Gumbo

I have eaten a lot of gumbo, most of it not very good.  Gumbo is one of those things that can be incredible but very rarely is even tasty outside of its native habitat (the Gulf of Mexico, Louisiana side).

The very best gumbo I have eaten outside of the Gulf was the remarkable seafood gumbo at Blazin’ Cajun in Seattle.  It’s closed now.  It morphed from a shack into a sit-down restaurant called Southern Hospitality that the neighborhood was unable utterly to support.

I had never made gumbo until yesterday.

Thanks to my wife, I have a good Creole cookbook.  It is put together by John Besh, a well-regarded chef in New Orleans.  I have yet to visit his restaurant August, but I like his style.  He stresses the basics and takes a building-block approach to the recipes, which are easy to follow if time-consuming.

I needed chicken stock and chicken.  I cheated on the chicken and bought rotisseries.  I didn’t cheat on the stock and made it from scratch, using the carcasses from the rotisserie birds.  Made it the day before I made the gumbo proper.

The base of any gumbo is roux.  Roux is flour cooked in fat.  One part flour, one part fat.  Chef Besh says chicken fat is the ticket, but canola oil works fine.  I skimmed the fat off the cold stock, heated it in a skillet, and dumped in the flour.  The ‘fat’ was too watery, so we had to improvise and dump in some canola oil.  No big deal, just extended the cooking time.

The roux got to a light chocolate color.  It can go much darker, but we didn’t for whatever reason.

Threw in the chicken bits, dusted in celery salt, garlic powder, some other stuff.  Threw in some uncooked andouille.  Threw in the minced green onions.  Dumped in a bunch of stock, at which point I realized I had not put in the minced tomato or garlic.  I seared them up in a pan and dumped them in.

Sliced smoked Italian sausage, dumped it in.  Crumbled more Italian sausage and more andouille into a skillet, skimmed chicken fat off the gumbo, dumped it in the skillet to get the sausage bits crisp.  Dumped it in.  Ground up a leftover grilled strip steak and fried it in more chicken fat.  Dumped it in.

V made the rice, which was started in chicken fat and butter before being cooked in chicken broth.

Cooked the gumbo for an hour and a half more, or so.  Stir, skim fat.

It is really pretty great, despite some half-assedry on my part.  There’s a huge amount of it left.

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Missed opportunity

Starbucks was the closest coffee place, so I got an iced coffee there.

Man, I really wanted to order a ‘jumbo iced coffee.’  I just thought it would be funny.  But then I realized a lot of d-bags refuse to say ‘venti’ or whatever, and I would just be another random d-bag making some working stiff’s life more difficult.  So I got a ‘venti.’

Anyway, my wife, kid, and I are in the crosswalk.  There’s a guy in front of us with one kid on foot and a stroller with a kid on it.

This woman comes whipping around the corner and cuts in front of all of us, maybe five feet away.

Her window was wide open.  I very nearly spit into her car, but then I thought shit, I’m here with my kid, I don’t want to get into a whole thing.  But we’re all like whoa that was fucked up.

Then my wife points out that I had an entire jumbo iced coffee I could have dumped right on her.  I totally had every excuse in the world to do it, like it was an accident.

I do regret not doing it.

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Sunday scenes

I just saw a Jewish guy–payot and skullcap–stumble by my house.

He nearly walked into our fence.  Looked like he’d been through a sprinkler.  Soiled shirt untucked.

He was drinking Nehi redpop out of a two-liter bottle, held sideways to his face.  On it like a bird feeder.

I don’t know what was going on there.

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Sumac and coffee

I have long been a relative purist when it comes to barbecue and grilling.  Salt, pepper, a bit of garlic powder maybe.  A little turbinado sugar if it’s brisket.  But that was about it.

1.  A friend published a book by this guy Adam Perry Lang called Serious Barbecue.  I sort of hate it on its face, as it’s one of those attempts to elevate barbecue and grilling, as if the basic standard of it wasn’t enough.  Of course, it is enough, and to this day I have my doubts that Adam Perry Lang has transformed it beyond what I can get twenty miles south of me at Lem’s anytime I want between 2PM and 2AM (closed Wednesdays).

However, last time I made ribs, I figured this guy had done so much work on his convoluted rib recipes that I would give him a nod and use some of his stuff.

I cooked the ribs slow for four or five hours, and finished them hot as is my wont, to get that bacony thing on the outside.

I did an apple juice/apple cider vinegar spray at various intervals.

And, finally, I did a (shudder) glaze of apricot jam and orange marmalade, mixed with the apple stuff, in a couple rounds starting at about two hours from completion.

Well, fuck me if it wasn’t pretty goddamn good.  A little candyish, yeah, but pork and apple has never been a bad combination, and I cannot say I did not enjoy eating it.

I’ll try it again, put it that way.

2.  We get stuff from this Middle Eastern place called Noon o Kabab, and they put these little packets of sumac in with the takeout.  V suggested using them on steak, so I did.

Sea salt, pepper, Black Cat espresso roast from Intellentsia Coffee, powdered garlic, and sumac.  Maybe 40% salt, 25% pepper, 10% coffee, and the rest the other stuff.

Sumac and coffee are damn good things to put in a beef rub.

Coffee, whatever, people do it, and for good reason.  It does not read as coffee when charred–it reads as smoky, it reads as rich.  Not bitter in the slightest.  You can use kind of a lot of it to no ill effect.

Sumac is sour in its raw form, but smoked or burnt in moderate doses it imparts a deep, soulful tang that does not read as exotica.  It reads as a richness that is part of the meat, rather than overlaid on it.

They are both part of my go-to beef rub now.  As usual, I would add a little turbinado sugar for anything I was going to cook for a long time.

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Kindergarten

Well, well.  So long since I addressed this issue.

Long story short (?):

We turned down both private schools, as noted.  Kid ended up getting into a gifted public school after all, in the second rnd of acceptances.

Place was 40min commute one-way.  The kid has swim class, piano class, dance class in the afternoons–enjoys that stuff immensely.  Having to ditch any of it would have been suboptimal.  Plus V was not overly impressed with the school as a place.

Given that we’d been waiting on pins and needles for such an acceptance, we…rejected it.  We could triangulate things well enough (based on reports from crazed-parents-message-boards and so on) to know that the kid was within one or two points of getting into one of our top couple choices, which would mean 9yrs of free, top quality education not too far from our house.  Seemed worth the risk.

No word for two months.  Getting used to the idea we would have to do the whole rigamarole again.  Vague feelings of having let down our child.

Couple weeks before school starts, ring ring, she’s in at one of our top two places.  We’re done.

Have tried to figure out precisely why taking one’s kid to her first day of kindergarten is such an emotional experience.  I think it’s multi-layered.

1.  In our case, we know, barring a move from the city or implosion of the public school system, she is going to be there for 9yrs.  And she’s in the right school.  Which is a huge relief.

2.  Much of the groundwork for a person’s entire personality is set during that time.

3.  School in general can be boring, terrifying, wonderful.  Life at home or in preschool is pretty calm in comparison.

4.  School is where you learn to be a person, for better or worse.  Where you learn to accommodate fools and be foolish.  Where you learn to rely on your friends and when you’ve relied on them too much.  Where you learn to pick apart other people and exploit their weaknesses.  It’s the final assurance, as a parent, that your little kid is not a baby any more, not a toddler any more, just barely a little kid, and that barring misfortune she will end up as 100% her own person someday, and that day will come sooner than you might like.

So there she is, being taught science and French and whatever they do now in gym, six hours a day five days a week.  We will pay through the nose for every family vacation from now on, taking them at the same time as everyone else.

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Corrective lenses #2

Those new Shurons, no.  They’re clunky.  Just off, for me.

I went another direction.  Relatively heavy plastic frames.  I don’t think they are too Paul Shaffer, but I don’t have them yet.

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Knowing when to stop #4

I don’t remember exactly when I first picked a bassline off a record, but India from the first Psychedelic Furs LP was pretty early on.

I had never seen them live until Friday.

They were terrific.

They come to their (expansive) catalog as 50yr-old men.  A little more roll in the rock, but there’s nothing wrong with that.  It’s much more cabaret than lounge, and a rather heavy cabaret at that.

What strange feelings it brings up.

Memories.  A spread in NME, centerfold of Richard Butler sprawled across a floor, confusingly sexual.  You always knew where Bowie and them were coming from, even if it was both sides.  It was pretty obvious stuff.  RB not so much.

I played all their first three records a lot, but Talk Talk Talk was/is a cornerstone for me.  Maybe my favorite LP of all LPs by anyone, and hearing some of it live I know why.  There’s depth to the worry and world-weariness and loss in it, in all their music, and it translates completely to the present.

We played the next night, at the freewheeling annual barbecue hosted by members of the Electrical Audio web forum.  The venue was an old church in a terrible neighborhood here in Chicago.  All the windows were either closed or boarded up out of necessity.  Sweltering hot.

We were good, powerful, probably great at times, working our way through our own songs of worry and world-weariness and loss.

Rock and roll is morbid, mordant, insular.  A…little…fucker.

Gets us all.  Me at forty-one, making more money than I’ve ever dreamed of making, itching for a few days, like I have a rash, to throw it away and go back to a past that wasn’t even that great.  The Butler brothers, climbing onstage at 50-some, ecstatic transparently to be there but knowing it’s a spotlight turn in the end.  Kids upon kids at the EA thing, hammering through it like it’s never been done before.

We worry, grow weary, lose.  People die, get sick, go broke.  The world turns on its head for however long and maybe keeps wobbling for good.  But WTF.  Fuck the world.  Hit the right notes, have them hit for you.  All’s well for a spell even if the sound is in essence only your own little sad sad blues.

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Corrective lenses

I tried wearing contacts last month.

First, the doctor gives me these things that are supposed to approximate bifocals (I need progressive lenses in my dotage).

One eye is set for nearfield+intermediate range viewing.  The other eye is set for intermediate+farfield.

That scheme works about as well as it sounds, which is to say for shit.

I tried three other prescrips, a couple of which were OK for medium- to long-range vision, but all of which blew a goat for nearfield.

No contacts.  Physically, I ended up having no real issue sticking the things on my eyeballs, which surprised me a bit.  But functionally they do not work for me.

I have to wear glasses pretty near all the time.  Many of you have been wearing glasses your entire life, but I have not.  It is a new development for me.

I have three pairs of glasses at the moment.

1.  Silhouette Titan frames

I got these things when they were brand-new.  I was cutting-edge for about 8mos, at which point all the neocons in the Bush administration started wearing them.  I was in an eyeglass place yesterday, and I had occasion to bitch about this fact.  The guy told me he was the very dude who sold Donald Rumsfeld a pair.  He was apologetic.

Cutting-edge anything risks becoming dated once it has been accepted widely.

I am not sure if the Silhouette Titan has become a classic or a dinosaur.  All I know is:

  • Donald Rumsfeld started wearing them
  • Two coworkers have gotten them after seeing mine

The look is distinctive enough that I feel foolish looking through them at them on someone else’s face.

2.  Cheap single-vision ‘reader’-type that I got when I first started to need more nearfield correction

3.  Mykita frames with the full progressive lens action and Transition lenses

Transition lenses are the modern take on the old Photogrey lens, favorite of old men and dorks the world o’er.  The old Photogrey guys had a constant low-level tint to them.  Transitions are clear when they’re not doing any tinting.

My friend Andrew rued the loss of constant tint in Photogreys so much that he had special, slightly tinted lenses made for himself, to remind him of the old days.

Anyway, once again, I was a cutting-edge son of a bitch with these Mykita guys until Tom Cruise and a bunch of other people started wearing them.  Rick Bayless wears them.  They are the Silhouette Titan of the late 00s.  I know how to pick ’em.

So.  I have to wear glasses most of the time.  I have two pairs of frames that I liked when I got them that have since become trendy and therefore somewhat irritating to have on my face every day.

I’m fine wearing them some, but it is different when it is compulsory, and you are having to say ‘hey, check it out, I have trendy spectacles’ just by waking up in the morning and having to read things at some point in your day.

The sensible move to me seems to be to eliminate trends from the equation by using frames that are both classic and unobtrusive.

To wit, Shuron.

It is hard as a bastard to find plain wire frames, rimless or semi-rimless, that aren’t trying hard to be stylish.  The only ones I could find were Retrospecs, which are salvaged frames from the early to mid-20th century.  They cost about a million dollars each.

I found it tough to pull the trigger on them.

Closer inspection revealed the source of my reticence:  the Retrospecs frames I like are just old-ass Shuron frames, and Shuron is still well in business.

They are sending me four (!) demo frames of various sizes.  All I had to do was put one pair on my credit card.

I WILL LET YOU KNOW HOW IT GOES.

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Overheard at convenience stores

I was in two convenience stores yesterday.

Conversation 1, two guys behind the counter.

Yeah, so I guess you can’t even find it on the internet anymore.

Oh, I dunno, I think it’s still around.

Yeah, I guess they just have people reacting to it now.

Yeah.

Just how people react to it.

Yeah.

Is it real or….

Man, it’s pretty real!

Yeah?  So it’s just…like with a cup and everything, they….

Yeah, man.  Yeah.

Conversation two.

Clerk:  Can I help you?

Customer:  [taps display of scratch-off lottery tickets]

Clerk:  How many?

Customer:  Five hundred.

Clerk:  …uh, well, heh heh, you got to go downtown, then, and….

Customer:  How many you got?

Clerk:  You serious?

Customer:  [nods]

Clerk:  [starts counting]

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