Hot dog!

Only a few more days to blow your diet during National Hot Dog Month! A few factoids about America's favorite refrigerated processed meat:

In 2006, more than 730 million packages of hot dogs were sold at retail stores (oh, but that doesn't include Wal-Mart, which doesn't report sales data). Good golly!

In 2004, the Mad Cow scare prompted the USDA to prohibit the use of mechanically separated meat (MSM). Now what on earth is MSM? It's paste-like meat product produced by forcing bones, with attached edible meat, under high pressure through a sieve to separate the bone from the edible meat tissue. But don't worry about mechanically separated pork or poultry...they're perfectly safe, and a great source of calcium!

Now if you really want to start drolling, take a peek at the menu at Pink's, the world-famous dog joint in Los Angeles. And don't miss the Martha Stewart dog, a full 10 incher with relish, onions, bacon, chopped tomatoes, sauerkraut & sour cream.

I can hear you asking, "aren't there alternatives to mass-produced franks, made from factory-farmed animals, packed with nitrates, binders, and fillers?". Yee-haw, you bet! Small family farms all around the country are raising beef and pork organically, humanely, and sustainably, and making tasty sausages that you can order direct from the farm. Check out these resources for sniffing out family farms, markets, and restaurants for sustainable, healthy food in your region:

Local Harvest
The New Farm

Tortillas

Inspired by Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver and fam, I've been thinking more about eating seasonally, locally, and thereby, more healthfully and flavorfully. We're already living rather simply, but sometimes I cut corners in ways that compromise the quality of our meals. We're not eating packaged ramen or mac & cheaze, but the wine has been getting cheaper and I occasionally venture into Grocery Outlet for whatever good stuff I can find on the cheap (recent finds include frozen edamame originally from Whole Foods and anchovies for .99/tin).

But Kingsolver and her co-authors helped me rethink my notion of organic, local eating as an elite luxury for those with excess discretionary income. They demonstrate that making one's own bread and cheese isn't out of reach to everyone but Martha, and that buying seasonally at farmer's market can bring gems of the garden even with my cheap-o spending habits.

So today I took a pleasant walk to our neighborhood's farmers' market and brought home a few budget goodies. One of these days, I'm going to bring home a bushel of something and preserve it for culinary luxury into fall (likely, tomatoes, basil, or something else that's overpriced and underflavored at the grocery store). Next, my plan is to experiment with making my own sandwich bread, tortillas, and queso blanco. I started with the tortillas, the least demanding of the three.

This pleasant labor threw me back to when I was a kid, helping my Grandma Cabrales make tortillas back in Augusta, Kansas. Her movements were second-nature, swift, and gentle. She would roll the soft dough into little balls, quickly knead them with her thumbs to form little discs, roll them out thin, then pat them back and forth between her hands before slapping them on the griddle. My method wasn't so well-practiced, my rolling pin too big, and my dough too glutinous. I wish could consult her, or at least watch her at this task that she likely performed most of her adult days.

What's Cooking Grandma? is an online video project where you can upload video of your grandmother making your favorite recipes to preserve the moment, method, recipe, and memories. I wish I had such a document of my grandmother making tortillas, sopa, tripe. What do you wish you could see your grandmother making?

Inspiration for a cynic

Recently, I read that one only need scratch the surface of a cynic to find the wounded idealist underneath. How true for me. Somedays, ok, MOST days, the cynic is my dominant voice. But occasionally, the idealist struggles through the sticky, slimely viscera, like Ripley writhing around in Alien Resurrection, breaking through, giddy and cheerful. A few things that elicited recent emergences:

Beverly
Remembering, even in grief, a great artist who's touched me can bring out my idealist. Beverly Sills died a few weeks ago, a rare classical musician well-known by the general public. I first remember hearing Sills in duet with Miss Piggy on the Muppet show, and the last time I saw her was as emcee for the Metropolitan Opera's movie theater simulcast of Tan Dun's world premier, The First Emperor. In both instances, she was smart, witty, accessible. She'll also be remembered as a staunch advocate for the arts. Listen to her recent commentary on NPR's Marketplace, where she explained to corporate donors, "I'm not just asking for your money, I want your body too".

Julia
Another favorite witty woman with a sweet, sharp tongue, the recently departed Julia Child. After reading, My Life in France by Ms. Child, and Julie and Julia by Julie Powell, I had to get my hands on The French Chef, her TV show for WGBH in Boston, 1963-1973, (Emeril and Rachel, bow down in humility and gratitude). I can hardly count the laughing-out-loud moments watching Julia edify me with her passion, skill, and experience. Last night's episodes included a graphic description of the various types of tripe, and the sad but probably very tasty demise of a 20 lb. lobster named Big Bertha. At one point in her show on potatoes, she got a bit overheated, grabbed a handful of paper towels and vigorously wiped down her face as if she was an NBA star (I'm sure she could have dunked). I love her!

A few other random things that perk me up when I'm feeling goopy:

Artist's dates
The Henry Art Gallery at the University of Washington never fails to surprise, interest, and inspire me. And this summer, admission is free all the time for everyone, June15-Labor Day.

My animals
The felines (Jackson, left, and Bob), posing here as bad-asses, have surprisingly little baggage for their age. And they keep the canine in line.

Happy hour
Need I say more?

Fremont Fair

C'mon down and join the wackiness af the 36th annual Fremont Fair. Not your usual meandering crowds, what with all the art cars and naked cyclists. A couple of tips for maximum solstice pleasure:

• Take the bus: Fremont isn't a fun parking neighborhood even without a parade and 50,000 people descending upon a few unzoned parking spots. Besides, part of the fun of Seattle fairs is riding the bus with the good-natured, motley crowds with whom you're about to meander and eat funnel cakes.
• Contribute: bring a few extra bucks, if you've got them. Donations go to Solid Ground, a local organization working to eradicate poverty. Meander with a cause.
  
• Snack smart: partake of kettle korn with kaution. That stuff is like krack.
• Wear layers: bring sunscreen, rain jacket, and a down parka . You might need any or all at any given time. Seriously, it's going to be a beautiful weekend (please, oh please).
• Meet and greet: lots of civic organizations will be participating in the fair, and they'd love to chat with you about their missons and programs. They're so enthusiastic and inspiring, you might even consider volunteering for one of them! A few of my favorites that'll be on hand: Literacy Source, Feral Cat Spay/Neuter Project, ACLU of Washington, Planned Parenthood of Western Washington, Habitat for Humanity, and Amnesty International.
• Listen up: check out the music schedule and dance with abandon. A couple of groups that that I'm looking forward to: Cherry Cherry (Neil Diamond tribute); Purty Mouth, (gay country); Ibrahima Camara and Safal (sambar music of Senegal).
  

I'll see you there! Look for me on the far west end of N. Canal Street, conveniently located near a beer garden and the Waterfront stage.

Junk trek

I like junk. My special affinity is for rusty old washers. They call to me from gutters and parking lots. I bring them home to my little studio where I clean them up and pair them with a handcrafted chain of glass beads and copper. The graphic shapes, the heaviness and patina juxtapose beautifully with gleaming, brightly colored glass.

But unlike other jewelry-making supplies, I can't order rusty washers online. Their bright shiny cousins are cheap and in great supply at the hardware store, but like an unripe banana or a young bottle of wine, they don't have the same rich flavor or history. I find them one at a time in my daily wanderings, but as the selling season accelerates, I need to stock up. Occasionally, Greg and I trek out to search for supplies at a railyard or parking lot in an industrial area. This week, we chose the rainiest day in recent memory, bundled up in Goretex, and set out to hunt for booty.

In spite of the mud and rain, our search was fruitful, yielding a critical mass of rusty washers, an easily repaired handtruck, and $.43 in pocket change. Greg suggested that I experiment with ways to integrate cigarette butts into my jewelry. These expeditions for precious junk do make me a little nervous, though. I worry that police will inquire why we're wandering, heads-down, along a railroad or abandoned building. I worry that we'll inadvertently interrupt the displaced as we cheerfully look for trinkets in hidden spots that people use for eating, drinking, or shelter, their detritus signaling their activities long after their departure.

After a long, wet afternoon, we stumbled upon the best find of the day, Andy's Diner, a restaraunt comprised of old railroad cars. Its charming wood-panelled walls, long-narrow dining rooms, and cozy booths set the stage for a wonderfully conventional menu. The next time we have something to celebrate, such as it's Tuesday, I want to dress up and go to Andy's, find a romantic corner in the Sidetrack Room (I love anyplace that has a separate name for its cocktail bar) and order a Manhattan, prime rib and baked potato. OK, so I'm a vegetarian and have never liked steak, but it just seems like the thing to do.

Crafting and canopies

One year ago, I joined throngs of crafters who started small businesses to escape the 9-5 grind and share our crafty goods with the world. In addition to making pretty things, I’ve spent the past year learning about marketing, production, sales, and budgets, which I’ve actually found interesting and challenging. After a long winter hiatus, I returned to selling my jewelry last weekend at the kick-off event for Seattle’s festival season, the University District Street Fair.

Whether in ignorance or denial, I didn’t let the volatile, unpredictable May weather dampen my anticipation for the start of the busy selling season. But this weekend’s weather was trying even for this Kansas native. Day one brought winds gusting up to 24 mph, pummeling my canopy to the brink of collapse. Even in clement weather, there’s plenty of work just maintaining the display and chatting it up with customers, but the stress of pending burial beneath yards of polyester was a strain. At the start of day two, my canopy was still standing in spite of enduring a long night of wind and rain. Hoping it would shelter me one more day, I bolstered it with an ingenious mechanism involving a dismembered Swiffer pole and lots of duct tape. But Sunday’s challenge wasn’t wind, but rain. “What next?”, I wondered. Locusts?

The canopy limped through the day, valiantly keeping me dry, if not warm. What was more astonishing were the thousands who joined the festivities in the full-on, unrelenting rain. Who ARE these people? On Saturday, a friendly group of tourists from Thailand stopped to ask what we were celebrating at this festival. “Capitalism”, I thought to myself. But Sunday showed me that we were actually celebrating spring, whatever it might bring: rain, shine, or both. Seattleites spend several months a year in GoreTex, and by May, we defiantly get out whether the weather cooperates or not.

At the end of a taxing, but fun, weekend, I wrung out my clothes and jumped into a hot shower with a martini (yes, I can drink in the shower). With aching feet, I sat down to a hot bowl of chili and Greg’s corn bread to reflect on the first show of the year. In spite of the weather, I pulled out a profit, most of which will go into a new canopy. Several of my loyal supporters stopped by to cheer me on. I even made a few new friends in my eclectic block of non-profit organizations (special thanks to Richard from the Mountaineers and the woman in leather from the King County Republicans who bought a necklace for a friend). And I managed to restrain myself from consuming an unreasonable about of Kettle Korn, the crack (or krack) of street fairs.

Stop by and visit me at the Fremont Fair, June 16-17. And look for me at Fremont Sunday Market, but not until it’s clear, warm, and dry.

La Boheme

Earlier this week, Greg took me to see Puccini's La Boheme at the Seattle Opera. First, the important details: Greg scored free parking; I wore a little brown wrap dress with big white polka dots that I found for $25 last fall (think Minnie Mouse with cleavage); and Greg was dashing in a cool charcoal knit coat, a recent thrifty find.

McCaw Hall, recently rennovated, is a lovely space that greets its audience gently, neither too ornate nor overly stark. We checked out the art that adorns the lobby, including a large Mark Tobey collage, and my favorite, a Sarah Sze sculpture hanging in the atrium. We admired the Sze work from all angles: afar, underneath, and up-close as we ascended to the upper levels. From a distance, the geometric shapes combine into a delicate tornado. Up-close, you see that the structure is ornamented with measuring tapes, water bottles, carpenters' levels, extension cords, and plastic plants.

La Boheme is a great introduction to opera. It's light and funny, requiring little suspension of disbelief while carrying the audience through a romantic story to the heroine's imminent death. In a nutshell: poet meets crafter, they fall in love, and enjoy Bohemian Paris in a killer loft with great light. Mimi, the crafter, gets sick. Rodolfo, the poet, pushes her away so that she can hook up with a wealthier suitor to pay for her prescriptions. As Mimi gets sicker, she chucks her sugar daddy to return to her true love. Mimi dies, audience cries.

A timeless tale of the lack of access to health care and meager support for the arts. Beautifully performed with impressive sets. Now we just have to figure out how to get tickets for more performances next season. And try not to get tuberculosis.