fotaq

Ethiopian

2008-04-20T22:03:00.001-04:00

thanksgiving

2007-12-16T01:16:00.001-05:00

What I did on my Summer Vacation

2007-07-06T10:16:00.000-04:00

Zora posted all the pictures so I don't have to!
http://blog.rovinggastronome.com/ Make sure to look at them all: Cairo, Syria, Turkey, and Greece. I find Flickr very hard to navigate, but you can hopefully figure it out.

Here’s the basic itinerary:

First two weeks (end of May): Cairo

Then we flew to Aleppo, Syria, where we spent about 5 days.

In Syria we spent one night in Litakia.

From Syria we took a cab almost to Turkey but had to walk across the border and find a ride to Antioch (there were 7 of us in the car, but luckily just we three foreigners in the back seat). We spend one night in pleasant Antioch and took a bus ride to Adana. Just a few hours in Adana to wait for the night train to Istanbul.

Istanbul for four nights and my conference around June 15.

From Istanbul we took a long night bus to Ayvalik, ferry to Mytilene, taxi to Eressos.

Two weeks in Eressos. On July 1, night ferry to Kavala, bus to Drama, and night train to Istanbul. Finally a night in a bed and then July 4th flight back to the U.S.

Zora did leave out a just a few pictures I deem worthy:
Here’s a baker in Cairo hard at work.

And from an old colonial book from Cairo, the academic in me loves this beautifully designed figure!

There were some great stats in the book. It turns out that, per capita, there were more (but not many more) people jailed by the British in Egypt than there are jailed in the US today. That’s a huge number.

Cairo is nothing if not faded glory. One building was home to a posh upscale antique store on the third floor. And while we're in there a kid starts yelling the call to prayer in the hallway just outside the store by the staircase and elevator. About half a dozen people came to pray in the hallway. I couldn't help but feel for the old proprietors of this store, born in Cairo but born in a different city, trying to keep up appearances.

I couldn’t help but feeling that we built and left them this beautiful city (and be we I mean the Europeans, both colonialists like the French and English, and non-oppressors like the Greeks, Italians, and Jews), and they broke it, or at least let it fall into ruin. Istanbul, which has also effectively cleansed their city of Greeks and Jews, at least takes care of the old buildings and neighborhoods. But in Cairo, it's all dirty and falling apart. 50 years ago, Cairo was on par with Greece, economically. Greece has since moved up, and Cairo has dropped down to the minor leagues.

But the city is certainly not without its little charms.

Most of the building have beautiful old working elevators.

An entranceway with what I guess is the display case for and old photography shop? Now it's cleared out with just one pictures of two baby tigers.

And most buildings have beautiful old wooden mailboxes in the entryway. I couldn't figure out if mail is actually delivered to them or not.

While waiting for the night train to Istanbul, I explored the train yard in Drama, Greece. Actually it was just by the bathroom. I did spot what seems to be a very well maintained steam locomotive. Most of the train stations are beautiful French designed places with nice cafes and restaurants. This station has a 24 hours restaurant that served delicious food. After a night ferry ride from Mytilene and a short bus ride from Kavala, we arrived at the train station a bit too early for the 8am opening of the ticket window. So we ate wonderful chicken soup and spaghetti with meat sauce at 7am served by Barbara, the very friendly waitress who took a shining to me. She said the place was very popular with the post-clubbing rembetika crowd: “very drink they are…. very very drink!”

…there was this old car I couldn’t resist climbing around…

…there wasn’t much on the inside, but I like the bunk beds!

And now for my defense of Syria and even the government of Syria. First of all, it’s not that bad. Yes, Syria is run by a dictator. I don’t deny that. But it could be a lot worse. He could be an evil dictator. Sure you’ll get locked up if you criticize Bashar. But that’s what being a dictator is all about. It’s no different than Pakistan, or Egypt, or Saudi Arabia. And they’re supposed to be the good guys?

Right now Syria is a capitalistic secular state with incredible religious freedom. Christians (mostly Armenians) abound. Churches are everywhere. Women dress in whatever they want. And some want to wear scandalous outfits and some want to be covered head to toe. That’s freedom. It’s certainly better than Iraq.

Where else in that part of the world are things so good? Sure the government is corrupt. But most governments are corrupt and give their citizens less freedom. Syria is not oil rich, but at least in cities, city services are provided. Trash is picked up. Sewage runs in pipes underground. The drinking water is clean. People are literate. There is no street crime. You can buy and drink alcohol. What country in the Middle East is better off? Perhaps Israel, but they’ve got other issues. There’s no Arab country I’d prefer to live in.

Yes, there is a huge secret police force, but the country doesn’t feel oppressed like a police state. And I’ve been to police states. Syria just isn’t that bad. (though I’ve heard it’s particularly bad for the Kurds, who can’t even get basic citizenship papers.)

America blames Syria because they can’t control their borders. Hell, we can’t control our borders. Nor for that matter can we control Syria’s borders. So what makes us think Syria can control Syria’s borders?

We blame Syria for the mess in Lebanon. Who knows what’s going on in Lebanon. It’s a real shame. But at least things were stable and getting better when Syria controlled Lebanon. We (and the Lebanese) told Syria to leave and they did. Did we give them credit? No. And now we blame Syria because there’s chaos in Lebanon.

We blame Syria for supporting terrorists. I don’t believe it. Maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know. I do believe that some terrorists come through Syria. But other terrorists come through England and we don’t blame the English.

I think that Bashar should just proclaim himself King. It’s not ideal, but until somebody has a better idea, I support Bashar. Until we pick on non-democracies elsewhere, let’s cut Syria some slack. In the meantime, it’s a great place to travel.

New Orleans

2007-04-20T17:27:00.000-04:00

For actual words on the trip, see Zora's blog.

Plumbing woes

2007-04-20T16:16:00.000-04:00

Our kitchen sink drain was leaking into the basement. And it’s inaccessible because of our basement bathroom built over the pipes.

Plumbers are working away, the meter is running.

First they had to cut open the basement shower to get at the bottom of the pipe. Then cut open the kitchen to get at the top of the pipe

The 80-year-old pipe itself has a pretty huge crack.

Fuck. They were done. Filled up the sink. And it leaked because a vent pipe had become undone. So they had to cut higher (above the sink line), and the clock is still running.

Project suspended. The vent pipe fell out of the roof. They're coming back Monday. This just became a repair job in the thousands.

Housewarming Party

2007-03-26T02:21:00.000-04:00

A good time was had by all. The flash does neither the party nor the people justice. Details (perhaps) to follow.

December 15, 2006

2007-01-08T00:17:00.000-05:00

So Sad

2006-12-06T15:52:00.000-05:00

Another biker killed by a vehicle on a bike path. Not a bike lane mind you. But a bike path. You know, where cars aren't supposed to be.

The New York Times link

http://bikeblog.blogspot.com/

Ich bin ein New Yorker

2006-11-11T03:29:00.000-05:00

Today, I am a New Yorker. This might shock people who live in the City, and perhaps simply confuse those who don't. But I've never had food delivered. Clean laundry, yes. Dinner, no. If I want take-out food, I've just always preferred to go and get it. It's all so close.

Oh I've seen many-a Mexican men bike around with food. But it was never for me.

Today, for the first time since I moved here over 4 years ago, I called and ordered me a meal. Souvlaki pita and a greek salad from BZ Grill. It was $15 with tip.

Me and the Senator from Virginia

2006-11-10T16:53:00.000-05:00

My parents told me I can take personal responsibility for the Democrats regaining the Senate. Here's me with Senator Jim Webb. He's in the back with the blue baseball cap, talking to my father (recognizable by the crew cut and bald spot). You can't really make Webb's face, but it's him, says my mom.

That's me in 1980 with the marshmallow and hip blue jacket scheming about a Democrat takeover of the Senate 26-years in the future. I do remember the fun day playing with the dogs on some farm in Maryland.

Yucatan

2006-11-05T17:53:00.000-05:00

I was down in the Yucatan visiting Zora last weekend. I didn't bring my camera but she just e-mailed me some pictures from the trip.

Mayonnaise bigger than my head. And my head is pretty big.
Mayonnaise and coffee, that famous combo. Strangely, though I was there, it didn’t really strike me as strange till I saw the picture here.

I discovered that tricycles were the most common form of taxi and transport in villiages and small towns. The sad part is they'll probably eventually all get replaced with loud motorized vehicles as they get more money.
There was even the occasional bike path next to some major roads out of town.

I don’t know the story here.

Nor here.
Fire nuts were delicious. Really. Don’t snicker. I don’t why the crunchy-coated peanut snack food doesn’t exist here. It’s big in Holland, too. But not with chile and lime.

Hacienda train. These used to connect the plantations to towns. You can tell from the picture that I’m actually 9 feet tall. Must be the chiles. The people were very small back then. Actually, they still are.
The circus is coming to town!
Oh boy!

I didn't go to Campeche with Zora, but I still dig the color scheme at the Hotel Colonial.

AB at KC

2006-11-02T22:14:00.000-05:00

Yet more wedding pics

2006-10-22T23:51:00.000-04:00

My mother's pictures of the summer are now up at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/skalaeressos

House pics

2006-10-20T16:48:00.000-04:00

“Heirloom” dining room furniture arrived today thanks to my wonderful Godmother. It originally belongs to my grandfather and I did grow up with the set. But I haven’t seen it in many years. We’ve dubbed in “Inquisition Chic.” I think it looks great in our home.

I thought it would be a good time to take some pics of the place for those who care. You can compare it to the “before” at “more house pics.”

No, I didn’t clean up the place.

bikes out front

bedroom, looking back

bedroom, looking forward

bathroom

skylight, looking up

my office

as you walk in the front door

1st floor, looking back

living room

dining room, looking “inquisition chic”

dining room table

kitchen and pantry

more kitchen

still more kitchen

and even more kitchen

basement/guest room, looking back

tools

basement/guestroom, looking forward

“Amsterdam” basement bathroom

backyard, looking down from bedroom window

Wedding pics

2006-10-20T08:58:00.000-04:00

Wedding pics from Greece from Tal. Click the links at the top of the screen to get to all the pictures.

http://homepage.mac.com/talilama/greekwedding/

And Patty Jean, the Inquisition arrives today between 10 and 12. I'll let you know when it happens.

steamed crabs

2006-09-10T23:34:00.000-04:00

I'll put in captions for the pictures later.
But here's a nice description for another Baltimore crab fest. Not directly related to the picture above, but it's still a nice description from Zora's blog.

Baltimore: The Saint Francis of Assisi Crab Feast 2006

I knew crabs were a big part of Baltimore, but apparently, they are so important that you get an automatic pardon for taking the Lord’s name in vain in a church basement.

See, there’d been a lull in crab delivery in Hour Three of the S.F.A. Crab Feast 2006, and one of our party had been moved to bellow, “More crabs, God damn it!” while pounding on the Kraft-paper-covered table with his little mallet. The monsignor, it so happened, was sitting behind him, but he only beamed and said, “Keep yelling!”

Not that we were going hungry or anything. Peter knew his way around this feast, as he’d attended one back right after he’d been down here as part of the PO-lice (he still keeps the entrance sticker from the last one in his old wallet with his badge). When we arrived, he took me first to the buffet line in the back of the drop-ceiling basement, where we could load up on tomato slices, corn, three mayo-based salads, hot dogs, pulled-pork sandwiches, and crab soup.

Peter’s old colleagues, his former sergeant and others, scoffed at this lighweight approach, which would surely ruin his appetite for the main attraction. They held out for the first wave of crabs–which were already 15 minutes behind schedule. Peter’s sergeant’s 12-year-old daughter was working the feast, though, so we were guaranteed to get served first.

Also at our table was a partially toothless woman who perhaps had not actually paid for a ticket, but had won an entrance badge simply by plopping down and insisting. The fact that she was a black bag lady made it pretty obvious she wasn’t with our party full of conservative, ghetto-hating cops, but she didn’t seem bothered. And really, neither did the cops. She happily sipped her beer, and smiled vaguely.

When the crabs finally came, she started slipping them into her purse. Eventually it became clear that she actually didn’t know how to clean a crab–unheard-of in these circles–so Peter’s sergeant cracked one open for her in about eight seconds. I was glad not to be the only crab novice at the table, and I felt better getting to watch a second demo, as the one Curtis had given me, the 30-second version specially tailored to Crab Retards, hadn’t exactly stuck.

Another interesting element to the meal, aside from the novelty of finally experiencing a Real Live and Legendary Baltimore Crab Feast, was that this was only the second time I’d met these people, who are from a chapter of Peter’s life I don’t know that much about. They call him “Pete” and heckle him for being a liberal and try to get him to move back to Baltimore. The first time I’d met them had been under very unfortunate circumstances, back when I was getting really sick last fall. We went to another B’more food tradition, a bull roast to celebrate some cop-related thing, and I’d spent the night feeling queasy and mentally calculating the distance to the bathroom or a potted plant, and I was also coughing horribly and worrying about the fact that my ankle was swelling to the size of a baseball. Plus the music was loud and there were tons of people. Oh yeah, and all these people had really, really loved Peter’s old fiancee. So that didn’t go very well.

This time, on a Sunday afternoon in a fluorescent-lit room, with the musical stylings of the Zim Zemelman band (accompanied by the monsignor on trombone) and the alluring tick-tick-tick of the Wheel of Fortune in the background, the social pressure was a little bit less. It was also aided by the simple communion of picking crabs. It kind of reminded me of that part in Moby-Dick when Ishmael is sitting around working the lumps out the whale sperm (not that kind of sperm–read the book!) with his pals, where he gets all loving and affectionate because the stuff is so lovely and they’re all working together as a team:

“I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say, - Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and serm of kindness.”

OK, so it wasn’t exactly like that. (And let me just add, it’s a testimony to how much I love Moby-Dick that it didn’t even occur to me to snicker at this scene until just now.) It was a little harder and prickly, but it was certainly chummy, being up to our elbows in Old Bay, and making massive piles of discarded shells and little spindly legs, and passing the beer up and down. (I guess now that we don’t hunt whales anymore, beer is the new social lubricant.) And I did have that great feeling of all-powerful omnivorousness, where you get to feel so proud for being a clever human with opposable thumbs and sharp teeth and tool-making skills (except the head of my mallet flew off the first time I tried to whack a crab leg with it).

Also, because we had an almost-endless stream of crabs, plus the buffet, the actual dining pressure was off, making it much easier to just talk to people. Slurping and cracking and reaching for beer, we were a sloppy, merry bunch, united in our dedication to sucking as much sweet meat as possible out of these recalcitrant sea creatures–and ocasionally checking our raffle tickets to see if we’d won at the liquor table. It was also just enlightening to hang out with Republicans, since of course in New York these are feared and loathed people swathed in legend and lore, but rarely seen in the flesh.

Despite the grousing about perceived crab scarcity, and the price of tickets, we all went away satisfied. I had managed to finesse my picking skills with each new crab, I’d argued politics a bit (beerily), and I came away feeling like I was no longer just the surprise wife who’d replaced the good fiancee. Thanks, sweet crabs.

manhole fire

2006-09-03T13:47:00.000-04:00

Firetrucks and smoke on the street today.

We heard a large bang and wondered what it was. I figured they dropped something heavy in the large waste container at the construction site across the street. It turns out it was a 4-foot-square manhole-like section of sidewalk pavement getting blown off. That's a lot of force. Manhole fires happen strangely a lot here in NYC.

Firemen came and stood around for about 20 minutes while it popped and burned itself out for a while. Or maybe till the power was cut.
Our power flickered for a while and I unplugged the computers and refrigerators and closed the windows (I know from Baltimore how nasty smoke damage can be). But the smoke wasn't too bad and our even our power never really went out. And all's well now.

For an action manhole-fire video (40MB .avi files), click here.

It's always good to see my tax dollars getting put to good use.

9pm update:
They're still working away. There were Con-ed crews in two other manholes around the corner as well. Quite a little chain reaction.

Zora & Peter’s Papparazzi Photo Album Volume I

2006-08-25T22:40:00.000-04:00

For a great photo documentary of our wedding, see the pdf file Bob has pieced together.

Savannah

2006-08-25T22:31:00.000-04:00

It all started with a warm welcome at the airport.
Inside the house.

1930s Hits of the Week! To play on the victrola, of course.

Traditional white bread?
It’s easy to slip into the reclined life style.
The 1920s house is tastefully decorated with 1920s furnishings. And a very blue sponge cake.
Out in town.
You don’t see too many of these parked in NYC.
Chicago hot dog. It was pretty good. But the bun didn’t seem steamed. The man said the get everything from Chicago and he didn’t “want to say the buns are stale by the time they get here….” But they were.
Girl Scout
The Rotarian 4-way test.

Mrs. Wilkes Boarding House. Yum.

Sorry Charlie’s

boiled peanuts
BBQ from roadside stand was good.

Spanish Moss. The city is famous for it. It is quite pretty.

Entrace to the Wormslow Plantation.

Big spider wows the crowd.
Big spider.

Welcome to Amtrak. Actually, the station, replacing a beautiful one built in 1908 torn down for a freeway overpass, was a snazzy bit of 1960s architecture.
Free carts. Classy.
Mural on one wall. Kind of like the one in Geneva.
Mural on other wall.

phone booths
Arrival board. They have to go in manually and change the actual time when the train is delayed. Of course it wasn’t quite up to the minute.
Vending machine in train station. Some uniquely Southern snacks I’ve never seen.
On the train it was better. We had a nice little sleeping car. Zora loved the efficient engineering. Sink. Toilet. Two bunks. And enough space for one person to stand up. In the day the beds fold up and there are two facing seats. This “roomette” is much nicer than the west of Chicago trains because east of Chicago the trains are single level and the compartments are bigger. And every inch counts.
The train left at 12:30AM, two hours late. In Amtrak’s defense, there were some very heavy rains right before it got into town. And we knew the train was late before we go to the station. So we got to hang around with Bob and Rick till our midnight cab came. The train arrived at 7pm in New York. We slept well, ate in the diner (nothing can be finer), and read a lot. Zora says she still feels dizzy. But we both liked the ride. There’s even a shower in the sleeping car. It’s but fun and considerate to shower at the start of your train trip.
dining car
menu
dining car

Lyon

2006-08-17T10:57:00.000-04:00

Mytilene

2006-08-17T10:33:00.000-04:00

wedding pics

2006-08-17T09:51:00.000-04:00

Over-ordering in Eressos

2006-08-11T20:02:00.000-04:00

Coney Island Rocks

2006-07-04T00:57:00.000-04:00

I love Coney Island. I always have. The first time I went there was around December of 1990. The weather was horrible and the place was deserted. But it was still beautiful. Because of movies, I felt a weird sense of déjà vu. I didn’t know that I would never see the Thunderbolt again. It’s less seedy now. But it still ain’t Disney. And that’s good.

Sometimes I think I should move out there so I can jump in the ocean and ride the Cyclone every day.

No matter, I go there as much as I can. And when I do, I think of how much I love New York. When I’m there, I wonder why anybody ever feels the need to “get out of the City.” Sure there are “nicer” beaches. But the beach at Coney Island is pretty nice. It’s huge so it sucks up the largest crowds nicely. And It’s much cleaner than most people give it credit for.

And at Coney Island you can ride the Cyclone. And watch a minor league baseball game. And shoot the geek, go to the Sideshows, play minigolf, swing in the batting cages, drink at an interesting bar. And—now pay attention because this is important—you can take the subway there! For $2 you get on a train and one hour later you’re there. It’s so easy.

We set off around noon. I and Ali and his son and Zora. Alas, Zora, who was just coming for pizza at DiFara’s, had to turn around at Queensburo Plaza because business called.

The pizza was great. It’s on Avenue J. When makes a nice stop about two-thirds of the way to Coney Island. Here’s that quiet group that watches the maestro make pizza, trying to get their order in but not be too aggressive.

I know it’s just a beach. But there’s something beautiful about the mix and diversity of Coney Island. And people walk around the sand and sell you beers and mangos on a stick.

We hit both great New York pizza places on one day. Here we are at Totonno’s. I liked DiFara’s a lot more.

The Parachute Drop sure is pretty. Too bad it’s been closed 40 years. But it is a landmark and has been rebuilt.

I don’t have a picture of the Cyclone. But I love it. I doesn’t look like much by modern standards. But it’s a great rollercoaster. It packs a punch. I won’t sit towards the rear because it’s neck-snappingly brutal back there. The front is great.

I love that it’s a still a independent ride. And grizzled men move big wooden levers to make it go. And you can haggle about price for the re-ride. Mostly I love how happy I am every time I go on that ride.

Neither Ali nor his son had ever been it before. 11-year-old Ishmail says he’s never going to ride it again. But I don’t believe him. Karl and I rode twice. When you re-ride, you can move up to the front.

The Cyclones beat the Hudson Valley Renegades. These players aren’t ready for prime time. But it’s a nice place to watch a game. I like being there more than Shea. It’s so much cheaper and you’re close the action. And it’s at Coney Island.

We didn’t get to the Wonderwheel (on right) this time.

Fireworks after the game?! OK. We watched from the Boardwalk.

We got back on the subway at 11pm. One hour and few New Yorker articles later, I was home again. I love New York.

Grizzled Gastronomes Guzzle NYC BBQ

2006-07-02T12:43:00.000-04:00

I’ve taken part in lots of good large dinners. So cooking the main dish for 23 people deserves a pat on the back and makes me feel OK to not help clean up in the end. But it isn’t actually that noteworthy. It’s not even that unusual for Tamara to call me up and tell me I have to grill for 23 people.

But this dinner was special. Because is was BBQ. Real BBQ. Smokey slow-cooked goodness. I’ve grown up in awe of good BBQ ribs. And I know it’s an art. And I know that there’s lots of mediocre BBQ out there. And I know there is no good BBQ in New York City. And I’ve never made barbeque. Or attempted to barbeque. Growing up, I always left that to Hecky Powell. I love Hecky’s BBQ. And his sauce is the best.

No matter where I’ve lived, I’ve always had a bottle of hot Hecky’s sauce with me. (Just as Marylanders live with a jar of Old Bay in their cupboard no matter where they are, I’ve got Hecky’s sauce in my kitchen. Old Bay, too. But I don’t really ever use the Old Bay). My friend Pep even had a case of the sauce shipped in to Amsterdam for his wedding dinner. Alas, the Dutch don’t know the first thing about BBQ. But with enough Hecky’s, all ribs are good.

So Tamara calls me Friday and tells me I’m making BBQ ribs for 23 people the following day. I tell her they’ll be best ribs I’ve ever made. I also think they’ll probably be the worst ribs I’ll ever make. I’ve never made BBQ. And we don’t have a smoker. Other than that, no problem.

I’m also thinking it can’t be that hard, because BBQ is simple redneck cooking. And how hard can something done by drunk rednecks be? But then I think about how hard it is to get good BBQ and I start to worry.

For what it’s worth, I’m firmly in the Chicago/Mississippi Delta camp for BBQ style. And boiled-tender slip-off-the-bone ribs are nasty.

On Friday night we eat dinner at Queens Hideaway. They make some good food there. And Millicent knows how to BBQ (she also knows pastry, but that’s another story). She explains to me the essentials:
Indirect heat.
225-250 degrees for about 6 hours.
Wood for smoke and a nice steady heat base.
Charcoal for heat.
Regulate temperature with air flow.

They even let me take some of their wood, which I fill my bike with and off I go.

The following morning I get to Tamara’s around 11:30, about 90 minutes later than I was hoping. She’s off buying 14 slabs of ribs.

I dump out the sludge in the grill and start a fire on one side. Millicent told me not to be afraid of lighter fluid. I’m not.

Then I go off to the hardware store to fix the grill. Problem number one is that our actually grill plate, the thing the food goes on, is not rigid and therefore can’t support much weight without falling into the grill. Problem number two is that we’ve never actually tried to grill with a closed top.

The grill is a 50 gallon steel drum cut in half by our friend Joel. But there is nothing to put the two halves together. I was thinking about putting a hinge on the two halves. But because I got a late start and needed to start the fire right away, I can’t put on a hinge because I can’t work on a burning grill.

At the hardware store I discuss my needs. I decide on rebar for grill support. There are 3 foot and 6 foot rods. The problem is that the grill is 34 inches long and I’m afraid of the bars slipping in to the fire. I’m thinking of getting the 6 foot bars cut down to four feet. But they’re like $20 each and I would have no use for the extra two feet. One of the guys at the Walt’s Hardware shows me some wire clips. I’ve never seen wire clips before. You put them on with pliers and then they stay clamped around the metal rod. And little ends stick out that I’m thinking this will attach the rods to the grill. Seems perfect. I go for the 3 foot pieces (buying three, but I used two). I also buy two metal handles so I lift the top off. It all costs $45. Walt says, “that’s a lot of money for dinner. I hope it works!”

I pick up two bags of charcoal at the butcher. It’s hot and I haven’t eaten or drunk anything yet today. I need a little food and I really want a nice big frappe.
Tamara’s neighbor Yianni makes nice frappes. And even has plastic to go cups to put them in. I’m rarely at Tamara’s so early (noon) and forget that there’s still direct sun till the afternoon. It’s hot. With some pain and difficulty, I get the wire clamps on the metal bars. A few of them fly off never to be found. I should have bought more. The don’t span far enough to anchor to the grill. But I can use the clamps to anchor the bars onto the drum, so they don’t slid.
The grill goes on top the bars. It works great. The bricks are in there to hold heat. But I remove the cinder block in the middle thinking it might hinder air circulation.

Then, like an angel, neighbor Yianni appears over the fence and I beg him for a frappe. Before he agrees he demands I admit that his are better than mine. I hedge a bit, but I’m in no position to argue. He brings me one and it is good. And I eat a tamale that Tamara brought back. I love Astoria.

I realize that the half of the drum we don’t use has a bigger hole in the side than the one we normally do use. I want that hole for air intake. So I shovel the burning coals from one half to the other and with Tamara’s help swap the two halves off and on the I-beam base.

Yianni brings his drill and I attach the handles to the metal drum.

In what turns out the be essential, there’s this great remote thermometer that Karine gave Zora and me for our car/solar cooking at Burning Man. It wasn’t too useful there. But man it saved the day here. I put it the grill, place the top of the barrel on the bottom, and watch the temperature climb. The grill, to put it mildly, a not tight fit. The temp levels out at around 170 degrees.

I fan the flames and more charcoal. The temp gets up to 275.

I put the ribs on at 1:30pm. Tamara has rubbed the ribs with a mixture of salt, pepper, sugar, red pepper, paprika, and cumin. They’ve been marinating in that and attracting flies for about an hour.

About this time my normal partner in grilling, Karl, gets out of bed and says hello in his bathrobe. I insult him and he whines about how he had to work till 6am or something.

There are too many slabs and the ribs end up stacked three and four deep. I don’t like that. So I use a brick as a bookend and stack them sort of vertically.
For some reason I think that’s much better. I have to decide where to keep the thermometer probe. Beneath the ribs? Inside top of the drum? I don’t know. But of course it makes a big difference in temperature. I settle for resting on top of the ribs, because I guess that’s where I want to know the temp.

I add a little more charcoal and there’s a moment of panic as the temp keeps rising. I seal off the grill as best I can with Aluminum foil. A lot of it. The temp hits 380 and I call red alert and dump half my beer on the coals. The temp drops instantly. One beer later, the temp is down to 250 and I start to play with the air flow. It’s actually pretty easy to keep the heat steady. But it is a bit of an art. One pour of beer takes off 10 degrees. Opening up the air intake lead to slow but steady rise in temperature. Closing the air intake (by jamming foil in) slows the rise, but doesn’t really cool things off because there’s lots of ways for air to get in.
But when things are kind of sealed, the air intake goes down. And as the wood and coals burn, the temp gradually goes down.

Things are under control. I sit and read and drink and watch my remote thermometer. 242 degrees. Puuurfect.

About every half hour the temp drops below 225 or rises above 250. Then I talk off the top (instant drop of 100 degrees) and rotate the ribs, moving the two slabs closest to the heat to cooler side.

There’s no basting. Because the ribs are all packed together, they stay moist. As the ends cook and start to burn. I cut them off and eat them. They taste great and I know things are going to work out.

This was a Sunday dinner, on a Saturday. But the spirit of Wednesday Night Dinner lives on.

The crowd gathers. The tables come out. At 7pm all the ribs have made the cycle in the grill. They’re cooked, look great, and I say ready to eat.

That pink layer running on top of the rib (vertically on the right side of the picture) is pure smoked goodness!

I brush some Hecky’s on each slab.
(no, not with Zora’s tongue). Going light on the sauce, I’m surprised to find that one pint jar of Hecky’s is just enough for 14 slabs.

Thank you, Hecky. “It’s the sauce!”

The ribs are good BBQ. Smokey, tender, delicious. I’ve very pleased.

Men eyeing meat.

Tal and Karine.

I don’t know who thought we needed 30 pounds of sliced squash.

It was a beautiful scene.

At night, the scene looked positively cinemagraphic.

All that was missing was a few slices of squishy white bread

The luxury living of Queens Plaza

2006-06-27T00:23:00.000-04:00

Ali and I went to an open house of the new “luxury” building of condos that is about to open at Queensplaza. It bills itself as in Long Island City, which it is. But not the Long Island City that they claim to be a part of. You know, the part that is “a truly unique area of artists, museums, and constantly evolving streets filled with a mixture of cafes and stores.” That’s Hunter’s Point. To get there, they’d have to walk a mile. And that’s after crossing the 250-foot-wide mass of 16 lanes and four railroad tracks that is Queensplaza. And Queensplaza South? That’s where the Riker’s Island bus drops all the released inmates off at around 2AM. Now that’s unique!

Queensplaza has no retail to speak of. A decent taco stand is there. An Army Recruiting station. A titty bar. Fried chicken. But really nothing else. Not even a bar. Certainly not a grocery store.

It’s also interesting that they don’t bill themselves as Astoria. Which clearly they’re not. But then by most definitions we don’t live in Astoria. We’ve simply extended Astoria to where we are. And if we can extend Astoria from Broadway to 36th Avenue, then what’s to stop a real estate person from it all the way to 41st Ave?

Perhaps it will become the next hip neighborhood. But I doubt it. Especially since they're skipping the hip artist stage entirely. The prices? A one-bedroom apartment about our size (small) for $425,000. Two bedrooms $675,000 (monthly common charge: $690). A penthouse (2 bedroom) goes for $1,250,000. Outdoor parking costs $30,000 extra.

In the building’s defense. It is right by tons of subways. And if I lived there, I’d be home by now. Or at least 5 minutes faster as I pass the building on my bike ride home. And the Manhattan view is very nice.

While there, Ali was really in full swing. He was asking serious questions about how loud the elevator was if you lived next to it. I was just trying to keep a straight face. They probably thought we were coming in from Jackson Heights. We both stole pens.

And you get this great faux calendar. It includes little helpful reminders like “get bread,” “change babysitter to 7pm,” and “send mortgage check.”

But some of these are more revealing:
“go to furniture store for new bookshelf” (cleverly after “get new book”—and there actually was a cheap furniture store near there… but it closed about a year ago)
“pick up water filters” (yuppies wouldn’t drink some of the best tap water in the US unfiltered)
“get posters framed” (no doubt nice little MOMA prints)
“renew gym membership” (duh)
“cancel magazine subscription” (hmm, that’s a curveball. Maybe it was Better Living?)
“schedule Kobi’s Vet appointment” (Poor Kobi. I wonder what their kids are named?)
“136+58=194” (I checked, it’s correct)
“back up files” (Wow. With ownership comes great responsibility)
“buy tickets to Mets game” (Queens pride is good)
“pick up Ashley’s Graduation Card” (Ashley... I’m sure she didn't go to a public school)
“run in Gantry Park” (a nice park, but there’s nowhere to run in it and it is a mile away… but now I’m starting see that that’s not really the point).
“Download pics” (um hmmmm? I do that all the time. And let me tell you, to download pics, luxury is not required.)

But here’s what really takes the cake. On Thursday the 18th it says “walk to Queens Bridge Park” because “concert begins at 8pm.” (go on, click and zoom in on this picture, it’s worth it.)
Well I don’t have to go out on a limb to say that not one resident of Queens Plaza will walk to Queensbridge Park. Because between the two is Queensbridge Public Housing. It’s the largest public housing complex in the US (at least since they tore down the Robert Taylor Homes in Chicago).

Now “The Bridge” isn’t all bad. I bike past it all the time and don’t feel scared (I wouldn’t have biked past the Robert Taylor Homes). And lots of famous hip-hop artists have come from there (Marley Larl, MC Shan, Roxanne Shante, Nas, Mobb Deep). And there was a big drug arrest there a year or two ago that supposedly made the place better.

But ain’t one single resident of Queen Plaza going to Queensbridge Park much less walking through Queensbridge to get there (you’ve got zoom in on this google-earth picture to see it).
And for a real estate company to advertise the proximity to that park with a straight face? If you’ve got half a million for one of these apartments? I’ve got the Queensbridge to sell you.

The Cape Race

2006-06-19T16:05:00.000-04:00

There aren't normally boats docked here. Especially a handsome boat like this. It's on Newtown Creek between Queens and Brooklyn.

Do-it-yourself guide to Tivoli clock radio.

2006-05-07T12:08:00.000-04:00

The radio is great. But the clock light is way too bright. Turning it toward the wall makes the wall too bright. It's more like a dim night-light.

The bright clock light can be dimmed if you're willing to open up the Tivoli.

Anyway, if you're handy, like opening things up, and willing to void the warrantee, you can open it the Tivoli Model Three and dim the light by physically covering up the bulb. You need a standard Phillips and a small Phillips-head screwdriver. Needle-nose pliers can be helpful.

Unplug and unscrew the six screws in back. Do the visible two first as they hold the computer board in place. The front and back can now come out. Unplug the clock's connection from the back of the unit. It's a standard computer-style power plug. But you have to remove or cut some of the gummy holding material first. Remove the smaller cord (snooze button) from the clock that comes from the clock.

Unscrew the three screws holding in the clock and maybe rotate counter-clockwise slightly (I don't know if rotating is necessary, but that's how I did it). Pry out the clock (toward the internal side of the clock) with a little careful force. There are plastic parts than seem pretty strong, but be careful. Things will unclick and release under light force. Make sure the screw holders don't get caught in the wires (fm antenna?) wrapping around the clock. Now you can work on the clock unattached from the radio.

Be careful with the unprotected clock arms. You can hold the clock for the remainder of this procedure. If you hit the hour hand, it may come loose swing freely (I did this). Don't despair, you can press it back down to lock it back in. Just be sure to synch it with the alarm and minute hand.

Peel back a little of the foam insulating material around the whole edge of the back of the clock and a little more at 9 and 3 o'clock (literally) to reveal two screws. Unscrew and remove the back.

The clock, by the way, is a cheap Chinese-made Guangzhou "Fuda #2039." Without the electric time-set motor and light, it's just like the kind of travel clock you buy from street vendors for $5. And it does run from the single double-A battery. Shame on Tivoli, usually they're so classy.

Almost there. Remove the 4 small screws on the top of the back of the clock and remove that little part. The light is on the front side of this part. Cover the light with electrical tape (I wouldn't use black tape as it may cut all light). Or maybe some nail polish or white-out or anything, really. The bulb is small so nimble fingers come in handy. I covered the bulb with 2 small pieces of red electrical tape. One of the top of the bulb and the other wrapping around, holding the first in place. Works great.

Reassemble everything. The only tricky part is pressing the clock back into the front plate. Make sure the small (useless?) wire is accessable. Be careful to line up the groves of the clear alarm face when pressing it back in. And keep 12 high. Press gently and turn gentle until everything is lined up and then press the clock back in until it clicks. Make sure the three screw holes don't get caught on the fm antenna wires. Plug the small wire back in the clock. Reconnect the clock power supply in the the back. Re-screw back and front together.

Plug in and make sure everything works. It should. There's nothing too hard. Especially if you've ever opened up another electronic product.

And if you think this is crazy and expect your $200 clock radio to be out-of-the-box great... well, you're right.

2006-05-05T00:55:00.000-04:00

Oops. Truck smashed up under tracks at Newtown Rd on 31st St.
I was shocked at this red sky the other day. Then I learned about the big fire in Brooklyn that must have caused the beautiful sunset. If we do get our new home, we could actually see the sun set.

house pictures

2006-05-05T00:54:00.000-04:00

Not pictured, very slight leak in main water line coming into building.

From porch looking west
Similar Manhattan view from roof
other homes in row. view from front porch.
bathroom
looking up bathroom skylight
looking up hall skylight
neighbor's garden
laundry line!
chimney needs tuckpointing
looking down on neighbor's garage
porch door detail
roof
roof closeup
roof looking forward
bedroom. closet door is on right
view of backside of the bedroom closet, perhaps future home of spiral staircase to roof
looking into bedroom
looking East from roof rear

bathroom
our little yard
neighbor's yard, view from kitchen pantry
other direction (west) from kitchen pantry window

looking straight back

looking down from bedroom

front

house and neighbor garage

house

front

house (on right)

between house and neighbor

front door

view across street

front door

entrance

1st floor kitchen

kitchen cabinets

kitchen pantry

1st floor middle room

1st floor middle room looking back

1st floor looking in from entrance

stairs

stairs to 2nd floor

2nd floor back, bedroom

2nd floor back looking forward

2nd floor toward porch

porch

bathroom

bathroom door

front entrance wood

back yard-aki

kitchen pantry from back yark-aki

view of rear of house

back door

back yard-aki grill

basement kitchen

basement look back

basement bathroom

basement entrance

under stair storage in basement

front of basement

hot water heater

furnace

when the cat is away...

2006-04-20T00:41:00.000-04:00

clean sink

clean counter... mid-cooking

clean table

chicken and cashews in wok

ready to eat

Wanted: unknowing white male, 5'9", 230 lbs, brown hair

2006-04-10T14:12:00.000-04:00

On Sunday, April 9 2004, surveillance cameras caught this man being surprised at the gathering of his friends and family for his birthday.

Going back...

2006-04-10T14:09:00.000-04:00

I was back in Princeton briefly and gave a small talk and met with my book editor. Of course, things don’t change there (except for the last remaining non-gentrified restaurant in town going upscale). Yes, Princeton is pretty, but the place still gives me the willies. But my editor did point out to me the pre-aged statue they added.

You’d think, if anything, Princeton has time on its side. But this classic is only a few years old and was installed with patina already fixed.

Princeton also has their own label on bottled water for speakers. It’s amazing what a $9.9 billion endowment will get you.

Pisco Sour, Mmmmmm

2006-03-31T20:09:00.000-05:00

I finally broke the Times

2006-03-26T12:06:00.000-05:00

Having read the New York Times all my literate life, I've been trying hard to get my name fit to print. Today's the day. I'm quoted along with the more impressive big shots Jerry Skolnick, Frank Zimring, and David Kennedy.

We eat like this every day

2006-03-25T00:26:00.000-05:00

Sometimes we when have guests over for dinner, they ask, “do you eat like this everyday?!” Well, basically, yes. I mean maybe not everyday. Because some days are leftovers. Or Mexican tortas. But we do eat pretty well most days.

Normally the East Asian Continent in my department. But tonight Zora whipped up this little gem of a dinner.

Shrimp and pork sautéed.

For an pancake filled with goodness.

Eggplant with spicy stuff on top.

Pork in a caramel sauce. This was sweet and, with a little extra fish sauce, delicious.

Grilled beef salad. It was my retro-nouveau cucumber garnish that inspired me to photograph the whole dinner.

Spicy Nuoc Cham sauce for the beef: Fish Sauce (Nuoc Mam in Vietnamese, Nam Pla in Thai), sugar, lime juice, garlic, carrot, hot pepper.

Fish sauce? I love it. Here’s the best article I ever read about fish sauce. I found it just now.

The early bird got the worm!

2006-02-24T18:52:00.000-05:00

I got up at 10AM today for no particular reason. That’s on the early side for me. I turn on the radio to find a woman I know, Beth Fertig, as the guest host on the Brian Lehrer show. WNYC. Public radio. She's normally on their transit beat, so I actually do know and like her reporting.

Then I hear that one of the topics is “Stop Snitching.” Hey, I’m thinking, why didn’t she call me?

[I’m trying to think of the number of WNYC and somehow my mind come up with the 866-9687. I google it to discover that that’s the number for WNUR, Northwestern’s radio station, where I was a DJ almost 20 years ago. How did I find that off in the dusty attic of my mind?]

She gives the number on air and I call right away and get through. And I know Beth Fertig from a few dinners at Tamara’s. Baltimore, AKA Charm City, just happens to be the spiritual home for the whole “stop snitching” movement.

So they put me on at the same time that one of their guests couldn’t make it. So in a few moments I go from “Peter in Astoria” to “Professor.” I was on for about 20 minutes. I start at about 8 1/2 minutes into the show. And I’m happy to have finally broken into both New York and public-radio airwaves.

The segment's link in the show is here.

And for the mp3 audio file, just go to my website.

Mohammed cartoons

2006-02-21T17:52:00.000-05:00

Shopping on the East Coast

2006-02-04T16:18:00.000-05:00

I previously wrote about why I hate shopping in California. From Flappy:

Today there was no Long-John-Silver dressed homeless man doing whippets in the dairy aisle with the Redi Whip, but there was a very nice butcher and MORE nice people offering to help us seemingly every 8 feet.

What is it with that? It’s like every store is Bed Bath & Beyond. Drives me batty. Christ, I’m a big boy and can take the initiative and ask if need help. How helpless and soft can Californians be? And while I’m at it, stranger, stop asking “how are you?” like you care. You don’t care. And it’s not polite. Has it ever occurred to you that I might not be well? Times have been tough. See, my wife just had heart surgery and lost her eye. So what do you want me to say? Because I hate smiling saccharinely and saying, “fine.”

By the time 10 people in the same store ask how am I and if they can help—folks, how much help can you possibly need in a grocery store?—I want to unload real problems: “Oh, thanks for asking. I hope you can help. See, ever since my father bad-touched me when I was a kid, I’ve been having dreams of sleeping with my mom and now the voices are telling me to hurt people and I have this horrible burning sensation when I pee... could you recommend a nice chardonnay that would go well with that?” …But I digest.

Let me tell you how it’s done in NYC. How it should be done:

I was trying to find an (evidently) obscure little computer part yesterday. So I biked to a few different stores. Then I enter the big box store, and I look for the part. I can’t find it, so I go up to group of employees, actively and obscenely engaged in conversation with each other.

There’s a brief awkward moment where I stand there and they ignore me. Then I say, “Hey, I’ve got a question, do you guys have an adaptor for a video card? DVI to VGI?” They draw straws and he with the shortest straw goes with you and tries to find it. Then he says, “Naw, we don’t got it.” And you say, “Thanks.” And he grunts.

That’s it! Efficient. Effective. Unobtrusive. Nobody asked how I was. And I didn’t offer to tell anybody. It’s not rude. In fact, it’s very polite, because nobody made me feel rude! Nobody puts on a fake smile that says, “Help you? If only cooperate didn’t forbid it, I’d oil you down and give you an erotic message while the vegetable mister coats our bodies with a light summer dew.”

And the Asian guy in Radio Shake even took the initiative and called the Ditmars Avenue store to see if they had it in stock. I love New York. But I’ve still got to buy the damn thing on-line.

The bastards are getting me down

2006-02-04T14:20:00.000-05:00

My neighbors cut down two beautiful and seemingly healthy trees. WHY?! What type of dumb-ass Queens asshole cuts down old trees in his back yard? Like Queens needs fewer trees.

There was a bad man with a chainsaw jumping around the branches way up high. That part was kind of cool. Actually, very cool. A man, a self-contained safety harness, and a chainsaw. He climbed and bounced around that tree like a monkey. A monkey with a chain saw.

First, I hoping they were just doing a major pruning job. Perhaps clearing branches from the power lines. But no. Up he went. And down it came. And waking me up at 9AM. Chainsaws are really loud.

So now we’ve lost our bedroom privacy, and all the other benefits trees provide. It makes me want to move. One of the great things about our place was the cocoon of trees off our bedroom and back porch. In the summer it was beautiful. And even in the winter the branches blocked all the windows of the big apartment block. And I assume there will be fewer birds too. Cardinals and bluebirds and lots of other kinds I don’t even know.

It just so happened I took a picture of one of these trees back in November when it was in beautiful color.

Here’s the yard today.

Sniff.

Zora and I in socialist states

2006-01-10T16:29:00.000-05:00

I just scanned a few old pictures. It's always nice to find more pictures of me and Zora. We were in Cuba in December 1996. I cut my hair in 1997.

Austin, Texas

Heidi, Zora, and Peter. Cuba.

Zora and Peter cold on the beach in Cuba.

Havana street scene.

Chinatown, Havana. Bad country to be a businessman in.

Gaby, Peter, Zora, and Rastafarians. Santiago de Cuba.

Because sometimes a blog or three isn’t enough...

2006-01-07T06:41:00.000-05:00

I’ve got a website. It’s probably not going to get much fancier than it is right now. But it’s mine, damnit. My published pieces are all in the media section. Now I have somewhere to post the Blues Brothers done in Lego powerpoint presentation (cleverly not linked from the rest of the website).

And I put up a nice website for the boats in A'dam.

And I’m happy I have a rare name so I can get myownname.com. Speaking of which, I’m willing to sell the rights to my brother's domain name for a very reasonable price.

Radio Interview

2005-12-27T12:46:00.000-05:00

My October 31st radio interview is available online. Thanks to Bob for recording it. You can listen to it here. To save the file, right click on the link and select "save as." The file is 17MB large. It's 35 minutes long.

Transit Strike 2005

2005-12-23T01:21:00.000-05:00

Last day of the transit strike. It doesn’t really affect me too much, since I bike everywhere. But it’s kind of a pain when, say, you have to get your wife to the hospital. There wasn’t really any problem in Manhattan. There were plenty of cabs. But getting to and from the City was close to impossible, at least during the day, except by foot and bike.

There’s a kind of street-festival atmosphere crossing the bridges. I got to ride on the other (South) side of the Queensboro Bridge. A nice new view and there’s no ugly fence there (and they’ve just put up a nasty chain-link fence on the bike-path side for no good reason other than to ruin the view). It’s just annoying that pedestrians have no respect at all for the bike lane.

Bikes need so little space. And since we will get by, it would be better for everyone involved if people could say, just stay off two feet of the bike path.

Disaster relief.

Giving out hot chocolate.

It was nice of them to cone-off a bike lane coming off the Queensboro Bridge. This is one of the annoying parts of my normal bike ride home, because you’re forced to go against traffic for a short block. Even though the street is lightly traveled and there is plenty of room to say, cone-off a lane for bike.

Even more annoying there is a permanently closed lane they could use as a bike lane. Instead they block it off with Jersey Barriers (on the other side), keeping bikes out of a never-used lane and into oncoming traffic.

And then, quicker than I can say “Union” and you can say “Power,” they removed the cones so that the lane could revert to it’s normal function: space for illegally parked cars.

There are so many things the city could do to making biking better. Things that would cost nothing and have no downside. But they don’t. It’s very frustrating. The entrances around bridges are key, because every biker from an outer-borough has to use them.

The basic problem is the crappy Department of Transportation has the wrong prime directive: maximize number of cars on the road. Rather than say, trying to reduce the number of cars on the road. The fact that they still allow cars on the roads in the major parks, and it took them over a year to remove dangerous bumps on the Williamsburg Bridge bike path, doesn’t give me much hope or enthusiasm to fight City Hall.

It also doesn’t help that the good people at Transportation Alternatives are much more focused on Brooklyn to Manhattan access (I suppose because a lot of them live there). Don’t get me wrong, most things are getting better for bikes in New York City. It’s just a glacier’s pace. And there’s so much that could be done so easily.

But I took the South side, because it’s normally a (crazy) traffic lane. A new view.

South side path.

Sun over UN.

Roosevelt Island and Queens.

They also opened 5th Ave. to traffic today. Yesterday bikes and pedestrians had the whole street to ourselves. It was great. The right lane was for emergency vehicles.

Some cops shooed you off to battle with cars. Other didn’t care. There were no emergency vehicles. And if there were, I would have gotten out of the way. Bikes, unlike cars, can pull over and out of the way. It is not, or should not be: “same road, same rules.” Different vehicles, different rules. Rules that make sense for large and deadly multi-ton motorized vehicles, really don’t always make sense and shouldn’t be applied to bikes and pedestrians.

There was a long line for the just starting Q60 bus. A very long block-and-a-half line that went around the corner.

Some may wonder why Queens buses end at 2nd Avenue—where there are no transportation connection—when 3rd Avenue is so close, and there is a Lexington Avenue subway entrance there. Well, gentle reader, 50 years ago the Steinway Street Car ended here, at the 2nd Avenue Elevated. Never mind that neither exists anymore. The bus the replaced the streetcar still dumps people off where there used to be a El Train. And in 50 years, nobody has thought to reroute the bus to somewhere logical and convenient. It amazing how many buses still follow the routes of long-dead streetcars. Even when it no longer makes any sense. But you can’t fight City Hall.

How’s Zora?

2005-12-22T18:36:00.000-05:00

You won’t find out here anymore. I’ve moved all Zora related posts to a new location. Then I can reclaim my blog for the much lesser imporant issues of dinner parties, trains, and lamb roasts. All future information about Zora's health will be at: http://howszora.blogspot.com/. Please make a note of it.

Gifts from the Orient

2005-12-20T13:47:00.000-05:00

Katie came back from Dubai. She was there for the second time for a film festival. She came bearing gifts, including my sexy arab gown, coffee (instant, for frappes), and chocolate. The fez I just happen to have laying around.

Chinatown to Jamaica

2005-12-01T17:58:00.000-05:00

Chambers Street. Man, this station is old school. Like “Warriors” style. Abandoned platforms. Bad lighting everywhere. And give everywhere. I think they should keep this station as a museum piece of the bad old 1980s. Sorry the pictures are so blurry, but it was very dark.

Old school. And not in a good way.

Then you come above ground and cross over the Williamsburg Bridge. It’s a beautiful view. Then you past Peter Lugers and the last exit to Williamsburg. Next thing you now, it’s bars, fried chicken, liquor stores, and nail salons. Ah, the ghetto.

Graffiti and abandoned buildings don't seem very New York to my sheltered Astoria life.

Approaching station.

Housing.

Chicago either was two or four tracks. But nevertheless, this shot reminds me of Chicago.

East New York (or thereabouts).

Approaching Broadway Junction.

Three lines cross here.

Sign for the future L train.

Ghost track to heaven.

Station under construction.

Houses off to the side.

More houses.

London Squire.

Woodhaven.

Houses.

On the J line.

Finally underground in Jamaica.

Earlier, on another day, I biked out to Woodside/Jackson Heights to get Asian goods. I love that area.

I needed some black pepper.

This is the warning on the back.

Do not eat as snack? Uh, OK. Rinse for 5 minutes and boil for 30? I just wanted some for my salad. I guess I can wait 35 minutes. Boiled pepper corn? Maybe that is a snack food.

Is there another toxic spill in China I should be aware of. I think I’m going to be a rebel and pop them like Altoids.

There was also some baking-soda looking powder that was meant to be taken for "heatiness." It came in regular, orange, and lemon. Made by Glaxo-Smith-Kline for the Hong Kong market.

Another roasted lamb

2005-11-28T02:18:00.000-05:00

There’s not much new to this story. We’ve pretty much got it down to a science. This was our fourth time. And the teamwork is tight. We couldn’t do it without Tamara (and her place). And I couldn’t do it without Karl. He’s top-notch in tying down the lamb to the souvla in the beginning, and carving it up in the end. In fact, I’m not quite sure why I’m needed. Perhaps to yell every now and then at whoever is slacking on the lamb turning to, “keep turning!”

The tying down the lamb system (I was paying more attention this time, but don’t have pictures—your hands are kind of greasy at this point) involves jamming the first piece of meat onto the impaling fork at the handle end of the soulva. Then the next piece is skewered and tied to the first piece. Each addition piece is tied to the previous piece. This forms a tight little chain with the first piece as anchor. It works.

So along with the notes from the previous lamb roast, here are the 10 quick and easy steps to another successful lamb roast:

1) Buy lamb. This baby was 70lbs at $3.50/lb. Our biggest yet. The head and innards were thrown in for free, on request.

2) Buy vegetables.

3) Carry vegetables and lamb on bike. The butcher, an older man whose parents are also from Northern Epirus, assured me that though he had sold many lambs, he had never had one carried away on a bike. That’s 70 pounds in 4 bags. Seems like a lot when you’re buying a lamb. Doesn’t look like that much in the picture. It’s not that hard to carry on a bike. One bag in each basket. One on top. One in my messenger back. Vegetables in hand. But then I’ve never carried anything on my bike that I thought was difficult to carry.

4) Fire up grill and 5) Grill vegetables.

6) Skewer lamb.

7) Season lamb.

8) Turn lamb. 160 degrees internal temperature is a nice rare to medium rare.

9) Carve lamb.

10) Eat lamb.

And potatoes!

This lamb roast was special because some of my students were there. I invited my foreign students. In fact, the lamb roast was in their honor. I have 10 this semester. About half came.

There was also an exciting infrastructure improvement. I bought a new light so we could see the damn grill at night (see background). It helped.

Now just because we have it down to a science doesn’t mean it wasn’t wonderful, as always. The lamb was great. Especially the chops. There were many happy eaters. And there was a lot of very good food. Imagine that.

Toronto Polish

2005-11-24T10:55:00.000-05:00

Before we left for Toronto, Rod mentioned that the city has great street hot dogs. Rod is full of strange recommendations, often for places that have just closed. And I’m not sure not sure that he has ever even been to Toronto. But this is what he wrote:

“Toronto has the second best street hot dogs in the world after Copenhagen. Also, I recall eating at a dim sum place there in 1990 with robotic carts that had a route and would drive through the restaurant. I also recall seeing Dick Tracy at the cinema there. It’s a nice town. Have fun.”

Rod’s words were in my mind as we passed a few street carts (alas, no robotics carts serving dim sum). Then, passing by Union Station, you know the place we were supposed to come in but didn’t, there was a cart between the two buildings. I got a polish sausage. All the carts have a warmer grill area and then a flame grill area. So everything is flame grilled. That’s why they’re so good!

And the condiments are great. There’s a whole line of little flip lid compartments in front, and then a whole ’nother line of different condiments on the side. There are pickles, onions, sauerkraut, great sliced hot peppers, fake bacon bits, sliced green olives, corn, and two other things we can’t remember. And then squeeze bottles with ketchup and mustard and hot mustard, and BBQ sauce. I, thinking Chicago hot dog, put mustard, pickles, hot peppers, onions, and a few fake bacon bits on mine (yeah, lay off me about the bacon bits. They were good).

A few people asked the man for mayonnaise. He had some, but it wasn’t out with the rest of the condiments. Later, I learned from the Toronto Public Health requirements for hot dog carts that mayonnaise is forbidden. So I love the fact that he’s still got a “secret” squeeze container of mayonnaise that he hands out on the sly.

I didn’t go for mayonnaise. Or sauerkraut. I had a vision. Zora put some other gunk on her half, but then sheepishly confirmed that my half was better. Damn right it was. I know what to put on a Polish.

It was delicious. Good sausage. Those flames do wonders. Crispy on the outside. The sausage was cut to give it more surface area. The condiments, especially the hot peppers, were great. The peppers reminded me more of Baltimore’s “hots” than Chicago’s sport peppers. The pickles were a little too sweet, but still good. In fact, it was just as good if not better than a Chicago polish. It costs $3.50 Canadian.

Underwhelmed in Toronto

2005-11-21T03:34:00.000-05:00

Zora and I spent the weekend in Toronto and were underwhelmed. We even caught an earlier flight back than the one we were originally schedule on. I don’t know what we were expecting. I guess I was hoping to go block by block and say, “Hey, that looks like Chicago! Hey, that looks like New York! Hey, that looks like Baltimore. Hey that looks like Hong Kong! Hey, is that Jane Jacobs!?”

And then Jane Jacobs would spot me getting off a streetcar and give me a guided walking tour of the city. And then, having drinks afterwards, we would stare longingly in each other’s eyes, knowing but for a 50-year age difference, we could live happily ever after….

I didn’t see Jane anywhere. Damnit. And I was looking, too!

Our trip did have a few strikes against it which weren’t Toronto’s fault.

1) We missed our train from New York. I don’t want to cast blame anywhere, but I can safely say that it sure as hell wasn’t my fault. Except for being at Penn Station at 6:45AM (for a 7:15 train... that we still managed to miss), missing the train wasn’t the end of the world. We were able to go home and take a nap and still get a cheap one-way flight that got us in, if anything, a little earlier. Alas, our packed lunch was all but wasted. The wine still sits unopened. Niagara Falls remains unseen (does it still fall?)

2) Because of my work schedule, we didn’t get in till Thursday. So I had already missed most of the conference I went there for. And then sleeping in late didn’t bode well for my attendance when I was there.

3) Zora just ain’t feeling right. Not quite the bundle of energy and joy one would hope.

But even given all that, it should have been better. We had a nice room. There are streetcars. It’s a new city. The weather was fine (chilly to cold, but fine). And Jane Jacobs loves the place.

First I want to say that residents of Toronto are unfailingly polite. It’s really noteworthy. Everybody says “excuse me” and “thank you” and “you’re welcome” and “please.” In fact, they’re so damn polite I occasionally wanted them to walk faster and push a bit. But that may just be the New Yorker in me.

Let’s keep moving, people! But I’ll take the occasional pedestrian bottleneck for a society of civility. They really are polite and helpful. None of that grumpy poorly-paid service worker or union-padded city-worker attitude you often get here. Maybe it’s universal health care?

That being said, there are a fair number of people begging for money. A bit more than New York, even. Where’s that social net, eh?

And yeah, they all kind of talk a little funny. But they’re so damned polite about it you can’t help but find it endearing in a small-town kind of way. But it’s the big city. And hockey is a major sport.

It’s a city of neighborhoods. For real. Lot’s of minorities. Many many Asians. And more Greeks than I was expecting. But the problem with a city of neighborhoods—the whole place is a bit like a laid-back Chicago—is it’s too damn spread out. Perhaps not compared to most cities. But it’s less fun to walk around than say, Montreal. And they do all speak English, making it inherently less exotic than say, Montreal. And let’s be honest, perhaps it’s not quite like any American city… but it’s awfully close. Why not go to Montreal?

2.5 million people. Five million metro. For the record, the city seems about half that size. A large Boston. I didn’t sense when I was there that it is just about the size of Chicago.

I’m looking this up online now: 50 percent foreign born. You can see that when you're there. 10% Chinese, 10% South Asian (Indian), 8% Black. Plus many Vietnamese, Greeks, and Portuguese.

Same size as Chicago… and about 10% of the murders. What do you make of that? Heavily minority, same screwed up Anglo-Saxon tradition of violence. And about 60 murders a year (and they think that’s high). Could Michael Moore be right? Is it really all about guns and fear? Perhaps. No poverty helps, too.

And the streetcars are very old school. They’re modern and all. Smooth. But they run right down the center of the road. And just stop in the middle of road. No “island” for passengers or anything. And people just pile off the sidewalk to board. Old school. The only place I’ve seen that is Sofia. Cars are supposed to stop for loading streetcars. They mostly do. But I heard more than one streetcar honking at cars that didn’t.

And they call them streetcars. Who was the dumb-assed geeky-foamer engineer that started calling streetcars “light rail” in America? We want to call them “streetcars.” Historically, we’ve called them “streetcars.” And “streetcar” just kind of rolls off the tongue. And yet new “streetcars” are called “light rail”? Oh veh!

The subway, not that you asked, has the same “ridefeel” as Boston’s T. I just made that up, “ridefeel.” It’s a good concept. To public transportation what “mouthfeel” is to snack foods.

And the TCC subway stations have a vaguely pleasant 50’s institutional feel. Like the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, before it was remodeled (assume it has been). Or like your elementary school lunchroom, if you're about my age. Or like the State Street Subway in Chicago. But with tiles that have a very bold early 60’s color scheme.

Here’s a street sign in Greektown. I just love transliterated English names in Greek letters.

Cafe Frappe, that’s how you know you’re in Greektown.

Preparing for winter. It snowed a bit the first day. Got up to around 50 when we left. It’s gonna get cold here in New York soon, too.

Does this look like Boston?

Or Chicago?

Point before you cross the street?

Look right!

Mini marts and SUVs. Canada has a very distinct culture that would never be confused with the United States. Yeah right.

Trapezoidal windows on busses. I actually get nostalgic for these. They’re similar to the CTA busses Andrew and I grew up with.

beans or nuts(?) drying. This was in front of most likely an Asian person’s home.

From inside the streetcar.

The friendly driver, who politely urged people to board quickly, sounded just like Apu from the Simpsons. Especially when we crossed the Santa Parade and he gleefully explained, “What a crowd!”

It was kind of cool to cross a parade in a streetcar (the road was closed to normal traffic). It was kind of unfortunate that without Thanksgiving, there’s no limit as to how early Christmas shit can start.

Exiting the streetcar. “Thank you come again!”

Edible shrubbery. There was a lot of this. I approve.

Not so beautiful Toronto.

Hmmm, Zora noticed these bike parts hanging on a fence...

…and looking over the fence!

Mind you, it being Canada, the fence wasn’t actually “protecting” the stuff. The fence was just there as a visual barrier. You could actually walk right around it. And steal shit. But that wouldn’t be hockey, now would it?

It’s a bike friendly town. A lot of bikes. It’s pretty far North. But to be honest, not really much further North than Boston or Chicago. There are a fair number of bike paths. And bike racks everywhere! The same kind they use in Cambridge, Mass. Why don’t we have them in NYC?

I love signs that legalize what bikes are going to do anyway. “Bicycles Excepted” is always my favorite street sign, no matter what it’s attached to.

Here’s a typical bike rack.

This style of rack is nice in that they’re easy to lock to, they don’t take up much room when not used, and they’re kind of aesthetically pleasing.

Meanwhile the City of New York is busy cutting off locks and taking bikes that people ride to the subway in Williamsburg. Uh, that’s not bike friendly. Too many bikes, the city says, locked where they shouldn’t be (you, know, by public transportation). And just why are my tax dollars being spent to keep people from biking to public transportation?

Of course, the city could just take three parking spaces from cars and provide bike parking for about 30 bikes. This shit makes me want to move to Portland. Or Canada.

Bahn Mi

2005-10-20T19:46:00.000-04:00

Zora and I love our Vietnamese sandwiches. In fact, it’s one of the reasons we got married. Now I’m not saying that we got married because of Vietnamese sandwiches. But the sandwiches were certainly on our mind when we made our plans to go to City Hall and get married.

I got a couple today. From the only place that makes them really good, on Mott Street just South of Grand. This place used to be crammed under the Mahattan bridge in a stall too small by any standard. Now they share space with a jewelery store. They also (I think) just raised the prices to $3.25 from $3. Noooo problem. Actually, the picture from July confirms the price raise. Good on 'em. I've never tried the chicken sandwich. It's probably great. But the pork is so unbeatably good I have never ordered the chicken.

I thought I’d take a few pictures to share.

Still wrapped. This is how it look after six hours and 12 miles of biking.

On the plate, they look pretty good. The cilantro is wilted, but again, these sandwiches aren’t fresh anymore. When I got them, they were very McDLT. The hot side, the bread and pork, was warm. And the cold side, the veggies, was cool.

Now we’re getting to the good stuff.

Here are the innards. Top to bottom, you’ve got carrots, daikon (I think), sliced jalapenos, cilantro, Vietnamese bologna, pork, and cucumber .

What you can’t see very well is the fish sauce (nuoc nam, probably with lime and sugar), Vietnamese hot sauce, and mayonnaise. Those are the elements. I don’t think the bologna adds to the sandwich, but it’s not bad. I don’t quite know what it is. It’s better than your standard processed meat product. But it is processed meat.

So here’s what’s special:

1) The pork, God bless it, is cooked and then placed in a broiler (or toaster oven) until the top layer gets nice and browned. Then this layer is scrapped off for the sandwiches and the pork is placed back in the oven to brown the next layer. So every little bit of pork is beautifully browned and flavorful.

2) The bread is warm is crispy. Thank you French colonialism. In the picture the bread is bit soggy, but that’s my fault and not the sandwich’s.

3) Mayonnaise. Did I already thank the French?

4) The cross section. Here it is:

The crispy vegetables are all wrapped in the Vietnamese bologna. So the sandwich has many very distinct parts. And depending on the angle of your bite, you can adjust your bite to suit your desires. You bite into the bread, you get some of the fish sauce, then the crispy layer of vegetables, and finally the wonderful pork.

It’s the best sandwich in the world. Bar none.

Don't trust me? Here’s someone else’s writing on bahn mi. And she wears an "I Love Pad Thai" t-shirt (swoon).

No mas

2005-10-20T17:50:00.000-04:00

I tried to get some more ceviche late last night. It was gone. Apparently it was for "the game." Which game I'm not sure. But the good money is on Mexico and futbol. The man said there may be some chicken soup tomorrow. He made a big point that it would not be supermarket chicken but rather chicken from the live poultry place on 31st St., but he didn't sound too confident about it being there at all.

Ali and I had some tacos instead. After that we went across the street to the Mexican bar that, despite being on my corner, I've never been in before. Why is that? Well, I've never been in there, but I somehow sensed it's the kind of place where, you know, you can treat the friendly if slightly overweight scantily-clad hispanic women to a beer for $14. For the ladies, small beers are also available for the bargain price of $7. Your beers cost $5. Dances to tunes from the Mexican juke box cost $2. It was kind of charming, in an immigrant working-man kind of way. Not being an immigrant, I let Ali do most of the talking. Such are my adventures when the wife is out of town...

I love Astoria. After work, I met Ali at an Egyptian sheesha joint. Then we went across the street to the Slovakian private bar. Then we walked back to 36th Ave and had Tacos and beer at the Mexican bodega. Followed by a final drink at the, er, working man's (and working ladies') bar.

And civeche too!

2005-10-19T19:55:00.000-04:00

So today as I'm leaving for work, I stop by the bodega to tell them how great the soup was, and there was a big tray of Peruvian ceviche and a big platter of larded-up rice. He insisted on giving me some to try. It’s amazing! Both of them. But good civeche is worth telling people about. There’s no guarantee there will be anything special there tomorrow. He says he’s going to try and have more food, now that it’s getting colder (?). The place is open all night. Don’t confuse it with fine dinning. But there are a couple of chairs. Just move the empty beer bottles aside and the sleeping customers are usually quite friendly when they’re awake. The guys who work there are usually the only ones who speak English.

Sopa de Piscado

2005-10-19T13:25:00.000-04:00

Coming back from picking up vegetables yesterday, I stopped in the corner bodega for some tacos and a beer. I got the tacos to go because the place was pretty full (and, at 7pm, nobody was asleep).

Normally the place just sells tacos (which are very good, but not even the best in Astoria. Though the salsa roja, is very nice). But then yesterday, next to the grill, where usually there is nothing, there was a big pot on a turned-off warmer. As I got my tacos, I asked the main man what was in the pot. He was a bit cagey. Some kind of soup, he said. But he referred me to an older man I’ve never seen there before. He seemed to confirm that it was soup, perhaps fish soup, and even agreed that I could have some, if I didn’t mind that it was cold. I promised I would warm it up later.

It’s fish soup. I was very happy to see him taking extra effort to ladle out specific chunks of soup, even though I had no idea what they were. It cost $3. For a second it actually seemed like a lot for take-out coffee cup of soup from a place where great tacos costs only $2. But it was worth every penny.

It had plantains, shrimp, scallop, and a large chunk of meaty and boney white fish. I added a little chopped onion and a big squirt of lime. The shrimps weren’t great, after the reheat. And plantains are well, plantains. But the fish was bone sucking good. The scallop stayed surprisingly tender. And the fish and bones and shrimp gave everything a wonderful flavor. Mmm, the flavor… deep and flavorful and spicy and delicious! I hope to see that pot on the corner again.

More summer vacation pictures!

2005-10-13T02:55:00.000-04:00

I finally got Karl's pictures from Greece and Turkey. They're below. There are a lot of them. Enjoy. To save pictures, left click on the pictures to get the large version. Then right click and select "save image as." Then you can have them for your own (non-commercial use) and order prints of all your favorite grandchildren, for instance.

At the train station

2005-10-13T02:32:00.000-04:00

on our way back to Greece

At least the window opened. But you couldn't stick your head out. And there were mosquitoes on this train, probably in the ventilation system, the only time we had that problems.

Kadiköy Market

2005-10-13T02:29:00.000-04:00

At the honey store. This store even has its own website.

Fish

Hello, my tasty one!

Lunch at Çiya

2005-10-13T02:28:00.000-04:00

St Sophia

2005-10-13T02:27:00.000-04:00

Below is Zora's namesake, Empress Zoe. A Byzantine expert told my father that Zoe was deposed by bad guys but then came back to return to her rightful position. The expert probably had a few more details, but anyway.

Chora

2005-10-13T02:26:00.000-04:00

The builder (note the Byzantine headdress) present the church to Christ.

lamb slaughter

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Gurhan's BBQ

2005-10-13T02:23:00.000-04:00

A lot of magic would be done on this little grill

||

The view from his place... not bad.

I looks like I'm a giant here.

burn baby burn

eggplant

It was this big

fuck no, it was even bigger!

wonderful

Ottoman Istanbul

2005-10-13T02:18:00.000-04:00

Attuturk store

bathhouse

inhale...

...exhale

Market

2005-10-13T02:17:00.000-04:00

He filtered the juice. Nice effort. But worse juice.

Golden Horn Ferry

2005-10-13T02:15:00.000-04:00

grilled fish

Contantinoupoli

2005-10-13T02:14:00.000-04:00

The Greek School

Modern Fener

Bulgarian church

City of Love and Dreams and...?

2005-10-13T02:12:00.001-04:00

Wheel-caster district

2005-10-13T02:11:00.001-04:00

Armenian food

2005-10-13T02:11:00.000-04:00

Relations are great, he says. Really. No problems...

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Boat at sunset

2005-10-13T02:10:00.000-04:00

make a flip book out of this post

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Sightseeing

2005-10-13T02:08:00.000-04:00

public ferries

In Istanbul

2005-10-13T02:01:00.000-04:00

...and then we'll go there, and there, and don't forget the bath!

tea

Roasting tomatoes at our first lunch.

grilled fish

Riding the commuter rail

It was a rickedy train

and then we just make a right at the top of the hill and we'll be home

or maybe left?

I love countries with lots of fresh orange juice

The modern streetcar

firework on the bosphorus

the old streetcar

We accept their appology

Byzantine cistern

view from out hotel room

roof cafe, open 24/7

Peter: "This all used to be Greek!"

To Istanbul

2005-10-13T02:00:00.000-04:00

We had to take a 5AM bus or something to get to Istanbul. We were tired.

The boat

Fast ferry to Istanbul.