Etchings

It must be cold out. First of all, it is February in New England. Secondly, Jack Frost has etched delicate borders on the inside of all of the storm windows. Jack Frost, another fond memory from childhood. We are all individuals. We are connected to others by an intricate, invisible web of common knowledge. Speak to someone of Abelard and all you get is a blank stare. Speak to someone of Jack Frost and you have made a connection. Jack Frost, Suzie Snowflake, Paul Bunyan, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, and Jesus. They are the highways of communication we in America share. Speak to someone from Sumatra of those things and there is a roadblock on the highway. Most of those things come from childhood. Childhood, a time of innocence and openess. A time of learning to fit in to a society. We are all part of one big village. The term moiety comes to mind but I am not sure I remember the correct definition of moiety. Anthropology 101 was a long time ago and the textbook was sold at a yard sale long ago. Selling a book, the ultimate travesty. There must have been huge book sales in Ashkelon. Reading, the quiet gentle escape. It is similar to watching the Cyclops in the corner in that it is a passive activity but it is uninterrupted by messages of how to burn fat, how to be a massage therapist, and how to change America. Nevermind today's troubles, we're off to see the Wizard! I think I will call him Friday.
I think that I remember almost every book I have read. I don't remember the specifics but there are tantalizing crumbs left from every page. Peter Pan, Mowgli, Horatio Hornblower, and Mua'dib all reside in a special niche. Even R. Daneel Olivaw has a life there.
Still there after all these years: Here comes Suzie Snowflake, dressed in a silk, white, gown.
Tap, tap, tapping on your window pane, to tell you she's in town.

Sifting

The snow this morning, 6 A.M., was falling from the sky as if it was confectioner's sugar being sifted. It has changed and is now like flaked coconut falling. I think there is going to be quite a lot of it. Yesterday was chili. I soaked the pinto beans for two days and was surprised that they only took three hours to cook. I am out of cumin so the chili was not as good as I anticipated. I use a lot of cumin, to me that is the taste of chili. It was still acceptable over rice. Someone once criticised me for serving steak and baked beans together because they were two proteins. There was no rice and that person didn't know about left and right handed protein molecules. Beans should almost always be served with rice. The exception is the sacred boston baked beans. That would be as bad as putting spices on a fresh piece of fish. Beurre noire is allowable.
Answer to the request for family history:
No male on the Swedish side has ever made it past sixty three. They all go from heart attacks, bang on the floor. This is not such a bad thing when you consider the alternatives. The women all live to be eighty, they feed the butter to the males.
The Irish side. The males seem to all die from alcohol related problems. The women suffer from lung cancer. Their Father was a steamfitter in the Boston Navy Yard and came home with asbestos on his clothes every night.
My state of being: I have had a stroke, two heart attacks, have high blood pressure, high cholesterol, I smoke, I drink, and I don't buy green bananas. I take Crestor for the cholesterol, it works, I take Plavix for the stroke and I take a little tiny pill for the blood pressure. It makes you urinate a lot and is very effective. I have sciatica, bad shoulders, and fading eyesight. The only thing that concerns me is that I am beginning to have memory related troubles. I have had good health all of my life and enjoy it now. Each morning when I wake up and see the ceiling, not grass roots, I smile. Yesterday is the past and immutable. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. Today is what counts. This was a one-time medical discussion, due to a request, and will never be repeated. There are changes in my life-style that I should make but I will never make them. Life without Heineken's, Harvey's Bristol Cream, and Marlboros would be much longer, SOOOOOO much longer! I could dive into the miasma of religion but Luther was right. A little sinning is good for a person. Knackwurst is not a sin but probably is somewhere. It is so good. I am sure that somewhere there is someone that never had it and therefore proscribed it, kind of like bacon.

Bearded bread

I was up early again this morning. It was because I went to bed at eight P.M.. Walking was very pleasant this morning. It was cold but a nice cold. Cold has no power over long underwear and a down jacket.
I made bread yesterday and it was the best I have ever made, except for the dutch oven process. The taste was spectacular and I began to wonder why. I used the James Beard recipe. He calls for one tablespoon of salt to a pound of flour. There it was, my old nemesis SALT! No wonder it tasted so good. I remember the salt days fondly. I used to salt a piece of steak until the salt stopped getting wet and then put soy sauce on it. I was twenty-four then and in the best physical shape of my life. My blood pressure was 180/90. The Army doctor said the salt had to go. I replaced it with black pepper and was O.K. for thirty six years. It has reappeared in the form of white-cheddar Cheez-its. The Cheez-its must go so I can begin salting the soup. The love of my life once told me "Soup without salt is like kissing a man without a moustache!". I hope she meant that the man should have the moustache, not the converse. Bread and salt, the signs of peace and welcome.

Frosting

It must be cold outside. There is frost on the inside of the storm windows for the first time. It is also February in New England. The Cedar Waxwings are feeding on the cedar tree outside the window. I am sitting, drinking hot coffee, and have a light blanket wrapped around me. I need an inglenook. I should turn up the heat but that would go against a lifetime of cool temperatures in the winter. It would also negate the pleasures of hot coffee, a warm blankie, and warm slippers. It is a pleasure to be warm when it is cold. It is not a pleasure to be warm when it is hot or muggy. It is easy to be thankful for the good things that are. It is difficult to be thankful for the things that aren't. I am thankful for not being hungry, not being too cold, not having pain,and not having any dire news to contend with. I guess it is like being thankful that there are no tigers in the closet. I have been blessed with an easy life. I haven't had to work hard since 1968. Life is enjoyable but not exciting and that is fine. A tiger behind the door is exciting. I much prefer easy.

Well

I went outside to watch the sunrise, something I do almost every morning. I came back inside quckly. It is colder than the vertical water excavator's derriere outside. I don't have to go out until Monday and I don't think that I will. I like the cold weather but, like Cheez-its, sometimes there can be too much of a good thing. I have a container of Ghiradelli cocoa that some very dear people gave to me and I think that I will put a serious dent in it today. Molasses cookies will be made and enjoyed. Yesterday was pizza but if I want more, I will have to make more dough for the crust. There are still plenty of the other ingredients. I have enough chicken thighs to make a chicken marching band. I think that I saw one once on Mulberry street.

Slip sliding away

Yesterday I went for a walk or rather a slide. It was extremely icy outside. The glass-like ice was covered with ice melt and exciting to walk on. Exciting like "OOH look, here comes a polar bear. I hope he doesn't put his dirty paws on my seal-skin jacket.". I spent most of the day reading cookbooks, Italian cookbooks. They reinforce the sadness of living here with the paucity of veal in the market. Ahh veal. For someone that likes Italian food as much as I do, Providence is the only place to live. There is a street, Atwell's Avenue, that is covered with Italian restaurants and stores. It makes the North End of Boston seem like McDonalds. There is even a store that sells only veal. There is also Tony's Colonial Market. Tony's has every thing Italian from the tiny red onions to buffalo mozzerella and real Italian Fontina. Fifty different cheese and twenty kinds of sausage are a joy to behold. I have fond memories of Providence, especially that little pizza place at the bottom of the hill with the beautiful orange velour lamps. Artichoke pizza, what a treat!
A thought just came to mind. I read a cookbook once written by the man considered to be the ultimate authority on Italian food. He said "If you want to have authentic Italian cuisine in America, first buy a small farm in Tuscany.". Wouldn't that be nice. Olives, tomatoes, a truck garden, a pig, a cow, chickens, pigeons, rabbits, grapes. and a buxom Italian nona to help with the language. Plenty of cheese, wine, gelato, and Crestor.

Bracing

Yesterday was just plain miserably cold. I went for a walk and it was not pleasant. When I came back, there was a pleasant surprise on the doorstep. Quite a while ago I ordered four books. There they were on the doorstep. Two Lidias, I now have all three, a Mario, and Jasper White's Summer Shack Cookbook. The Jasper White is incredible. FINALLY someone gives cooking times for fish and shellfish based on size and specifies which can be prepared with minimal cooking and which are dangerous to do so. It turns out that I have always been killing the shellfish by soaking in water. It gives the recipes for all of the fish and shellfish from all over the country, even Florida and California. Finally a cookbook well written by a chef that doesn't think that he is God's gift to mankind. The problem now is how to find a way to move back near the ocean. For most of my life I have lived near the ocean. Before I moved to this bucolic paradise I lived fifty yards from the ocean. I miss the bounty of the Boston Fish Pier and the fish markets of New Bedford. New Bedford probably has the freshest, tastiest fish I have ever had. Fish that needs no conglomeration of herbs and spices but allows you to revel in the taste of the sea and the texture of freshness. Is it a genetic thing? Swedes plus ocean usually meant pillaging and looting. New Englanders plus ocean usually means clambake. I feel rejuvenated near the ocean but uncomfortable on it. Probably the only rational decision I ever made was when I decided to enlist in the service. Marines were definitely out, I saw what they did to my gentle cousin, the Navy and the Air Force were out because I can swim about as good as I can fly, the Army was the answer a I am very good at digging a hole, the clambake legacy. I ended up being stationed about one half mile from the ocean and there I met the most beautiful girl in New Jersey. Three years at the country club of Fort Monmouth was easy to take, although the Army does get up rather early in the morning. The Jersey shore is a magnificent place. Wonderful seafood, a plethora of truck gardens, tomato pies not pizza, and Blue Crabs all over the place. It also has Cape May, the most relaxing place I have ever been. I won't go into the French bakery and soup shop in Cape May, that is a memory I will sit and cherish by myself. There is also the Swedish Store, the only one I have ever seen. The only bad memory I have of Cape May is that I wanted to treat someone very dear to me, so we went to what was supposed to be the best restaurant there. I ordered a steak and the waiter asked if I wanted mango chutney on the steak. I told him no, the only thing I wanted was my coat. We went to a clam shack and had crab on newspapers with mallets and striped bass steak. The advantage of being with a French woman is that she won't move two feet for mango chutney but will walk two miles to have a good meal in a hovel. Too much food talk, I am going to brave the elements and go for a walk. Walking on the beach would be nice but the beach is fifty miles away.

Sadurday

Yesterday was sad. Lidia was a big bust. She made bean soup with two kinds of beans, spelt, and mussels. It looked like porridge although I am sure it tasted wonderful. Gourmet was organic, authentic, Chinese cooking. It looked wonderful but I don't think that I can readily find organic rat's moustache in Uxbridge. America's Test Kitchen was St. Louis ribs but I missed half of the show. They were very appealing.
After two hours of staring at the cyclops in the corner, I turned it off and made American chop suey. It takes a while as I am persnickety about the ingredients. I ground some beef, I used a quart of the sauce from the freezer, fried onions, garlic, and green peppers. I used Red Pack whole tomatoes in puree. Cook's Illustrated is right. They are better than Italian plum tomatoes and cheaper. I boiled up some elbow macaroni and supper was done.
After eating I sat for a while in front of a window and watched the snow fall outside. I may have sat too long but there is a fascination with watching snow fall as plumes of smoke and steam rise from the chimneys of the neighbors. The contrast of a cold outside and a warm inside are somehow reassuring. It reminds me of the feeling I got when I first read about Bag End. Living in a warm burrow with a well stocked larder makes Bilbo's choice of leaving that for a cold, treacherous journey even more heroic. Frodo made the same choice, even though I don't think the larder was as important to him. I often think of what Bilbo said about stepping out of the front door. I stepped out at eighteen years of age and, as I reflect on it now, regret doing it. There were adventures and marvels to see but it disengaged me from my family and I lost a connection I now remember tenderly. The past is immutable, the future hasn't happened yet, and only the present can be altered. Messing with the present usually leads to a future of: "What was I thinking? Boy I wish I had never done that. I should have left well enough alone.". The confidence of youth is gone, there is only the caution of age which was brought on by the ill-advised brashness of youth. Sitting by the window and staring out can lead to too much thinking.
I thought of the two books that captured my heart the most. Long ago Peter Pan and The Jungle Book ensnared a young boy, sitting in his room, bored and feeling worthless, and inspired him with the idea that a journey could lead to adventure and fullfilment. I should have had Bilbo's warning then but the journey saved my life. It also resulted in getting from Smaug three precious gifts.

Snow

Yesterday I went for a much longer walk than usual. It was snowing gently and everything was so quiet that I avoided turning around and just kept walking. The clean, cool, moist air and the muffled footsteps were a pleasant change from the bustle of downtown Uxbridge where three or four cars rush past each hour. I went one of the back ways, there are many in Uxbridge, and was saddened by something I saw. There are many houses for sale. None of them are new or mansions. They all seem to be old, simple homes. Most of them can't have more than four rooms. I feel uneasy for America. It reminds me of ancient Athens. The decline in the numbers of individual farmers and workers, their being replaced by slave factories and large landowners. The disastrous war with Syracuse, the building of the walls to Pireaus, not a wall along the Gadsden Purchase, the rise of the oligarchy, the condemnation of Alcibiades, not William Clinton, the takeover of the Delian League, not Nato. My generation will leave a much poorer America to our children.
Today is Supper Saturday, the day I enjoy most in the week. I enjoy all of the cooking shows on WGBH except for Todd English. Not that he isn't wonderful. He must be, he tells us constantly that he is. I really enjoy Mark Bitman and Jose's Spanish cooking show. On top is Lidia. I wish that Lidia would publish a racy calendar of herself. Imagine the picture: clams Casino, stuffed peppers, Osso Buco, and Lidia in a swimsuit edition! She better hurry though, before gravity takes a toll on her beauty.
A new dream just appeared. Lidia and I, a small villa tucked away on a Tuscan hillside, a good stove and refrigerator, a garden, a vineyard, chickens, prosciutto, Parmesan Reggiano, and the entire All-Clad inventory. A good local bakery and Double Diamond distributor would be the frosting on the cake.

I love a mystery

Yesterday was chicken stock. Well, mostly chicken stock. I freeze all of the trimmings from food preparation. They all went into the stockpot yesterday. There were some mysterious meat scraps among the trimmings. I hope that it is not significant that Groundhog day is near. I now have about two gallons of stock. It came out pretty good. I discovered that I don't need to roast the bones and vegetables to get brown stock. I just make sure that the onion skins go into the pot and the stock is a nice light brown. I also put a chopped apple in for the first time. Using soy sauce instead of salt seems to make a difference. I realized that I have enough food to last the month. I only shop once a month. A whole month without grocery shopping. To some people that would be pleasant. To me that is looking forward to a dull, dreary month. The freezer is bursting at it's seams. There are three roast beeves, ten pounds of chicken thighs, eight quarts of chicken stock, and six quarts of tomato sauce. I have a quantity of frozen vegetables as they are easier to portion out than opening a whole can. Broccoli has become a staple in each meal.
My brother thinks the way I save scraps is ridiculous. Right, and having two rooms full of used computer parts is not! I read that there is a growing problem with trash in America, the landfills are overflowing. I would like the world to know that the Holmstrand boys are not part of the problem. I have a quantity of empty cans, especially tomato cans, any can that has a zinc lining is saved for transplanting tomato seedlings. The tomato cans are 106 ounce cans. I do tend to splurge on tomatoes. I need to find a use for used coffee grounds and egg shells. I should also find a use for Nils. Wearing out a library card should not be the hallmark of a lifetime.

Solitude

I typed the last post in the wee hours of the morning. I have been thinking about it and it is scary. I read a story once about a man named Roquentin and that is what is frightening. I look in the mirror and see him looking back. At least I don't think the mirror is conspiring against me. Where was the memory of that story stored? Maybe Ericka can discover a way to filter such pop-up memories.

Sauce

The sauce got made. There are three quarts of it in the freezer, one quart got eaten last night. It never comes out as good as my brother's but that is because he has my Mother's recipe and I am sure that I could get a kidney from him if I needed it but never the sauce or meatball recipe. I am worried about him. He has always been a gentle, caring soul but time has not been kind to him. Since we were boys, he has been a tower of physical strength and common sense but time and the intense life he has led are slowly eroding the resources he built up. I don't think he realizes what a wonderful person he is.
I am also worried about my daughters, for the same reason. I don't think they realize what wonderful people they are. They each seem to push themselves to the limits of their incredible abilities and beyond. Beyond those limits lies only disappointment and self doubt. They must get that drive from their Mother. That incredible woman was always pushing the boundaries. I am like flotsam on the sea of life, drifting where the current and winds will take me. Life drifts by, I am confident of my abilities but never test them. I do test them in the kitchen but am frequently disappointed. Those abilities, of which I was so proud, are slowly fading away. I notice that Spellcheck occasionally pops into what I type. That would never have happened in the past. There are things that I can't remember for a moment. They come back but the retrieval is not instantaneous as it used to be. I find myself checking my math with a calculator.
The pure, exuberant, confidence of youth is gone. We are left with the husks of pride. But husks float and that is a good thing for flotsam. To each of my loved ones, you are wonderful people. Experience the joy of being with you. I do. When you reach a limit, glory in the distance you have come, not the grapes hanging above you. Bask in the achievement of 18, not the wall of 18-1.

Grocery store

I went to the grocery store today. Going to the grocery store is probably my favorite thing to do. My children can attest to that. I am so amazed at the country we live in when it comes to buying groceries. The variety and selection is so incredible and the prices are so low. I go once a month and never have to pay more than $200.00. This may be because I never buy anything premade, I am big on rice and pasta, although I do enjoy making my own pasta. I eat pzza but I make it at home. I bake beans at home and I make bread. I do spend a large amount on canned tomatoes, I mean a LARGE amount. I buy the cans that are 106 ounces. Today I will make a large pot of sauce. If I ever get rich, I would like to be the buyer for a food pantry.
My brother drove me to the market. He was nice enough to endure my walk through heaven. He shops at a discount supermarket and is constantly telling me that things are cheaper there. I like the local market becase I know where everything is. I went to his market once and was disappointed in the fresh produce. It was a little past it's prime and I was especially disappointed in the garlic. I buy a lot of garlic and it is important to me. The local market always has a special on some type of meat and, as I refuse to pay more than $1.00 a pound for any type of meat, I do well there. This week was roast size beef and chicken thighs. There is stock in the future. The cupboards are crammed, the refrigerator is overflowing, and all is right with the world. The biggest thing I miss about living in the city is the paucity of cheeses in this area. I am a cheese snob. It is silly to go all the way to Boston to get Italian Fontina. There is some nice bleu being made in Marion, Massachusetts. There is no decent Gruyere anywhere around here. How can one make a decent les halles onion soup without good gruyere? I read that France has fifty different kinds of cheese. Before becoming the buyer for a food pantry, I will need a passport and head to Savoy and val d'osta.

The Bank

Today I had to go to the bank. I had some questions and I was dreading going. I was sure that I was going to be told that I didn't understand rule 67b. It was amazing. All of my questions were answered and the bank's policies are almost non-existant. It is a new bank as I had some disagreements with the old bank. The new bank doesn't charge for checks, issues temporary checks with no charge, credits all deposits immediately even if they are checks, and has lollipops. Absolutely no fees. The only thing that concerns me is minor. The name of the bank is Bob's Bank and they don't have a vault. All of the money is in a suitcase in Bob's office. I have twice used a bank that went out of business and it takes forever to get your money back. Bob has dreadlocks and his passport in his shirt pocket but hey, you have to trust somebody! The checks are printed by Goodyear.