the perfume of influence

Posted on March 10, 2008

sweat and zen in portland, oregon.

i have completed a sixty-hour work week in five days. i smell like a jock strap full of squid and used feet.

i have not yet sprouted ironic above-lip facial hair for fashion purposes as the local males seem fond of doing, but the capitalization, conjunctions and abbreviations have gone out the window for this post. portland will do that to you. these northwestern people are typically very mild, a little skittish. i am fairly certain that the weather has something to do with it. i crave the sun, the clear blue sea and the things that those things engender. faraway lands are calling me again. i am not certain how i should answer. where is home? what is home?

i hollered out a bunch of songs at a pub after work tonight. i was loved. life is good.

stumptown. irony, soggy moustaches, horn-rimmed glasses, maudlin music and devalued emotional currency.

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Wheat, Barley, Corn and Rye

Posted on February 19, 2008

Barley, Corn and Rye Bread

If there is one single, solitary deed that is more restorative and reassuring than any other, it is quite possibly the act of baking bread. If you build the oven and fire as well, all the better. Working grain and water with the hands is not only a response to our own innate impulses, but also an answer to the deeper, voiceless parts of the world around us. Kneading is an act of communication with a nourishing result.

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Abhayam…

Posted on February 9, 2008

…is our Word of the Day.

“In spite of your fear, do what you have to do.” - Chin-Ning Chu

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The Jurisdiction of Poets

Posted on February 8, 2008

The dogs are playing poker in the basement
And the sound of northwestern winter is on the TV again
A baby screams hallelujah, heralding a bright new beginning
But it’s hard to conceive of or believe in any future at all

I don’t often pretend to be a poet, but Frank Tedesso inspired me today. It’s not just the richness of his words, but also the thick, tangible longing in his distinctive human voice that gets me. When someone says, “The wormy laws of men are overthrown by the beautiful argument of a song,” can you find it within yourself to disagree? Given the shitstorm of lies and foisted pragmatism that constitute the quixotic life of a carrot-chasing mule, I often forget the power of such eternally truthful postulates and the freedom of spirit and voice whence they spring… but I’m fortunate that there are still true poets to remind me of them.

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Pileći Kebap

Posted on January 25, 2008

chicken kebab

Nema ništa bolje u tri sati.

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Intent

Posted on January 14, 2008

Quite typically we view the world as hostile toward our intentions. It is not. We merely lack the faculties of perception needed to clearly comprehend the grand arc of the active will.

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Travarica: Herb Brandy

Posted on January 13, 2008

Travarica: Dalmatian Herb Brandy

Rakija (RAH-kee-yah) is the catch-all term for any kind of spirit distilled from fruit in Croatia, and it pretty much translates to ‘brandy’. Just as there’s apple brandy, plum brandy, berry brandy and so on, varieties distilled from different source materials take more specific names. Here are a few:

šljivovica (SHLEE-vo-vee-tsa) - plum brandy
lozica (LO-zee-tsa) - grape brandy
kruškovača (KROOSH-ko-va-tcha) - pear brandy
rogačica (roh-GAHTCH-ee-tsa) - grape brandy infused with carob pods

In Dalmatia, the king of all rakijas is travarica (TRA-va-ree-tsa), a sophisticated spirit acclaimed as a superb digestive aid and tonic. It is quite simply an infusion of grape brandy and a variety of herbs, and there are as many recipes for travarica as there are people producing it. Some contain as few as 10 herbs, while others can contain 20 or more. Travarica often contains rosemary, chamomile, lavender, rose hips, matgrass, juniper, thyme, currants, mint or sage, but the list of possible additions is practically endless.

Pure grape brandy isn’t widely available, but if you have access to good grappa (Italian grape pomace brandy), making your own travarica is not a complicated undertaking at all, All you need to do is insert the whole, edible herbs, flowers and dried berries of your choosing into a 750 mL bottle, fill the bottle with brandy and allow to infuse for at least a month. Of course, the longer you allow the brandy to take up the essential oils and aromatic components of the plant material, the stronger and more complex the flavor will be.

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Cream Cheese and Sass

Posted on January 12, 2008

I was in the neighborhood coffee joint this morning for my caffeine and calories. After I’d served myself a cup of the black…

I : Actually, can I get a bagel and cream cheese as well?

He: Uh, yeah. Just a minute.

I : No problem, bro.

I paid for the roll. I went out on the patio, plugged in my laptop and set about the morning correspondence. I waited for the bagel.

He : (obviously frustrated, slapping the plate on the food window to the patio) Hey, here’s your bagel, dude.

As I picked up the plate, he was on his heels and gone in a poof. I looked down at the two halves of bagel, coated with a transparent, vaguely luminescent film of cream cheese. The piss froze inside me. One of my greatest frustrations in all the universe is a bagel with cream cheese that has practically no cream cheese on it, especially when I’ve forked over $2 USD for a dime’s worth of food. I’ve actually considered carrying my own cheese in an ice pack for instances in which a coffeeshop’s Give is vastly disproportionate to their Get, because asking for more cream cheese is akin to asking for the barista’s liver. They look at me funny. I’m not a fat ass. If I was a 400-pound man asking for a gallon of Coca Cola, I’d expect some resistance.

“Sir, you really shouldn’t.”

But it should be obvious to all that I consume cream cheese responsibly. I can handle it.

I’ve fairly recently returned to the US from a part of the world where breakfast is a shot of brandy, a demitasse of espresso and maybe a roll. But Portland is a breakfast town. People want breakfast all the time here, and scores of eateries serve classic American morning fare throughout the day and eve. Perhaps it’s the cloudy, wet weather that makes the entire day feel as if you’ve just woken up, like an eternal morning. I don’t know. I still haven’t figured out what it is with these mild northwestern people and their breakfast, but I don’t typically do the big, hearty grazing ritual on everyday mornings. Or afternoons. Or evenings. I’ll pound a few hundred calories in convenient pastry, bar or smoothie format in the misty morgen and get mine ass skipping along down the mossy lane.

Now, don’t get me all wrong. A big breakfast can be the poodle’s noodles, but it’s a distinctive occasion for me. It’s preferably a shared occasion, reserved for days when I have the luxury of lollygagging around the house in my underpants and bunny slippers, digesting my frittata, ganache-filled buckwheat crepes, grilled sardines and lamb sausages, toast, yogurt cheese, blueberry lavender jam, polenta and peach kefir. But I don’t want a large meal on Go mornings. It’s a gastrointestinal traffic jam, a general bringdown on my physical fluidity and mental poise. It constitutes an albatross. I’m wicked stupid after a big breakfast. Food-stoned, you might say. And if I’m going to experience that stupidity, I want to enjoy that stupidity. Don’t ask or expect me to do a thing for several hours, because I will flatly refuse and summon the hounds to dispatch you. Serious eating is a long, laborious process and it requires serious relaxation. Period. Them’s the rules.

So yes, my sweet babies, a bagel and cream cheese and coffee or green tea is typically adequate breakfastizing for me if I’ll need to be cutting and weaving through the great unwashed masses on the day in question. That means, however, that when I am in a local coffeehouse establishment for my morning repast, I WANT MORE THAN A GRAM OF CREAM CHEESE ON MY BAGEL, YOU LANKY HIPSTER IDIOT.

» Filed Under dislocated vignettes, food and drink, life, people, portland | Leave a Comment

Frittata di Giorno

Posted on January 6, 2008

salsiccia penne pasta

What probably looks to you like a decent penne rigate con salsiccia fresca is actually the jumping off point for a Sunday afternoon repast. I sliced cooked Italian sausages, diced a bit of prosciutto, chopped some parsley and sauteed it all up with sliced onions and garlic. Easy. Then I threw in some leftover penne rigate. Tossed. Added red wine, salt and pepper. Reduced. After evening out the ingredients in the skillet, I covered the mess with beaten eggs…

raw frittata