The New Norker, Dec. 25, 2012

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THE

DEC. 25, 2012

NEW NORKER

“Just try saying unique New York five times fast!”

GOINGS ON ABOUT TOWN FILM NOTES

MARIE ANTOINETTE Whatever you do, don’t go see Marie Antoinette directed by Sofia Coppola. The enticements are irresistible: 18th century costumes, the first movie, ever, filmed at Versailles — can you imagine the potential for spectacular cinematography?

These things convinced me and the three other people I went with, that even if it were a lousy movie it would be worth watching. Sadly, none of these elements added up to anything and the story was bad, too! Do you doubt me as I did other reviewers? To understand, imagine sitting in a dark theater.

You don’t know how long you have been sitting there and you seem to be wondering over and over again, how long could this movie possibly be? Is it ever going to end? How much longer do I have to sit here?

I have heard the promotions attempting to entice viewers to see the movie: “Brilliant visual portrayal” and “modern feminist rendition.” Baloney. The film is more like two hours of moving pictures of fancily dressed people. The dialogue is so

intermittent and the plot so nonexistent that you feel like a fan of Kirsten Dunst had a hidden camera that followed her around while she posed in pretty dresses for days on end. This would also explain the horrendous cinematography that ruined any opportunity to appreciate the costumes. Apparently, they hired a cameraperson that wore high heels they couldn’t walk in. Did I mention you might need a barf bag for motion sickness?

Besides the bad plot, bad cinematography and terrible dialogue, the worst part of the movie was the “modern additions.” Like the Converse high-tops among Antoinette’s shoe collection. And, the soundtrack. Yes, that song was in Napoleon Dynamite. These elements were supposed to wink at the modern viewer.

But what was the point? Was the movie supposed to prove to us how frivolous Marie Antoinette was? She seemed far less extravagant than the rest of her court. Was she a victim of political circumstance? No, because according to the movie, she never did anything, or knew anything or said anything.

Perhaps the film was supposed to show how boring life is if you are a royal person? More than anything this movie showed Marie Antoinette bored. And you will be too, if you go see it.

— Bijou Robertson (2006) UP ALL NIGHT I bought a TV a few years ago because Hadley and I were tired of having to order a beer at a sports bar in order to watch the

Olympics. When we got it home I was stunned to discover that I had to also buy an external antenna, elevate it 10 feet above the television and adjust everything, just to get fairly lousy reception. Really? Was it 1972? So when my roommate Jocelyn received a huge flat screen for her birthday last year, she opted to pay for basic cable. Cable proved to have also been affected by some kind of strange technological regression in which the system of channels being organized using sequential numbers was replaced by one using an impenetrable series of digits and dashes. What is more, I found television programming to be mostly crap. A notable exception is a show called Up All Night. The show follows many of the conventions expected of prime time sitcoms: the main characters are all good looking and successful. Chris (who is played by Will Arnett) is a lawyer, and his wife Reagan (Christina Applegate), is the producer of a daytime television show hosted by Reagan’s best friend Ava (Maya Rudolph) who resembles a multi-ethnic, self-absorbed Oprah. Chris and Reagan are hip, partying 30-somethings who keep up with Radiohead, and then have an unexpected pregnancy. Chris elects to stay at home and raise their daughter, since it is more complicated for Reagan to leave work, and much of the conflict lies in how the two handle this gender role reversal. What could be incredibly cliché with less circumspect writing is actually a fairly astute commentary on

the fluidity of masculine and feminine norms today. And don’t worry, it’s much funnier than a gender studies class.

Also, what could be a one joke show is made interesting with well-developed characters and plot lines that explore material beyond the obvious. The show also achieves a surprising level of sincerity and emotional depth without crossing too far into sentimentality. I love it.

— Alex Hartman BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD There’s one compelling reason to watch Beasts – 6-year-old actress, Quvenzhane Wallis, who plays the lead character, a girl named Hushpuppy. This movie is told through her eyes, and boy can she carry it. She’s a tiny warrior, all masses of wild hair, a strong feral gaze, and coiled energy – photogenic and expressive, she’s the heart of this movie.

The film as a whole is extraordinary, unlike anything I have ever seen. It felt more like a novel than a movie – a great sweeping saga, with elements of fantasy, family and community dynamics, and social justice.

Visually, the movie is stunning; the greens of the landscape,

and the almost cartoonish jerryrigged structures – homes on stilts, cabins built of flotsam, cabins that can be quickly converted into boats. The mixedrace inhabitants of the Bathtub are shown grubbing for food, drinking too much, shooting off fireworks during one of their many celebrations, and just living active lives off the land.

The movie is set in the Louisiana bayou country where Hushpuppy and her daddy, Wink, live in an area called “The Bathtub” – a low-country piece of land on the far side of the levees. When an unnamed hurricane sweeps through all the inhabitants elect to stay. Hushpuppy and her dad huddle in their makeshift cottage as the winds roar through. It’s frightening, and in the aftermath, the devastation even more so.

The indigenous residents of the Bathtub are forced into extreme efforts at survival.

The story is fascinating; the back-story is interesting as well. This low budget film was written and directed by a couple of 20-somethings – Benh Zeitlin and Lucy Alibar. Volunteers did much of the set design. And none of the actors had done any acting before. Hushpuppy was cast after they looked at thousands of kids, and the director noted her “warrior” look. A New Orleans baker and café owner, whose café was right across the street from the school where many of the auditions took place, played her dad, Wink. He auditioned on a lark, and got the part, to a certain extent because he showed up with trays of cookies and brownies, winning Wallis’ heart with this dad-like action. He is himself a father, and has lived

his whole life in New Orleans, experiencing the regular dangers of life in a hurricane zone.

Beasts swept awards at Sundance and Cannes a year or so ago, and I can certainly see why. I was stunned by the power and beauty of this film, and didn’t fall out of the spell until well after the movie ended.

— Sally Perrine CHASING ICE The November 19th issue of The New Yorker starts off in its Comment section with an article called “No More Magical Thinking.” It congratulates Obama on overcoming many obstacles in his presidential victory, but states, “he is faced with an infinitely larger challenge, one that went unmentioned in the debates, that poses a graver threat than any ‘fiscal cliff’” – climate change.

Just days after I read this article, a friend and professor at the UW who works as an “ice core geologist” (obtaining ice samples thousands of feet below the Antarctic ice shelf which provide a climatic record of temperature and atmosphere over hundreds of thousands of years) told me I must see the movie, Chasing Ice. The movie was breathtaking in its almost magical beauty and in its horrific message.

Photographer James Balog first started documenting glaciers on assignment for National Geographic articles almost a decade ago. About five years ago, he and his team began systematically tracking ice shelves and glaciers in Greenland, Iceland, Alaska, and even Montana. Director Jeff Orlowski’s Chasing Ice

follows Balog for that period as he launches the Extreme Ice Survey (EIS) to set up 26 timelapse cameras on glaciers around the Arctic Circle that would automatically shoot a frame every daylight hour for three years, the first photographic documentation on the ground of the accelerating changes.

Balog’s idea is to not fill us with facts and figures but graphically show us, with incontrovertible video proof, the demise, over a few brief years, of these massive glaciers. He powerfully shows that global warming is happening now, if the freaky weather hadn’t made you suspicious enough yet. You absolutely cannot believe some of the footage in this movie – my words couldn’t possibly do it justice. You just have to see it; especially the scenes where truly enormous bergs of ice – the size of the tip of Manhattan!

– break off from glaciers. It’s mind bogglingly spectacular. But

melting glaciers are the “canary in the climate coal mine,” as Balog puts it; he clearly believes his work can help raise awareness, but frustration also emerges when he observes how, centuries after Darwin, “we’re still arguing about evolution.”

That doesn’t leave much hope for fixing climate change in time to save the planet. This documentary has won over 20 awards at film festivals around the world – go see it, and take any non-believers you know!

— Marty Greer SKYFALL I can’t review another Woody Allen movie. The family thinks I’m related to that scrawny little whiner Jew. So what about the new James Bond movie? Whew, it is one of the few films I could see again, right now. When I saw it I thought about meeting Sir Fitzroy, the inspiration for Ian Flemings 007, which I pronounce W-07. He would

have approved because like the Robertson clan, he was a guntotin’ flamboyant Scotsman from Hells Gate. Craig and Judi Dench played their parts convincingly, drawing me into the action and intrigue.

— Steve Robertson SKYFALL Daniel Craig reprises his role as James Bond and Dame Judi Dench is M in the new 007 movie, Skyfall. It’s a perfect edge-of-your-seat-romanticadventure-mystery-but-notcomedy film: the kind of movie that you crave on a cool Sunday night in the fall. James Bond is dead serious in every situation, except for maybe the motorcycle chase scene filmed on the roof of Istanbul’s ancient grand bazaar. It’s the kind of scene where you think to yourself, “the stunt doubles must have loved this scene, but really, it’s so ridiculous!”

The plot is about killing (2004)

Bond, of course, as he faces dangerous mission after dangerous mission. It becomes more ‘personal’ as The British Secret Service, M16, comes under attack and with it, M. M has always had a love/ hate relationship with Bond – she’s a hard nosed woman with very high expectations. She can’t afford to be sentimental in her job, and does not respect sentimentality in her ranks. This ultimately leads a former M16 member to become a defector and the current target for 007 – Javier Bardem plays Silva, a fierce, psychotic villain. As a former M16 member, he knows how Bond’s mind works and is always one step ahead of him.

He taps into the internal system of the British Secret Service and controls them like marionettes.

Silva knows all the tricks of the trade so he seems even more rotten than the block-headed criminals of past Bond films.

Skyfall received reviews that suggest it’s a better Bond than the last two, and I would have to agree.

— Hadley Robertson MOONRISE KINGDOM As I only have seen exactly one movie in the entire of year of 2012 I am glad that it was Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom.

This is one of Anderson’s best balancing an entertaining story, complex characters and detailed settings.

Moonrise Kingdom is set on a sleepy island off the New England coast in the 1960s and follows two 12 year-old misfits who fall in love and make a pact to run away together. As they head across the island hiding in

the forest and camping on the beach they are pursed by her parents, an unwitting cop (played

by Bruce Willis, in perhaps his best role yet), the head of the Boy Scout camp and have to battle an entire troop of boy scouts. As they are pursued a massive storm approaches and threatens to wreck the entire island.

Anderson, as always, revels in designing elaborate sets and you can see he loves the setting of this island and its maritime kitsch, the era of 60s mod, and of course the scouts. This time, unlike, say, in Darjeeling Limited where the sets overwhelmed the weak story line, the setting is its own character and the mood is perfect. The young actors, Kara Hayward and Jared Gilman, are wonderful as they are tested by the difficult roles of being moody, aloof teens in love.

Some of Wes Anderson’s regular crew come back to join him and as always Bill Murray plays an excellent failed father and husband. Edward Norton plays an uptight camp headmaster, and Jason Schwartzman (from

Rushmore) plays a supportive camp counselor.

Moonrise Kingdom is definitely one of Anderson’s best. It’s sappy, balanced with youthful angst, with a smidge of silly fantasy coupled with hyper-detailed costumes and sets. If you are dreaming of warm summer days curl up in front of this movie this winter and be transported to a time of adventure, summer camps, and young love.

— Peter Robertson JIRO DREAMS OF SUSHI This year could probably go on my record for the least number of movies watched. But, Will and I did go to one movie in the movie theater and it was Jiro Dreams of Sushi. (Yes, Will fell asleep in the theater.) It is not an action romance though it is a beautiful and amazing movie. Jiro Dreams of Sushi demonstrates the culture and experience of Japan and the epitome of great sushi. Jiro’s restaurant has 3 Michelin stars.

After seeing the movie I don’t think this level of sushi making could exist anywhere except

for Japan – the devotion and discipline required to produce it is unparalleled.

Jiro started his sushi training in his early teens and now he is over 80. He works every day.

He talks about sushi like it is his religion and every day he does precisely the same thing though he is always working to improve. I think of sushi as the pinnacle of non-interventionist food but it was interesting to see how action was calculated to enhance the ingredients. The best tunas are aged for 3-10 days in vinegar. Octopuses are massaged for hours. Great care is taken to de-scale, clean and filet the fish. Some fish are filleted alive.

Seaweed is toasted one sheet at a time. They cook the rice in a pressure cooker and then keep it warm in a steamer.

My favorite part of the movie was when Jiro’s son went to the fish market. The tuna auction was amazing with the yelling and dancing and the examination of each fish with flashlights. Jiro said the lean tuna is the most flavorful but I loved seeing the fatty tuna – more fat than meat.

The giant tunas were so beautiful and they talked about how overfished the tunas were. I’ve never seen fish like that before.

It is now so hard to get the really great fish that they used to be able to get. Regulation should be imperative.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi is a very beautiful movie shot with great care about a very special food. It was amazing to see the fish settle into the plate, which was one of the important aspects of sushi making Jiro studied.

Obviously, it is a great honor to be able to eat sushi like Jiro’s.

— Bijou Robertson

BOOKS, BRIEFLY NOTED

THE 100-YEAR-OLD MAN WHO CLIMBED OUT THE WINDOW AND DISAPPEARED

by Jonas Jonassen A Swedish author writing a mystery novel set in Sweden?

Sound familiar Millennial Series readers? This book starts with 100-year-old Allan escaping from an assisted living facility during his birthday party.

Out his bedroom window he goes, wearing only terry cloth slippers. He has no place to go, and no plan. Allan crawls out the window and shuffles to the bus station. He decides to go anywhere, paying for a ticket that will get him the furthest.

Just prior to departure Allan acquires a large suitcase from a young punk, when the kid asks him to watch his bag while he uses the facilities. Of course a 100-year-old man is trustworthy.

So, of course, Allan would never intentionally steal the suitcase.

But, it’s time for his bus to leave and the suitcase goes with him.

Upon inspection, hoping the case contains some clothes and shoes, he is surprised to find a cache of money!

As the story progresses we flashback through the old man’s life. Allan lived all over the world as an explosives expert; he traveled wherever things needed blowing up, and lived very independently. He was introduced to President Truman

and attended a dinner at the White House, he was held in captivity in Moscow, Russia, sat for years on the beaches of Bali and expected to end his life at the old folk’s home. But, at the home they don’t let him drink vodka whenever he wants, so, he leaves.

During his time on the lam, Allan befriends people who take him into their home. He manages to successfully evade national authorities as well as the criminal owners of the suitcase. Unfortunately, he also unintentionally kills two of his pursuers and severely injures another. The search transforms from the search for a vulnerable old man to the investigation of a murderer.

The 100-Year-Old Man Who Crawled Out The Window and Disappeared is suspenseful and totally unbelievable, the fascinating history of the world as experienced by one man.

The fact that he is still alive and thriving at 100 is a bit of a stretch, but so is the part of the plot that features an elephant…

For good entertainment, and to find out more about that elephant, read the book.

– Hadley Robertson THE BEST CHRISTMAS PAGAENT EVER

by Barbara Robinson The problem is I haven’t read a book for four months. This wouldn’t be so bad except I can’t remember any details from a book I read that long ago which means I can’t review a past book either. What I can remember makes me want to reread a lot of books. Like The Worst Christmas Pageant Ever, is that what it is

called? The kid’s book about the family of children who live with no parents? I remember they were terribly bad and I think they burned something down, but mainly it was gut splittingly funny. Why was it so funny?

What did they do? I guess you should read the book?

– Bijou Robertson (2005) ADVENTURES OF A BACON CURER

by Maynard Davies Every other day or third I’ll grudgingly go downstairs to the kitchen, first thing in the morning, and put 20-30 slices of 14-18 count bacon on parchment paper on a cookie sheet, and pop it in the oven at 300º. I then go back to bed to slumber (not sleep), until I smell the bacon, not quite ready. Up again, I drain the fat and decide on its accompaniments.

Perfect bacon is not a simple task: buying the right slab, finding the right thickness

means opening boxes, examining each package, comparing the meat. Then not burning, not overcooking and not undercooking. This exercise sweeps me into Adventures of a Bacon Curer by Maynard Davies. It’s the story of a man, whose life, like most lives, is small, uneventful and trivial, but it’s also the story of a satisfying life that maintains tradition and pleasure. Bacon Curer did not change my life; it was not a game changer, but the merits of a man explaining a simple bygone life are brought to mind every time I smell bacon.

– Steve Robertson (2010) CAIN

by Jose Saramago It’s not a parody. It’s not poking fun. It’s not blasphemous.

It’s just a re-telling of the Old Testament by Nobel Laureate Jose Saramago. And it is hilarious. It’s funny because the narrator, who happens to be

cursed-to-wander-the-Earth-forslaying-his-brother-Abel Cain, tells it like it is. He tells of his encounters with an egotistical God who sometimes swoops in to meddle with his creations’ lives and sometimes is so far away He can’t bother to hear when his creations call on Him for help.

Cain, whose vague curse to be an eternal vagabond essentially gives him the power of time-travel, witnesses key moments from the book of Genesis: Abraham about to sacrifice his son Isaac, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the construction of the Tower of Babel and the Ark. The book isn’t funny because it’s ridiculous, though Cain does have a sidekick who happens to be a talking donkey; it’s funny because we know we are expected to find Truth in these stories. And we do. These are the stories our culture is built upon and they don’t make very much sense, but we’re willing to wrestle them into making sense. And we can laugh at ourselves for that. “The history of mankind is the history of our misunderstandings with God,” Saramago writes after the Tower of Babel has just been destroyed, “for he doesn’t understand us, and we don’t understand him.”

Cain is Saramago’s last novel.

It was published in 2010 – the year in which he died. It’s a short book, a quick read. I read it in a hammock in almost one sitting this summer. I laughed out loud.

I underlined passages. And when I was done, I got out a Bible and thought, maybe I’ll give this book another shot. And then I went to library and checked out

two more of Saramago’s books instead.

– Jennifer Pemberton SHORT NIGHTS OF THE SHADOW CATCHER: The Epic Life and Immortal Photographs of Edward Curtis

by Timothy Egan Last summer I read a wellwritten semi-historical fiction novel called The Shadow Catcher by Marianne Wiggins, and became intrigued with its main character, the photographer Edward Curtis: you know, the guy who shot all those sepiatoned photos of Indian Chiefs - Geronimo, with his weathered face, Chief Joseph covered in shell necklaces. When one of my favorite non-fiction authors, Timothy Egan (The Big Burn, The Worst Hard Time), recently published a book about Curtis, I read it immediately and loved every page. Short Nights of the Shadow Catcher: The Epic Life and Immortal Photographs of Edward Curtis, is the biography of a passionate and ambitious man who completed one of the greatest book projects in American history. The North American Indian, was published between 1907 and 1930 in twenty volumes of illustrated text and twenty portfolios containing more than seven hundred large photogravures, all printed on the finest imported paper. It was issued in a very limited edition, sold expensively on a subscription basis … and has largely been forgotten.

Egan’s history of the man, Curtis, and this remarkable book, has gotten some bad reviews, mainly from the New York Times.

At the base of their criticism is

their belief that Curtis’ passion was “monomaniacal” and that his project of capturing the “vanishing race” was a “fool’s errand.” They criticize Curtis for “staging” some of the photos, not acknowledging that photography is art and Curtis was an artist with all the license that entails to get across his message and tell his story. While Curtis began the project purely as a “record,” with no political message, he soon realized the tragedy wreaked upon the aboriginals in America by the white man and became fiercely angry, and that anger appears in the later volumes of The North American Indian. The NY Times refers to Egan’s “dude worship … of Curtis” and criticizes him for becoming too close to his subject to be objective. I disagree whole heartedly with this criticism and believe Egan’s book is a valuable and accurate look at an amazing artist, the bigger-than-life movers and shakers of that era, and a

vivid reminder of a deplorable part of American history.

This is an amazing adventure story as well as a biography by a Pulitzer prize-winning author.

From the top of Mount Rainier to Western Plains and across the Bering Sea to Nome and beyond, you will learn about early 20th century America, the early days of Seattle, the development of photographic art, the Battle of Little Bighorn, the secret Hopi Snake Dance Ceremony, and much Indian lore, all from the lens of a passionate artist.

It’s almost “unputdownable” (I actually saw that word on the cover of a drugstore paperback!). And while I mentioned above that both Curtis and his lifelong project have all but been forgotten, tribes today are making use of Curtis’s photographic and ethnographic work to learn, teach, and inspire young tribal members.

– Marty Greer

THE CORONER’S LUNCH

by Colin Cotterill Spend time with Dr. Siri Paiboun, the coroner for the Peoples Democratic Republic of Laos, a newly Communist country. You will find an intriguing foreign land with an unfamiliar culture, and will recognize and feel the connection with an intelligent, crafty, and curious survivor.

Despite the regimentation and controlling aspects of the new Communist regime, Siri is not a person to fit in a mold. But, he does fit right in with a satisfying group of genre characters such as Poirot, Miss Marple, Nero Wolfe and those conjured by

Dick Francis. Siri’s Buddhist milieu keeps his approach to the multiple quandaries supplied by the ill-equipped morgue witty and inventive. Supporting characters are quirky and well drawn, fleshing out the exotic setting. Follow Dr. Siri as he solves mysterious murders, experience drama, danger, engaging entertainment. Happily his adventures continue in Thirty-three Teeth.

– Leslie Robertson LIFE OF PI

by Yann Martel Life of Pi is a novel about a young man named Piscine Molitor Patel, also known as Pi,

who is brought up in India where his family owns and runs a zoo.

When the family decides to sell the zoo and move to Canada in the mid 70s to start a new life, the animals are sold off and the zoo closed. Pi, his family and some of the animals, which are destined for American and Canadian zoos, board a large Japanese cargo ship and set out on their adventure.

When for unknown reasons the ship sinks, Pi finds himself alone in a lifeboat with only a wounded zebra, a vicious hyena, a shell-shocked orangutan and a 450-pound Bengal tiger for company. Pi is forced to live and survive on the boat with the tiger, Richard Parker. He learns to collect water, fish and to survive the elements, never knowing if each day might be his last.

Pi, being a practicing Hindu, Christian and Muslim, looks to all three of his religions to help get him through his ordeal. His unorthodox relationship with Richard Parker also plays an important role in his survival.

Pi will meet another shipwreck survivor (or does he?) as well as spend time on a meerkat infested, carnivorous island.

This was truly an amazing story of both a young man’s will to survive and his incredible faith. It showed that bonds can be found between the most unlikely pairs and a person’s will to live can make them do extraordinary things. This book will make you laugh, cry and feel every emotion in between. It is a rollercoaster of a ride that is hard to put down. This is one 3D movie that I do believe I will see even if it does mean a headache!

– Brandy Robertson Taylor

HOW TO BE A WOMAN

by Caitlin Moran When I was young, I read Germaine Greer’s, The Female Eunuch. It knocked me out — her audacity, her intelligence, her courage — I don’t think I’d be overstating to say that it changed my life. I was a sheltered, shy, innocent farm girl, who was not at all keen on staying sheltered and innocent, and Greer’s insights into the ways in which women were marginalized and neutered rang true.

Now, decades later, Caitlin Moran follows in Greer’s footsteps, and redefines feminism in fresh funny ways.

Caitlin Moran is in her midthirties, and has a stand-up comic’s sensitivity. She starts her account with an anecdote that occurred on her 13th birthday.

The intro, titled “The Worst Birthday Ever,” opened with her flight home, running, chased by stone-throwing boys. Caitlin, 182 pounds, dressed in Wellington boots, a combat jacket and “National Health Service glasses that make me look like Alan Bennett,” describes herself as the antelope that has been cut off from the herd by the lions.

And she notes that that doesn’t usually bode well for the antelope.

The book moves through her life, with chapter headings like, “I start bleeding!, I become furry, I need a bra!, I am fat,” and on through first love, sex, marriage, children. All with her delightfully funny take on things.

This is essentially a how-to-book for girls and women – but with an emphasis on things you don’t have to bother doing, such as getting a Brazilian wax, wearing

spike-heeled shoes, dieting. Her advice: Just be excellent with one another, wear comfortable shoes, eat some cheese, and reject the patriarchy.

Oh, and did I mention that it is FUNNY? – Sally Perrine RULES OF CIVILITY

by Amor Towles Chance encounters, serendipity, luck – we hear the stories all the time – how one moment, one action, sitting next to the right person on the bus or at the bar – can forever alter the course of your life. The story begins on New Year’s Eve 1937 in a jazz bar in Greenwich Village.

Katey, a Brooklyn girl who works as a secretary is out with her boardinghouse roommate Eve. They have three dollars between them, which should buy them each a martini an hour and leave enough for a 15-cent diner breakfast – the first of 1938. Enter a handsome man in a cashmere coat who catches the eye of the girls. His name is Tinker Grey (“How the WASPs loved to nickname their children after the workaday trades,” Katey notes, admiring him all the same.) He buys them champagne. This chance encounter with the mysterious Grey touches off a chain reaction that will define the course of the rest of Katey’s and Eve’s lives.

This smart, stylish first novel by Amor Towles recalls post-depression era New York, peopled with well-realized characters – classic American strivers and survivors – and touches on all the great themes – love, tragedy, class, ambition, loyalty. The dialogue is snappy,

social observations witty and astute, and the settings – Art deco offices and apartments, Adirondack camps, Oyster Bay mansions – are golden age cinematic. The story is complex and delicious and made me clamor for more work by Towles (by the way, he’s written nothing else, he’s actually an “investment executive.”) I, for one, am quite glad of the chance encounter at the library that brought this book into my life.

– Jocelyn Robertson

ADVENTURES IN MIXED MEDIA

APP OF THE YEAR These days I do not see very many movies or watch much TV. I do use my phone a lot. So this year my favorite app is my NPR app.

I have always listened to a lot of NPR. But where ever I live there are always shows that are not on the radio or not on at a time that I can listen. Of course, I’ve subscribed to some podcasts but that also involves some work to download and so I don’t always get to listen to all the shows that I want to.

Now with my NPR app I listen to more radio than ever. It is amazing: everyday I just go onto my app and listen to all my favorite shows. Now, I never miss a Fresh Air, Science Friday or Radio Lab and I have even gotten to know some shows that I have never heard before,

like Ted Radio. You can easily re-listen to stories and can copy books, movies, or websites into your notes with little effort. So the NPR app is my most favorite and most used app but it still could be better: we need an APM and a PRI app as well. There are so many great shows! Hopefully both will make an app and then I will never have to listen to the radio except on my KUOW app, which I also love.

– Bijou Robertson THE CADDIS FLY: OREGON FLY FISHING BLOG One of the most consistent refrains from me during graduate school was, “I’ll do that when I’m finished with school.” Well, after chipping away at the degree for 5 years, I finally graduated last winter and proceeded to seize every opportunity to escape the glow of the computer screen, and the still air of the indoors.

Hadley and I climbed to the top of the Eagle Cap Wilderness and enjoyed the incredible solitude of the Eastern Oregon Mountains in winter. We floated the Grand Canyon, living for a too brief a week like river gypsies. I took my shotgun for hikes through farmland and high desert canyon lands of Southern Idaho, learning from men who know the ditches and sage hillsides as intimately as their own backyards. And I walked riverbanks with mink, mule deer, rattlesnakes, old friends and new friends seeking encounters with trout, steelhead, and salmon. My skin grew ruddy, and my body strong as I used it for what it was designed to do.

I read too, when, for some reason, I couldn’t be outside. It feels something like

an admission of guilt since I’m a librarian, but the most memorable writing that I read over the past year has been from The Caddis Fly, a blog about fly fishing (oregonflyfishingblog. com). Posts on the blog cover the topics you’d expect from a site maintained by fly shop guys and river guides: gear reviews, instructions for tying complicated steelhead flies, fishing reports. Unexpected is the thoughtfulness of the contributors; their careful consideration of their place in a world far removed from the one responsible for the evolution of eyes that discern morels from fir cones at 25 feet, legs that climb to ridge tops, twitchy nerves that respond to the take of the fly by a silvery predator, and the ancient knowledge that these experiences speak to something fundamental about what it means to be human. But these guys work for a living, like everybody. They balance exercising their inner primitive man with maintaining relationships and cars and raising the children who will inherit this world. It’s a balance many of

us strive for, struggle with, and refine over the years. And it is comforting to read about other people who thoughtfully, and sometimes gracefully, navigate the challenges of living in a modern world.

— Alex Hartman STEVE MARTIN IN CONCERT No movie, or play could compare with the thrill of seeing Steve Martin live in concert on Nov. 3, 2009. I received the ticket as a gift for successfully turning sixty years old! Usually it is inadvisable to anticipate a good time. By launching one’s expectations up, up, up, the real event is often a little too down to earth. But, we’ve seen Steve Martin’s work in Roxanne, Bowfinger, My Blue Heaven, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, All of Me, House Sitters, and his play, Picasso at the Lapin Agile. His work does not disappoint.

To think that sometime in the early eighties, Steve and I were driving down Capital Boulevard, and the BSU sign was lit up advertising Steve Martin. We’d grown up with Dean Martin on

TV and movies. We laughed — who’d ever heard of Steve Martin! This may have been his under-appreciated first tour, as mentioned by his sister in a Fresh Air interview. Wouldn’t it be great to have had an early experience from his very beginnings to add to all the other joy and laughter he’s provided?

On one level of anticipation I thrilled to the dizzying idea that Steve Martin might see me, sixty! So I dreamt up several eye-catching routines for Bijou, Jocelyn, Hadley and I. Like all of us wearing white powdered wigs, beauty queen banners across our chests, and white gloves. Surely, even with the lights in his eyes, Steve couldn’t miss a block of four wildly waving, wig wearing fans! I entertained myself making up these silly ideas, but it didn’t flatten one bubble of delight for the real concert.

Instead, it made me count the many blessings of Steve Martin’s work. I decided to wear my poodle sweater and my polka dot skirt. I made him a card covered in smiles and packed it into a Zhoo Zhoo bag with several bottles of Zhoo Zhoo wines! We delivered it to security at the 2nd and Union St. stage door. A taste of our work might make him smile.

Over oysters at the Union Café across the street, Will reminded us of the Muppet Movie gag where Steve Martin (waiter) serves Miss Piggy and Kermit a little Idaho wine. Aww. Being seen by Steve Martin is not nearly as satisfying as experiencing his work. He walked on stage with the Steep Canyon Rangers and strummed and tuned us to a high pitch

in a high place. I hooked my smile to my ears. My foot was still tapping several days later, which is the closest I’ll ever get to Dancing with the Stars. Most of the songs were written by Steve Martin, himself, like the one that started out as such a bad poem, he decided to turn it into a country and western song.

We all groaned when he said we were hearing the last tune.

He came out for an encore, but asked that those who paid less for tickets to listen to King Tut with one eye covered. “Born in Arizona, moved to Babylonia” he sent us home marveling at his incomparable talent.

– Leslie Robertson

TABLES FOR TWO, OR MORE

MIKEY’S GYROS Moscow, Idaho – A few years ago, John and I had the opportunity to visit Ireland.

This was a trip of a lifetime for both of us! One of the things we looked forward to was the chance to go to a real Irish pub.

After years of “experiencing” British and Irish pubs via the movies, we were finally going to see the actual thing. And we went to several – for lunch, for evening meals, and once just for drinks.

The latter was the least fun of all. John and I walked in the moonlight to the small village near our “estate,” found an open pub; walked in, sat at the bar and ordered a couple of

Guinness. There was a soccer game on the telly, and a group of extraordinarily drunk guys at the other end of the bar – (speaking Gaelic or just too drunk to speak coherently – we couldn’t tell).

The bartender was friendly, but it was, in the end, just a bar.

We later got to O’Connors Pub in Doolin for an evening meal, and that was the real deal – a brightly lit place, a small Irish band playing traditional music in the corner, little pinkcheeked kids running around.

We ordered bangers and mash, and had a good meal and good craic there. (Actually, I had better craic at the newsstands and grocery stores than I ever did at any of the pubs, but that’s another story).

Anyway, I’d been thinking about the idea of a pub during one of the recent times I went to Mikey’s Gyros in Moscow.

Our peace group generally goes to Mikey’s after a vigil, and that has become my favorite pub experience. The whole atmosphere on a Friday evening – a bit loud, a lot friendly, reliably good cheap food (I usually get the avocado pita, but the spinach pie is also very satisfying), makes it a good place to talk books, ideas, to share and explore our values, or to just do that friendly, companionable thing – gossip. So, drinks, a meal, and conversation with loquacious Kevin, thoughtful serious Ronnie, funny opinionated Bill, the quiet beauty of husband-wife Bob and Linda, friend Kathleen, who gets me laughing uncontrollably on a regular basis – all of us talking, sharing, laughing, caring about each other (and the planet, the

world). It’s extraordinarily satisfying, even if we sometimes have to shout to be heard over the other loud conversations swirling around us.

So, I love my neighborhood pub – and had to travel thousands of miles to discover it! Oh yeah, and the food is okay, too.

– Sally Perrine GERRY’S 70TH BIRTHDAY DINNER Sunnyslope, ID – Imagine a tall skinny teenager standing at a crossroads under a big empty sky. He sets down his bag and considers “this side of the road, or the other?” One direction leads towards Brisbane while the other horizons on Sydney – either route offers a seaport and access to the next leg of his adventure – so he decides to put his thumb out on whichever side of the road he can see a car coming. Years later he recalled that moment while dining on lamb with Sauce Australia, curried spaghetti squash, Brussels sprouts, two ‘66 Bordeaux, and a fine New World Cabernet Sauvignon from Idaho.

In recounting this story, during this meal, he wasn’t alone. In fact, he’d had such an interesting life that, for his 70th birthday, his friends, Steve and Leslie, Bijou and Will, Jocelyn, wife Marty, Peter and Jenny, Alex and Hadley planned a menu and prepared each course to spark a tale from a time and place in his history. The adventurous life of Gerry Greer took us through seven memorable courses.

Modern England in the late 50s was equipped with a fireplace, coal-heated, drafty and

inefficient, in every cramped room of the flat. So, like a child from Dickens standing in front of the fire, Gerry kept turning, his backside freezing, his front side roasting, turn. On offer down at the pub, a traditional Ploughman’s Lunch with Branston pickle and assorted farmhouse cheeses was still affordably available, paired with flat tasty beer that was poured from casks as it had for hundreds of years. We chewed on the vision over our Ploughman’s selection, draining our French 75s, reflecting that to enjoy proper English cheeses now takes more than a pauper’s purse.

In the 50s the old English currency was still in effect. Since the Norman Conquest of 1066, the pound was divided into twenty shillings or 240 pennies, and it remained such until 1971.

Sounds simple? Don’t forget the shilling was then subdivided into twelve pennies and the penny was further sub-divided. The hero of our story worked at the pub, pulling draughts for noisy tables that took turns buying

rounds. He not only remembered what to pour for each bloke in each group, but politely quaffed the barman’s “tip” while figuring the guinea tab of farthings, ha’pennys, thrupenny bits, sixpence, two bob bits, half crowns, all in his head, maintaining the skill and banter of an auctioneer.

We moved on, though slightly dizzy, to wild mushroom pork ragu with papardelle and a strong Brunello. This old man kept pace by telling us of making wine in concrete vats in Italy, raking the olives out of the trees, and eating first breakfast and second breakfast and then really pausing for lunch, each meal accompanied by the fresh wine of his Italian friends. He can still speak to them in the “language.”

And, he can still pinch the girls and enjoy the pleasures of the common man.

Then came New England clam chowder, accompanied by two nutty Chardonnays and the story morphed into one of border crossing intrigue. Gerry had an architectural degree by this

point in his life, and his natural inventiveness and adaptability had been sharply honed with the help of a wee dram and a troublesome wife. Although Gerry can regale us with complicated strategies involving back roads, border crossings, passports, visas and green cards, the rest of us will probably remember and employ this much more succinct dodge: “The right Rhino drives the White Rhino.”

If you can say this tongue twister a couple of times without stumbling, you might be able to fool a stupid policeman when you’re down on the suspension in a six passenger white guzzler and you’re pulled over. We raise a glass to you wherever you are now, and try to remember the Alaska course anecdote.

What comes to mind is that the cod brandade with spinach and wild berry vinaigrette was accompanied by a bubbly magnum of Billecart-Salmon Brut Reserve.

Wild, of course, is the key word for anything to do with Alaska, and bubbly fits in with the buxom brainless blonde who was chasing Gerry then, although he and his hunting partner were out for a bear. They had enjoyed camping out in the wilderness the night before, and were now not soberly tracking game. Girls have always been part of the game for Gerry, but this time he was out for Big Game and really the girl was becoming somewhat tiresome, jabbering like a jay, making the hunt seem like a Disney production. So, Gerry and his buddy came up with a plan. They sent her into the bush. They didn’t have a dog after all. As they walked down

either side of the draw, the girl scrambled through the brush and shrub’s snapping twigs, rustling branches, loudly losing her footing. But, then, the grumble they heard was a rumbling bear that shot out the end of the draw.

Their plan had worked! While Gerry recalls the girl fondly, she never spoke to him again, and the bear got away, too.

The Opera Cake for dessert came with its own story about two rival Paris bakeries and three pages of directions. Why “Opera” for Seattle, when you see the list of the places Gerry has lived, and all the things he’s done – he is a hunter with guns, a sailor with a boat, a pilot with a plane and a hangar full of cars, he cooks like a gourmet, serves up drinks like a bartender, and dances like a swinger –what’s one more cliché? We refer to his almost unbelievable type as a Renaissance man and he’s almost that old, and yes, he holds season tickets to the Opera. We sipped our Fladgate Port and savored our classic dessert and Gerry told us about one of Seattle’s soprano stars. She floats onto the stage like the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria – all three.

Her voluminous full sail taffeta dress is plum colored with tiny

white eyelet trim, and rustles just enough that you can’t hear the squeak and groan of the piano dolly. Her body fills up the stage. Her breast heaves and swells as she gathers her wind.

The audience rolls back in their seats and braces for the first ardent notes of her tryst song.

An unbelievable sight, she, SHE, is the object of desire, this (at least 50-year-old) young, virgin maiden. Her lothario, bounds on stage, he couldn’t embrace her even sideways; moves forward and sings loudly hoping to be noticed.

We roared with happiness and delight during this celebratory, unforgettable and unbelievable occasion. Applause for the stellar production of delectable foods, the rare and wonderful wines, and entertaining stories, but most of all for the audience of friends at the table; I stand to exclaim, Encore! Encore!

– Leslie Robertson GOLDEN DRAGON Weiser, ID – You opt for Chinese over Mexican in the border town of Weiser, Idaho (or any small town, USA), as if it really mattered. The Mexican place (La Tejuanita), marked with a banner tied across the Old Fiddlers Restaurant sign, has been a staple choice for too many years.

So you pace the parking lot, trying to evaluate the cars parked at the Golden Dragon. The wheelchair tags on the rearview mirrors remind you this is an “old” Idaho town, bordering run-down farms and overgrazed ranches. The younger generation has moved on to the take-out delis in Albertson’s and the “big

city,” 20 miles away.

I approach a nicely dressed woman and point towards the Golden Dragon, “How’s the food?”

“We eat here all the time!” she comments brightly. Is she the landlord, their lawyer, I wonder?

I’m still moving, slowly, towards the entrance when I notice an announcement on the door, “Closed tomorrow for remodeling.”

Recklessly, I walk in, feeling the challenge. Like I’m at a yellow light at an intersection – do I slam on the brakes – or floor it? I review the warning signs as I slide into the Naugahyde booth… “We eat here all the time!”…the plethora of old and infirm…the “we’re closing to fix this dump up…”

It takes a lot of guts to slam on the brakes at the intersection, but it takes just as much to eat food at the Golden Dragon Chinese/American Restaurant in Weiser, Idaho.

– Steve Robertson (2003) PORTNEUF RIVER CLUB South of Pocatello, ID – A romantic dinner for two at the Portneuf River Club: Ruffed grouse with egg noodles and mushroom, bacon, and broccoli sauté.

One bitterly cold night in October in a grassy meadow abutting the railroad tracks on the banks of the Portneuf River, I met Alex. Through the beam of my headlights, as I drove across the dusty rutted road, he looked as if he was out dancing. I found out later he was gyrating to keep warm as he was without a coat or hat or matches to start a fire. He was very cold. But I had brought

him a coat and a hat and had matches for a fire. After getting him in some warm clothes we started a fire, opened some beers and started preparing for dinner.

Earlier on a drive through the mountains he had shot three ruffed grouse, and had already skinned and cleaned.

On the camp stove we fried a half-pound of bacon, and when the bacon was crispy, poured the fat off the griddle into the sauce pan and sautéed 8 ounces of crimini mushrooms and the three grouse breasts and a few drumsticks. When the grouse and mushrooms were cooked we added broccoli and steamed it with two tablespoons of brown mustard and half a bottle of beer and salt and pepper. We added cooked egg noodles and mixed.

It was so cold that in lieu of a plate I put the hot cast iron pot in my lap and with my pocketknife sliced into one of the freshest pieces of meat I have ever eaten.

In the beam of my headlamp the steam curled up in my face and I cut into a juicy breast.

The meat of the ruffed grouse is nearly all white and has a firm texture and richness unlike any other game I have eaten. It is a distillation of forest flavors, savory but not gamey. It has a complexity and succulence that an eater of domestically raised poultry has never known; it is like comparing morel mushrooms with commercial white mushrooms. Ruffed grouse is recommended for all foodies but to fully experience this the bird should be cooked outside on a frosty night, with the scent of both a river and a fire and the company of a good friend.

– Peter Robertson

DELTA AIRLINES Boise, ID to Taipei, Taiwan – All I can tell you is that the Orientals don’t fly Delta Airlines, at least not in coach, and I wished I hadn’t. The only thing that saved me was “Comfort Coach,” an extra 5 feet for $119 between Tokyo and Taipei, the last hours of a 14 hr. flight! The food was truly awful, though the stewards tried to make up for it with good service. My hefty Voerboort, Oregon, companion coped by drinking copious amounts of “free booze” which is an oxymoron, but the whiskey sours and G & T’s ensured I sleep three hours.

Hadley and I will perhaps review, together, the Peking duck we shared and the “Five Star” Steak Houses we enjoyed, like nothing we have in America.

When we were without an interpreter in Taiwan, we received green vegetarian dumplings we didn’t order, and white wine that was supposed to be red wine. We toured the Night Market and managed to avoid trying the Stinky Tofu but we did give Chinese hot dogs a try.

If the place wasn’t so damn far away, maybe the no tipping policy, (it’s an insult to tip), the three dollar taxi rides, the sumptuous hotels, and the charming people might draw us back, but only IF they buy Z-helluva good wines.

– Steve Robertson THE OLD KEY LIME HOUSE RESTAURANT Palm Beach, FL – The Old Key Lime House Restaurant on the Intercoastal Waterway in Lantana, just south of Palm Beach, claims to be the oldest

waterfront restaurant in Florida, opened in 1889. It has figured prominently in my family’s life over the years, and during our recent Thanksgiving visit we had a most delicious lunch there with my mother and brother. We sat on the sunny deck and ordered margaritas. Bang Bang Shrimp, a menu staple, was being served that day in tacos. Large, plump Florida pink shrimp in panko, fried and tossed in spicy sauce.

My, oh my it was delicious! The restaurant is well known for its fresh local seafood and award winning key lime pie – featured in Bon Appetit. An added pleasure was our very amiable waiter, clearly of Italian New York decent, who was spot on in his food and drink suggestions, and polite enough not to correct my brother who ordered the recommended bruschetta as ‘brooshetta’: “fine, sir, brooshetta it is.” My parents lived across the street from this restaurant back in the 70s and early 80s, and my brother worked there as a waiter in ‘76 when it was an Italian joint. One day in the late 70s, out sailing in their tiny Sunfish on the Intercoastal by this very same deck, my parents saw a sailboat in distress with two folks hailing passers by for help. Seems their motor had quit and, being unfamiliar with this waterway, didn’t know where they could tie up. Mom and Dad led them to a marina, and, because it was 4th of July and there would be fireworks that evening, invited the young couple for drinks and dinner at their home on the waterway.

Turns out they had sailed that boat all the way from Australia and were planning on selling it,

buying a van, and driving across the US – which they did. They visited members of my family all across the country, and me in Seattle. Last year Gerry and I had a fun visit and lunch with Jeff Montague in Australia – still living on a boat in a boatyard just north of Brisbane. So, that’s the story of our meal at the Old Key Lime House Restaurant – more than delicious food and perfect weather, it was full of great memories.

– Marty Greer IRVING STREET KITCHEN Portland, OR – As a mom of a toddler and a tween, I rarely get to eat anywhere that isn’t fast food, a sandwich shop or a pizza place. Recently though, I had the luxury of going out for brunch with a girlfriend to a very hip place in Portland’s Pearl District called Irving Street Kitchen.

While I didn’t go too crazy, or eat anything too wild, the menu did have some interesting looking items, some I couldn’t even identify. I stuck with a safe bet: eggs over-medium, hash potatoes, house-made smoked Tasso bacon and delicious thick sliced English muffin toast. I also indulged in two vodka and cranberry drinks which were

strong but not overbearing.

Overall it was a very good and filling meal.

More than the food, I really enjoyed the general atmosphere of the restaurant. It is in an open warehouse with tall ceilings and cement floors. The floor plan is very open including a view from most tables into the kitchen.

There are a few intimate nooks and cozy looking booths draped by curtains. There was a very kitschy but cool chandelier made out of old glass milk bottles and my favorite, the Rorschach ink blot animals that decorate the bar area.

I think I would like to go back and try lunch or dinner and brunch was definitely good enough to revisit. If I do go, I will be leaving my picky kids at home and next time I hope to score one of the intimate little booths where I can camp out and enjoy a leisurely meal. Perhaps this time I will even indulge in one of the menu items that I can’t pronounce!

– Brandy Robertson Taylor PIGADI (Xanthoúdhidhou) Rethymnon, Crete, Greece – Unbeknownst to me, I had been to this part of town just days earlier – the old town center of Rethymnon is very picturesque with winding cobblestone streets and lantern lights – this time I was more observant of my surroundings. I’d walked here from a different direction the last time and with a large group of people. Sure enough when I reference a photo from the Greek God party two days earlier, I see the wooden sign reading Pigadi just above our olive branch crowned heads.

We had decided to have a group dinner and one person in the group who had spent some time on Crete recommended we go to Pigadi.* I had faith that it would be traditional Cretan cuisine: there would be feta and frothy beverages.

It’s always a pain to eat with a group of 15 people in a foreign country –no one ever knows what to order or what they’re ordering – and final payment is always a headache. Brilliantly, on this visit to Pigadi, two of the ladies in the group decided they were going to speak with the restaurant about getting us a meal for a per person price.

They returned to the table and announced it would be 15 Euros per person; including wine, dessert and specialties from the menu. Yes! I have a feeling this kind of negotiation would be unacceptable in the States, maybe if you called in advance and pre-ordered, but at Pigadi, in Greece, we would have a feast!

The restaurant was in an old Venetian building that was once used as a stable. We sat outside in the courtyard where there was an ancient well (the pigadi in question). The bougainvillea was blooming with tiny fuchsia flowers, the light was soft and it was still warm enough for al fresco dining in November.

The dishes appeared and though I can’t remember exactly how many or what we had I know there was a gooey feta stuffed pepper, marinated pork in sauce, chicken souvlaki, dolmadakias, and thinly sliced roasted vegetables drizzled with thyme honey. Every bite was savory balanced with piquant or sweet and it was

traditional Cretan food but more sophisticated and fantastic; not clunky in presentation or cheaply made with too much oil or stuffed with fries like the local gyros.

At one point toward the end of the meal, we decided we need more thinly roasted vegetables.

We received another plate at each end, mandolin-thin-sliced zucchini topped with thyme honey. Then we had dessert, still sipping on red and white wine from tabletop carafes. Dessert resembled my favorite dessert, a Spanish-style butter cake, and though not quite as good, nothing could taste better after the generous dinner. At meal’s end, when I hand over my 15 Euros ($19) I know that group dining will never be so easy or so good again, unless maybe I take a group back to Pigadi in Rethymnon, Crete. * Upon further investigation it turns out Pigadi is rated in the top ten restaurants in Crete according to the Rough Guide.

How ‘bout that.

– Hadley Robertson BRICK OVEN BISTRO: THE GREAT AMERICAN BEANERY Boise, ID – A sure fire way to determine whether or not someone is a long-time Boise resident is to tell them you’ll meet them for lunch at The Beanery. If they look at you confusedly and say The Beanery? then they haven’t been here for very long.

In 1984, Jeff and Stephanie Telesco opened The Beanery, across from the Veltex station, on West Main in Boise. Later, they moved to the corner of 8th and Main, in “The Grove.”

And, sometime along the way, they changed their name from The Beanery to the Brick Oven Bistro. Despite all the changes, the food has always been the same: traditional American “home cooking.” Sandwiches, soups, chili, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, applesauce, and, if you’re with Dad, a chocolate malt, all served cafeteria style.

Everything is wholesome, made with fresh ingredients and from scratch.

I’d like to tell you, in the 28 years that I’ve been eating at The Beanery, that I’ve sampled a wide array of their offerings. But, that would be untrue. Since discovering their vegetarian sandwich sometime in the mid-90s, that is the only thing I’ve ever eaten there.

Wow, that’s boring, you’re thinking to yourself, but it’s not, I promise: a pillowy wheat roll, sprinkled with sesame seeds, slathered with mayo and a spicy sweet mustard, then layered with pickled vegetables: carrots, olives, peppers, topped with crisp lettuce and then the cherry-on-top, a sliced hard boiled egg. Served with a side of rum pot beans, or a bowl of chicken noodle soup, it is a healthy, satisfying, delicious lunch. On occasion, I’ve looked over at a companion’s selection and considered changing to the pulled pork or a roast turkey sandwich, but why mess with perfection? Making it even more perfect is the fact that for many years now, The Beanery has served Zhoo Zhoo Syrah, in signature Zhoo Zhoo glasses, the perfect accompaniment to a vegetarian sandwich.

A few months ago, Jeff

and Stephanie announced they would be closing The Beanery to retire. Rather than sell the business that had been their livelihood for decades, they closed the doors, for good, at the end of November. Hadley, Dad and I, had a final farewell lunch; as always, I waited in line and inquired at the giant menu in colored chalk, muffaletta?

Meatloaf? Gumbo? Nah. I knew exactly what to order and exactly what it would taste like: comfort food.

– Jocelyn Robertson NICK’S CONEY ISLAND Portland, OR – Portland, Oregon! A hub of culture and delicious food – so many restaurants you wouldn’t ever have to eat at the same place twice. Mom, Dad and Had are all meeting a wine distributor for the day, going from one specialty grocery to the next. Shelves and cases full of take-home delicacies of exotic presentation, variety and unknown but tempting flavors. We tried a raspberry coffee cake, seemingly ordinary but no — it’s rich, and light and buttery, only one in a giant array of delectable morsels.

As the hour of lunchtime approaches the excitement builds – where will we eat? The distributor is Mr. Ivy League and as we walk out of the last shop he suggests hot dogs for lunch.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like a hot dog... about once every 10 years at a baseball game.

My first thought – maybe we’ll just walk by the place, decide on something else?

Wrong. We walk in. Nick’s Coney Island. The strong smell of B.O. hits me. I immediately

recognize it as an “old dive,” “a hole in the wall,” or “where the bus stops.” Second thought – maybe there’s a menu…I can have something other than a hot dog. Menu: Single, Double, Triple. Quadruple dog with chili, cheese, onion. Options: with chili or without. With onion or without.

Our waiter looks young: tight black shirt, tight jeans, smoker voice, false teeth, gay – and then he tells us he’s worked there for 32 years.

Mom and I order a single, with chili, cut in half. It’s stomach revolting. Mr. Ivy League continues to rave about the place; he knows everybody’s name and orders a double with all the fixings. I keep hoping that this will be a snack, and that the real gourmet meal will follow. But, after just a half a chili Coney, I’ve declared a fast, maybe forever.

After all the food eye candy from our morning tour, Nick’s Coney Island is a shock to the system – an old, smelly place with yellowed sports articles and grey jerseys on the wall, a TV from 1951, (probably the same year that the hot dog buns were from).

I put on a happy hot dog eating face and silently suffer.

This wasn’t our last meal, thank goodness, and there will always be another lunch.

– Hadley Robertson (2004)

KU DE TA Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia – Life can really feel like one big slog through the muck. There is never enough money and you’re getting fatter by the day and you can’t be with the ones you love and it’s getting harder to love the one’s you’re with. Everything in your day sucks the life out of you: the run-down car, the endless dishes, bills, emails, the cold, cold wind…and then you go on a tropical beach vacation.

You never really understood the appeal of a tropical beach vacation…sitting in the sand all day, drinking Mai Tai’s, getting a sunburn, well, that seemed downright boring when compared to the rush-about, fit-it-all-in, cultural heritage and food tour we’re used to. What’s a vacation without a schedule?

An itinerary? Several large imposing museums? Shouldn’t we be learning something? What about the GPS, and who’s in charge of the map? Those kinds of vacations are fun! Granted, when you return, you usually say something like, “Man, I need a vacation from my vacation.”

You had a great time but there is nothing like your bed at home.

On your tropical beach vacation you wake up in the most comfortable bed you have ever slept in. You are in a private villa with a private infinity pool surrounded by lush tropical foliage and giant flowers. You take your coffee outside on another bed, this one with a roof over the top. The air is clean and fresh and the only sounds are the soft whisper of the leaves and the lapping of the pool. After breakfast (what ever you want) you saunter down to another

resort on the beach, the Ku De Ta. Giant trees decorated with huge glassy red hearts decorate the entrance. This is your kind of place. Today the biggest choice you will make will be between the lounge in the sun and the lounge under the umbrella.

You start with a Bohemian Breeze – muddled pineapple chunks, coriander and ginger flavors married with premium vodka and homemade spicy ginger beer, served long over ice. From your chair, you can see the long, unspoiled beach below and the calm blue ocean.

Next you try a Burnt Lemon and Vanilla Margarita – burnt lemon deliciously mixed with vanilla infused tequila and triple sec, finished with a hint of Demerara syrup. You read your book, you adjust your hat, you order an Italian rose martini – gin, Campari, freshly pressed lemon juice and rose syrup shaken until icy cold, then spiked with freshly squeezed orange and fresh pomegranate. You flip through a magazine, you chat, you people watch. You decide to take a walk along the beach, bare toes in the sand, and then return to your lounge chair for some food.

Crispy soft shell crab salad with green beans and cherry tomatoes, chili, lime leaf, mint, coriander and peanuts. Tuna Carpaccio with preserved lemon, fried capers and something called salmoriglio dressing. An oxtail “banh mi” baguette with pickled daikon, carrots, coriander and chili and crispy chats. Lobster and pork gyoza with spring onions and black pepper vinegar sauce. Indonesian prawn spring rolls with tamarind caramel.

Time for another drink? Don’t

mind if I do…how about a Cucumber and Elderflower Collins – refreshing chunks of cucumber muddled and fused with the crisp flavors of elderflower, gin and club soda.

You try and remember what time you scheduled your massage for…this is a clockless island…you read a little more, you close your eyes and nap for a minute…all your troubles are so far away… you can hardly remember what they are…

– Jocelyn Robertson (2011) RODNEY’S OYSTER HOUSE Vancouver, British Columbia – I love oysters. I’ve written a poem to eating them. My grandfather loved oysters, my sister loves oysters, I think of them always when I’m enjoying oysters.

Oysters smell like the ocean; I love the ocean.

Whenever I’ve eaten oysters I’ve dreamed of eating more.

I’ve eaten the Colchester oyster in London, my grandfather’s favorites, and I’ve eaten the Olympia oyster, smallest and best at Snow’s in San Francisco.

I’ve eaten the creamy Eastern Oyster at Christmas with my family and in New York City!

I’ve slurped down oysters in South Africa and France… but one of my favorite places to partake is at Rodney’s in Vancouver, B.C. It’s a turn-ofthe-century warehouse with concrete floors and a stainless steel bar tucked along an alley not too far from the bay. A muscle-y shucker named Rodney works the opposite side of the bar and behind him, dotted with hand-lettered signs are the icy banks of oysters – Fanny Bay, Deep Bay, Kumomotos,

Malpeque, Ship’s Point and Kusshis, depending on the time of year. They are mostly all the Pacific oyster but oysters remember their home and tell your tongue about it with flavor filled nuances.

On our last visit, as we always do, we sat up at the bar on tall white stools and I was pleased when Rodney greeted us with emphasis, “oh, yes, Steve from Idaho!” He was shucking fast and putting out orders while we discussed our first dozen with Jacquie and Pierre, our friends.

Through the commotion I noticed Rodney putting together a large platter with a big shell in the middle that appeared to hold pearls. I elbowed Pierre and then Steve so they’d notice the gimmick, but they were noisily calling for Kusshi’s and Deep Bay’s and then the waiter poured a lip smacking glass of pinot gris and the next thing I remember is Pierre holding a string of pearls. I looked on and said, “I tried to tell you about this little marketing gimmick,” but as I was saying this, Pierre was taking the heft of the string and I slowed my speech with, “well, maybe this isn’t a gimmick…”

Someone turned the sound to mute while I noticed the different hues and colors of the string, the marble size of each pearl and the variation and glow.

Then, it dawned on me through the aphrodisiac fog of oyster heaven; this must be yet another of Steve’s stunning, dramatic, awesome, stupendous, over-the-top birthday surprises, and it was MY birthday.

I was still able to eat more than my share of delicious oysters while wearing a very rare

strand of size 14 (lunker size) Tahitian Black South Sea Pearls from Pearl Paradise. “They are deeply lustrous, exotic and the only pearls in the world that are naturally black. Their dark iridescent surface has a mesmerizing affect with peacock coloratura overtones.” I reserve the word precious for Steve Robertson, and I recommend Rodney’s Oyster House even without the pearls.

– Leslie Robertson (2005) PASEO Fremont, WA – I’ve had to place an embargo on my consumption of Paseo’s Cuban sandwiches.

I just can’t have sandwiches like that selling me their greasy, garlicky propaganda anymore.

I had my own Bay of Pigs Invasion going on there for a while; you can’t believe the pork I consumed. Almost every Friday, I was forking over $7 to my office mate who would call in right at 11 a.m., as soon as Paseo opened it’s doors, and place our order. They would give us a number – usually in the 40s or 50s. That’s how many sandwiches were ahead of ours. We’d wait an hour and go pick them up. I couldn’t resist, because if I tried to say, “I think I’ll skip the flame-licked pork with the perfectly caramelized onions and jalapenos smothered in garlic aioli and stuffed into a crispy baguette this week,” the smell of my office mates’ sandwiches would make my stomach instantly fill with anticipatory digestive juices. I never knew such hunger. I ate a lot of pork sandwiches this year.

I forked out many a $7 (exact change only). And now there’s

this self-imposed embargo – but don’t think I don’t think of those Cuban sandwiches every Friday.

Don’t think I don’t salivate.

Don’t believe for a second that I can resist the Cuban sandwich.

That’s one thing the Commies got right.

– Jennifer Pemberton (2006)

TOO MANY COOKS IN THE KITCHEN FISKEGRATÄNG The Swedish version of fish gratin is a clean and simple belly warmer for winter and easy enough that even Jenny can make it.

You’ll need various quantities of these ingredients: Potatoes Sour cream Butter Some kind of fish Lemon Some kind of onion Fresh dill Salt & pepper Boil the potatoes and mash up with whatever fat and dairy

products you like. Butter and sour cream work. Buttermilk or cream would work too. Add salt and pepper to the mashed potatoes.

Place frozen or fresh fish in a layer on the bottom of a greased (butter, oil? I don’t care) casserole dish or deep cast iron pot. Cod is traditional, but salmon works, too, and I would like to do this dish with rainbow trout some day. Cover each fillet with a pat of butter.

Pile on the mashed potatoes.

You can do another layer of fish and potatoes on top if you need to. Place thinly sliced lemons (with the peel) and thinly sliced red onion, sweet onion, or whole green onions on top. Probably need some more pats of butter on top, too. Garnish with whole sprigs of fresh dill and bake. If you’re feeling fancy, put some of the mashed potato in a pastry bag and make some potato rosettes on top. I’ve never done this (never having owned a pastry bag) but the frozen versions we used to buy in Sweden always had this on top and I thought it was a nice touch.

Bake until the fish is cooked.

Maybe at 375 degrees for 20 minutes? I have no idea. As long as the fish is hot and there is a golden crust of potato on top and it’s creamy inside, you’ve succeeded as far as I’m concerned. Dish up. Make sure everyone gets a lemon slice and eats it, rind and all.

– Jennifer Pemberton SPICY CUMIN PRACTICE OF SMALL POTATOES Looking for authentic Chinese recipes? Look no further than www.cuisine-cn.com and learn all there is to know about classic Chinese cuisine. Can’t find a good recipe for Celery Beef Package? Or other essential classics like Potato Sour Silk or Durian Steamed Chicken? This comprehensive website gives a complete list of ingredients and describes the cooking practices so as to encourage even the beginner chef. Here is one classic everyone should try.

Spicy Cumin Practice of Small Potatoes Material: Small potatoes, light blue, ginger, garlic, dried chilli at the end, cumin powder, cumin granules, pepper, salt, oyster sauce.

Practices: 1, small potatoes, washed skin by adding a pinch of salt into the boiling water, cook pot; 2, the pot by adding an appropriate amount of oil into the small potatoes in the fire two fried yellow noodles; 3, all the materials into the Guobian sauté; 4, roomful of cumin, garlic, Congxiang, open the window,

smoke a lot of people can not help but suck the nose, around to find the source of odor; 5, turning potatoes into pot, add oyster sauce can be – Peter Robertson (2009) MEXICAN MEATBALL SOUP This year one of my favorite books is Grow Cook Eat by Willi Galloway. Galloway is an avid gardener who has lived in Seattle and Portland; she likes to grow everything edible. Galloway’s book has advice on what to plant when and then most importantly what and when to harvest.

Inspired by her book I planted cilantro. It didn’t last that long until it started flowering but that was okay because one of her recommendations is to harvest the green coriander seeds. You can pick all of the seeds and then freeze them so you have green coriander all year. The green coriander seeds are fantastic for Mexican and Indian dishes.

This is the soup I made up to use some of my seeds.

For the soup: Chicken stock Delicata squash Hatch chili Garlic Corn Anasazi beans (pre-cooked) Dried oregano Cilantro Lime Olive oil Salt For the meatballs: 1/3 lb. ground beef 1/3 lb. ground pork 1/3 cup of Panko 1 egg 1 tsp fresh coriander seeds

1 tsp cumin 1 tsp chipotle chili powder 1 garlic clove grated 1 Hatch chili Salt Make meatballs first to give them time to chill. In a morter and pestle grind up the coriander, cumin, chili powder, salt and garlic. Dice Hatch chili. Beat egg. Mix meats, Panko and spice mixture together. Add egg. Form into meatballs and put on a tray.

Transfer to freezer to chill.

Cut squash and chilies small enough to eat with your spoon.

Sauté squash, garlic and corn.

Add dried oregano. Pour in chicken stock.

Sauté meatballs until brown and add to soup. Add corn, beans and allow meatballs to finish cooking. Garnish with cilantro season to taste. Enjoy!

– Bijou Robertson SPORTSMAN CHEF So I decided this year that as a sportsman and a fellow who loves to cook and eat interesting foods, that I would not only eat the fish and game I bring home, but would make it something that other people looked forward to as well. I made it my goal to explore the wildlife I return with as ingredients, and to create food that was not just palatable, but delicious, an expression of my gratitude. During the past year I’ve made caviar from steelhead roe, as well as tasty smoked fish, and succulent trout fried in bacon fat, rabbit braised in white wine with Idaho lentils, pate of dove, and quail, with the best one made use of the liver from a lamb that I slaughtered, a fragrant pasta dish with ruffed grouse in

a mustard sauce, and terrine of pheasant which will be fantastic with some minor adjustments to the recipe. This has been one of my most adventurous and delicious in terms of home (and camp) cooking, and I’m so glad to have been able to share.

— Alex Hartman CHILI AND CHEESE NACHO DIP! I have become a fan of a cooking show produced by Weber State University in Ogden, Utah, called Weber Cooks with Steven Reed. This great cooking show teaches you how to cook on budget (often less than a dollar a meal) with only a microwave, can opener and plastic fork.

Ingredients: 1 16-ounce jar of nacho cheese sauce (preferably off-brand) 1 16-ounce can of chili (whatever flavor you prefer) Tortilla chips Below is the transcription from the episode: “Hello Wildcats this is Weber Cooks! And today we’re doing, uh, chili-cheese nachos. We start with a can of... (pausing for each breath) chili, and uh, open it up.”

(He opens the can of Nalley brand chili and dumps it into a purple disposable plastic bowl. Purple is the color of the wildcats.) “and then the cheese sauce,”(he opens a jar of Kroger brand nacho cheese sauce). “...We just take off the lid and we pop both in the microwave.... and, we set the microwave for four and a half minutes... and, when that is done...

we’ll... put ‘em in a bowl... and... mix it up... ...and we will have a dip for three to, uh, six people.”

(Long pause while the camera focuses on the microwave as the chili and cheese sauce turn inside) “Ok...

The things are done.

You gotta be careful because the cheese sauce is really hot. and the chili... is... hot also... and… mix them both together.”

(He pours the warmed chili and nacho cheese in clear glass bowl) “..and …you open …this up...”

(Struggling opening the bag of tortilla chips) “and... have some on a plate....” (he pours a few chips on a plate)

“and... there you have it… a dip that... will... satisfy... a small group... and this will... run ya about six bucks, but when you figure that it will feed anywhere from three to six people... it will only cost ya about a dollar or two dollars per person... and I’m Steven Reed... and... this was Weber Cooks.” (the camera zooms in on the plate of tortilla chips and the bowl of half mixed nacho cheese and chili) Watch for weekly episodes of Weber Cooks!

And look for re-runs of classic episodes such as: “Spaghetti!” “Rice-O-Roni!” and the fabulous, “Creamed Corn and Potatoes!” (With only two ingredients!)

– Peter Robertson

PIANO RECITAL

by Leslie Robertson A room with no room: a bust of Bach beside the bed. His calculated curls set for all time above his ears like the precise strains of Minuet in G trilling from the other room.

We wait: four pupils of Ralph Ramp most expensive piano teacher in town, very particular about lots of practice with a tendency to shout. In the vanity mirror,

begins his imitation of a nervous wreck who can’t control his shaking. He rattles The bowl to his lips, tips The beans in and chews with his mouth open.

John T’s face cracks into a grin; I stifle a giggle with my sweaty hand. Time has run out for John Thomas. He responds to the summons with stiff composure. Waves of music storm through the walls.

John Thomas sits rigid. His hair plastered down, his shoulders pinched into a brown jacket, his clammy hands clutched almost like prayer. The treble and clef of voices twitter awkward commentary from the other room

He pounds out, “Through the Lighthouse Window.”

“I hate recitals,” says Lenny. “Football’s my game. I’ve got a plan,” he confides, “to make it my only game.” He punches me playfully and swaggers out to tackle

crammed with parents and a patentleather Baby Grand. A refined voice announces the next player. Janelle rustles to her feet. Each fussy ringlet springs to action, sickly

The staccato beat of The Soldier’s March. staccato beat, -----------, start over. beat the repeat to a halt. Command of memory fails, a mutiny from the right hand and the left, the agony of the plea

smile on her face, she whispers, “my mother gave me a tranquillizer.

I’m still scared, but I don’t shake.” she trips off down the hall to a mournful interpretation of Fur Elise by Miss

for sheet music. Lenny (the roach) hangs in the dead silence of the crowd. I wait: A light goes on inside my head; Walls the color of oatmeal, a bust of Ivory, his brain curled, frozen

Priss of America. Only three left under strict orders to keep silent. Straight chairs edge the room. Mrs. Ramp’s blank face stares from a frame propped on the bureau, her grey-brown puff-ball

in time above his ears like the fuzzy strains of Static No. 5 set on automatic. The allegretto tempo of my heart beats and one, two, and three, four. This boy is Next.

hairdo hopelessly out-of-date. A bowl of black jelly beans beckons like a bribe. Lenny(the roach) referred to by his mother as Leonard (hoping there’s genius in a name)

THE BACK PAGE CARTOONS THROUGHOUT

by Will Fernandes KITTY

by Jordan Taylor

GOOD WILL TOWARD MEN Another year and Les and I are frozen in time. Our friends no matter how young, gone now, are the sweet memories that come to mind especially at holiday season. Don Fuller, tall and white-haired, athletic, a great laugh I can always call to mind; Art Wilkes, wavyhaired, with a wrinkled brow, all wrinkles that formed little smiles across his face, his generous spirit made for a memorable friend; Paul McWilliams, always late, a real Robertson, thrifty and kind. I chose Paul and Saundra as our children’s legal guardian after a Boise couple was killed in the Denver Continental crash, which our dear friend Hugh Ford survived; Mimi, never needy, independent and always loving. Now, I reflect back and my memories make it a happier season. I remind myself of all the people we so badly miss, but we are blessed with new friends like the Merges family, the Sommer family, the Pyles, the Sassos, the Arons, our few partners and now some new very foreign additions! Good will toward men. – Steve Robertson

(2006)

ACROSS 1. Name of insurance company.

3. Tropical fruit, b_n_n_.

5. Name of auto club.

DOWN 2. US State: _l_sk_ 3. Support group.

4. American Anthropological Association, abbr.

6. First letter of the alphabet.