20 weeks down, 20 to go!
So in the first half of pregnancy:
- no nausea (yay!)
- lots of saliva (!) and thirst in the 1st trimester
- a little bit tired somedays
- enjoying biking to the train stations, to work, and to my appointments
- a few little blurps and blops around week 15-16, now sometimes more solid blurps
- coolest ultrasound ever where I saw the baby moving its mouth (the tech confirmed that it was 'practicing eating')
- along with awesome 3D picture of its little hand (in previous post)
- good hang out times with Jenny, Kira, Lisa, Edith, Sean and Marin
- who knew maternity pants were so comfy?
- Bug is now about 9oz; am a little weirded out that it will gain another 6 or more pounds in the next 20 weeks! But all looks good on the ultrasound and other tests, so we are hoping for a nice healthy baby.
- lots of great support at work - although right before I told my boss, he declared at a staff meeting that no one on the team was going to get to go to any more weddings, or have friends, or get married themselves, and certainly no babies. Sorry boss!
- tons of love and support from Josh - including pushing me to eat my veggies and picking up the dog poo.
And just to say again, that it is WILD that there is a tiny being inside of me. Who are you, little person?
In the next 20 weeks - more prenatal yoga! A trip to Geneva! Babymoon travel to NYC and an undetermined warm location! Even, more, nesting!
(so far nesting has included a lot of measuring of rooms and furniture with a tape measure and inputting everything into Adobe Illustrator, to see if we can cram nursery stuff into Josh's office, and Josh's office into the guest room. It's also manifested as a strong desire not to go to movie theaters in Philadelphia that have consistently been reviewed as sticky, dirty, and full of people talking on their cellphones through the whole movie).
Monday, December 19, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
New cool watch
The dog is walked, and it's time for lunch - then budgeting for Mali!
Dreaming
Last night I dreamt that Josh and I were going to get our 19-week ultrasound, to find out the sex of the baby. But we were in Bamako at the regional hospital, where I had been before, and there were a number of people with us - both sets of future grandparents, Josh's department chair, one of my co-consultants from the Tanzania trip, and maybe 2-3 others (college friends? work friends?). I told them to wait outside under the mango tree since really, it would be too crowded in the exam room and wasn't this really a nice private moment for Josh and I anyway?
We were running late; but checked in at the desk for the ultrasound (which was just like Pennsy's check-in desk, but dustier and with more ugly curtains).
And it was a girl!
(stay tuned for more real life news!)
We were running late; but checked in at the desk for the ultrasound (which was just like Pennsy's check-in desk, but dustier and with more ugly curtains).
And it was a girl!
 |
| hullo there! |
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Real Changes
1. None of my pants fit anymore, except my very stretchy made-for-rock-climbing one-size-too-big Prana jeans.
2. Not entirely comfortable riding my road bike, so it has been retired to the basement while the old upright mixte Peugeot is getting a tune-up in preparation for winter use around Philly.
3. Flutters? Gas? Muscle twitches? Fetal movement? unclear.
4. Awaiting arrival of first attempt at maternity clothes. Not sure what I will wear to the big conference all this week, besides my comfy maternity tights and dresses.
In other news. need to cut about 15 slides from a last-minute presentation I get to give in front of a variety of VIP Tanzania government types on Wednesday. Politically sensitive issue. But should be doable.
And Josh is chaperoning his first high school dance...I will let him blog about this experience later on.
2. Not entirely comfortable riding my road bike, so it has been retired to the basement while the old upright mixte Peugeot is getting a tune-up in preparation for winter use around Philly.
3. Flutters? Gas? Muscle twitches? Fetal movement? unclear.
4. Awaiting arrival of first attempt at maternity clothes. Not sure what I will wear to the big conference all this week, besides my comfy maternity tights and dresses.
In other news. need to cut about 15 slides from a last-minute presentation I get to give in front of a variety of VIP Tanzania government types on Wednesday. Politically sensitive issue. But should be doable.
And Josh is chaperoning his first high school dance...I will let him blog about this experience later on.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Focus/Unfocus
It's Saturday in Accra, and a number of things were accomplished this morning; sending out minutes, writing up selection memos for a new study, finalizing workplan and budget for Mali. I was supposed to head out and go fabric shopping (for fabric and dresses I do not need) with a very kind lady, but (to my shy-person's relief) she bailed on me. So instead, left with the whole afternoon, I began falling into the internet.
The Family Circus dotted-line map of my playtime goes something like this:
need a new carry-on bag because the handle on my current Samsonite busted, but Samsonite has crappy warranty so must look for better warranty, Osprey and Eagle Creek are recommended, okie dokie, what size, do they fit all my stuff, this is impossible to know until I try to pack it, but I will spend 1 hour flitting about and looking at packing cubes regardless. Ding ding Josh completed a task with Orchestra, which beeps me to let me know, this is such a good feature! and then I look at all the pregnancy things that must be done, and then get concerned about biking while pregnant, so research that for another hour, reading about ladies in nice flat empty midwestern towns who have cute old raleighs and huge bellies. Avoid thinking about how I will get around if biking is not an option. Then look for dad hack and mom hack and parent hack blogs and find things that might be useful, someday, you know, if this pregnancy produces a child, which at this point, chances are fairly good that it will. Eat some dried apricots and do a little laundry (after leaving it to soak in the sink since before lunch, which was oatmeal made using my electric kettle in my room, genius). Flit between looking at baby items on Amazon and a post from Rookie Moms about secondhand baby showers, which sounds right up my alley (and also involved complicated excel spreadsheets, my speciality!). Wonder if my colleague will ever get back to me about working on our project this afternoon. Feel guilty I have not actually made it into the pool since I got here despite having plenty of free time. Check out my 'bump' in the mirror and determine that while a very little something is there, most of what people are seeing is my inflated intestines. Debate sending an email to my PhD supervisor informing him of impending Baby. Decide to wait. Realize for the millionth time since Baby and PhD have become official that I am a crazylady.
lalalalala. and so it goes. Perhaps I can save some of the afternoon by finally reading those supervision guidelines and sending in comments. Gah.
The Family Circus dotted-line map of my playtime goes something like this:
need a new carry-on bag because the handle on my current Samsonite busted, but Samsonite has crappy warranty so must look for better warranty, Osprey and Eagle Creek are recommended, okie dokie, what size, do they fit all my stuff, this is impossible to know until I try to pack it, but I will spend 1 hour flitting about and looking at packing cubes regardless. Ding ding Josh completed a task with Orchestra, which beeps me to let me know, this is such a good feature! and then I look at all the pregnancy things that must be done, and then get concerned about biking while pregnant, so research that for another hour, reading about ladies in nice flat empty midwestern towns who have cute old raleighs and huge bellies. Avoid thinking about how I will get around if biking is not an option. Then look for dad hack and mom hack and parent hack blogs and find things that might be useful, someday, you know, if this pregnancy produces a child, which at this point, chances are fairly good that it will. Eat some dried apricots and do a little laundry (after leaving it to soak in the sink since before lunch, which was oatmeal made using my electric kettle in my room, genius). Flit between looking at baby items on Amazon and a post from Rookie Moms about secondhand baby showers, which sounds right up my alley (and also involved complicated excel spreadsheets, my speciality!). Wonder if my colleague will ever get back to me about working on our project this afternoon. Feel guilty I have not actually made it into the pool since I got here despite having plenty of free time. Check out my 'bump' in the mirror and determine that while a very little something is there, most of what people are seeing is my inflated intestines. Debate sending an email to my PhD supervisor informing him of impending Baby. Decide to wait. Realize for the millionth time since Baby and PhD have become official that I am a crazylady.
lalalalala. and so it goes. Perhaps I can save some of the afternoon by finally reading those supervision guidelines and sending in comments. Gah.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Scented Weekend
Kima has decided that her chicken-flavored nylabone is interesting enough as long as I am not doing anything more exciting than catching up on New Yorkers and blogging. I'm not sure it's getting her teeth clean (as advertised) but a little therapeutic chewing will be good for her regardless. And it is nice to see her engaged in the very doggy business of working at a bone.
We had an epic day out yesterday, driving up to a part of Pennypack Park that has a paved path through beautiful stands of trees and some marsh, and that circles back on a trail nearly free of other hikers and especially dogs. Kima was a bit gimpy (which manifests as not bounding too far down the trail away from us) but seemed awfully happy to be out in the woods, as were we on a perfect fall day.
Stops at Target, PetSmart, Super Fresh and the liquor store followed, picking up Halloween candy and canine dental health supplies, and ingredients for Trotter Gear. Now we have a pot of Hazan's ragu simmering on the stovetop and the other big Le Creuset (proving we did indeed need both!) in the "gentle oven" reducing the trotters, madeira, aromatics and chicken stock into "unctuous potential". I'm not yet sure how we will use this potential as our usually reliable Kitchen Hotline is not answering the home phone or the text messages, but all will be revealed to us in due course.
The house is filled with that excellent aroma of slowly cooking meat and tomatoes that signifies the beginning of fall, with an overtone of porkiness.
We had an epic day out yesterday, driving up to a part of Pennypack Park that has a paved path through beautiful stands of trees and some marsh, and that circles back on a trail nearly free of other hikers and especially dogs. Kima was a bit gimpy (which manifests as not bounding too far down the trail away from us) but seemed awfully happy to be out in the woods, as were we on a perfect fall day.
Stops at Target, PetSmart, Super Fresh and the liquor store followed, picking up Halloween candy and canine dental health supplies, and ingredients for Trotter Gear. Now we have a pot of Hazan's ragu simmering on the stovetop and the other big Le Creuset (proving we did indeed need both!) in the "gentle oven" reducing the trotters, madeira, aromatics and chicken stock into "unctuous potential". I'm not yet sure how we will use this potential as our usually reliable Kitchen Hotline is not answering the home phone or the text messages, but all will be revealed to us in due course.
The house is filled with that excellent aroma of slowly cooking meat and tomatoes that signifies the beginning of fall, with an overtone of porkiness.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
End of Summer
The briefest of updates:
1. spent all summer in tanzania, more or less.
2. Josh did not get eaten by hippos or chimps.
3. No one was mowed down by elephants.
4. We spotted the elusive rock hyrax!
5. Was a work machine in between vacationing. Do not recommend. Please to do all vacationing after all the work is done.
6. Chumbe Island was all that it was cracked up to be.
7. Returned to Baltimore with happy dog, now packing up house with help of in-laws to move on Wednesday to Philadelphia.
8. Attempting to purge as much stuff as possible. Including hockey gear.
9. PhD is still a question mark.
10. Need more ideas for freezer foods that aren't lasagna, for friends with brand-new baby.
1. spent all summer in tanzania, more or less.
2. Josh did not get eaten by hippos or chimps.
3. No one was mowed down by elephants.
4. We spotted the elusive rock hyrax!
5. Was a work machine in between vacationing. Do not recommend. Please to do all vacationing after all the work is done.
6. Chumbe Island was all that it was cracked up to be.
7. Returned to Baltimore with happy dog, now packing up house with help of in-laws to move on Wednesday to Philadelphia.
8. Attempting to purge as much stuff as possible. Including hockey gear.
9. PhD is still a question mark.
10. Need more ideas for freezer foods that aren't lasagna, for friends with brand-new baby.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Opportunity Knocks
After one week in Tanzania I flew up to Barcelona for a project meeting. I know. I know.
Tough life, right?
Checking in online and upgrading for 93 euro got me a row of three seats to myself which I immediately claimed as soon as the stewardesses began to shut the overhead compartments. I read a chapter or two of The Tiger's Wife on my birthday Kindle and as soon as we leveled off I zonked out for the remainder of the flight. In the morning, my face puffy and my hair floating in the dryness, the flight attendant peered at me, then asked me if I didn't want something to drink. "You slept well, no?"
And a good thing too since upon arrival I met the rest of our small operations research committee and drove us up into the hills near Girona. I think I drove slowly, careful like a drunk, feeling the weight of ferrying not only our USAID 'boss' but also one of the world's great malaria professors, a colleague I have known for several years but have only recently begun to impress. He's also the reason why I'm in Tanzania on this assignment.
Heading into the heart of Catalunya the fields are green with short crops and stubby stone buildings poke out behind trees and shrubs. Small cars zip around curves in the road, veering to one side as another approaches. Clouds fringed the tops of hills and further away, the mountains.
Two hours later we arrived in a small town with a tiny textile factory that produces some kind of cord to be used in other textile manufacturing. There is a primary school. A church from the 11th century that requires a very large key. Just down a narrow road from the church we find the Malaria Consortium Catalunya Office, which Albert has rehabbed over the course of many years from animal barn into a three story retreat. The houses here each have large garages on the first floor, you know, for their horses and carts, originally. Stairs go up the middle to the second floor with two bedrooms on one side and the fireplace, bathroom and kitchen on the other. At the back, a closed in porch the width of the whole house with a new petit balcony and just a few windows. The walls are two feet thick and white washed.
The third floor has Albert's master bedroom on one side and his office on the other. Everything is tiled by hand; shelves are somewhat rough hewn; towel bars are bamboo mitred into the corners. Coffee sacks line the ceiling of the front porch and are stained in places from a leak that he can't find. Curtains and wall hangings are printed cloth from Uganda and other travels. The breeze comes through the whole house, front to back, and from the porch you see a kumquat tree and the neighbor's abandoned fig tree reaching over the wall, in an effort to make itself useful.
Everyone else in the village is square and short and we are noticed, conspicuous in our number (6) and our technical fleeces.
The meeting centers on the operational research agenda for our project and we duly discuss, in a rambling manner, all of our potential studies and our focus for the coming three years. I am utterly charmed by the scenery and the breeze and the mountains in the distance and the quiet. The economies of small towns escape me, but 800 voting adults is enough to sustain a butcher, a baker, two hairdressers, a tabac, and a few repairmen. The doctor is in town three days a week. We wait to pass through the narrow road to the church one evening as a man unloads bag after bag of groceries from his car, handing them to an unseen companion standing in the doorway of their home. He waves to us and hurries back into the drivers seat to clear the way.
On our way to Friday's dinner at a small hotel-restaurant in the hills further up, we pass an epic stone bridge built the same town as the town's church, spanning a deep gully where the locals go swimming in the heat of summer. One can jump from the rocks into the deep water, about 10 meters, but the bridge is likely 30 or 40 meters up, and no one has jumped from it for swimming purposes. Outside the restaurant the smells are quiet, green, and small - it has been raining, and the dirt parking lot is damp under our feet, and the olive trees are pleased to soak up the early season moisture. The air is clean.
It is too early for vacationers and we are the only people in the restaurant; we order salads and charcuterie, which comes with blood sausage in both negra and blanca variaties. The river trout is fresh, pink and as far as I can tell, deep fried with a massive dose of homemade aioli. Pa amb tomaque starts us off and Albert shows us how to slice the garlic in half, rub it on the huge slices of toasted local bread, then take half a golf-ball-sized ripe tomato and rub its inner contents on the bread till it turns just pink. A few drops of olive oil and some salt and all is right with the world.
In the car in the morning as we drive from our hotel to Albert's, The Gentleman Prof gently confirms that I do not, in fact, have a PhD. And proceeds to tell me how at his institution in Basel it is possible to get these three letters by working at my regular job for the next three years and producing three papers, then taking a few classes and defending the oral exam. "It would be a win-win situation; we could get a great dissertation out of you and you would get the degree." Unlike nearly all other public health training programs Basel focuses on public health practice and does not expect its students to remain in the ivory tower writing NIH grants or running clinical trials that will lead to the next greatest molecule. I am somewhat astounded with his confidence and with the fee structure, which works out to something like 400 bucks a year. At some point I would need to teach; however, the program is structured in such a way as to give credit for areas of strength and interest, rather than shoving one into a small box based on the advisor's interests. The in-person work could be completed in one semester.
And so, yet again, by virtue of hard work and good luck, I find myself with an opportunity, something I can make happen and that others want to make happen. A win-win. An opportunity that fits into the current short-term life plan and would no doubt lead to further opportunities. There are two international schools in Basel and Josh has a British passport. My head, already filled with thinking from the Tanzania assignment, now has some new options and implications to grind over and over into the fine powder of a decision.
Tough life, right?
Checking in online and upgrading for 93 euro got me a row of three seats to myself which I immediately claimed as soon as the stewardesses began to shut the overhead compartments. I read a chapter or two of The Tiger's Wife on my birthday Kindle and as soon as we leveled off I zonked out for the remainder of the flight. In the morning, my face puffy and my hair floating in the dryness, the flight attendant peered at me, then asked me if I didn't want something to drink. "You slept well, no?"
And a good thing too since upon arrival I met the rest of our small operations research committee and drove us up into the hills near Girona. I think I drove slowly, careful like a drunk, feeling the weight of ferrying not only our USAID 'boss' but also one of the world's great malaria professors, a colleague I have known for several years but have only recently begun to impress. He's also the reason why I'm in Tanzania on this assignment.
Heading into the heart of Catalunya the fields are green with short crops and stubby stone buildings poke out behind trees and shrubs. Small cars zip around curves in the road, veering to one side as another approaches. Clouds fringed the tops of hills and further away, the mountains.
Two hours later we arrived in a small town with a tiny textile factory that produces some kind of cord to be used in other textile manufacturing. There is a primary school. A church from the 11th century that requires a very large key. Just down a narrow road from the church we find the Malaria Consortium Catalunya Office, which Albert has rehabbed over the course of many years from animal barn into a three story retreat. The houses here each have large garages on the first floor, you know, for their horses and carts, originally. Stairs go up the middle to the second floor with two bedrooms on one side and the fireplace, bathroom and kitchen on the other. At the back, a closed in porch the width of the whole house with a new petit balcony and just a few windows. The walls are two feet thick and white washed.
The third floor has Albert's master bedroom on one side and his office on the other. Everything is tiled by hand; shelves are somewhat rough hewn; towel bars are bamboo mitred into the corners. Coffee sacks line the ceiling of the front porch and are stained in places from a leak that he can't find. Curtains and wall hangings are printed cloth from Uganda and other travels. The breeze comes through the whole house, front to back, and from the porch you see a kumquat tree and the neighbor's abandoned fig tree reaching over the wall, in an effort to make itself useful.
Everyone else in the village is square and short and we are noticed, conspicuous in our number (6) and our technical fleeces.
The meeting centers on the operational research agenda for our project and we duly discuss, in a rambling manner, all of our potential studies and our focus for the coming three years. I am utterly charmed by the scenery and the breeze and the mountains in the distance and the quiet. The economies of small towns escape me, but 800 voting adults is enough to sustain a butcher, a baker, two hairdressers, a tabac, and a few repairmen. The doctor is in town three days a week. We wait to pass through the narrow road to the church one evening as a man unloads bag after bag of groceries from his car, handing them to an unseen companion standing in the doorway of their home. He waves to us and hurries back into the drivers seat to clear the way.
On our way to Friday's dinner at a small hotel-restaurant in the hills further up, we pass an epic stone bridge built the same town as the town's church, spanning a deep gully where the locals go swimming in the heat of summer. One can jump from the rocks into the deep water, about 10 meters, but the bridge is likely 30 or 40 meters up, and no one has jumped from it for swimming purposes. Outside the restaurant the smells are quiet, green, and small - it has been raining, and the dirt parking lot is damp under our feet, and the olive trees are pleased to soak up the early season moisture. The air is clean.
It is too early for vacationers and we are the only people in the restaurant; we order salads and charcuterie, which comes with blood sausage in both negra and blanca variaties. The river trout is fresh, pink and as far as I can tell, deep fried with a massive dose of homemade aioli. Pa amb tomaque starts us off and Albert shows us how to slice the garlic in half, rub it on the huge slices of toasted local bread, then take half a golf-ball-sized ripe tomato and rub its inner contents on the bread till it turns just pink. A few drops of olive oil and some salt and all is right with the world.
In the car in the morning as we drive from our hotel to Albert's, The Gentleman Prof gently confirms that I do not, in fact, have a PhD. And proceeds to tell me how at his institution in Basel it is possible to get these three letters by working at my regular job for the next three years and producing three papers, then taking a few classes and defending the oral exam. "It would be a win-win situation; we could get a great dissertation out of you and you would get the degree." Unlike nearly all other public health training programs Basel focuses on public health practice and does not expect its students to remain in the ivory tower writing NIH grants or running clinical trials that will lead to the next greatest molecule. I am somewhat astounded with his confidence and with the fee structure, which works out to something like 400 bucks a year. At some point I would need to teach; however, the program is structured in such a way as to give credit for areas of strength and interest, rather than shoving one into a small box based on the advisor's interests. The in-person work could be completed in one semester.
And so, yet again, by virtue of hard work and good luck, I find myself with an opportunity, something I can make happen and that others want to make happen. A win-win. An opportunity that fits into the current short-term life plan and would no doubt lead to further opportunities. There are two international schools in Basel and Josh has a British passport. My head, already filled with thinking from the Tanzania assignment, now has some new options and implications to grind over and over into the fine powder of a decision.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Weekend Update
A truly enjoyable 25 mile bike ride with Sean, a tour of Baltimore's private schools including one very large, long hill that me and my lowest gear did not see eye to eye on;
ensuing sunburn;
a new best-ever porkchop from SuperFresh, via Sean and Marin's grill (with perfect grillmarks, natch);
A trip to said SuperFresh, whereupon I left my iPhone in the shopping basket and drove all the way home;
But the kind grocerypeople turned it in and sent my friends a message on Facebook to let me know they had it;
pretty awesome;
Drinks and lunch and catching up with good friends;
thanks to cost-savings somewhere else, negotiating a business class ticket for me and my colleague on this next trip to Tanzania, which should make a good first impression on him;
determining that extra days in Uganda in August can certainly be well spent;
and the mundane: pancakes and NYT and getting Kima's nails trimmed and lamb chops and laundry;
and finding tenants to take over our lease in September! Check plus!
T minus 3 days till J's final draft of Paratexts R' Us goes to the committee!
ensuing sunburn;
a new best-ever porkchop from SuperFresh, via Sean and Marin's grill (with perfect grillmarks, natch);
A trip to said SuperFresh, whereupon I left my iPhone in the shopping basket and drove all the way home;
But the kind grocerypeople turned it in and sent my friends a message on Facebook to let me know they had it;
pretty awesome;
Drinks and lunch and catching up with good friends;
thanks to cost-savings somewhere else, negotiating a business class ticket for me and my colleague on this next trip to Tanzania, which should make a good first impression on him;
determining that extra days in Uganda in August can certainly be well spent;
and the mundane: pancakes and NYT and getting Kima's nails trimmed and lamb chops and laundry;
and finding tenants to take over our lease in September! Check plus!
T minus 3 days till J's final draft of Paratexts R' Us goes to the committee!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Instant Fish
Josh is in the last 9 days of finishing the dissertation, so I'm in charge of dinner this week. Last night I came home, went running (let's hear it for Lady Gaga, by the way, who makes this possible), and literally whipped up dinner. Two barramundi filets were thawed; leek confit was reheated, as was some indian spinach that Josh had made a few days earlier. I threw some pecans in the Cuisinart and added salt, slapped that onto the fish for a nice nutty crust, and pan fried (sauteed? what's the difference?) the fish until dark brown and cooked through (longer than I had expected). Slap those puppies down on a bed of leeks with spinach on the side and some barely toasted frozen homemade sourdough bread and you have yourself a pretty nice meal! The pecans gave a nice crunch and the leeks (and their butter) were a perfect mouthful with the white fish.
Fish is my favorite fast food.
Fish is my favorite fast food.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Flattery will get you everywhere
So I just finished up this fantastic three week process evaluation of Mali's first universal coverage distribution, in the region of Sikasso. I got to work with a couple ladies from MEDA, Ricki and Ariane, and we blasted all around Sikasso documenting strengths and weaknesses of the distribution, which was planned by PSI and the PNLP and carried out by all the dedicated district medical officers and health facility doctors and volunteers, who went house to house to register each family in every village and neighborhood. I wrote up a 36 page draft report in French with inputs from my team members and revised the microplan that had been developed for the next region, Segou - it had some major formula errors! Using what we learned from the campaign in Sikasso, I also revised the training manuals for the volunteers, both for the registration process (which is complicated in the urban area, since people figure out they can lie about how many people live in their house to get additional nets) and for the distribution process (which mostly went fine, except for the reporting timeliness and some stockouts of nets).
So I get back home and easing back in to all the other work stuff that's going on, and then get an email from another guy at MEDA, the boss of Ricki and Ariane. "Are you interested in spending four weeks in Tanzania to evaluate options and make recommendations for delivering nets through a combination of channels, so that universal coverage can stay high even after they finish their universal coverage campaign? We think you would be great."
Let me explain a little bit. The country of Tanzania will be writing a huge proposal to the Global Fund starting August 15th, to fund (for the next 5 years) a comprehensive malaria control program that includes a comprehensive net delivery strategy, made up of probably multiple channels so that nets can get out to the people who need new ones. We've all theorized about how this might look in a hypothetical country. But I get to spend four weeks actually figuring this out for Tanzania. Then they put it in their Global Fund application and hopefully a year later they'll get the money and be able to implement the plan.
Well hells yeah I'm interested! This is a) the biggest challenge facing net distribution at the moment b) a country that has made tremendous progress and used innovative channels already c) a country I know pretty well, at least in terms of the major organisations and people and recent net-related history d) they think I would be great!
I am so so so susceptible to praise of this nature. To be honest, I had seen this consultancy before and had recommended someone else for it, not even thinking it might be within my expertise (but that was before Mali). This is what we're talking about when we talk about professional opportunities - you get an opportunity, you do a good job, and all of a sudden people are putting you up even bigger and more important jobs. It's the kind of luck you make. And it comes right at the moment where I am confident that I can actually do a good job - no more faking till I make it. I know what I'm doing now.
The downside, of course, is that this means I will be gone for another four weeks, missing both our anniversary and Josh's PhD defense. Not cool. But - I'm around for the next couple weeks during which Josh will finish his draft, and I can cook him dinner each night so that he can write and revise; and later in July we'll both be back in Tanzania to really celebrate our anniversary, with proper vacation and adventure travel. And perhaps I can skype in to the defense...
Sooo excited. Hooray!
So I get back home and easing back in to all the other work stuff that's going on, and then get an email from another guy at MEDA, the boss of Ricki and Ariane. "Are you interested in spending four weeks in Tanzania to evaluate options and make recommendations for delivering nets through a combination of channels, so that universal coverage can stay high even after they finish their universal coverage campaign? We think you would be great."
Let me explain a little bit. The country of Tanzania will be writing a huge proposal to the Global Fund starting August 15th, to fund (for the next 5 years) a comprehensive malaria control program that includes a comprehensive net delivery strategy, made up of probably multiple channels so that nets can get out to the people who need new ones. We've all theorized about how this might look in a hypothetical country. But I get to spend four weeks actually figuring this out for Tanzania. Then they put it in their Global Fund application and hopefully a year later they'll get the money and be able to implement the plan.
Well hells yeah I'm interested! This is a) the biggest challenge facing net distribution at the moment b) a country that has made tremendous progress and used innovative channels already c) a country I know pretty well, at least in terms of the major organisations and people and recent net-related history d) they think I would be great!
I am so so so susceptible to praise of this nature. To be honest, I had seen this consultancy before and had recommended someone else for it, not even thinking it might be within my expertise (but that was before Mali). This is what we're talking about when we talk about professional opportunities - you get an opportunity, you do a good job, and all of a sudden people are putting you up even bigger and more important jobs. It's the kind of luck you make. And it comes right at the moment where I am confident that I can actually do a good job - no more faking till I make it. I know what I'm doing now.
The downside, of course, is that this means I will be gone for another four weeks, missing both our anniversary and Josh's PhD defense. Not cool. But - I'm around for the next couple weeks during which Josh will finish his draft, and I can cook him dinner each night so that he can write and revise; and later in July we'll both be back in Tanzania to really celebrate our anniversary, with proper vacation and adventure travel. And perhaps I can skype in to the defense...
Sooo excited. Hooray!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Moo
We're pretty sure Kima's all Dalmatian, but with her constant grass-grazing in the backyard, it may be time to ask: do we share our home with a barking, shedding, squirrel-chasing Holstein?
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Hosta [is] La Vista, Baby
Unless you're a tulip person, in which case perhaps you prefer the vista from the porch view:
The confetti is white cherry blossom from the trees that will cover the backyard in shade for the rest of the summer. Lots of rain here means the grass we planted is making a real go of it. HK gets the credit for purchasing and planting all the lovely daffodils and tulips this Fall. Still to come: Alium pom-pom blooms. We hope, anyway.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Popcorn Multiculturalism
Can't remember where I first heard the term "popcorn multiculturalism," but I've always liked it as a critique of the ways that Americans "celebrate diversity." I'm sure it could also mean that the discourse around multiculturalism and the way it gets presented in schools is often without substance or much nutritional/ educational value--that it's a lot of nonsense dressed up with butter and salt. And I have a vague memory of eating popcorn in elementary school around Thanksgiving, since pilgrims and Native Americans may have eaten popped corn in the seventeenth century, and that bit of cross-cultural culinary celebration of coexistence worked out smashingly well in the long run for all some of the guests , so voila, popcorn = the multiculture.
I think the best example of why culinary multiculturalism as practiced in schools yields unpredictable results comes from a few lines in Li-Young Lee's superb poem, "Persimmon," in which his teacher presents his sixth grade class with a persimmon:
...
Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn’t ripe or sweet, I didn’t eat
but watched the other faces
...
It's a beautiful poem and this is the smallest, least interesting part; really you should go read it now. I like the idea of a well-meaning educational exercise derailed by incomplete knowledge and unripe fruit, with the other kids eager to try and then having their suspicions of the foreign confirmed by the chalk and pucker of the unripe flesh instead of the delight that is a properly ripe persimmon.
The poem, of course, tells you how to eat persimmons: you age them first in crumpled newspaper and then monitor them on the bedroom windowsill with the same care and patience you need to weather your own emergence from adolescence and your father's encroaching blindness. Are you convinced yet? Really, just go read the poem already.
So, no popcorn multiculturalism. But popcorn that incorporates two cultures--fusion popcorn--well that's culinary multiculturalism I will embrace.
We're enjoying Grace Young's stirfry book and she says that no wok performs at its best until it has years' worth of patina seared onto the carbon steel, but you can cheat the process a bit by making popcorn in the wok--it distributes the hot oil all around in a way that speeds the darkening of the wok.
So lately I've been making popcorn in the wok, and instead of soy sauce and nutritional yeast I've been drizzling on some Sichuan chili oil that I decided to make after an awesome visit to NYC. I met my brother and my parents and D.'s friend and his parents out in Flushing, Queens for Sichuan food at Little Pepper.
7 of us ate:
cold tripe
dan dan noodles
cumin roasted lamb in tin foil (apparently more Northern Chinese than Szechuan but still delicious)
dumplings and wontons in two different sauces
fried tilapia in red sauce
crunchy cubed and deep fried chicken with sesame and chiles
bamboo shoots in chili oil
tea-smoked duck
pea shoots
two variations on leeks (I think?) with pork belly or maybe some kind of sweet-cured bacon
cold silken tofu in chili oil with blackened scallion and Sichuan peppercorn
The tripe was my fault; I'd never tried it before. For something that looks like the hook side of velcro and has the texture of a long-chewed chiclet, this was actually pretty tasty, but not nearly as good as half a dozen of the other dishes. The tea-smoked duck and the leek dishes were lovely, and so was the cold tofu, which I decided would be easy to duplicate at home if I had this Sichuan chili oil that I read about on the Red Cook blog recommended by Grace Young. The chili oil is wonderful stuff--star anise and cinnamon for aromatics, scallion and ginger for hearty flavor, Sichuan peppercorns and pepper flake for heat. But as you can see from the comments, it wasn't the right recipe for the cold tofu. Kiam Lam Kho explains the right way to make that dish in the comment section:
Recap:
1) you should go to Little Pepper if you can.
2) you should read Li-young Lee's poetry and Kiam Lam Kho's blog.
3) Looks like I'm headed back to the Asian grocery store for mala dressing ingredients.
I think the best example of why culinary multiculturalism as practiced in schools yields unpredictable results comes from a few lines in Li-Young Lee's superb poem, "Persimmon," in which his teacher presents his sixth grade class with a persimmon:
...
Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn’t ripe or sweet, I didn’t eat
but watched the other faces
...
It's a beautiful poem and this is the smallest, least interesting part; really you should go read it now. I like the idea of a well-meaning educational exercise derailed by incomplete knowledge and unripe fruit, with the other kids eager to try and then having their suspicions of the foreign confirmed by the chalk and pucker of the unripe flesh instead of the delight that is a properly ripe persimmon.
The poem, of course, tells you how to eat persimmons: you age them first in crumpled newspaper and then monitor them on the bedroom windowsill with the same care and patience you need to weather your own emergence from adolescence and your father's encroaching blindness. Are you convinced yet? Really, just go read the poem already.
So, no popcorn multiculturalism. But popcorn that incorporates two cultures--fusion popcorn--well that's culinary multiculturalism I will embrace.
We're enjoying Grace Young's stirfry book and she says that no wok performs at its best until it has years' worth of patina seared onto the carbon steel, but you can cheat the process a bit by making popcorn in the wok--it distributes the hot oil all around in a way that speeds the darkening of the wok.
So lately I've been making popcorn in the wok, and instead of soy sauce and nutritional yeast I've been drizzling on some Sichuan chili oil that I decided to make after an awesome visit to NYC. I met my brother and my parents and D.'s friend and his parents out in Flushing, Queens for Sichuan food at Little Pepper.
7 of us ate:
cold tripe
dan dan noodles
cumin roasted lamb in tin foil (apparently more Northern Chinese than Szechuan but still delicious)
dumplings and wontons in two different sauces
fried tilapia in red sauce
crunchy cubed and deep fried chicken with sesame and chiles
bamboo shoots in chili oil
tea-smoked duck
pea shoots
two variations on leeks (I think?) with pork belly or maybe some kind of sweet-cured bacon
cold silken tofu in chili oil with blackened scallion and Sichuan peppercorn
The tripe was my fault; I'd never tried it before. For something that looks like the hook side of velcro and has the texture of a long-chewed chiclet, this was actually pretty tasty, but not nearly as good as half a dozen of the other dishes. The tea-smoked duck and the leek dishes were lovely, and so was the cold tofu, which I decided would be easy to duplicate at home if I had this Sichuan chili oil that I read about on the Red Cook blog recommended by Grace Young. The chili oil is wonderful stuff--star anise and cinnamon for aromatics, scallion and ginger for hearty flavor, Sichuan peppercorns and pepper flake for heat. But as you can see from the comments, it wasn't the right recipe for the cold tofu. Kiam Lam Kho explains the right way to make that dish in the comment section:
The cold tofu dish you described is a wonderful appetizer served regularly in Sichuan. It is sometimes served as a preserved egg and tofu dish. The dressing is what we call “mala” dressing. It is made with soy sauce, black vinegar, sugar, Sichuan peppercorn powder, the chili oil and optionally a little extra Sichuan chili sauce.
This chili sauce is made with fried onions, Sichuan peppercorn, fermented soy beans, sesame oil and other seasonings. You can buy this Sichuan chili sauce in Chinatown market and the best known brand is “Lao Gan Ma” or “Old God Mom.” Here is a facebook page on “Lao Gan Ma” brand of chile products. The one you should look for to make the dressing is currently depicted in the fifth picture in the photo album.
https://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2361721520&v=info
I believe this is the sauce that Little Pepper use for their “mala” dressing. Enjoy!
Recap:
1) you should go to Little Pepper if you can.
2) you should read Li-young Lee's poetry and Kiam Lam Kho's blog.
3) Looks like I'm headed back to the Asian grocery store for mala dressing ingredients.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Bird Internet
It's time for a post about Baltimore's birds! No, not the Orioles. And ok, not the pink flamingo either. It's heron blogging season! Usually Nick takes care of this, but now that the herons are on my way home from rollerskiing, he has to share. And anyway, pretty clear that the new bird internet revolution will be tweeted, not televised or blogged. Anyway, yellow-crowned Jones Falls herons: At least 7 herons and 3 nests on the tree they used last year. Also spotted: two bipedal binoculared birders on the bridge.
And yes, that's right: I strapped my poles to the toptube, threw the rollerskis in an ikea bag over my shoulder, and toodled over to Druid Hill Park for a late afternoon rollerski. I've been doing this with poles and rollerblades, but now I have the realdeal skis, and I guess because they make me look even more ridiculous but now somehow more earnestly ridiculous, I'm getting lots of comments. "Great cardio! Two thumbs up! Did you make those yourself? etc.... It is good cardio, I'd give thumbs up back, but I'm busy trying to balance on these skinny things, and sadly no, did not make them myself. Also worth stating that even without rollerskis I seem to attract comment while exercising.
Most notably, I was told once jogging at 62nd and Christian in Philadelphia, well into West Philadelphia proper (not "Left of Center/ University City,") that "the British are coming, and they're going to free the slaves." And you know what? He wasn't wrong, if two centuries late. The War of 1812 conference I've just returned from had a whole paper about British naval officers who went to Georgia and Louisiana to wrassle up maroon community ex-slaves and as many blacks and cherokees as they could find and who were willing to fight the Americans, and then declaring them manumitted and British citizens and enemies of the US. Also, did you know that Hail to the Chief came out of The War of 1812 and was adapted from a poem by that most American of Americans, Sir Walter Scott? Yupp. Or that American generals, who should have been writing dull editorials to American periodicals about civic duty and republican ideals were actually desperate to be Napoleonic heroes in ever-more outlandish fancy dress? You thought the War of 1812 was about overtures and Andrew Jackson and a "second war for independence." Nope: just more proof that at heart we're all Anglophiles and bon amis of the cheese-eating surrender monkeys.
And yes, that's right: I strapped my poles to the toptube, threw the rollerskis in an ikea bag over my shoulder, and toodled over to Druid Hill Park for a late afternoon rollerski. I've been doing this with poles and rollerblades, but now I have the realdeal skis, and I guess because they make me look even more ridiculous but now somehow more earnestly ridiculous, I'm getting lots of comments. "Great cardio! Two thumbs up! Did you make those yourself? etc.... It is good cardio, I'd give thumbs up back, but I'm busy trying to balance on these skinny things, and sadly no, did not make them myself. Also worth stating that even without rollerskis I seem to attract comment while exercising.
Most notably, I was told once jogging at 62nd and Christian in Philadelphia, well into West Philadelphia proper (not "Left of Center/ University City,") that "the British are coming, and they're going to free the slaves." And you know what? He wasn't wrong, if two centuries late. The War of 1812 conference I've just returned from had a whole paper about British naval officers who went to Georgia and Louisiana to wrassle up maroon community ex-slaves and as many blacks and cherokees as they could find and who were willing to fight the Americans, and then declaring them manumitted and British citizens and enemies of the US. Also, did you know that Hail to the Chief came out of The War of 1812 and was adapted from a poem by that most American of Americans, Sir Walter Scott? Yupp. Or that American generals, who should have been writing dull editorials to American periodicals about civic duty and republican ideals were actually desperate to be Napoleonic heroes in ever-more outlandish fancy dress? You thought the War of 1812 was about overtures and Andrew Jackson and a "second war for independence." Nope: just more proof that at heart we're all Anglophiles and bon amis of the cheese-eating surrender monkeys.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Best Lunch ever!
I am eating leftover polenta, herb-crusted pork tenderloin, and broccoli rabe. The pork and polenta are from last night's Sunday Dinner with Cool Neighbors.
On Saturday I used some leftover sour cream curry from Vij's on some new rice and a spice-crusted and roasted chicken breast while Josh was up in Queens eating Szechuan with his family. So far we are 2 for 2 in the crust-roasted meats division. Juicy on the inside, flavor on the outside. Yum!
On Saturday I used some leftover sour cream curry from Vij's on some new rice and a spice-crusted and roasted chicken breast while Josh was up in Queens eating Szechuan with his family. So far we are 2 for 2 in the crust-roasted meats division. Juicy on the inside, flavor on the outside. Yum!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Weekend
Leftover red beans and rice, a run,
dropped the bike off for a tuneup (incredibly expensive)
a new pillow, to see if it helps truly align my neck
Keller's pappardelle with wild mushrooms,
for which
I used Jamie Oliver's pasta dough recipe
(since it called for 6 whole eggs instead of 14 egg yolks)
and used the pasta machine with the motor attachment
a nice improvement
although, when putting the dough through on setting 5
the dial turned itself back to 4
trying to force me into a thicker noodle
but
Josh stood guard over the dial
to get a nice translucent sheet at setting 5.
also there were bran muffins
so good with salted butter
and some greens on saturday night, cooked in the wok
whose hidden plant bug did not escape in time
and ended up between my teeth
not his fault
but it kind of ruined the greens for me.
we fed them to the worms instead
so their biopotential was not wasted.
in between, fun with Stata, and peach ice cream
with frozen peaches from last summer, using David
Lebovitz's recipe, which includes sour cream
I suppose to give it that 'peaches and cream'
flavor -
but mostly just tastes like sour cream.
now we are just
waiting for
the daffodils to grow taller
and for Edith
to be matched into a residency program!
dropped the bike off for a tuneup (incredibly expensive)
a new pillow, to see if it helps truly align my neck
Keller's pappardelle with wild mushrooms,
for which
I used Jamie Oliver's pasta dough recipe
(since it called for 6 whole eggs instead of 14 egg yolks)
and used the pasta machine with the motor attachment
a nice improvement
although, when putting the dough through on setting 5
the dial turned itself back to 4
trying to force me into a thicker noodle
but
Josh stood guard over the dial
to get a nice translucent sheet at setting 5.
also there were bran muffins
so good with salted butter
and some greens on saturday night, cooked in the wok
whose hidden plant bug did not escape in time
and ended up between my teeth
not his fault
but it kind of ruined the greens for me.
we fed them to the worms instead
so their biopotential was not wasted.
in between, fun with Stata, and peach ice cream
with frozen peaches from last summer, using David
Lebovitz's recipe, which includes sour cream
I suppose to give it that 'peaches and cream'
flavor -
but mostly just tastes like sour cream.
now we are just
waiting for
the daffodils to grow taller
and for Edith
to be matched into a residency program!
Monday, March 7, 2011
Mashed Potato Fail
Spectacular breakdown in the kitchen late last night when I poured the full recipe amount of milk and butter into the mashed potatoes. This was after having used the wrong size grater on the mouli-mill, which didn't let potato peel go through, and literally mashed the potatoes flat in its mechanism. A series of poor decisions. By me. And then everything could have been at least salvaged if I had held back just a bit of the milk and butter. When it all went in and turned to liquid mashed potato I lost my shit. Such rage and fury over mashed potatoes! I now fully comprehend the expression 'blind with rage'. Implements and utensils were thrown, walls were punched, I lost my mind.
Of course then one's freakout turns into freaking out about having the freakout. And my MO in these situations is to always extrapolate the problem over the extreme long term. E.g., breakups were not just the loss of a relationship but the certainty that I was totally and utterly incapable of being in any relationship. And throwing tantrums in the kitchen means that I will certainly spear any future progeny with a fork in the midst of a rage over some small unfortunate event. Which is tragic! And yet, HAS NOT HAPPENED. Is a complete fiction. And is overwhelmingly likely to remain in the realm of fiction.
Losing your shit: fucking scary, and ridiculous. And not a good indicator of future-shit losing. Especially since now I have resolved to always peel the damn potatoes beforehand, use the right gauge on the mouli-mill, and to always pour in the butter and milk a little bit at a time.
Of course then one's freakout turns into freaking out about having the freakout. And my MO in these situations is to always extrapolate the problem over the extreme long term. E.g., breakups were not just the loss of a relationship but the certainty that I was totally and utterly incapable of being in any relationship. And throwing tantrums in the kitchen means that I will certainly spear any future progeny with a fork in the midst of a rage over some small unfortunate event. Which is tragic! And yet, HAS NOT HAPPENED. Is a complete fiction. And is overwhelmingly likely to remain in the realm of fiction.
Losing your shit: fucking scary, and ridiculous. And not a good indicator of future-shit losing. Especially since now I have resolved to always peel the damn potatoes beforehand, use the right gauge on the mouli-mill, and to always pour in the butter and milk a little bit at a time.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Ragu, again
After a month of travel, a cross country ski weekend (interlude: a food blog I read had a post, tangentially related to a similar xc ski weekend, entitled "the unbearable whiteness of skiing". This is my new favorite headline. For, while we did see some darker complected folks on the trails, the vast majority of the people in the lodge fell into the category of uber-Neue-Englander, replete with long braids for the older ladies, a slim, fit figure, a fleece vest from LL Bean, duck boots, and many many totebags. Crinkly eyes from days spent in the sun for everyone over 30. And a round of Volvos for good measure. I spent the weekend in an LL Bean catalog, and had myself a wonderful time, excellent hot chocolate, and a good time skate-skiing with all the Ratners).
The snow on Saturday was thin, and conditions were windy and cold. I had not yet found my ski legs, which is par for the course for Day 1, but I did avoid bursting into tears like the last two years. Something about jet lag and feeling one must keep up with all the super fit Ratner men tends to bring on the frustrated waterworks, but it all resolves quite quickly. And this time I herringboned slowly up the hills, and calmed myself down. Josh flitted back and forth along the trail in the same way that Kima does when we're off leash in the woods - darting forward, out of sight, always returning to check that we've not been lifted into the treetops by harpies.
Sunday a couple inches of snow had fallen overnight, during an intense windstorm that prevented us from heading back out to Prospect for their 'moonlight ski' evening, which promised a bonfire. The snow Sunday was squeaky and fresh. Skating on it made quite a racket (which is one reason why David sticks with classic skiing - it's much less noisy). Ski legs were in full gear and we stayed out for quite a while in the morning, and went back out for another 30-40 minutes after lunch (quite unheard of). Hemlocks and maples and hobbit-holes and a meandering maze of trails that almost always (but not always) lead back to the Rack, where everyone leaves their outer layer. Occasionally, one will ski the 2 miles back to the lodge before remembering it is still there.
But enough of skiing, on to the meat of my post. Coming back from a long trip in February also requires that significant cooking be done, a restocking of the freezer with comestibles, to state one's dominion over the kitchen and to show it that despite your long absence, the kitchen shall be simmered into submission once again. And there is no better simmer than a ragu from Marcella Hazan, being both scrumptious in its final form and easy to prepare.
Melt
8 tbl yellow onion
8 tbl diced carrot
in 12 tbl olive oil and a stick of butter (it is entirely possible reduce the quantities of oil and butter here, if one is concerned about cholesterol. It is also possible to include 8 tbl of celery, diced, but I am anti-celery, so don't tell me if you do).
crumble in
3 lbs chuck just until loses its red color, and 4 tsp kosher salt.
add a bottle of white wine, cook until evaporated.
Then add 2 cups milk (whole is better) and cook until evaporated. All this over medium-high heat.
A 1/2 tsp nutmeg enters the picture.
Add 3 large cans (~8 cups) San Marzano tomatoes. Slice them in half in the can first. Or use the diced ones.
Cook uncovered for 5 hours, or as long as possible, at a very gentle simmer. Sauce should not be too liquidy at the end. Stir occasionally to avoid burning.
This makes two of the large pyrex storage things. Keeps well in the freezer. And satisfies the soul.
The snow on Saturday was thin, and conditions were windy and cold. I had not yet found my ski legs, which is par for the course for Day 1, but I did avoid bursting into tears like the last two years. Something about jet lag and feeling one must keep up with all the super fit Ratner men tends to bring on the frustrated waterworks, but it all resolves quite quickly. And this time I herringboned slowly up the hills, and calmed myself down. Josh flitted back and forth along the trail in the same way that Kima does when we're off leash in the woods - darting forward, out of sight, always returning to check that we've not been lifted into the treetops by harpies.
Sunday a couple inches of snow had fallen overnight, during an intense windstorm that prevented us from heading back out to Prospect for their 'moonlight ski' evening, which promised a bonfire. The snow Sunday was squeaky and fresh. Skating on it made quite a racket (which is one reason why David sticks with classic skiing - it's much less noisy). Ski legs were in full gear and we stayed out for quite a while in the morning, and went back out for another 30-40 minutes after lunch (quite unheard of). Hemlocks and maples and hobbit-holes and a meandering maze of trails that almost always (but not always) lead back to the Rack, where everyone leaves their outer layer. Occasionally, one will ski the 2 miles back to the lodge before remembering it is still there.
But enough of skiing, on to the meat of my post. Coming back from a long trip in February also requires that significant cooking be done, a restocking of the freezer with comestibles, to state one's dominion over the kitchen and to show it that despite your long absence, the kitchen shall be simmered into submission once again. And there is no better simmer than a ragu from Marcella Hazan, being both scrumptious in its final form and easy to prepare.
Melt
8 tbl yellow onion
8 tbl diced carrot
in 12 tbl olive oil and a stick of butter (it is entirely possible reduce the quantities of oil and butter here, if one is concerned about cholesterol. It is also possible to include 8 tbl of celery, diced, but I am anti-celery, so don't tell me if you do).
crumble in
3 lbs chuck just until loses its red color, and 4 tsp kosher salt.
add a bottle of white wine, cook until evaporated.
Then add 2 cups milk (whole is better) and cook until evaporated. All this over medium-high heat.
A 1/2 tsp nutmeg enters the picture.
Add 3 large cans (~8 cups) San Marzano tomatoes. Slice them in half in the can first. Or use the diced ones.
Cook uncovered for 5 hours, or as long as possible, at a very gentle simmer. Sauce should not be too liquidy at the end. Stir occasionally to avoid burning.
This makes two of the large pyrex storage things. Keeps well in the freezer. And satisfies the soul.
Monday, February 28, 2011
On Wisconsin
Two videos from the protests:
Wisconsin "Budget Repair Bill" Protest from Matt Wisniewski on Vimeo.
Wisconsin "Budget Repair Bill" Protest Pt 2 from Matt Wisniewski on Vimeo.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Boycott
After a month of travel, working long days in hotel rooms and working more at night (either on computer or, more draining still, in company of dinner work meetings), no dip in the pool (it was winter in Senegal), goofy malaria politics, multiple last minute presentations, and an overall positive outcome, I will be boycotting being awake for the next five days.
See you next week.
See you next week.
Friday, February 11, 2011
All That's Solid Melts into the Olive Oil
Jamie Oliver's recipes are always full of both extraneous detail and approximation. Makes for fun reading, but sometimes a little hesitation once I start cooking-- a "large handful of pine nuts," a "glug" of olive oil. Clearly he wants home cooks to relax--just a glug--whatever, don't worry about the amounts so much. Instead, here I am anxiously wondering, is Jamie's glug bigger than mine? How about his wine glass, since the primary liquid in the pasta con accughe e pomodoro [pasta with anchovies, pine nuts and raisins] is "a large wine glass of red?" As in, filled to the brim, or just a few good glugs' worth? 3/4 of a cup seemed a bit much, but (OK, point Jamie) it also seemed not to matter. And the anchovies truly did "melt" away into the olive oil and if you had a decent exhaust-fan for the cooking you could probably even serve this meal to the anchovy-phobic. Perfectly delicious with half the pine nuts and twice the anchovies, if there are truly 24 fillets in that tiny can. But if you've only thought to check after dumping into the sizzling oil, you can't count them once they're there, because they melt.
How to Pickle Green Tomatoes
1) Try Bittman. Try McGee. Try Vegetarian Epicure. Nope. Now try the internet.
2) Note that all the recipes involve parboiling and spices you don't have and the slicing of tomatoes.
3) Decide that for "parboiling" you will substitute colander-rinse, and for "pickling spice" you will use coriander seed and extra salt because you have coriander seed and extra salt. Re: slicing--oh please, these are tiny green unripe cherry tomatoes. No slicing.
4) Plunk the [rinsed, not boiled] tomatoes into small mason jar containing mixture of white and cider vinegar, salt, coriander seed and a little water.
5) Taste one two days later. It's terrible, but that's because it tastes exactly like a tiny green unripe cherry tomato. What did you expect?
6) Taste one two days later. It's terrible, and this time there is an additional taste. That is the taste of resignation. Acknowledge that perhaps boiling, pickling spice or slicing is as necessary as all of the world's Internets decreed.
7) There's still no pickling spice, there will be no boiling 4 days in, and re: slicing, see 3). Poke the larger tomatoes with a fork on the theory that it will speed the vinegar's absorption into the obstinate and oblong pale green marbles, and return to the fridge door. Then take them back out and add some more vinegar. The extra vinegar will have no effect.
8) Forget about them.
9) One month later, next to barbecue sauce you moved from the old house despite it being a year out-of-date even then, you discover pickled green tomatoes. And you know what? Puckery goodness. Hah! Take that, internets.
10) Eat another. Eat them all, actually, because some folk will not eat pickled things, not even these miracles of edible, crisp-tender jade. Yes, Keller, it gives me particular pleasure that I achieved crisp-tenderness without a stockpot's worth of boiling water or a delta's worth of salt.
11) Rejoice, knowing that the solution, as is always the case when someone is wrong on the internet, is time, vinegar[y prose] and poking with a fork.
2) Note that all the recipes involve parboiling and spices you don't have and the slicing of tomatoes.
3) Decide that for "parboiling" you will substitute colander-rinse, and for "pickling spice" you will use coriander seed and extra salt because you have coriander seed and extra salt. Re: slicing--oh please, these are tiny green unripe cherry tomatoes. No slicing.
4) Plunk the [rinsed, not boiled] tomatoes into small mason jar containing mixture of white and cider vinegar, salt, coriander seed and a little water.
5) Taste one two days later. It's terrible, but that's because it tastes exactly like a tiny green unripe cherry tomato. What did you expect?
6) Taste one two days later. It's terrible, and this time there is an additional taste. That is the taste of resignation. Acknowledge that perhaps boiling, pickling spice or slicing is as necessary as all of the world's Internets decreed.
7) There's still no pickling spice, there will be no boiling 4 days in, and re: slicing, see 3). Poke the larger tomatoes with a fork on the theory that it will speed the vinegar's absorption into the obstinate and oblong pale green marbles, and return to the fridge door. Then take them back out and add some more vinegar. The extra vinegar will have no effect.
8) Forget about them.
9) One month later, next to barbecue sauce you moved from the old house despite it being a year out-of-date even then, you discover pickled green tomatoes. And you know what? Puckery goodness. Hah! Take that, internets.
10) Eat another. Eat them all, actually, because some folk will not eat pickled things, not even these miracles of edible, crisp-tender jade. Yes, Keller, it gives me particular pleasure that I achieved crisp-tenderness without a stockpot's worth of boiling water or a delta's worth of salt.
11) Rejoice, knowing that the solution, as is always the case when someone is wrong on the internet, is time, vinegar[y prose] and poking with a fork.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Dakar
All is well in Dakar. The training we're leading is going well and the participants are very interested, and working hard on their communication strategies. We're making a lot of notes as to what's confusing for them and what can be improved the next time - much of it has to do with simple things like layout of the worksheets, and having shortcut icons for them to the web-based software we're using (oh, technology - a blessing and a curse!).
Last night we had a girls night out at the Dakar bowling alley, Red Bowl. Hot music videos on big screens above the lanes, a dark corner full of pool tables and very serious men, dark lounge atmosphere with fluorescent accent lighting and booming techno.
Kerri, an old friend from Gabon via Cameroon, now a fellow with the Congressional Hunger Center and CRS, joined us, and we discovered that Claudia had heard about her appendix removal from friends in Bamako, and that Andrea had heard about her malaria episode through mutual friends. Small world strikes again.
Afterwards we headed to a mysterious sushi buffet place, which turned out to be the same Korean restaurant that Andrea and I had tried earlier in the week (and which had no sushi on the menu). For a very reasonable price we got all we could eat nagiri, sashimi, shrimp tempura, bulgogi, various veggies, nems, dumplings, and scallion pancakes. The sushi was great and I stuffed myself.
It was a nice walk back to the hotel through the Place de l'Independence, which is still lit up from the New Year's celebrations.
Last night we had a girls night out at the Dakar bowling alley, Red Bowl. Hot music videos on big screens above the lanes, a dark corner full of pool tables and very serious men, dark lounge atmosphere with fluorescent accent lighting and booming techno.
Kerri, an old friend from Gabon via Cameroon, now a fellow with the Congressional Hunger Center and CRS, joined us, and we discovered that Claudia had heard about her appendix removal from friends in Bamako, and that Andrea had heard about her malaria episode through mutual friends. Small world strikes again.
Afterwards we headed to a mysterious sushi buffet place, which turned out to be the same Korean restaurant that Andrea and I had tried earlier in the week (and which had no sushi on the menu). For a very reasonable price we got all we could eat nagiri, sashimi, shrimp tempura, bulgogi, various veggies, nems, dumplings, and scallion pancakes. The sushi was great and I stuffed myself.
It was a nice walk back to the hotel through the Place de l'Independence, which is still lit up from the New Year's celebrations.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Finally, Chinese
It's the end of the month and what the heck have we been doing the last few weeks?
Well, for one, we finally got a decent chinese cookbook (something related to stir fries and woks. Not Breath of a Wok, but the same author). And we found an asian grocery (Asia Food on York road) where one can get various noodles and dried fungus and condiments. And dried black beans. So we made black bean chicken stir fry with mystery mustard greens in oyster sauce. Super delish. Crappy picture though:
We were so hungry I already ate the mystery mustards.
Then we had to finish the pork stock (from the PIG ROAST) so what the heck we made fake ramen, I mean, it's not Tampopo or anything, but you throw some ginger and garlic in a pot and add your pork stock and the rest of that beef stock in the fridge because ramen is all about different meats anyway, and then shoot you have those dried shiitakes burning a hole in the cupboard so throw those in, then add the leftover 2 chicken thighs (3 meats!!!) and some other mystery greens, and some soy sauce, and HELLS YEAH that's a good freakin' soup. I forgot the noodles, you have to boil those separately, and they are not ramen, but like, at this point, who cares.
Three meat soup. Right on.
Also we did the following before I jetted off to Senegal:
- Save Your Soul dance party night at the Lithuanian Hall, including tiny cups of honey liquor (viryta, not etymologically related to veritas). The soul DJ was good and the surf-rock DJ was not good.
- Dinner at Dogwood on the Ave - somewhat disappointing, next time we will stick with the small plates.
- Dinner at the bar at Salt - duck fat fries, oyster stew appetizer, and wild board tagliatelle - super delish beyond expectations. The fries came with three mayonnaises (chipotle, truffle and malt vinegar), and surprisingly, I found the tang of the malt vinegar most delectable, perhaps because it cut the richness of the duck fat a bit. Bartender was awesome and so was my Corsendonk.
- King's Speech was great. How did they find the wallpaper for Loge's office?
- bought some shelves and drilled some holes in the walls
- had Nick and Johanna and Oscar over for dinner, Kima was superb
- had Kira and Rosemary over for dinner, Kima was a bad girl
- saw Hope and new baby Anders. Thanks for the wedding gift!! It will keep us warm while cycling, obviously:
Well, for one, we finally got a decent chinese cookbook (something related to stir fries and woks. Not Breath of a Wok, but the same author). And we found an asian grocery (Asia Food on York road) where one can get various noodles and dried fungus and condiments. And dried black beans. So we made black bean chicken stir fry with mystery mustard greens in oyster sauce. Super delish. Crappy picture though:
We were so hungry I already ate the mystery mustards.
Then we had to finish the pork stock (from the PIG ROAST) so what the heck we made fake ramen, I mean, it's not Tampopo or anything, but you throw some ginger and garlic in a pot and add your pork stock and the rest of that beef stock in the fridge because ramen is all about different meats anyway, and then shoot you have those dried shiitakes burning a hole in the cupboard so throw those in, then add the leftover 2 chicken thighs (3 meats!!!) and some other mystery greens, and some soy sauce, and HELLS YEAH that's a good freakin' soup. I forgot the noodles, you have to boil those separately, and they are not ramen, but like, at this point, who cares.
Three meat soup. Right on.
Also we did the following before I jetted off to Senegal:
- Save Your Soul dance party night at the Lithuanian Hall, including tiny cups of honey liquor (viryta, not etymologically related to veritas). The soul DJ was good and the surf-rock DJ was not good.
- Dinner at Dogwood on the Ave - somewhat disappointing, next time we will stick with the small plates.
- Dinner at the bar at Salt - duck fat fries, oyster stew appetizer, and wild board tagliatelle - super delish beyond expectations. The fries came with three mayonnaises (chipotle, truffle and malt vinegar), and surprisingly, I found the tang of the malt vinegar most delectable, perhaps because it cut the richness of the duck fat a bit. Bartender was awesome and so was my Corsendonk.
- King's Speech was great. How did they find the wallpaper for Loge's office?
- bought some shelves and drilled some holes in the walls
- had Nick and Johanna and Oscar over for dinner, Kima was superb
- had Kira and Rosemary over for dinner, Kima was a bad girl
- saw Hope and new baby Anders. Thanks for the wedding gift!! It will keep us warm while cycling, obviously:
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Mmm Butter
We got Ad Hoc At Home for Christmas and promptly fell to making three recipes at once from it. It was a bit chaos in the kitchen but we pulled through, flipping back and forth in one cookbook for three recipes is a challenge we will try not to repeat.
The key ingredient was butter. Clarified butter (we used ghee, meme chose) for the scallops (which were also brined for a bit), and a stick of butter for the melted leek rounds, and more butter in which the brussels sprouts and radishes were braised (after blanching the brussels sprouts - key step to avoid bitterness, apparently. Anyway it worked).
The leeks also got parboiled and the kohlrabi we didn't have was supposed to get that treatment too. The radishes ended up crisp-tender without parboiling, and not bad at all. We've had roasted and cooked radishes other places that have been mushy, and kind of boring, but these were at least toothsome, though without their radish bite. The sprouts were _delish_. And the scallops, oh, I mean, it is hard to fuck up a scallop if you are following directions, but these were great. Nicely caramelized just as advertised.
Can you see the butter?
Normally when we are cooking these 'big' dinners and running around swearing a lot something has gotten forgotten, like the starch, or the green veg, but no, we cooked everything we were supposed to! We sat down and enjoyed with a nice Pinot Grigio.
Then Josh noticed we had left the scallop pan on and the ghee, clarified though it was, was smoking. The pan is a 'workhorse' however and was no worse for wear after a brief cooling off period in the backyard.
The key ingredient was butter. Clarified butter (we used ghee, meme chose) for the scallops (which were also brined for a bit), and a stick of butter for the melted leek rounds, and more butter in which the brussels sprouts and radishes were braised (after blanching the brussels sprouts - key step to avoid bitterness, apparently. Anyway it worked).
The leeks also got parboiled and the kohlrabi we didn't have was supposed to get that treatment too. The radishes ended up crisp-tender without parboiling, and not bad at all. We've had roasted and cooked radishes other places that have been mushy, and kind of boring, but these were at least toothsome, though without their radish bite. The sprouts were _delish_. And the scallops, oh, I mean, it is hard to fuck up a scallop if you are following directions, but these were great. Nicely caramelized just as advertised.
Can you see the butter?
Normally when we are cooking these 'big' dinners and running around swearing a lot something has gotten forgotten, like the starch, or the green veg, but no, we cooked everything we were supposed to! We sat down and enjoyed with a nice Pinot Grigio.
Then Josh noticed we had left the scallop pan on and the ghee, clarified though it was, was smoking. The pan is a 'workhorse' however and was no worse for wear after a brief cooling off period in the backyard.
Fantastic End of Year
in bullet form, some highlights from the last few weeks:
- veal loin sous-vide in the stockpot using a thermometer stuck through a gladware lid and an old wine cork (so it floats)
- Jamie Oliver rotolo
- mushroom soup from Julia Child (BEST EVER until I try Keller or Jamie's - will report back)
- sitting at home stringing cranberries watching SVU
- ice skating at the local hockey rink (can you believe it's been 10 years since I played??)
- the full complement of home breakfasts
- christmas turkey and its reincarnation into turkey pot pie
- seeing Grandma and Grandpa and meeting Josh's new second cousin Liam
- Mom and I playing Angry Birds
- trips to Art Mart for stocking stuffers
- ye olde steake frites
- Vij's goat curry
- hot tubbing in Deep Creek
- hiking with Kima through (cross country) ski trails
- hanging out with the Crew (Jason, Lara, Vic and Damon)
- fried chicken!
- bad movies
- messing with the Wii Fit while the balance board was reversed
- ignoring all my emails (fantastic!)
and let us not forget the super fun 34th street progressive, in which delicious cocktails were enjoyed, fun snacks eaten, and I ended up asleep on Sean and Marin's couch as per usual.
Happy New Year to all!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
