Two Retail Encounters

A petite Asian woman in a motorized scooter wheeled up to me in the wine department at TJ's and asked if I could help her. I thought she needed a bottle reached down from a shelf. But she wanted to know if I could recommend a wine to go with pasta – no, in a pasta dish she was making. “Does it call for a particular type of wine, a red... or a white?” No, she insisted, just a dry wine. “What's the recipe like? What else goes in the pasta?” Clams and linguine. Yay, bingo. “Usually,” I opined, that's made with white wine.” Oh, she added, and to drink with it, too. So we turned to the European whites and my eyes lit on a Muscadet, and that's what I recommended. I put a bottle in her basket, she thanked me and scooted off. A few minutes later the cheerful young employee who hangs out in the wine department asked me if I was finding everything I needed. "Yes, but," I joked, "I just did your job for you." Oh! she said, I saw that. I thought you were friends!

Same shopping trip, a little later, in the produce section at New Seasons. It's Wednesday, geezer 10% discount day, so the store is full of people even older than I am. As I'm reaching for the parsnips, a woman with an intent stare magnified by her glasses blurts out “Turnips. Know the best way to prepare them?” No, I do not. Tell me. “Raw.” You mean, like, grated? “No, just sliced. My kids, they used to eat them like potato chips.” She pauses. “Those grandkids, though? I can't even get them to touch 'em.”

My face in repose tends to go severe around the mouth. In photos I often look disapproving and unapproachable. It's called bitchy resting face, and it's a real Internet disorder. I've been reminding myself to smile more in public, at least relax those facial muscles. Apparently it's working. 

Chef Jerub Presents

I'm lucky, I know, to live with a guy who loves to cook. At least two of my friends have offered to take him off my hands, for that reason alone, should I ever get tired of him. As if.

The meal above was chicken breasts with a fig and balsamic vinegar sauce, potato casserole with caramelized onions, and asparagus with a honey-mustard yogurt-based sauce. The one just below was Goan-style shrimp curry on basmati rice with a roasted vegetable salad.


Another dinner, below, was all about orange. Salmon with varicolored cherry tomatoes, pureed sweet potatoes, and carrot salad. The avocado garnish makes it pop, don'tcha think?


At least somebody in this family is expressing his artistic side. I think all of my creative energy is going into gardening at this point, or thoughts of spring. I'll have more to say about that. But first, dessert:

Grizzly Man and Grisly Men

We went to OMSI to see Bodyworlds, the controversial exhibit of partially-dissected and "plastinated" bodies, the day after it opened. I thought it was beautifully done and emotionally affecting as well as educational. I hadn't known, for instance, that the left lung is considerably smaller than the right, with only two lobes. That's how they get the heart to fit in; duh.

There's nothing grisly, really, about these men (and a few women). But we'd seen Werner Herzog's bizarre and wonderful film Grizzly Man a couple of days before, and I couldn't resist the juxtaposition.

Now that Jer and I are both retired, several days can go by without any official obligations on the calendar. That makes the moderately "busy" times seem downright hectic by comparison. Here's some of what's been going on the last week and a half:

A Willamette River cruise on the sternwheeler Rose with Mike Houck, Bob Sallinger, a bunch of Portland Audubon members, plus some politicos and media people. Mike is co-author of Wild in the City and the go-to guy, locally, for urban ecology issues and the politics associated therewith. Bob is deeply involved in preserving the peregrine falcon population, especially the families that roost on and under the bridges of Portland. The focus of our trip was Ross Island, which may or may not become a city-managed park/wildlife preserve. We saw a bald eagle nesting, several ospreys, and two or three great blue heron nests, one with four young in it. It was a glorious day on the river, and a perfect way to celebrate Great Blue Heron Week (the heron is Portland's official city bird). Here's Mike doing, perhaps, his Great Blue Heron impression.

A Slow Food potluck in the wilds of North Portland. Once again, a location that looked remote and improbable on the map turned out to be a charming pocket o' Portland that we wouldn't have dreamed existed, less than 20 minutes away. About a dozen people attended, all smart, articulate, progressive, and passionate about food. One woman turned out to be an acquaintance from Sea Ranch whom -- this is going to sound so jet-setty -- we last ran into in Athens, at the Acropolis. (Coincidentally, our friends Rich and Dean, whom we were traveling with at the time, are visiting Portland now; we spent last evening with them.) We're going to try to do these potlucks monthly; everybody had such a good time. And of course all the food was delicious.

A walking tour of midcentury modern architecture, including buildings on the Reed campus and homes in the adjacent Reedwood neighborhood. The outing was one in a series of walks sponsored by the city transportation department; the idea is to get us out of our cars and onto our feet or bikes. It was semi-interesting, although many of the buildings struck me as undistinguished and occasionally even tacky. Gerrie and Steve, who live in their own mid-century modern, walked with us, and Gerrie did a great job with photos and descriptions of some of the better stuff.

The Northwest Quilters annual show downtown, near Portland State. I entered two older pieces, A Few New Sushi (Like, I Know Sushi) and Bamboo IV. I made Sushi for my California guild's challenge, "Something Fishy," several years ago. It also fit this year's challenge theme, "It's What's for Dinner," so I figured why not. Bamboo IV is the latest in a series inspired by the calligraphy of Toko Shinoda; I worked on it during a semester-long workshop with Jeannette Meyer, and it was juried into last year's OCAC student show.

The Columbia Stitchery Guild exhibit at the Interstate Firehouse Cultural Center. The show runs through next weekend. I'll refer you to Terry's and Gerrie's blogs for photos and more complete descriptions. Two of my pieces are on display. One, Occasional Sunbreaks, looks great. The other, Crop Circles, doesn't. It looked fine pinned to my design wall. But suspended from a hanging rod, the lovely hand-dyed wool sags where it's not heavily quilted, and the merciless overhead lighting emphasizes each bump and wrinkle. Oh well.

A house concert in NE featuring our friend Zoe Kaplan and three other talented young singer-songwriter-musicians. This is a monthly series that's been going on for several years. The ticket price ($25) includes an ample and well-prepared buffet dinner. We've been to several, but this was the first one that Libbi and David were able to attend; it was good to see them there, to hear Zoe perform again, and to meet some more nice people.

Dinner with our Sea Ranch friends Dean and Rich, and their Portland friends Juanita and Dale, who live just a few minutes from us. It turned into a small birthday celebration for Juanita; Dale's son Tony and his fiancee Amy showed up, as well as an old family friend. Everyone was delightful company, the food was terrific, and the conversation flowed like wine, which also flowed. We'd missed Rich and Dean a lot, and it was great to spend time with them and their old friends.

The next couple of weeks are also studded with events and obligations, including -- oh joy -- jury duty. Sometimes I worry about becoming one of those old ladies for whom postal delivery is the high point of the day: "Oh look, the mail's come!" But I don't think I'm at that point quite yet.

I might never eat again. Yeah, right.

This has been an eat-ier than usual time for me. I spent a few days at the beach last week, on retreat with some art quilt friends. I ate a substantial breakfast and dinner every day we were there. Three days out of four, I had two scoops of Tillamook ice cream -- at the creamery, which made it taste even better -- for lunch. I'd intended to stay off the scale til I'd gotten back into more normal eating for a few days, but curiosity and habit got the better of me. Gulp.

And yet, one more indulgence loomed: Last night was Taste of the Nation, a fundraiser for Share Our Strength, an organization that deals with ending childhood hunger in America. The ballroom and foyer at the Convention Center were filled with food and drink booths. We sampled dozens of fine wines and uncountable bites of unusual and delicious snacks prepared by top local restaurants. Many of the chefs were there, prepping and presenting. It was exactly the event that we'd hoped last summer's way-too-corporate Bite of Oregon would be. We justified the ticket price because it was a benefit, with most of the proceeds going to SOS. If it were simply a culinary pigout, I doubt we would have indulged.

The truth is that, even when we're eating "normally," we eat very well. Starting in late afternoon, Chef Jerub toils quietly and uncomplainingly in the kitchen, prepping culinary delights both casual and more refined. Here we have half a turkey burger garni, catfish with a cornmeal crust served with lentil stew and fruit salad on the side; salmon piccata with asparagus and a tart filled with layers of caramelized onions, sauteed spinach, and chevre; a spicy Thai shrimp and rice dish with a side of Israeli couscous pilaf (two intensely flavored dishes that played off each other nicely) and a simple green salad for relief. The motto around our table is "nobody eats like we do," and I'm convinced that that's true. It's our version of saying grace.

While I'm on the subject of food, here's a photo of a batch of rugulach that was my contribution to an Easter-Passover potluck, just because it looks so pretty. Ditto the festive-looking drinks, which are grasshoppers that Jer whipped up to celebrate St. Patrick's day. They're made with green creme de menthe, of course.

Starting tonight, we'll eat more sanely. This is not a sacrifice if you dine at Casa Jereva.

Squirrel Wars and other Feeding Frenzies

Our friend Rita passed along an amusing and educational DVD called Squirrel Wars, suggesting that it might help solve our Easter bulby mystery. Well, yeah. It also offers a myriad of helpful hints on how to stop bird-feeder and other household predation. Stella Luna found it particularly gripping.

We've also been watching Planet Earth, another one of those grand, sweeping David Attenborough-esque series on the glories of the world we, as a species, are in the process of destroying. Jer and I are suckers for stuff like that -- nature porn; yum. So is Stella Luna, apparently. She's right there the minute we queue up an episode. It takes very little to get, and hold, her attention. She was particularly taken, the other evening, with scenes of predation -- sharks feeding on seals, tigers stalking a herd of ungulants, skuas swooping menacingly through a penguin rookery. And, porn or not, that baboon colony clearly got ol' Abs in the mood.

Speaking of the survival of the fittest, Chef Jerub has outdone himself lately. Pesto-crusted salmon with French lentil stew, asparagus; his adaptation of Nigella's roast chicken with garlic and lemon. Yeah, he's good. Every time I post about his culinary prowess I remember the caption that appeared under John when the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show: "Sorry girls, he's married."

Eating In

Oh, woe is me; dinner at home again.

Seriously, Chef Jerub is on a roll. The night before last, he made halibut piccata with oven-roasted potatoes and zucchini. It was superb; the fish was cooked perfectly, the veggies crisp yet tender on the inside.

Last night, it was a melange of chicken parts seasoned with honey, mustard and fresh thyme, and roasted with turnips, red onions and pears. I hated turnips as a kid because my dad did; now I think they're one of the most under-rated vegetables in the universe (along with Brussels sprouts). Jer used red Anjou pears instead of the Boscs that the recipe called for, and the color pushed a beautiful presentation into the "spectacular" zone. And we have leftovers to look forward to.

Speaking of leftovers, I've been working, the last week or so, on a quilt I began in a workshop several years ago. One of my New Year's not-quite resolutions was to finish or re-purpose my UFOs (un-finished objects, for the non-quilters among you, my vast readership). I have a bin full of quilt tops, fused appliques, giant acrylic-painted vegetables, and what-have-you, most of which I started in some class or other and then set aside, thinking, "well, now I know how to do that..."

At the time, this one felt quite daring because the colors -- rust, gold, burgundy, orange, brown, even pink -- were so far outside my blue-green comfort zone. Actually, now that I look at it, they complement last night's dinner beautifully. Here's what it looked like before I started quilting the hell out of it. I'll post some details when it's finished, which should be soon; it's ready for binding at this point.

Aside from dealing with my UFOs, I want to make more new art this year. Quilting for me is often more of a meditative than an experimental process, which is fine, but I need to give myself permission to play more. A few weeks ago, several fiber artist friends and colleagues put up photo-collages of their 2006 output. Ay yi yi. They accomplished more in one year than I've done in five. I realize it's not about quantity, creativity isn't a competitive sport, etc. etc. But still, it's only January; I can do more than four pieces this year.

Another thing I'm not going to do again ever

We're having the Three Cs on new year's eve -- crab, champagne, and crusty bread. This is the first time I've cooked the crabs myself. (If I've ever done it before, I've repressed the memory.) The process couldn't be easier, but I hated doing it. I was hoping to be able to buy the crabs already, um, red and folded, but live was all they had.

I think of myself as a fishi (a? e?) tarian, but then, I don't generally buy my seafood while it's still wiggling and waving around. A couple of hours ago, one of these guys was skittering on the floor of Om Seafood, trying to get away from us.

Don't give me the argument about pea-sized brains and primitive nervous systems, please. Maybe I'm cursed with an overactive imagination, but these critters displayed more personality, albeit rudimentary, than some humans I've met. If I were a truly moral person, I'd be one more giant step down the road toward vegetarianism this afternoon.

Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving Redux

Jerry and I have spent every Thanksgiving for decades -- in his case, 30-some years, predating our getting together -- with good friends in Arcata, in Humboldt county in Northern California. He met these folks when they were back-fence neighbors in Berkeley; their daughter Heidi was three at the time. She's now 40-something, married, with teenagers. Victor died, tragically, off the coast of Kauai, a couple of years ago. He drowned while trying to rescue his grandchildren from a rip current; they rode it safely back to shore, but Victor never made it. His wife, Sondra, is now matriarch of the clan.

Last year, the entire Arcata contingent -- Sondra, Heidi and her husband Jon, and their kids Sadie Rose and Elliot -- drove to Portland to spend the holiday with us. My brother Larry and nephew Josh, plus my mother and sister Karen, were here as well. This year it was our turn to make the trip south. We invested in a set of traction tires in case we encountered snow in the mountain passes. We lucked out on that score, but man, did it rain! With the exception of the half-hour we stopped for lunch, it poured nonstop, and torrentially, the entire way. At one point, on 199 beyond Grant's Pass, it was like going through a carwash. I've never seen it rain so relentlessly.

But it was wonderful to see our old friends again, and to spend some time with Larry, Josh (who just turned 12 and is a total computer geek), and Larry's girlfriend Kate. We stayed in a very nice suite, furnished in Ikea, overlooking the incredibly entertaining goings-on in Arcata Plaza. Larry & Co. had a two-bedroom unit next door, with an artsy Oriental vibe to it, and an even better view of the Plaza circus. The five of us got in a couple of good long walks through Arcata Marsh, a combined municipal wastewater treatment site and bird sanctuary that our friend Victor had helped make happen when he was mayor.

Heidi prepared soup and salad for the multitudes on Wednesday night. Friends of Sondra's had offered to host Thanksgiving dinner itself, since they had room to spare. Friday evening was leftovers, of course, which Sondra orchestrated and we visitors hosted in our palatial digs at the Plaza. By 6:15 Saturday morning, Jer and I were on the road again, fortified with turkey sandwiches for en route. The weather gods smiled on us this time; it was dry the whole way, and the drive was as glorious as an 8-hour car trip can be.

The only trouble with "away" years is that we get hardly any leftovers. So, after we got home, I decided to brine a turkey -- which I've wanted to try, but last year was just too intense, what with family and other distractions -- and invite a couple of friends for Thanksgiving Redux on Monday night. I made mushroom-leek dressing to go with it, Jer cooked sweet potatoes and green beans, and we had leftover cranberry relish (the horseradish and sour cream variation that Susan Stamberg used to give out on NPR). I also made an apple cake, which we served a la mode. The gravy turned out perfectly, and the brining really did make a difference in the moistness and flavor of the turkey. It's not that big a deal; you just have to think of it the day before.

So now we have about three gallons of turkey stock in the freezer, and enough light and dark meat for a couple of the stew/ragout/soup recipes I've been looking forward to cooking, or having Chef Jerub cook. Now it feels like we've well and truly done Thanksgiving.