Sunday, January 04, 2004
Dear friends,
The good news is that I am in cookbook love. With the gift certificate that one of my boss fellas gave me for Xmas, I picked up some goodies, including the wonderful, wonderful Lands of Plenty by Fuchsia Dunlop, and tonight I got to test-drive it for the first time.
The bad news is that I waited until I was thoroughly exhausted before sitting down to write about it, and as a result I have lost the ability to edit, rewrite or speak English.
The good news is that I know that all I need is a good night’s sleep and an early morning show of ROTK tomorrow, and I will be back in form, and when I am, I will be more than ready to tell you why this book is worth its weight in pepper.
In the meantime, since I am still too compulsive to leave well enough alone, here are some more pieces of evidence that I am pleased as punch with my ability to download my pictures off my new camera…
Picture #1 is the view from my front stoop, facing southeast (albeit in a wide-angle view; objects, such as the intersection of 29th Street and 23rd Avenue, are closer than they appear). As I pressed the shutter, I heard a loud noise behind me and, startled, I moved the camera. When I looked at the thumbnail, I saw that the brick building across the street had this interesting stripy moire pattern. I was dead pleased with myself. Look at that, I said to myself. I am an accidental genius. If I had tried to do that on purpose, it never would have worked. Just wait till I show this to all the cool kids!
Then I downloaded it and discovered that it was a thumbnail-specific effect, and that once you enlarge it, a brick wall is a brick wall is a brick wall. Nice work, genius.
I still like this picture, because it feels friendly, much like my street.
Picture #2 is of something I found on yesterday’s field trip. I was so enamored of it that I went back after my regular Saturday morning trip to the Greenmarket and bought two bottles of it, along with a bottle of Samuel Smith’s Winter Welcome 2002-03, one of the real pleasures of winter for us, and a bottle of Lindemanns sour cherry lambic, which, if you like lambics, is one of the nicest things you will ever drink. (If you don’t like lambics, then, uh, never mind.)
The Grail Ale, incidentally, is brewed by Black Sheep Brewery in Yorkshire. It is actually a decent ale, a bit bitter but with a nice lingering finish...which, oddly enough, sounds like “Nnnnnnnnnni!”
It’s the famous Billy! Hello, Billy. 
Not stupid at all, sir. Yep, I do live in America, although, as an Ingerlish friend who has traveled across the States says, “You don’t live in America, you live in New York.” (rimshot)
I found the Python beer at a deli in Astoria, Queens (where I live). Its real name is Cyprus Deli, but spouse and I refer to it as Beers of the World because they sell about 500 different beers there, in addition to all kinds of very nice foodstuffs. Part of living in NYC in general, and in a largely-immigrant-populated neighborhood in particular, is that often you will find things that are supposed to be unavailable in this country. Sometimes they are there under, uh, extralegal means, or sometimes it’s just something that the wholesaler has extra and wants to unload, and Beers of the World is more than happy to take it. That’s probably why we have the Python beer, so you need not fear the wrath of wichidude.
Incidentally, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve heard that Skegness is good and cool. I know this because my best friend is married to an early-retired RAF firefighter, now a New Zealand Air Corps firefighter. (BF was born and raised in Plymouth; she and I became penfriends when we were 12, we used to visit each other once every 3-4 years, but now that she’s so far away, that probably won’t happen again, sigh.) They lived in Boston for a while (as in Lincolnshire, not as in Massachusetts), and when I went to visit them there, their kids pointed out Skegness Castle in the distance and said we should go. We didn’t, because it was December and cold, but I was definitely in the presence of Skeggy fans, and their word is good enough for me.
Collena, come on up! We can have a never-ending bread and beer expo-fest-o-rama! My husband will be thrilled to have another lady in the house! (And if he isn’t, we’ll wrestle him to the ground until he cries uncle.)
Billy, I only wish I were responsible for the graffiti. I’m wondering now if the kids just imagined that that big building in the distance was a castle. That’s what you get when you get your Skeggy history from 8-year-olds.
I’ve also just remembered that Skegness is where Adrian Mole and his family spent every summer holiday. Now I *have* to come back...can you and your family be bribed? I don’t take up much space! I can make pasties from scratch!...wait, where are you going? Please stop crying…
Ohhhh, I love a man fluent in pasty-speak. Since I was introduced to pasties in Plymouth, I am a fan of the tiddy-oggy, but I am nothing if not flexible, so if up-and-over-the-crown is your accepted standard, I will roll up my sleeves and embrace the new.
Lard? Puh-leeze. I’m an American, and thus berserk about consuming even a whisper of lard, even as I stuff my gullet full of snack foods full of partially-hydrogenated vegetable oil and high-fructose corn syrup.
Not really. I only use lard about once a year, when I make something that specifically needs it, and when I have the energy to go to the British butcher in the West Village and buy it. You can get lard at the supermarket, but it is not the real thing; it is a combination of lard and “partially hydrogenated” lard, which defeats the whole purpose of using the real thing. No, when it comes to pastry, I’m an all-butter girl. (The solid vegetable fats, which are sold as Crisco in the U.S. and—I think—either Pura or Cookeen in the UK, are not worth countenancing at all.)
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It’s the famous Billy! Hello, Billy.
Not stupid at all, sir. Yep, I do live in America, although, as an Ingerlish friend who has traveled across the States says, “You don’t live in America, you live in New York.” (rimshot)
I found the Python beer at a deli in Astoria, Queens (where I live). Its real name is Cyprus Deli, but spouse and I refer to it as Beers of the World because they sell about 500 different beers there, in addition to all kinds of very nice foodstuffs. Part of living in NYC in general, and in a largely-immigrant-populated neighborhood in particular, is that often you will find things that are supposed to be unavailable in this country. Sometimes they are there under, uh, extralegal means, or sometimes it’s just something that the wholesaler has extra and wants to unload, and Beers of the World is more than happy to take it. That’s probably why we have the Python beer, so you need not fear the wrath of wichidude.
Incidentally, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve heard that Skegness is good and cool.
I know this because my best friend is married to an early-retired RAF firefighter, now a New Zealand Air Corps firefighter. (BF was born and raised in Plymouth; she and I became penfriends when we were 12, we used to visit each other once every 3-4 years, but now that she’s so far away, that probably won’t happen again, sigh.) They lived in Boston for a while (as in Lincolnshire, not as in Massachusetts), and when I went to visit them there, their kids pointed out Skegness Castle in the distance and said we should go. We didn’t, because it was December and cold, but I was definitely in the presence of Skeggy fans, and their word is good enough for me.