempting to pulverize the fruit into submission, I changed gears and went with a pitcher of the <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2010/07/porch-swing/">Porch Swing</a>: gin, Pimm's, lemonade, and some bubbles. I didn't have cucumbers and so substituted mint for a fresh note, and went with the output of my beloved Sodastream instead of using lemon soda. It was refreshing and tangy (I went light on the simple syrup), and I hogged most of it instead of sharing equitably with Mike.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgbSbUswfEGXyc8a8Z6fzg90AO-4PyrnMAvlGb2PKCfNaORz0pYtSPfG3KOrI4lGt-PZAv_o9zGIP-VSZgd-FlsKg3Qs3AaPd-q1VhUJazDSFUjFU-s4MwU33muiGtFSObgDg6DyuwGs/s1600/IMG_20130724_195442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgbSbUswfEGXyc8a8Z6fzg90AO-4PyrnMAvlGb2PKCfNaORz0pYtSPfG3KOrI4lGt-PZAv_o9zGIP-VSZgd-FlsKg3Qs3AaPd-q1VhUJazDSFUjFU-s4MwU33muiGtFSObgDg6DyuwGs/s400/IMG_20130724_195442.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<b>Porch Swing</b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>3 tbsp gin (I used Tanqueray)</li>
<li>3 tbsp Pimm's No. 1</li>
<li>1/2 cup lemonade (juiced lemons + simple syrup [which is 1 part water to 1 part sugar])</li>
<li>bubbly water or lemon/lime soda to top</li>
<li>10 thinly sliced half moons of cucumber (or, in my case, torn leaves of a sprig of mint)</li>
</ul>
Pour gin, Pimm's and lemonade into a tall glass, add ice cubes and a splash of soda/bubbly water. Garnish with cucumber slices (or bruise mint and add).</div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-31201369043387765342013-07-24T11:51:00.000-07:002013-07-29T12:28:08.343-07:00Chile-nectarine Smash<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We drank a lot of things on the river. A lot a lot of things. Beer (homebrew, cheap, fancy), white wine, rose, all kinds of reds, margaritas, champagne, vodka on ice, jello shots (do you drink jello shots? anyway), gin and tonics, and as much water as was necessary to keep us hangover-free. The highlight of all the dranks, though, was Haley and Simone's chile-nectarine smash. This thing is divine - sweet and spicy, cool and hot, summer in a glass. Is it as delicious when not imbibed while sitting on a pool float in the sun and water, surrounded by redwoods? Tonight I'm going to find out. I'm pretty optimistic.<br />
<br />
<b>Chile-nectarine Smash</b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>1/2 a nectarine, sliced</li>
<li>pinch of sea salt</li>
<li>2 oz aged rum</li>
<li>1 oz fresh lime juice</li>
<li>3/4 oz chile-honey syrup</li>
</ul>
<br />
Gently muddle the nectarine slices in a shaker tin, then add a pinch of salt along with all the liquid ingredients. Add ice cubes and shake until chilled, then pour the liquid and cubes, unstrained, into a glass and garnish with a nectarine slice and serrano chile wheel.<br />
<br />
<b>Chile-honey syrup</b><br />
Slice 1 serrano chile into 1/4-inch segments. Combine 1 cup of honey and 1 cup of water in a pan. Heat to a simmer, add the chile slices, then remove from the heat and cool. After 30 minutes, strain out the chile segments (Genevieve note: or don't!). Makes enough for about a dozen cocktails.<br />
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UPDATE: This finally happened, on Sunday night, and it was delicious! I need to get some rum that isn't Bacardi left by someone at our house after a rager, but even with the standard booze it's a delicious drink. Spicy and sweet and tart and eminently quaffable.</div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-16861314172494392832013-07-23T12:08:00.000-07:002013-07-25T08:52:06.512-07:00Russian Riverpalooza 2013<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">July has been kind to me. I spent a week floating on a river, then went to Palm Springs and baked in the heat while poolside at <a href="http://yesbyyesyes.com/">YxYY</a>, and then I slept for a week when I got home (not really, but kind of). I have no groceries in the fridge, and our apartment is a mess, but there's a big dent in my pillow. My cats have been really happy with the cuddle time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On the river we swam, floated, cooked, drank, laughed, read, applied sunscreen, and ate and ate and ate. There were<span style="background-color: white;"> flotillas, spicy cocktails, boozy popsicles, midafternoon gourmet <span class="il">river</span> snacks, homemade tonic and Spiritworks gin, a game of dinner table telephone, a slightly ill bulldog puppy (Duncan!), a shark pinata, a slip and slide, a giant ice cream sundae, epic dinners, late night dance parties, pies of all kinds, hot tubbing, epic sangria, fireworks, cranky neighbors, sparklers, breakfast biscuits, birthday headware, and a lot more. It was a lot. A good lot. A lot of good. Photo retrospective below.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The best part, of course, was having lots of people I love around me, and seeing them love each other. New friendships came out of the week, I think - at the very least, there was a very high laugh-per-minute ratio. My stomach ached from laughing for days afterward. And I got to celebrate a big birthday in a very happy place.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlLdmVuqfdrPMLwDoumNwhfblh1FTgEr2wPipSd-wBbgW7c7fJ3DtcikUvjMNMO04N3q8Dm-Q791TvTSYajYGAvhhXU8Odo3uNw6W8R16gjLpHEDQz59M2vVgHZQnuSLT6nHHswl4iZA/s1600/IMG_20130703_193327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlLdmVuqfdrPMLwDoumNwhfblh1FTgEr2wPipSd-wBbgW7c7fJ3DtcikUvjMNMO04N3q8Dm-Q791TvTSYajYGAvhhXU8Odo3uNw6W8R16gjLpHEDQz59M2vVgHZQnuSLT6nHHswl4iZA/s400/IMG_20130703_193327.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The supplies. We may have overshopped.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoIF7FR1gVxg0dGwo9C9iiaKw1cXy9mPUBy0VxH_UrLHIZhcGH79tdGR-J9fpYuZ3anUXj3gcIL6RoJFJNv6VnQcHVw3ta57yU8JhxVtsS-JTr00qHVcPUpgeo0AzkDlLsFlj6Fqq7qDg/s1600/IMG_20130704_193116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoIF7FR1gVxg0dGwo9C9iiaKw1cXy9mPUBy0VxH_UrLHIZhcGH79tdGR-J9fpYuZ3anUXj3gcIL6RoJFJNv6VnQcHVw3ta57yU8JhxVtsS-JTr00qHVcPUpgeo0AzkDlLsFlj6Fqq7qDg/s400/IMG_20130704_193116.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prepping for fireworks.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutztFMd7dxBPD-0FHsgUWipbGSPGRruiXhUhJeEc5YYcIQHSarjv4oIztoVDsyM2kFy1h3ziS4fXEBtYTR2pythmRans2dOnQ-nEwPwwPS0PsPK4ImzIjxwT-oGbEiso7Bt1iy2lZEHQ/s1600/IMG_20130704_221717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutztFMd7dxBPD-0FHsgUWipbGSPGRruiXhUhJeEc5YYcIQHSarjv4oIztoVDsyM2kFy1h3ziS4fXEBtYTR2pythmRans2dOnQ-nEwPwwPS0PsPK4ImzIjxwT-oGbEiso7Bt1iy2lZEHQ/s400/IMG_20130704_221717.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">River fireworks. Happy birthday Amurica!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first flotilla<span style="text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Light beer: for pregnant ladies and kids</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flotilla day 2, on dry land<span style="text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mixing drinks in real time</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">30 friends for dinner!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday birthday!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dkVRg29oB6rkR117sLHasyAbL7GZjkEluuHZJX6-48CIOAyGRobkfl2UxtHypPoV2y-VibWVRLu3eFnW7j2E0hwhiCoVYbG3VGjTss5hoUgSW6XHIDs1f0Y-BCNsA9RgiFO1noYcM38/s1600/IMG_20130710_174102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dkVRg29oB6rkR117sLHasyAbL7GZjkEluuHZJX6-48CIOAyGRobkfl2UxtHypPoV2y-VibWVRLu3eFnW7j2E0hwhiCoVYbG3VGjTss5hoUgSW6XHIDs1f0Y-BCNsA9RgiFO1noYcM38/s400/IMG_20130710_174102.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">30 ain't so bad</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aftermath</td></tr>
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</div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-41557201474076790532013-07-17T13:49:00.002-07:002013-07-25T08:52:37.586-07:00Trust fund<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="tr_bq">
My old boss has a Robert Downey Jr/Robert Duvall movie filming at his house in Massachusetts right now. Both the <a href="http://drgodine.blogspot.com/2013/07/movie-magic-filming-at-davids-house.html">company blog post</a> and <a href="http://www.bostonglobe.com/metro/regionals/south/2013/07/13/when-hollywood-came-town/gNAbzapE5225HuhEIObp5H/story.html">the Boston Globe</a> article on the situation are precious. His house, from what I remember, is lovely. The Godine office, on the other hand, was always a chaotic jumble of books and manuscripts, old computers that should have been obsolescensed a decade ago, and David's typewriter in pride of place on his desk. We were usually behind on rent, and it always felt like the end was nigh, but someone he always found the money to pay the printer, the authors, the landlord. From my understanding, it was usually family money that came through. When I see him, David always asks if Google is ready to buy his company yet. Not yet, I say. Oh well, he says, at least you can buy me lunch.</div>
<div class="tr_bq">
<br /></div>
<div class="tr_bq">
From the Globe:</div>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Someone sticks their head in and informs the couple that Robert Downey Jr. has picked a Godine Publishing coffee mug to use in a </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">scene, over 18 other mugs. “That’ll be great publicity!” Sara says.</span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">We’re still sitting on the porch when Robert Downey Jr. walks up from the yard. “Hi,” he waves. He talks with us for a few minutes, mentioning his two boys, a teenager and a toddler. I ask if he’s having fun with the film. “I don’t have a trust fund,” he says. “I gotta work for a living.” I think, I hope, that he is kidding.</span></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">David mentions that he in fact does have a trust fund. “We should talk,” Downey says with a grin.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">He goes off, and David notices a guy carrying trays headed for their driveway. “Here comes the food,” he says.</span></span></blockquote>
</div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-5321035975394283112013-07-16T08:46:00.001-07:002013-07-25T08:54:02.812-07:00The madness of possibilities<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
All the below is from The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt. It's about San Francisco during the gold rush, and it's not hard to see the parallel to our technology gold rush here and now. A great, greedy heart!<br />
<br />
"I wonder if you two have had the pleasure of dining in our fair city? But no, I would know if you had, for your faces would be bloodless, and you would be muttering ceaseless insults to God in Heaven."<br />
<br />
Charlie said, "I paid twenty-five dollars for a whore in Mayfield."<br />
<br />
The man said, "You will pay that same amount to simply sit at the bar with them in San Francisco. To lie down with one, expect to put up a minimum of a hundred dollars."<br />
<br />
"What man would pay that?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"They are lining up to pay it. The whores are working fifteen-hour shifts and are said to make thousands of dollars per day. You must understand, gentlemen, that the tradition of thrift and sensible spending has vanished here. It simply does not exist anymore. For example, when I arrived this last time from working my claim I had a sizable sack of gold dust, and though I knew it was lunacy I decided to sit down and have a large dinner in the most expensive restaurant I could find. I had been living on the cold ground for three straight months, surviving on trout and pork fat and more trout. My spine was twisted from labor and I was utterly desperate for some type of warmth and pomp, a touch of velvet, and damn the cost. So it was that I ate a decent-sized, not particularly tasty meal of meat and spuds and ale and ice cream, and for this repast, which would have put me back perhaps half a dollar in my hometown, I paid the sum of thirty dollars in cash."<br />
<br />
Charlie was disgusted. "Only a moron would pay that."<br />
<br />
"I agree," said the man. "One hundred percent I agree. And I am happy to welcome you to a town peopled in morons exclusively. Furthermore, I hope that your transformation to moron is not an unpleasant experience."<br />
<br />
Down the beach a half mile I noticed an enormous pulley system made of tall timbers and thick rope set back from the waterline; this was being used to run a steam-sailer ship aground. A man in a broad-brimmed black hat and tailored black suit was whipping a team of horses to turn the winch. I asked the chicken man about the purpose of this operation and he said, "Here is someone with the same ambition as Smith, but with brains as well. That man in the hat has claimed the abandoned boat as his own, and is having it dragged to a sliver of land he had the foresight to buy some time ago. He will shore the boat upright and lease out its quarters to boarders or shopkeepers and make himself a speedy fortune. A lesson for you men: Perhaps the money is not to be made in the rivers themselves, but from the men working them. There are too many variables in removing gold from the earth. You need courage, and luck, and the work ethic of a pack mule. Why bother, with so many others already at it, piling into town one on top of the other and in a great hurry to spend every last granule?"<br />
<br />
"Why do you not open a shop yourself?" I asked.<br />
<br />
The question surprised him, and he took a moment to consider what the answer might be. When it came to him, a sandess appeared in his eyes and he shook his head. "I'm afraid my role in all this is settled," he said.<br />
<br />
I was going to ask which role he was referring to when I heard a noise on the wind, a muffled crunching or cracking in the distance, followed by a whistling sound cutting through the thick ocean air. One of the pulley ropes had snapped, and I saw the man in the black suit standing over a horse lying on its side in the sand. That he was not whipping the horse informed me it was dying or dead.<br />
<br />
"It is a wild time here, is it not?" I said to the man.<br />
<br />
"It is wild. I fear it has ruined my character. It has certainly ruined the characters of others." He nodded, as though answering himself. "Yes, it has ruined me."<br />
<br />
"How are you ruined?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"How am I not?" he wondered.<br />
<br />
"Couldn't you return to your home to start over?"<br />
<br />
He shook his head. "Yesterday I saw a man leap from the roof of the Orient Hotel, laughing all the way to the ground, upon which he fairly exploded. He was drunk they say, but I had seen him sober shortly before this. There is a feeling here, which if it gets you, will envenom your very center. It is a madness of possibilities. That leaping man's final act was the embodiment of the collective mind of San Francisco. I understood it completely. I had a strong desire to applaud, if you want to know the truth."<br />
<br />
"I don't understand the purpose of this story," I said.<br />
<br />
"I could leave here and return to my hometown, but I would not return as the person I was when I left," he explained. "I would not recognize anyone. And no one would recognize me." Turning to watch the town, he petted his fowl and chuckled. A single pistol shot was heard in the distance; hoofbeats; a woman's scream, which turned to cackling laughter. "A great, greedy heart!" he said, then walked toward it, disappearing into it. Down the beach, the man with the whip stood away from the dead horse, staring out at the bay and the numberless masts. He had removed his hat. He was unsure, and I did not envy him.</div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-42340229850830620422013-07-03T15:48:00.001-07:002013-07-03T15:56:12.747-07:00Take me to the river<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a big week! A historic week, with the SCOTUS shutdown of DOMA and Prop 8, the Texas abortion bill debate and filibuster, and an epic Pride weekend. Despite being much more a cheerleader than a participant in current events, I'm EXHAUSTED from keeping up with the news. It's taxing.<br />
<br />
As a result, I'm very ready for the vacation that starts tomorrow, a week on the Russian River with dozens of my favorite people. I've been making lists upon lists, waking up early to grab my phone off the nightstand to send myself a reminder email, and making enough pizza dough to feed a horde. Which is exactly what I'll be doing starting tomorrow. See you on the other side!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Simone & Haley's wedding</i></div>
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<i> Pride celebrations</i></div>
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<i>Ready for the river</i></div>
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-7353428555538316872013-06-27T08:48:00.004-07:002013-06-27T08:48:56.171-07:00Through the wringer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This week has been something, hasn't it? Inspiring and gutting and tense and sleepless and celebratory. I think <a href="http://nymag.com/thecut/2013/06/wendy-davis-scotus-and-speaking-out-as-women.html">this New York Magazine article</a> sums it up:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s become clear this week that objective facts of Americans' lives — that some of us are in loving, committed relationships with someone of the same gender, or that some of us have needed an abortion at some point, or that some of us have had a racist or sexist supervisor make our lives a living hell — are still contentious. Our everyday experiences are up for debate. The burden of proof is on women and gay people and nonwhite Americans to justify their lives, to explain to those who have never felt this sort of powerlessness or discrimination that it’s very much real. </span></span></blockquote>
Some people want to get married and some don't, some need to get an abortion and some thankfully don't, some are able to walk around their cities at night unafraid and others have never known what that feels like. What blows me away about all the discussions this week - the Voting Rights Act, SB5 in Texas, gay marriage - is how often people discount others' experiences. I don't actually know what it's like to be unable to marry my partner, or to have my right to vote undermined, but when someone tells me it hurts, or that they are afraid, or alienated, or hopeless, I believe them. I understand the horror that the pro-life camp feels, I think; if I felt the way they did and believed what they believed (science be damned), I'd be horrified too. But I'd still give others the choice to live their lives as they need to, because while their experience is not my own, I acknowledge that it is just as real and valid as mine. It's amazing how many people - legislators no less - don't seem to see this empathy as desirable or necessary.<br />
<br />
It's been a baffling week, but an invigorating one too. And so we continue.</div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-41774409161784969362013-06-19T14:52:00.000-07:002013-06-24T09:21:48.695-07:00How does our garden grow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every once in a while, when I remember, I see what's new at <a href="http://casayellow.com/">The Yellow House</a>. The woman who runs the blog updates it sporadically, but she's a lovely writer and her recipes are simple and inspiring. Her recent post is about the pleasures of <a href="http://casayellow.com/2013/06/11/with-a-pile-of-greens-tortilla-espanola/">growing greens</a>, and I nodded my head along with each sentence. This year I scrapped my usual ambitions of warm weather vegetables (though Mike stepped in and planted those anyway) and stuck with leafy greens: butter lettuce, chard, mizuna, a few types of arugula, and whatever other seeds I saw at the store.<br />
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Salad greens are always renewing themselves, and so I can make a week's worth of small salads with a bunch of kale from the store filled out with greens from the garden. My favorite fixings these days are fresh corn sliced from the cob, avocado, pistachios (we bought a giant pre-shelled bag, a glorious thing), some white beans, and croutons made from toasted homemade bread. Yesterday I picked up fresh chickpeas to throw in tonight; they're a pain to shell but look like neat little green brains.<br />
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I took these photos in harsh midday light, so apologies for the shadows, but I had to share anyway. We dote on this garden, and I fiddle with it - replanting this, moving this here - pretty much every day. It is our baby, our food baby.<br />
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It's looking great these days, isn't it? It'll take a little bit of time for everything to fill in, and there's always more (mulching) to do, but it's a place we want to spend as much time as we can - at least until the fog rolls in. The cats agree; they spend their days outside now, sitting in the sun, chasing butterflies, rolling around in the dirt, or curling up against me if I nap on the bench. You're welcome to come on over, anytime.<br />
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-4460844537135240322013-06-17T14:56:00.003-07:002013-06-19T14:17:41.956-07:00Don't overwork the dough<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's always seemed to me that those who like to cook and those who like to bake are very different people; one relies on improvisation, the other follows the rules; one estimates, one measures precisely; one says <i>let's see where this takes us</i> and the other replies <i>oh, I know where we're going</i>. Someone might be able to pull off both cooking and baking on occasion, but they know in their heart which way they go. I am very much a cook. Most of my past baking attempts have been meh at best, because I substitute one thing for another, chicken out of using enough butter, or take the instructions to rest the dough as a suggestion instead of a requirement.<br />
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I've pushed my limits a bit over the last few years by brewing beer, which is largely a precision game, and lately I've even been baking bread. Bread fits my fancy because while you definitely need to do what the recipe tells you, you also need to feel the way the dough is going and make a judgment call: more flour, less flour, has it doubled yet, and so on. I've occasionally pulled simple things off - <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2011/12/cinnamon-brown-butter-breakfast-puffs/">breakfast goods</a>, or an <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2011/02/blood-orange-olive-oil-cake/">olive oil cake</a> - but anything that comes with a "do not overwork the dough" or "let the dough rest" warning has scared me off.<br />
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This weekend marked a huge step forward for me - I made a galette, which required a flaky crust. I just needed to get over my butter aversion and, you know, not overwork the dough. I used <a href="http://food52.com/blog/6889-how-to-make-any-galette-or-crostata-in-7-steps">this rough recipe</a>, which turned out a fantastic strawberry nectarine galette.<br />
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I like to think this marks a bit of a breakthrough, the ability to give in a little bit to rule and tradition, to recognize that there are processes in place for a reason and I don't need to wing it all the time. For instance: I'm embracing a certain level of domesticity, even though my gut is yelling at me to get there and rage while I'm still in my 20s (less than a month, argh). I am finally taking the advice of absolutely everyone in the world and eating less and exercising more to lose weight (galette notwithstanding) instead of coming up with weird workarounds that I thought would apply only to me. (I was the skinniest I've ever been in college while eating only chicken fingers and drinking only Diet Coke. I was also 21 and stressed out of my mind.) I've finally, to the relief of my credit cards, started a budget. Sometimes it's nice to follow the rules.<br />
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Especially when it comes to baked goods.<br />
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-86249871902600734952013-06-14T16:42:00.001-07:002013-06-14T17:09:31.506-07:00Ephesus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Gardening. Baking bread. Making cocktails. Oh, and working. Right. These are the things I've been up to lately, and it's them I blame for the fact that it's been ages since my two previous posts on our Turkey trip, on <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.blogspot.com/2013/05/oh-istanbul.html">Istanbul</a> and <a href="http://pigletsandfishes.blogspot.com/2013/05/cappadocia.html">Cappodocia</a>. But better late than never, right? Right. Especially for you history buffs, because Ephesus was very, very historical. You're going to love it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stork nests (everywhere) atop an old aqueduct in Selcuk</td></tr>
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ephesus">Ephesus</a> is the reason we came to Turkey in the first place. My dad very much wanted to go to Syria (which, thanks to our Irish passports, was technically doable), but the recent violence and general melted-down-y-ness made that infeasible. Pa Brennan, being a resilient man, researched where else he could find a similar caliber of historical and archaeological wonder. In Ephesus, it turned out. But because my brain is not one to hold onto facts and dates unless they're part of a good story (and even then I'll likely fudge them for dramatic purposes), I'm going to gloss over some details. Such is life. If I can say one thing, though, it's that I highly recommend you read up on Ephesus yourself, or even save your pennies and book yourself a flight. It's that good. But don't go in the summer, because it's hot and packed with tourists. Even in April it was hot and packed with tourists, though manageably so. The glorious white marble that looks so pretty in pictures reflects the sun, so you wind up as sundrunk as a leathery lady on the beach with a reflector tucked under her chin.<br />
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We flew from Cappadocia to the closest airport to Ephesus, in Izmir, and hauled ourselves and our bags onto a local train that was chock full of people. We squeezed ourselves in, sat on our bags, and watched the sunny Mediterranean landscape go by. Rolling hills, vineyards, low dusty trees - it could have been Italy, or Napa, with mosques. It was definitely lovely.<br />
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Off the train at Selcuk, we rattled our bags up a cobblestone hill to our inn, got ourselves together, and headed the block back into town for dinner. What Selcuk lacked in culinary delights (lots of kebab!) it made up for in overwhelming friendliness. And not just we-want-to-sell-you-something friendliness, though there was a lot of that too (and oh, were we buyin'!), but chatty-laughing-talking-about-family friendliness. It was a <i>delight</i>. Oh, and there were cats errrywhere! They were lovely healthy plump feral cats who we, of course, gave nicknames and fed and then watched fight ferociously for our table scraps. Oops. After a serious round of shopping (Mike is a ceramics <i>fiend</i>, it turns out) and a rooftop dinner of mezzes, we headed to bed to rest up for a long day of sightseeing.<br />
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Our guide, who asked us to call him Octavius (see, with the historicalness?), was about my age and a bundle of energy. He herded us into a van and took us to see what is purported to be the last home of the Virgin Mary, after St. John spirited her away from Jerusalem. I wouldn't have minded living in those wooded hills, though I'd prefer not to have done it without running water or electricity. But wait! There was running water, a spring, which spurted holy water out of many many faucets. Tourists love holy water. We even brought home a few bottles, so let me know if you're feeling like you need some holiness.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wishing wall</td></tr>
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I realize I veered into snarkiness there, and I should balance it out by saying that the hordes of people at the site seemed happy to be there, and some even appeared to be moved. Mike got to send his mom a postcard. There was a wall of wishes, which I would have liked to spend some time reading except that we had to get on to the main aim of the day, the ancient city of Ephesus!<br />
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Ephesus was a hopping town way back around when the BCs turned into the ADs. There were rich and poor people, lots of bathhouses, public toilets with no stalls, and a huge library.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very public toilet</td></tr>
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Unfortunately for Ephesus, as time wore on its lovely river silted up its harbor, thereby rendering it no good for shipping. People moved out of their malarial swamp, to the coast (which is now 7 miles away) or farther abroad. Ephesus was only rediscovered in the 20th century, so the archaeological work is far from done, but what's uncovered now is still completely stunning.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNp-9b66FlrF8EegLEhJaABBcf5z6vXoI5UUNKjUD_HGZ23tZsVrr7YMU7iivs97ocR_ZsmabJgiDQgaxJB-rNThU93CCDv-SISSLsQcN9RFiYZ4Q_WViB8U5sncwo3x9LTpdmDCZtBU8/s1600/IMG_20130425_135854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNp-9b66FlrF8EegLEhJaABBcf5z6vXoI5UUNKjUD_HGZ23tZsVrr7YMU7iivs97ocR_ZsmabJgiDQgaxJB-rNThU93CCDv-SISSLsQcN9RFiYZ4Q_WViB8U5sncwo3x9LTpdmDCZtBU8/s400/IMG_20130425_135854.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Walking down the wide marble main streets our guide pointed out the columns on either side, which marked the entrances to shopping galleries that would have lined the roads. We took a side route up into some hillside homes of the rich, which had hot and cold running water, ballrooms, ornate frescoes, and outclassed my rickety Victorian even in their current state. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Library_of_Celsus">library</a> was once one of the largest in the world, and the amphitheater could fit 25,000 people.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBG_hSBehEMTS-yYgiUFtCJtHjyiDSf5YHx3lJsEqAvPHCL5gZHKhhCM6UUb2lNs0FV28mwqtNZy8yf9ue-OFggaYBjDDTJMCX-87ql2eK2pe7mbnI9GUPu2hlCxiCjUZN7PARQgYlNeQ/s1600/IMG_20130426_114057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBG_hSBehEMTS-yYgiUFtCJtHjyiDSf5YHx3lJsEqAvPHCL5gZHKhhCM6UUb2lNs0FV28mwqtNZy8yf9ue-OFggaYBjDDTJMCX-87ql2eK2pe7mbnI9GUPu2hlCxiCjUZN7PARQgYlNeQ/s400/IMG_20130426_114057.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_VnvQ6qfU6IJkhRc7T33Au-Fi-8Mzl0YtmpHEhuPHVZNPChs-BfyuEitbP8l1MN4puGeFEh_vktkZ0VhYi3ZdwvuZCdnLPhtSC6DsWP6xq7tOKW6y_nbRkTfaBIVNfTapPjnraPIX20/s1600/IMG_20130426_114124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix_VnvQ6qfU6IJkhRc7T33Au-Fi-8Mzl0YtmpHEhuPHVZNPChs-BfyuEitbP8l1MN4puGeFEh_vktkZ0VhYi3ZdwvuZCdnLPhtSC6DsWP6xq7tOKW6y_nbRkTfaBIVNfTapPjnraPIX20/s400/IMG_20130426_114124.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Ephesus, my friends, was something.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStRKHVwJVmfnr7HYlAuOQrYuo71PULqVtdD0iZ9FHk67wU7SPY0Mws1aqS3v6pDDor9jy3T-dwZR5hBVfFFG1hHzRbj7xdFkeOAS-YO2Fe3fgXds0q9xe8yx-50aNd6It4TgMqoxR06A/s1600/DSC03163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStRKHVwJVmfnr7HYlAuOQrYuo71PULqVtdD0iZ9FHk67wU7SPY0Mws1aqS3v6pDDor9jy3T-dwZR5hBVfFFG1hHzRbj7xdFkeOAS-YO2Fe3fgXds0q9xe8yx-50aNd6It4TgMqoxR06A/s400/DSC03163.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
The most interesting thing about Ephesus, and about Turkey in general, was something that I kept forgetting as I checked out cats sleeping at marble statues' feet and wondered if I could poop while sitting in a room with 20 people like the Ephesians did. As a geographical link between Europe and Asia, along with being a bread basket and not too shabby to look at, this region saw many major cultures come and go. People moved to the area in the Bronze Age, then came the Greeks, and the Romans (who made it their Asian capital), the Byzantines, and the Ottomans, plus various denominations therein. History, culture, religion, agriculture, all the good stuff happened here.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5veuniWhwp00wFF3aKu8NDQWsIgCpmPuOdotTQyxkNiP5exmWS6qfxhWrpBNbm6I7CP8rmdjVR2yUgFwebXfC22gCT0TQXdthvxYOJjam9M6qql_-Fs7FlZYmFBKu7WF00vsPP5foQE/s1600/IMG_20130425_140925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5veuniWhwp00wFF3aKu8NDQWsIgCpmPuOdotTQyxkNiP5exmWS6qfxhWrpBNbm6I7CP8rmdjVR2yUgFwebXfC22gCT0TQXdthvxYOJjam9M6qql_-Fs7FlZYmFBKu7WF00vsPP5foQE/s400/IMG_20130425_140925.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza pies (not really) etched into marble told Christians they were welcome</td></tr>
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After we stumbled out of Ephesus, a little sunburned and woozy from all the info, we ate lunch at a lovely outdoor restaurant where they plied us with ayran, a salty yogurt beverage that is my new favorite drink. We piled back in the van and headed to a pond where Octavius pointed out the remains of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Temple_of_Artemis">temple of Artemis</a>, now just a stack of columns topped with the region's inevitable stork nest. One of the wonders of the ancient world, now basically rubble. Fun fact: in 356 BC the temple was burned down by a crazy guy named Herostratus, who wanted to go down in history. Well played, sir; I assume Kim Kardashian has read up on him.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRl7Gd2DUD5f9kPChdzbVr1j5QVZ5BANg1Mii5xmyAhR_QXqICC6he3Ym1BsQupkJ_Anv_JbSMM8Dblmd49G0c-2axUKSIC0kfJWCwlqSXRc-g0odXsBtr1nJ2nbTor78uRR08cVs7aE/s1600/DSC03168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRl7Gd2DUD5f9kPChdzbVr1j5QVZ5BANg1Mii5xmyAhR_QXqICC6he3Ym1BsQupkJ_Anv_JbSMM8Dblmd49G0c-2axUKSIC0kfJWCwlqSXRc-g0odXsBtr1nJ2nbTor78uRR08cVs7aE/s400/DSC03168.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Finally, we visited the remains of a hilltop church next to our hotel that is said to contain the remains of St. John. They were full of flowers and gave a great view over the valley, and of the historical mosque next door. Because that's how Turkey rolls.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHL0Hdp1i-u5-VcMYcLEk4eSWyxreje2ledHxtWj97zq4I-KdzibzULS4EV_n1tykArvrCCI8NfyFhD9f6xQRPNPQNGy74jHY88b5gjAgA8qR2gNep7X8XG_Gkq-oTRdiT6UruWTUJPSo/s1600/DSC03174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHL0Hdp1i-u5-VcMYcLEk4eSWyxreje2ledHxtWj97zq4I-KdzibzULS4EV_n1tykArvrCCI8NfyFhD9f6xQRPNPQNGy74jHY88b5gjAgA8qR2gNep7X8XG_Gkq-oTRdiT6UruWTUJPSo/s400/DSC03174.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Selcuk, I'll be back.</div>
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GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5539918168344685518.post-76292013212189802162013-06-13T09:18:00.002-07:002013-06-13T09:20:06.012-07:00A peace treaty. Of scarves.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
How beautiful are <a href="http://apeacetreaty.com/collections/scarves-villa-bambola-i/products/vaturi-pink">these scarves</a>? And pricey, which is why I won't be getting one anytime soon. But so, so pretty. Just ignore the zombie model who wants to wear beautiful textiles while eating your brains.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmYY3r4jU3w9o1-7HKbtFOOAVI6rVXPdJjB8w2N7DYUwWQ25ubP4N-gHnxxvpq8FFJ_2vTZY5lkt6BjZ8zLykAnGe40Ns07w-iDMFtOUIYMCIwF1x888X7a3mjh6fBMVDIEjL3UJ4vOQ/s1600/3279669_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmYY3r4jU3w9o1-7HKbtFOOAVI6rVXPdJjB8w2N7DYUwWQ25ubP4N-gHnxxvpq8FFJ_2vTZY5lkt6BjZ8zLykAnGe40Ns07w-iDMFtOUIYMCIwF1x888X7a3mjh6fBMVDIEjL3UJ4vOQ/s320/3279669_1024x1024.jpg" width="216" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOrptkDBRf9Kyn8r8-HsNE3ag-gLwB24gEOTZ8B4VGy1wMcng6LgQ3VmD0rFYthAldHj3PxBHCHcgrFDW158SlX1LstE4rclnlWem3ucYf_JKlYERgt_I7n9QdYTHfu759fpWvvyLJxQ/s1600/7035870_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOrptkDBRf9Kyn8r8-HsNE3ag-gLwB24gEOTZ8B4VGy1wMcng6LgQ3VmD0rFYthAldHj3PxBHCHcgrFDW158SlX1LstE4rclnlWem3ucYf_JKlYERgt_I7n9QdYTHfu759fpWvvyLJxQ/s320/7035870_1024x1024.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
I draw this to your attention case you were taking notes on what to get me for my birthday/Christmas/Thursday.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3gGJsol4_cQEt46SOhXJKq-OBWO7eJFZUiPMO3ysTeSP40XW__GHLdGNDDJl4cvWgSqDBCkt5xJ2pb8H2LDZlrfeMXYLUairxStiSBbk5nSpq16I7XWOEfydNRcmloUXP1n6eq4u_9U/s1600/3a_1_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3gGJsol4_cQEt46SOhXJKq-OBWO7eJFZUiPMO3ysTeSP40XW__GHLdGNDDJl4cvWgSqDBCkt5xJ2pb8H2LDZlrfeMXYLUairxStiSBbk5nSpq16I7XWOEfydNRcmloUXP1n6eq4u_9U/s320/3a_1_1024x1024.jpg" width="217" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkuf_NxUrT9YPqIuqTtllwnPOyg5iVLWLeVogbmOIRJZL-zOPAFxMw4qfw6AV6QkmEmuy6QGC4m496Gj4dVyc7MoFdcSMICCb9qMsDySc7JmXOtcMeiBnG0Ei-RIVJSYHGOtD8JlYecs/s1600/1477789_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkuf_NxUrT9YPqIuqTtllwnPOyg5iVLWLeVogbmOIRJZL-zOPAFxMw4qfw6AV6QkmEmuy6QGC4m496Gj4dVyc7MoFdcSMICCb9qMsDySc7JmXOtcMeiBnG0Ei-RIVJSYHGOtD8JlYecs/s320/1477789_1024x1024.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The company's <a href="http://apeacetreaty.com/pages/story">description</a> is a little overwrought, but the concept is good, assuming they execute well: </span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Each season, A PEACE TREATY travels to a particular region and seeks out local village artisans to re-define an accessory, designing limited edition pieces in style unique colorways. Each jewelry or scarf collection resuscitates ancient handmade textile and metalsmithing techniques that are at risk of extinction. Working with craftspeople in nine countries and injecting life and trade back into local economies, A PEACE TREATY employs artisans with above fair trade wages and invests in creating income generation opportunities for out-of-work artisans, disabled, widowed and marginalized women. A PEACE TREATY artisan projects and partnerships are situated in Pakistan, India, Nepal, Turkey, Afghanistan, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador and the US.</span></span></blockquote>
And this, in case you were wondering, is how I justify my rampant consumerism. </div>
GGBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02401358056564260226noreply@blogger.com0