PRICE $XO.XO
THE
DEC. 25, 2017
NEW NORKER
“Just try saying unique New York five times fast!”
GOINGS ON ABOUT TOWN TABLES FOR TWO, OR MORE
MALASPINA Inside Passage, AK The purser smiled at us from behind the desk, “Forget about Mainland because from the moment you step onto the Alaska Marine Highway System’s M/V Malaspina, it’s Alaska Time.” His eyes twinkled from behind his spectacles. It was evident he knew things we didn’t (aka: all things Alaska). He reached across the counter, dropped berth keys in our hands, and pointed out features of the M/V Malaspina. “Here you can see the movie schedule. And this screen shows our route. You can look here for the time table for ports of call. Oh, and meals are as scheduled. Look for the hot menus every day by the cafeteria. Enjoy!” We walked away slightly dazed and began our fourday, three-night journey from Bellingham, WA to Haines, AK via the Inside Passage. First came luggage, including a fully-packed cooler of sandwich material, granola, potato chips, beer and champagne. Then, we set out to explore the vessel. Here was the viewing platform, there was the outside deck, piano
and puzzles were tucked into the former-bar-cum-quiet-room, on the heated solarium were lounge chairs packed by 150 high school seniors on their spring break trip to the Yukon Territory, and finally, nestled in the bow was the cafeteria. Over the Intercom came the purser’s voice, “Safety meeting in the cafeteria beginning at 1800 hours, or 6:00 pm. That’s Alaska Time, folks!” We filed in. I guess we learned something of the safety features of the Malaspina, but what impressed me more was the decor. Windows wrapped from starboard to port, giving view to the moody Pacific coast. Each table held a prominent lip to keep trays from sliding off under rough seas and was adorned with interpretive panels about the marine life of Alaska. At the far side was a line of microwaves and toasters for intrepid folks who carried all their own food on board. On the left stood the drinks and condiment stand – all the hot water you could desire for free. Squashed behind the drink stand and with holey mats underfoot to catch liquid, stood the hot cafeteria area. We settled into life on the Malaspina quickly. Every day offered spectacular views of dramatic coastline (but no wildlife outside of shorebirds), piano playing in the lounge, laps around the deck, short ports of call where we could run to the car deck and replenish our stores (and meet Jenny and Peter for coffee in Juneau), and set meal times in the cafeteria.
When we boarded the Malaspina, our plan was simple: Arrange our own cold breakfast and lunch, and splurge on a hot meal in the evenings. But, when granola and yogurt began to wear on us and when the spinach for sandwiches wilted beyond repair, we’d tuck into a satisfying hot breakfast or lunch, too. Because, as it turned out, meal time on the Malaspina was the most novel part of the day. The set menu, meticulously lettered on marquee boards, announced standard fare of, “Cheeseburger with fries $8.75, Fish and Chips $9.50. Salads $4.00. Brownies and Assorted Pies $1.75-$4.00. Breakfast: 2 eggs, meat, potatoes, toast $9.00.” But it was the menu of the day that provided endless amusement. Like clockwork, we’d wake and find the day’s menu carefully typed and posted on cheerful colored paper next to the cafeteria entrance. “Today’s Specials: Alaska rockfish or salmon with potatoes and green beans $14.00. Roasted chicken marinated in teriyaki sauce $12.75. New York Strip Steak with baked potato and charred onions $16.75. Halibut curry with sautéed vegetables $15.50.” With great excitement, we’d queue up and fill our trays with salad, desserts, and a hot dish. In such a cramped space, the service was marginal with servers adorned in hairnets and latex gloves unceremoniously scooping our selected entrees onto plates. We had to have our wits about us – this was no place for dawdling or indecision. Decide fast or else.
Once we paid the surly cashier, we’d load up on condiments and cold water and find a seat at a marine-wildlife table to learn about starfish, oysters, and whales. People laughed and joked around us. This table playing a game of cribbage, that one full of teenagers guffawing at each other’s antics, on the far side a family reading books while sharing a meal. Oh boy, those hot meals were delicious. Salty and savory, surprisingly tender and tasty, the meals stuck to ribs and warmed souls. We’d fill up, lean back, pat our tummies and give thanks for a hot meal on a warm ship that putzed its way along the Inside Passage to the North Country. Farther and farther north we traveled, going back in time and seasons with each passing day. Like the first frontiers people or the last, with bellies full of Salisbury Steak and Chicken a la King, and each with our own reasons in our hearts, we traveled ever northward to reach our destiny in Alaska. ~ Nancy Patterson
happened to be Hop Kee, described on Google as a “Latenight, cash-only Chinese spot serving traditional Cantonese in a no-frills basement location.” The walls were covered in dollar bills, the hot tea was served in a thin plastic cup just like in China, and all the other patrons were cops. It was glorious. My eggplant was sweet and sour and oily and salty; not too mushy – just the way I like it. At $7 it was the cheapest meal I had all year and definitely the best. And even though the train ride cost four times that, my short night in the Big Apple was still a total bargain. ~ Jennifer Pemberton TASTY N’ SONS Portland, OR Tasty N’Sons was a great restaurant for brunch. They had great drinks like fresh squeezed orange juice and great food. My favorite was the Shakshuka which is chiles, tomatoes, peppers and eggs with bread and the patatas bravas. I said to the waiter, if I would rate this, I would rate it 5 stars. The waiter
said “I’ll tell the chef.” The chef came to me to bring me a chocolate potato doughnut with creme anglaise. It was delicious. ~ Boady Merrill BA BAR Seattle, WA This year has been another year of eating in. Between lack of nanny availability or too slow courses and early bedtimes makes it really hard to go out. Saturday brunch is just about the only opportunity. As long as we don’t have to wait and it isn’t too far away. So we were excited to hear the chef from Monsoon was opening a new Ba Bar 10 minutes from our house. Monsoon has always been one of our favorite restaurants. But since it is on Capitol Hill it seems hard to get to especially because when you want Pho you don’t want to plan for days. But we had been to Ba Bar in Westlake and lackadaisical service and unmemorable food discouraged us from a second visit. The week Ba Bar opened
HOP KEE Chinatown, New York City, NY In May I went to stupid New Jersey for a conference. I had one free evening – like five hours – and decided to take the train into the City. If you lived in an essentially landlocked small town in Alaska and suddenly the world was your oyster for five hours, what would you do? I got on the subway to Chinatown and found the most “I’m telling you – the young guys can shoot. brightly-lit basement restaurant I “I’m telling you-Just the young guys can Just fly towards Ol’ Man fly towards Ol’shoot. Man Robertson and you’ll beRobertson fine...” and you’ll be fin could and ordered myself some Sichuan eggplant. The restaurant ~ Will Fernandes
we decided to test it out. Tucked away on the back side of U Village you might forget you are at the mall. Pastries and Vietnamese coffee greet you as you pass through the cerulean blue doors. It’s a large restaurant but Saigon-inspired screens divide the space into comfortable areas. There are multiple hosts and endless child seats so you don’t have to wait for a table. We ordered orange juice for Mijanou and they brought it immediately. Unlike any other restaurant in Seattle every server seems to know what they are doing. Steaming hot imperial rolls arrive in less than 5 minutes. If you order a delicious salad it comes just as fast. After eating out in Seattle for more than 10 years the speed
was rather shocking. It’s like you barely speak the words and it appears. The reason to go to Ba Bar is the Pho. There are many varieties. My favorite is still the oxtail but its’ better than at Monsoon because at Ba Bar they serve it with the oxtails so you get to savor the fragrant meat as well as the broth. Will’s favorite is the pork belly ramen. Mijanou can eat endless noodles. And every table has its own giant bottle of sauce (obvious endorsement for Mijanou) housed in a Vietnamese coffee can for effect. The food is excellent, the service professional and fast, the wine menu is especially good for an ethnic restaurant and so it looks like we will be going
to the mall often to eat. ~ Bijou Robertson RENTAL HOUSE, Seabrook, WA CHANDLERS, Boise, ID LITTLE BIRD, Portland, OR NEWMAN’S FISH MARKET, Eugene, OR Sometime in late September, Will Fernandes brought me a cup of soup while I was preoccupied with something in the wine bar. I can still recall the perfect texture, creamy almost foamy, the smooth layers of flavor. I don’t even know what kind of soup it was, but it was delicious. I haven’t had such a startling awakening of tastebuds since White Bean Espresso at the Culinary Institute in 2002. American restaurant food in general has progressing even in remote locations. The standard
HOW TO EAT A RAW OYSTER by Leslie Robertson Go to Swan’s after the first snow. Oysters are best from winter waters. Order champagne. Toast Venus, who rose from the sea and popped out of an oyster. Order a dozen Blue Point or Yaquinas, Kumamoto or Malpeque. Olympias, named after the gods, are the smallest and best. Don’t squirm when the oysters are served. Smell the sea, dream of pearls. Don’t look long. You might feel the grey seas’ Swell, up and down.
On the half shell, they’re alive, and so are you. Can you swallow this morsel called sin, called love? Pick up the shell from the narrow side, and tip The Aura of Olympus from the seabed between your lips And catch it lightly among your teeth. Let it shimmer down your throat. Like a halo it will be delicately metallic, crisp and clean. Float away on a wave of new powers, Aphrodisiac is oysters’ other name.
of preparation and presentation of eating out has improved over recent years. Moments of memorable delights are still rare, though, outside the talents within our family and friends. Comments about a meal out come with a shrug and “not bad” or “pretty good,” stop. This year, what has been most memorable for me is an M word, M—m—m-, mollusks. The storied Clam Dig at Seabrook, where we dug ‘em, hauled ‘em, shucked ‘em, cleaned ‘ em, floured, egged and breaded ‘em, ate as many as we wanted and squealed and exclaimed over the whole process. When you gulp down a drool in the middle of the review, you know this meal was memorable. Oysters, on the half-shell, and fried too, transported me throughout the year no matter where I ate them. There was the celebration in June with champagne and oysters with the Dahlinger’s at Chandlers reminiscing about their Spanish trip. My birthday in Portland, we started off with oysters and a white wine from the Loire at Little Bird (which means I’m happy). At Thanksgiving I gave thanks for oysters from Newman’s Fish Market and drank my last Leslie’s cuvee bottle of champagne. If the oysters are fresh they taste like the sea. Their signature flavor and texture are a unique and exotic expression of where they were grown – Willipa Bay, Totten Inlet, Yaquina Bay, Olympias, Kumamotos – Pacific oysters are the ultimate special occasion choice at home or out to eat! ~ Leslie Robertson
THE SALTRY Ismailof Island, AK We went to Alaska this summer and had only one dining reservation. The Saltry is open May through September and although the patio is covered, this al-fresco restaurant is still in Alaska. Fortunately for us, a light sweater was all that was required on this partly sunny day. The Saltry is on Ismailof Island in Halibut Cove across the Kachemak Bay from Homer. Captain Alex motored us across the Bay as we kept our eyes open for seals, otters and whales and we arrived at the dock just 30 minutes late. All eight of us walked up the dock to the The Saltry, the restaurant built into a cliff in Halibut Cove with just a glorified driftwood railing perched above the water – not the ideal setting for a toddler but a fairy-tale-like setting for a restaurant. The restaurant sits alongside a colorful row of little houses decorated with sea-faring buoys, fishing poles leaning against a wall secured by rope, shell wind chimes and
hanging nasturtium pots. Even with the limited access, The Saltry was busy at lunchtime, as their reputation for fresh seafood, creative dishes and wonderful deck dining bring visitors from far and wide. Cruzen immediately started to explore the restaurant and beyond and we followed closely behind, monitoring this highrisk exploration. He did stop for a seat at the table to eat a whole bowl of seafood chowder. I saved our receipt from our luncheon at The Saltry and we treated ourselves to many of the food and beverage menu items: three ramen bowls served with fresh black cod and a sous vide hen egg, fresh sockeye street tacos, two bowls of seafood chowder, a plate of Kachemak Bay oysters, a beet salad with sesame mochi, apricot puree and candy sesames. We sipped on dry white wine as well as a pitcher of beer and a High Tide Cocktail. This lunch fare was followed by two full combo dessert specials as well as cheesecake. We may only get to The Saltry once in a
“I was wondering why you were gone for so long, where’s my damn bird?” ~ Will Fernandes
“I was wondering why you were gone for so long, but where’s my damn bird!?”
lifetime so we tried everything. The eclectic meal and water view had us settling into island life almost immediately. Following the full-menu we took a jaunt ‘lost boys’ style along boardwalks and small trails up and around the island, past little galleries, unfenced horses and into the Halibut Cove Coffee House to the other side of the island where we walked across a narrow spit and threw rocks into the water. Eating with friends and family at The Saltry coupled with the boat ride and charm of the island made this one of the most memorable travel experiences of a lifetime. If once is all you have at The Saltry and Ismailof Island, at least once is a MUST. ~ Hadley Robertson THE ADOBE Yachats, OR LITTLE BIRD Portland, OR I’ve had a couple of memorable meals this past year. The one more sentimental than fine was at the Adobe hotel in Yachats, Oregon. Leslie and I spent a night here on our three-day honeymoon. We both remember the dense fog; the R-type Bentley got a work out with it’s fog lamp! Forty-seven years later we ate the early bird special, our first, I think, ever, and watched the sun set this time. We also met the chef, of course. Turns out he had worked with Ed Randall who worked for Annabel’s Restaurant before moving to the coast. The petrale sole was good and the company was very special. Leslie’s written about Little Bird, but I think it deserves another mention. After entering and exiting a narrow parking
garage entrance in city traffic, I was applauded for my expert parallel street manuever by two Portland girls who didn’t know how well-deserved the applause was. We had approached Portland on the narrow two-lane Washington side of the river because the Gorge was on fire. The smoke was thick. I was coughing and kept it up inside Little Bird. The maitre d’ brought me a cup of honeyed lemon tea. Again, early bird special, (not intended), meant trying everything, pate, oysters on the half shell, charcuterie, with a tasty Sancerre. ~ Steve Robertson BEAUCOUP BEARS Wind River, ID On the banks of the Wind River, a small pot of water nestled up in the red-hot coals simmered a fresh bear tongue. The river, swollen with the spring melt roared down the steep canyon, the noise loud enough that it limited conversation. Water from the cascades cooled our tent and clothes with a fine mist. Deep rumblings from the large rocks dislodged by the torrents resonated through our bones as we knelt cooking in front of the fire. Next to the simmering pot, two thin strips of meat were threaded on sharpened sticks propped up at a low angle roasting over the coals. Our backs were especially weary having carried very heavy packs down steep trails and dinner was later than our hungry stomachs wanted. We had gone out bear hunting, hiking out in Salmon River country, a place I have spent a great deal of time but
usually at the bottom of the canyon in the summer, at times when the high heat means hiking far away from the cool water is very unappealing. So while I have looked up at the steep slopes and cliff faces and dreamed of hiking far ridgelines I have hardly explored any of the area. But bear hunting in the spring is an opportunity to hike around this area without the heat, and the added advantage of numerous springs and small creeks to get drinking water, lowering the weight of your backpack. After rafting trips down the Salmon had peaked our desire to further explore the area, and having seen bears on each trip down the river we thought it would be a great time to explore as well as having a pretty good chance at getting a bear. But seeing a lone bear on a hundred-mile float is not the same as being able to find one during hunting season. So in preparation for a bear hunt I called the wildlife biologist for the Salmon River region and told him of our hunt plan. He thought it was a great idea and promised “beaucoup” bears. I hadn’t heard that phrase for years and it struck a deep chord, as it was Paul McWilliams who always used the term to describe plentiful game. Alex and I left from Boise in the late afternoon, sped up the road and started to get excited as the road started winding as it followed the banks of the little Salmon River. We pulled up to the Carey Creek boat ramp with just an hour or so of daylight left and quickly shouldered our packs and started hiking. It was
amazing to see how swollen the Salmon River was with the spring melt and the long concrete boat ramp was entirely hidden beneath the waters. We hiked up the steep slopes, carpeted in green grass, reminiscent of Ireland. The light green seemed odd as I was so used to seeing the area a dusty brown with black basalt and khaki dry grass. The hiking was slow and light was fading fast and our destination was unknown as we gained elevation up the side canyon. After less than an hour on the trail in the last few minutes of evening, as we rounded a tight bend in the trail, a black bear hurried down the cliffs on the other side of drainage. A bear! Unbelievable. We studied the bear through our binoculars, and guessed at distance. “Is the bear in range?” I asked. Alex checked with his range finder, less than 300 yards. A long but doable shot. We glassed the unfamiliar terrain both up canyon and down and looked at the tumultuous creek raging with ice cold water at the bottom. We thought it wasn’t worth the risk so we watched the bear in our crosshairs for a few minutes as we lost light. We had the worry of where would we sleep, knowing that finding a flat spot in this steep country wouldn’t be made easier in the dark.
But we stumbled on a flat spot next to the creek that would make a perfect camp only a mile or so past where we had seen the bear and it would make it quick to head back down the trail at first light to see if we could see it again. Even though I was tired, I slept fitfully, excited to get up again and hearing noises of phantom bears digging through my granola bars, so when dawn arrived we were up quick. We only had time for a cup of instant coffee before we snuck down the trail to find a bear. In the light of the morning it became apparent how difficult it would have been to get that bear back out had we shot it, the walls of the other side of the drainage were precipitously steep, with many sections of dangerous cliff, and they funneled down into the Wind River that was a solid cataract filled with old ponderosa snags. It may have been possible to get a bear out from there, but potentially the bear would have taken us with it. Seeing nothing we decided to head farther up trail and loaded up our packs and hiked slowly, glassing around every corner. After a few miles we found a very nice camp and decided to lighten our load by leaving our tent and sleeping bags. We headed around the bend, and continued to gain elevation. It was brilliantly sunny out and we had finally gotten high enough we could see down into the Salmon River canyon: the riffles and rapids now just small scales on the back of the olive serpentine water below. We hiked slow as the trail
switch-backed up a very steep section, when Alex gasped, “I see a bear.” We both froze and he pointed where he had spotted it, it had slipped into a ravine a few hundred yards uphill from us. We gently lowered our packs and slipped off the trail to peer over into the shallow ravine. The bear was headed directly towards us, a large bear that looked more like a polar bear than a black bear, its fur a thick blonde. Alex hurried off to a spot with a clear shot and I froze in position to avoid any movement that might alert the bear to our presence. I ticked off the seconds waiting for a shot, and Alex held his crosshairs on the bear waiting for it to walk even closer. Just then an unfamiliar voice cried, “Look a bear!” At the sound the bear reversed direction and ran straight up through a narrow gap in the cliff-face and over a ridge. A pair of backpackers passed on the trail the same time as the bear. Luckily Alex had noticed their presence before pulling the trigger or they would have had to watch the bear they had just spotted being shot... We were devastated. Although we were excited to have seen another bear but having in our sights and at less than 100 yards, and close to the trail was very disappointing. But after recounting what had happened we knew what to do. Shoulder our packs and keep hunting. We kept going up, with the perfect 60 degree weather and sun hiking was a dream, although the steep country taxed the legs. We hiked up a steep ridge keeping the wind at our
face to the spot where we had last seen the blonde bear. We saw some deer, and the mating calls of the ruffed grouse drummed up from the thick cover in the ravines. Alex and I were hiking apart about 100 yards and he was trucking up the hill. I was going slower and looking up a ravine when I spotted a very large jet-black bear about 100 yards directly above me. I quickly backtracked and saw that at Alex’s current trajectory he would come over the rise and be face to face with the bear. I waved my arms frantically trying to catch his attention to slow his pace but by the time he saw my signal and we made a plan the bear had disappeared. We found fresh track and found where the bear had ripped open an old log looking for grubs. Another bear sighting blown. But we were amazed. Beaucoup Bears! We had seen three bears in less than less than 24 hours, and all three were in shooting range. We ate a snack looking down the ridge into a deep inhospitable gully where we had pushed two bears. The north facing slope was thickly timbered with scrawny pines and at about 45 degree slope we knew we were not carrying out a 300 pound bear from down there. Knowing we had pushed the bears out of the area we were camping we contemplated our next days hunt as we hiked the miles back to our camp. The next morning we awoke with tired legs and uncertain of the best way to hunt. But figuring we needed to find new hunting ground, we packed up our camp and started up the
steep switchbacks to look for greener pastures. As we glassed as we hiked we noticed a pair of hunters hiking hot on our heels. They must have started hiking before dawn and were headed the same direction we were. This pushed us into high gear, we knew we would have to stay ahead to stake out the best hunting ground, but we didn’t know what lay ahead on the trail. Fortunately, the trail leveled out and we could keep a good pace and still keep a close eye for wildlife. We spotted some deer, and far off in the distance could see a herd of elk mingling in the trees. Then as the trail took us to a new drainage, we spotted a large black bear. Maybe the one we had spotted the day before, it was moving fast and we watched it on the other side of drainage climb down a series of cliffs. Alex ranged it at just over 300 yards. It was coming towards us, but coming through thick brush and so we didn’t have a clear shot. We split up; I headed down the trail and Alex went up in hopes that one of us would get a clean shot. But even though we could clearly see the bottom of the ravine, the bear disappeared. We were dumbfounded. Where did the bear go? I blew my fawn call hoping to arouse its curiosity, but after a few minutes of calling the bear didn’t reappear. I hiked back up the trail and Alex and sat confused. How did we loose track of that bear? But we also new that the other hunters were gaining ground on us as we sat. As we discussed what to do next Alex spotted another bear charging along on the tracks of the bear we has just
lost. It was walking along on a bench above a cliff and was a beautiful cinnamon bear. I laid my pack down and steadied my rifle. Alex called out the range for me and the bear was facing us and when he stopped I took my shot. I lost sight in the crosshairs and I asked Alex what happened. The shot was clean. The bear was dead. Our hands were shaking and the gruesome deed was done. I was both elated and disappointed. But mostly thankful the shot had done its work quickly. We shouldered our pack and started back on the trail. Although the shot was just over 300 yards, the ravine was so deep that it took us about 15 minutes to get to the bear. As we emerged from the thick woods, I looked back to the other side of the ravine where we had taken our shot, and saw the pair of hunters sitting in the exact spot we had fired from. They could see the bear clearly from there, but hadn’t been able to see us until just this moment. While we had a disappointment on this trip, imagine spotting a bear within range but then at closer look realize that someone has already hunted it before you. We waved to the pair and dropped onto the cliff-band to see our bear. Having just watched two bears climb over the cliffs had given us a false sense of their precipitousness, and we learned
bears can walk over cliffs like we can walk across a putting green. Our bear lay on a shelf barely 6 feet wide, with a 30 foot drop to jagged rocks below. One misplaced foot distracted by trying to get a better angle while butchering would be lethal. The bear was beautiful. He was about 6 feet nose to tail with a brown coat with long hair, and his paws had inky black pads and sharp claws that glistened like obsidian arrowheads. He had long incisors and wide square head. I expected a funky musky odor but much to our surprise only the faintest order was apparent. Similar to a oft-bathed canine. Our skinning and butchering was hard work and we worked as quickly as we could in the warm spring sun, made more complicated by the jagged geology. And we had to butcher the bear to small enough pieces to fit in our packs, removing as much of the bone as possible to save weight. The other hunters had hiked around the trail and climbed down to say hello and congratulate us. Instead of expressing disappointment they seemed proud of us and said they thought they were the only ones crazy enough to hike this crazy country to hunt for bears. They told us their plans and we told them of our sightings. Then we loaded the quarters onto our pack frames and struggled
to stand up, the scramble up the cliff face was frightening but we only had a few hundred yards to the trail, and then the grueling hike began. With all of our camping gear, our guns and the bear meat and hide our packs were at our physical limit. We were unable to get our packs on without help and couldn’t get standup from the ground after taking a rest. We plodded slow, but knew we needed to hike fast to get the meat cooled as soon as possible. When we got to the saddle from where we took our shot we looked back to survey the scene one more time. The ravens and the magpies fought for their share, and a red fox triumphantly emerged with a large bone and we watched him hurry off with his prize. As we dropped back down in elevation and at the top of the switch backs I said to Alex, “I know we have seen a lot of bears, but I sure want to see just one more.” And Alex looked up and said, “Like that one?” and pointed to a black spot across a wide valley. Holy Moly! We got out our binoculars and watched a black bear meander through the low brush. Beaucoup bears! Finally, as we reached our first night’s camp our backs could go no further. We found a deep slow pool and put the meat in a dry bag to cool in the ice cold stream, and then we hung the hide out to cool in the mist on the railing of the bridge. It was a macabre scene but since it was nearly dark and we would be packed by early morning we were unlikely to have visitors. After taking care of the meat we
needed to eat, and after boiling water for some instant food we got to work on the effort of the trip: bear meat. We started a fire in a hollow below a boulder and prepped the meat. The tenderloins we wrapped on a sharpened stick and the tongue we simmered in a pot with creek water. While Alex told stories of trichinosis, which I resoundly discounted, we watched the meat sizzle in the glow of the fire. When they were cooked well we peeled the tongue and seasoned the meat with cracked black pepper and a healthy dose of Maldon’s Salt. Our pocket knives functioned as forks to pick up the steaming large slices of delicate meat. The bear tenderloins were very rich and nourishing without being fatty, and just lightly smoked from the fire. Absolutely delicious. But the tongue, well it lives in a different place in my mind, a singular experience, a food I had never before experienced. The texture was unlike any meat I had ever before chewed. Similar, perhaps, to a scallop or calamari with a springiness but not chewy. The flavor was very rich, but not gamey or earthy. Instead it had a delicate meaty flavor with lots of umami. All in all it was the tastiest meat I had ever eaten. Beaucoup bears! ~ Peter Robertson
BOOKS, BRIEFLY NOTED
HARRY POTTER AND THE CURSED CHILD based on a story by J.K. Rowling, Jack Thorne, and John Tiffany. A Play by Jack Thorne Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is based on a story by J.K. Rowling but the book is a play-script. The story reads like a script, complete with ‘setting the scene,’ and a name in front of each line of dialogue. I was convinced to finally give it a try after one of my friends said she had read and enjoyed it. Once you start reading you’ll find that it’s much like watching a foreign film, after-a-while you don’t realize you’re even reading subtitles. I have always been a big fan of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter so another opportunity to be transported into a fantastical wizarding realm was intriguing. The story begins at the wellknown train platform 9 ¾ as Harry & Ginny Potter (formerly Weasley) prepare to drop off and wave goodbye to their kids as they depart for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All the major players including Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, are in the story but now they have kids of their own and work at The Ministry of Magic. One Potter son in particular, Albus, struggles with his father’s legacy. He feels resentful of his father and although he tries to stand on his own two feet has not navigated
a positive way to do so. In his search for his individual identity he conjures up the past and with it the dark forces of the wizarding world. What would a J.K. Rowling book be without a return of the Dark Side? Harry Potter and families muster up their magic and try to save the world and their naïve children from total doom. The Cursed Child was not my favorite in the Harry Potter series but it was an adventurous tale that is an escape to the magical realm. ~ Hadley Robertson THE BEST CHRISTMAS PAGEANT EVER by Barbara Robinson I have been re-reading some of my favorite childhood books with Boady and Dave – cuddling up with Murray by the fire and digging into a great story is a great way to spend a cozy, lazy evening together. We’ve read Harry Potter, Henry Huggins, and Danny the Champion of the World (actually, nearly everything Roald Dahl). Over Halloween we got spooked by Bunnicula and because Christmas was coming up I thought we should haul out The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, the classic 1971 Christmas tale from Barbara Robinson. The Herdman kids, Imogene, Claude, Ralph, Leroy, Ollie, and Gladys, are total delinquents, they smoke and drink and cuss and burn down buildings. They terrorize their town and traumatize the kids and teachers at their school. But when they end up at church because they hear there are free snacks somehow they land all the major roles in the upcoming
Christmas pageant. Hijinx and hilarity ensue! I remember loving this book as a kid but I think I appreciated it even more as an adult – so much of life is making the best out of the worst, putting up with difficult people and often, the most beautiful things have the roughest edges. ~ Jocelyn Robertson COYOTE AMERICA: A NATURAL AND SUPERNATURAL HISTORY by Dan Flores We didn’t have air conditioning in my home growing up, and when the house heated up in summer we would open the windows in the evening to let in the cool evening breezes. The ponderosa pine scented air was also carried the simian calls of coyotes from the ruin of the lumber mill that built the town in the flood plain below. That sound is familiar to more people in a much wider geographic and demographic range than ever before, not in spite of, but in fact because of our best efforts to exterminate this incredibly adaptable species. Coyote America is a natural history and biography of a species that rates among cockroaches and rats in terms of favorable feelings among Americans. But the coyote has played an important role in the literature and identity, not to mention the ecology, of our continent beginning with Native American myth and extending through Disney, hippies and Warner Brothers. Coyotes, once a western species associated with the rural southwest are now in every
US state except Hawaii, with thriving urban populations in cities like Denver, Chicago and New York. They maintain steady populations in city parks, live on rooftops and individual animals have been spotted taking refuge on a hot day in a Quizno’s beverage cooler and riding the MAX in Portland. An ongoing eradication effort costing tens of millions of tax dollars has resulted in an incredible expansion of the coyote’s population and it’s range expanding into areas where it has never been recorded. Coyote America is an engagingly told story of a uniquely American character that is every bit as apt a symbol of our nation as the eagle or bison. Whether you pronounce coyote using two syllables or three, this book will give you a new
appreciation for America’s junior wolf. ~ Alex Hartman THE SNOW CHILD by Eowyn Ivey The story begins dark and impenetrable with the crispness of clear skies and chatter of cold snow as only the North Country knows. It’s a place of survival, both heavy and light. And the true threat to the characters lies in their own cabin fever and minds versus the frigid surroundings outside their home. The Snow Child begins with two heart-broken settlers in the 1920s of frontier Alaska. Mabel and Jack moved to Alaska from “back east” to escape the sorrow of their stillborn child, the supposed judgement of others about why they had no children, and to tame a tract of wilderness to be their
own. They knew “it would be a hard life, but it would be theirs alone. Here at the world’s edge, far from everything familiar and safe, they would build a new home in the wilderness and do it as partners.” But two years later, desperation sinks deep into their hearts. The two grow distant, each consumed by their own isolated sense of responsibility and failure. “Do you think we’ll make it through the winter?” Mabel asks Jack. She waits in silence until Jack finally responds, “We don’t have much choice, do we?” Then the magic begins. Jack takes a trip to town to sell Mabel’s pies, where he learns the local hotel has no more need for them. Discouraged, he sits down for a meal and is joined by George Benson. The Bensons
“Run Cruzie! Gavin is pissed that we gave him a diaper wedgie and he’s coming after us!” ~ Will Fernandes
“Run Cruzie! Gavin is pissed that we gave him a diaper wedgie and he’s coming after us!”
homesteaded in Alaska years before, and George knows the work comes easier with many hands. He offers his family’s help to Jack, along with the offer that his own wife, Esther, would love some company. In that small gesture of kindness, the Bensons begin to break down the cold loneliness of Jack and Mabel’s life into one full of love, kindness, and compassion, for everyone needs a guide through the ragged Alaskan lifestyle. On the night of the first snow, Mabel braves the cold and joins Jack outside. Laughing, they craft a snow child, adorned with yellow straw hair and mittens and scarf made by Mabel’s sister Ada. They go to bed, hopeful and happy for the first time in years. The next morning, the snow child is gone. As if by magic, both Jack and Mabel begin to see a little girl running through the woods. Her hair yellow and full of lichens with a blue coat on and Mabel’s mittens and scarf, and a fox by her heels. Is she a figment of their imagination? Or a real child? Mabel remembers a story from her childhood about a snow child who comes each winter to an old couple, only to leave in the spring perhaps never to return. She knows the answer to this mysterious snow child must lie in this tale. After years of silence, she writes to Ada, renewing their sisterhood. In the mail comes the tale of the snegurochka, the snow child. Jack and Mabel leave small gifts for the girl at the edge of their homestead, sourdough biscuits and a porcelain doll. The girl does the same, placing
fish and wild blueberries in birch baskets on their stoop. One day, while following the flash of blue and red of the girl, Jack comes across a bull moose. Finally, it is assured that through the grace of this animal, the friendship of the Bensons who help harvest it, and the gift and kindness of this snow child, Jack and Mabel will survive the winter. The Bensons see nothing of this child, nor experience the random snow storms that often accompany her appearance. Esther Benson worries for her friend Mabel, thinking cabin fever has caught her. Finally she resolves, “In my old age, I see that life itself is often more fantastic and terrible than the stories we believed as children, and that perhaps there is no harm in finding magic among the trees.” Thus unfolds the largest lesson of the book: That one cannot tame the wilderness, but become part of it and find joy in it. As the friendship between the snow child and Jack and Mabel progresses, they dance a fine line of trying to tame her instead of accepting the wildness that she embodies. As they settle into the seasonal life of Alaska, they begin to accept the changes and realize, “We never know what is going to happen, do we? Life is always throwing us this way and that. That’s where the adventure is. Not knowing where you’ll end up or how you’ll fare. It’s all a mystery, and when we say any different, we’re just lying to ourselves.” The snow child teaches them they can choose joy over sorrow, to let things be, to let go of control and simply
live in the ebb and flow of the seasons. And that’s Alaska. Everyone, including yourself, wonders how long you’ll survive here. Whether you’ll die physically or mentally. If the strain will become too great. And everyone wants you to survive. To lend a hand to help you learn what to forage, where to hunt, how to find beauty in this vast wilderness. Because everyone is desperate and hopeful, independent and interconnected. Because survival depends on the magic found in winter, the hope found in food foraged from the earth or grown from the hummocky soil. Because the connection between humans and nature is not so distant and oh-so-precious in this place. One cannot survive without the other. And you just need to know how to look beyond the impenetrable fortress to learn the beauty of survival found in all the pieces. The gift of the snow child is, in the end, love, belief, and acceptance. Mabel finally understands this as she and the snow child stand together watching snowflakes fall from the sky. With wonderment she observes that “she could not fathom the hexagonal miracle of snowflakes formed from clouds, crystallized fern and feather that tumble down to light on a coat sleeve, white stars melting even as they strike. How did such force and beauty come to be in something so small and fleeting and unknowable? You did not have to understand miracles to believe in them, and in fact Mabel had come to suspect the opposite. To believe, perhaps you had to cease looking for
explanations and instead hold the little thing in your hands as long as you were able before it slipped like water between your fingers.”~ Nancy Patterson BRUNO COURREGES series by Martin Walker; SALVO MONTALBANO series by Andrea Camilleri; THE SCRIBE OF SIENA by Melodie Winaver; A PIECE OF THE WORLD by Christina Baker Kline; THE LAST PAINTING OF SARA DE VOSS by Dominic Smith; THE GREATEST GENERATION by Tom Brokaw They say that reading a book allows one to escape reality into another world – and that’s just where I’ve wanted to be since the turn of the new year (for reasons that should be obvious to most). I keep track of my reading on the website called Goodreads, so I can peruse the list of books I’ve read over the past year (and, admittedly, so that when someone asks for a book recommendation I can quickly bring up my list and respond, “oh, you must read such and such by so and so….”). So let’s see: this year I read 34 books, which included 15 (fifteen!) “series” books, 3 novels based on artists’ lives, and a history book. “Series” books, those involving the same main character, are not my normal fare, at least not since I gobbled up the Nancy Drew books as a youth. Back in August, while at HCW for the eclipse, Ms. Leslie introduced me to Bruno Courrèges, chef de police in the small (fictional) French rural village of St. Denis in the (not fictional) region of the Perigord. And I fell in love – with Bruno,
with the countryside, with the food, and all the other characters, many if not most, of whom appear regularly throughout the series. The author of this series is Martin Walker, who currently works for a private think-tank for CEOs of major corporations, based in Washington DC. He spent 25 as a journalist with Britain’s The Guardian newspaper, and served as bureau chief in Moscow and the US, as European Editor and Assistant Editor. He is also a regular broadcaster on the BBC, National Public Radio and CNN, and guest panelist on ’Inside Washington’ for CBS-TV, ‘The McLaughlin Show’ for NBC-TV and ‘White House Chronicle’ on the Public Broadcasting Network. And he writes crime fiction – 13 volumes so far, numbered 1-11 plus 5.5 and 7.5. Because of his journalistic background, the interesting plots involve all sorts of recent history and politics, including France’s involvement in the Viet Nam war, political fraud and corruption, immigration
policies, animal rights protesters, Arab cocaine dealers, Satanism, jihadists, and Basque separatists, to name just a few topics. Bruno was a soldier who saved women during the Bosnian war, a hero, and also a gentleman who loves gardening and the outdoors, sits a horse well, loves animals, appreciates—and prepares— good food, is congenial, polite, convivial, intelligent, thoughtful, and a loyal friend. About every 10 pages or so, Bruno prepares a mouth-watering dinner for friends and neighbors, completely ad hoc and with little fuss – a truffle omlette followed by grilled bécasses, a venison casserole, or poulet bière au cul (beer can chicken!), always accompanied by greens and tomatoes from his garden and, of course, wine of the Bergerac region, from the more expensive Pomerols and St. Emilions to his own vin de noix. You will shop at village markets and get to know the vendors and attend oldfashioned wine harvests. I was completely transported to the south of France, climbing into
bed with my book at 9 pm and visiting with Bruno and friends, traveling up and down the Vezère River and the Dorgogne, solving crimes and drinking a bit of chilled Monbasillac and eating foie gras, until morning came and I could look forward to my return to the Perigord that night. So as not to run out of reading material (oh horrors!), I uncovered another “crime fiction” series which takes place in Sicily, with all the attendant seafood, Mafia, and complicated romance you might expect. Inspector Salvo Montalbano is the small town police officer at the center of a 28 book series by Andrea Camilleri. Like Walker’s books, they have well-researched and engaging plots and characters, and plenty of good food. Though not what we might consider “gourmet,” you want to sit right down at the table and pick up a fork when you read sentences like, “I’ve got some rock lobster ready for the grill that’ll seem like you’re not eating them, but dreaming them!” Also for escaping the daily news, I can recommend three fascinating novels about art and artists. The Scribe of Siena, by Melodie Winaver, about a 14th century artist and a 21st century neurosurgeon who time-travels to medieval Tuscany; A Piece of the World, by Christina Baker Kline, about Andrew Wyeth (you must see the exhibit of his work at SAM if you’re in Seattle in the near future) and his muse of more than 20 years, Christina Olson; and The Last Painting of Sara de Voss by Dominic Smith, about a 17th century female landscape painter (unheard of
in that time!) in Holland and a modern day heist of her one remaining painting. These books will capture you in another time in history and make you wonder if you just might want to time travel back there. And if you need to find some heroes – and who doesn’t these days – read Tom Brokaw’s book, The Greatest Generation, about the men and women who fought the Nazis and lived through the Great Depression, who won the war and saved the world, and shared values of duty, honor, courage and responsibility, (among others, like honesty and modesty), which seem to be missing these days. ~ Marty Greer THE BROKEN EARTH TRILOGY: #1 The Fifth Season, #2 The Obelisk Gate, #3 The Stone Sky by N K Jemisin First the details: The Fifth Season, book one of the Broken Earth trilogy, won the Hugo Award for best novel, and was also a New York Times Notable Book of 2015. Book two, The Obelisk Gate, won the Hugo award in 2017. The author is a young black woman who writes speculative fiction, short stories, blogs and has a quite impressive body of work for someone barely over 40. I hadn’t read sci fi/fantasy in years, but after reading a review of the first book I was intrigued. I powered through it, and immediately started it again and read nearly half of it before starting on book two. And I just now finished the third and last in the series. Wow. And whew.
It’s going to be hard to put into words my thoughts and feelings about this extraordinary trilogy, but I’ll try. First off, the reason I had to reread book one was because it was complicated. Jemisin creates whole societies (very much like Ursula Le Guin), and a nearly unrecognizable earth (thousands of years in the future? An alternative present?). She also creates and describes beings with attributes and characteristics and skills who work together, interact, come into conflict with one another, and live and survive in a constantly changing physical environment. So it takes not a little effort to follow her narrative and to keep track of the continuing story. But what really keeps me going in a novel is character development. Characters I like or admire, characters I want to spend time with. Characters that exhibit traits that I admire or that I lack, such as courage, imagination, intelligence, compassion. Characters that are admirable. Characters that are complex. Characters that surprise me. These novels have those in spades. And then, story. Jemisin has fashioned a rip-roaring tale that is surprising, exciting, heartbreaking in all the best ways, and deeply satisfying. She also creates a sense of place. You hear, feel, experience the world that she is describing, taste the food, feel the air, the cold, the crushing fatigue as her characters move through their lives. And then there’s the science (my brother Chuck would love that part!). I don’t begin to
understand the scientific truths behind the story – I don’t even try hard, because I’m much more interested in the characters, the imagination behind the tale, the sociology, the connections. But she uses her knowledge of geology, physics, plate tectonics, astronomy, and chemistry to further describe her story. But probably the thing I most loved about these books was the mother-daughter relationship at the center of it all. Essun the mother is a fierce, strong-willed woman with powerful skills whose strength is intimidating, but necessary in the context of the story. Her daughter, Nassun, is equally genetically powerful, but when she enters the story she’s a child, who is soon left parent-less and has to rely on others for basic survival. The two of them spend nearly the entirety of the trilogy living apart, and their climactic reunion at the end triggers an exciting climax to the story. I loved these books for so many reasons. I love learning about experiences that I will have no other way of knowing. Jemisin is black and female, and lives and works in an arena that has been dominated by white males. I was halfway through the first novel before I realized that she was describing slavery. Not in an obvious, in-your-face way – but in the context of the world she created, where a certain “race” of people, who are set aside in very specific ways can only exist if they are tightly controlled. This writer is a thousand times smarter than I am. Which is why it’s so exhilarating to read her work. ~ Sally Perrine
MIXED MEDIA
GOLD In a last ditch effort, on his last dime, Kenny Wells (Matthew McConaughey) flies to Indonesia to meet up with a legendary prospector, Michael Acosta (Edgar Ramirez), to convince him they can strike gold in the Indonesian jungle. Wells worked for his dad in the mining industry and after his father passes, so too does the success of the business. He hopes skeptical miner, Acosta, and investors will develop this area on the gamble that it holds great wealth. Wells and Acosta battle malaria, intense tropical rains, and disappointment in their search for gold in the vast and mysterious jungle. They eventually do strike gold and satisfy the financial world that they have indeed uncovered a mega goldmine and their lives begin to change with the benefits of money. The stress of success and the question of their operations’ sustainability come into question and take their toll on Acosta and Wells. The movie Gold is loosely based on the true Bre-X Mining scandal of the mid 1990’s yet has all the bells and whistles and additions of your modern Hollywood crime drama flick. The movie is full of highs and lows that only gold and ‘get rich quick’ schemes can evoke and the ‘too good to be true’ mantra becomes more and more apparent as the re-
telling unfolds. I enjoyed this movie and it exposed me to a story, although exaggerated, that I hadn’t been aware of before, so I guess you could say it was an educational flick as well. If you’re looking for an exciting drama, some choice wardrobe and McConaughey with a combover and beer gut, this movie is a good choice. ~ Hadley Robertson VICTORIA; POLLDARK Dearly loved the first season of Victoria and the second season of Polldark on PBS. Seems a big jump to enjoy the 1870’s and the mid-1700’s, but both series were captivating. The characters are dynamic and real. ~ Steve Robertson KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE based on a comic book series by Dave Gibbons and Mark Millan; SPY a BBC adaptation of “Secret Agent” by Joseph Conrad In the opening scene of Kingsman, we walk through dusty ancient ruins to a pictureperfect 50’s café. Neon wraps the entrance, a black and white checked floor holds a chrome and cherry red table and a cheery chrome and red fountain with kitchen back bar. Julianne Moore in a full skirt, frilly apron and high heels asks her two thug patrons to take a vow of loyalty to her commands. When she asks the outrageous, her facial expression remains unconnected to the betrayal she expects. Suddenly it is apparent that this is a comic book story. The Hollywood treatment stretched across the screen like bubblegum: garish, bold, highly colored with a
disconnect between the action and the reaction. Special effects aggressively dominate, such as when one thug is summarily stuffed into a large meat grinder and his bloody burger is fried up by Julianne and served to the remaining thug. With the betrayed thug’s legs twisted stiffly above the grinder, her voice neutral, Julianne directs the burger, with all the trimmings, to be eaten; we watch the first dripping gut-wrenching bite and then cut immediately to another scene where a chatty friend is violently blown up, and rubble only remains of the Kingsman’s Saville Row business. Out of the dingey gray, smoldering scene, a partner confronts the Kingsman who sucks up a normal distressed reaction and moves on. We cannot suspend our disbelief and betray the “excellent” rating by leaving. I don’t remember the raunchy bar hanging so low when I read comic books. Betrayal as a theme was handled much more subtley and effectively by the BBC adaptation of a story by Joseph Conrad, Secret Agent. Almost by himself, Toby Jones, with few words, expresses his compromised torment as an informer for the Russians in London. He operates an odds and sundries shop in smoky, gaslit, grimey back street in London. He meets with a group of disaffected operatives who are naïve and incompetent. When the new Russian ambassador requires Toby to bomb an important building before the meeting of European governors, to commit an act of terror, Toby is unsettled, disturbed, ambivalent,
but scared. He will be killed himself if he doesn’t betray his country. The production moves as a sinister serpent through twists and turns, and grips the viewer with its slow build of tensions and concession, fears and troubles. The complex story of the many levels of betrayal kept me recalling and mulling the penetrating performances. Now this deserves an “excellent” rating. ~ Leslie Robertson BEAUTY AND THE BEAST The movie opened and I transported back to my eightyear-old self. There was the castle. Winter. A rose. The melancholy voice of an allknowing woman illustrating the sorrowful tale of the Beast. So vain. So conceited. His narcissism his downfall. The voice rose and echoed mournfully, “... for who could ever love a Beast?” In the dark Bear Tooth movie theater, a child’s voice rose from the silence, “EXCEPT BELLE!” We all laughed at her wisdom, for who could ever love a Beast, except Belle? Disney’s artful live-action version of Beauty and the Beast stole my heart just as it had when I was a second-grader and listened nonstop to the soundtrack tape my mother gave me after seeing the animated version. It was a echo of the past, but with contemporary revisions. The cast of characters was more diverse, with people of different skin color and and gender preferences. The songs were still humorous and fun, but carried the gravity of important lessons that, perhaps, I didn’t fully understand as a girl.
Chief among them was the concept of followership, where people will follow others without thought. In the case of Beauty and the Beast, this leads to harmful and hurtful behavior, where war is waged before sense and understanding rise to the top. The movie sends a message to think before you act and to lead and follow people with integrity, not deception and ignorance. At the same time, Beauty and the Beast continues to play upon themes of dealing with unwanted attention, objectifying women, and gender disparity. In 2017, these messages were particularly acute as acceptance of these behaviors wanes (cue Harvey Weinstein’s fall from grace). It makes me wonder, when will modern fairy tales rise in a way that views all of us as equal? I pondered on messages of acceptance of diversity while watching this version of Beauty and the Beast. The film described both physical diversity, that which we can see, and the diversity each of us brings in our own character and minds. And it helps us realize and love the differences among us. Living in a provincial town, Belle and her father are outsiders who view the world as larger than the small marketplace around them. Belle craves a larger life even as her father is fearful of what that brings. When adversity affects the two of them, Belle chooses to protect her father and discovers within the confines of the isolated castle, the vast world that loving others, acceptance, and learning can bring. She finds others there who are also ostracized and
abandoned for their differences. And together, they find something each of them need: acceptance and love. And in the end, perhaps that’s the importance and timelessness of a tale like Beauty and the Beast. For, who could ever love beastliness except for the beauty of love itself. And in that, each of us can find our own balance in our minds of what is ugly and what is kind and how we can love all as our own. For who could ever love a beast, except belle. ~ Nancy Patterson 3 BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING MISSOURI; WONDER WOMAN I was going to write my movie review about Wonder Woman (more later), but then I saw 3 Billboards. It was such an extraordinary movie that I rethought my New Norker contribution and decided to spend the bulk of my words on a movie that I really enjoyed. 3 Billboards was written and directed by the Irish playwright, Martin McDonagh and stars Frances McDormand, Woody Harrelson, and Sam Rockwell. McDormand plays Mildred, a mom whose daughter was raped and murdered and who is enraged that the local police have not found her killer. So she buys the rights to 3 billboards on a semi-deserted local road, and has them emblazoned with the words, which read in sequence, “Raped while dying,” “And still no arrests,” and “How come, Chief Willoughby?” This sets her in conflict with the people of this small town, the sheriff Willoughby (Harrelson), his dim deputy (Rockwell), her son
(Lucas Hedges), and others. McDonagh, who was also the writer/director of In Bruges, another darkly comic movie, finds humanity and humor in his characters, who all seem to be people you’d actually know. He writes surprising twists and turns into his plot, and just when you think you know where the story is going, it veers off in another direction entirely. So, you find yourself laughing out loud moments after weeping along with a mom whose daughter has been murdered. The acting is amazing. McDormand plays Mildred with rage and determination, and at times seems almost deranged. She is strong and smart and outraged, and, as Mildred, has reached the end of her tether and patience – but can change on a dime, and show her deep compassion and awareness of others when she’s confronted with the results of her actions. Harrelson plays the sheriff with quiet strength and intelligence, and when he reveals his own secret pain, it is deeply moving. The real surprising character is the deputy, Dixon, played by Rockwell. Dixon could so easily be a stereotype, the stupid, violent, small-town redneck, and with another story, another playwright, he would have been written out of the play in a final violent finale. But here again, the script, the actors, the story shoots off in directions that are not predictable. Kind of like life. The supporting cast is also wonderful. Peter Dinklage provides a sweet romantic side story. John Hawkes is scary as Mildred’s ex-husband, now dating a 19-year-old. And when
Clarke Peters shows up three quarters of the way through the movie, doing his calm, strong cop thing, he was greeted (by me) with relief. So much to think about and enjoy in this movie. I loved it! Now for a few brief words about the movie, Wonder Woman. I hated this movie so much, that when I got home I immediately wrote down my reasons. Here they are: 1. What were those lavish first scenes all about - scantily clad young women, fighting each other? There should be another category of the Bechdel test: Are there any female characters who don’t look like Barbie Dolls - yes or no? 2. And, on this same topic, the “team” led by Chris Pine included the actor, Ewen Bremner, who is frankly funnylooking. We’ll know that sexism is over when a female actor who looks like him can have a main role in a Hollywood movie. 3. Further.….the evil Nazi doctor was played by Spanish actor, Elena Anaya, who is “disfigured” in a way that just enhances her beauty. I am sick of seeing over and over again, women hired for their beauty, men for their talent and skills. 4. War is fun. 5. Violence wins – always. 6. At the end of the movie there was some ruminating about love beating hate blah blah blah.... But, see #’s 4 and 5. 7. All that action and special effects stuff is boring (to me). There are plenty of good movies with believable female characters, but this one wasn’t one of them. Note: The Bechtel test is a
simple checklist which lists the following criteria: 1) The movie has to have at least two women in it 2) who talk to each other 3) about something besides a man. ~ Sally Perrine UNCLE BUCK There’s always a risk when revisiting a beloved book or movie – will it live up to your memory of it? Some things age well, themes and characters remain relevant, plots still resonate, jokes still make you laugh, while others really don’t. Recently I’ve re-watched a few movies I remember really loving as a kid; and found them so sexist or racist, I couldn’t finish watching them. Very disappoint. So it was with some trepidation that I suggested Uncle Buck for family movie night. This 1989 John Hughes movie came out when I was 12 and I’m pretty sure we saw it in the theatre on Vista because our family loved the star - the big, goofy John Candy. Good news guys, it’s still GREAT. Unemployed and hardliving Buck Russell (Candy) is called in for emergency babysitting when his brother’s wife’s dad has a heart attack. He’s their last choice to stay with their three kids – 15-yearold Tia, 8-year-old Miles (played by pre-Home Alone star Macaulay Culkin), and 6-year-old Maizy, but it’s an emergency, so they make the call. Buck shows up to their middle-class neighborhood home in his dilapidated ‘77 Mercury Marquis; the cars backfiring is hilarious punctuation in the consistently laugh-out-loud plot. The hapless Buck, of course, is
totally winging it in regards to kid care, but his heart is in the right place and his antics are well-intentioned – he creatively tackles breakfast making, birthday parties, and bowling, and bravely manages a battle of wills with teen Tia, rebuff’s the advances of the horny neighbor lady Marcie Dahlgren-Frost (the brilliant Laurie Metcalf), and defends Maizy to the principal: “I don’t think I want to know a six-year-old who isn’t a dreamer, or a sillyheart. And I sure don’t want to know one who takes their student career seriously. I don’t have a college degree. I don’t even have a job. But I know a good kid when I see one. Because they’re ALL good kids, until dried-out, brain-dead skags like you drag them down and convince them they’re no good. You so much as scowl at my niece, or any other kid in this school, and I hear about it, and I’m coming looking for you!” Uncle Buck is classic family-movie fare – something for everyone, appropriate for all-ages, and chock-full of zingy one-liners you can quote for days. I can’t wait to have an opportunity to deploy this one: “Take this quarter, go downtown, and have a rat gnaw that thing off your face! Good day to you, madam.” ~ Jocelyn Robertson BANANA IN THE STONE, Sesame Street episode 4084 One day after a long week of being a single parent (Will was busy eating and drinking in Spain), Mijanou was very fussy and I needed to make her dinner. She had never seen any TV shows before but I decided maybe it would help
her to calm down for a few minutes so I could focus on cooking. I looked on Prime and found Sesame Street episode 4084 Banana in the Stone and turned it on for her. Within seconds she was enraptured. The episode opens with Telly Monster and his friend Baby Bear trying to convince Curly, Baby Bear’s baby sister, to try a banana. At 20 months Mijanou is an undisputed connoisseur of bananas. A more interesting topic would be difficult to find. Curly Bear seems to only know one word, which is NO, also one of Mijanou’s favorite words. Baby Bear and Telly Monster must get super creative and develop a Muppet fairy to convince Curly to try the banana. By this point Mijanou is completely unaware of time and space so I work on dinner. In the kitchen I hear about the letter of the day “J.” They talk about juggling, jackals and blue jays. Mijanou loves to watch the blue jays out her bedroom window. We agree they are very noisy birds. Next up Oscar the Grouch sings a song about working out with Slimy and his worm friends. The worms do all kinds of exercises and sing along. Mijanou loves to sing all kinds of songs. After that the banana break is over and Ernie and Bert come on screen. Ernie is using his banana to call an elephant named Gladys. Bert thinks this is silly. Clearly Mijanou is on Ernie’s side. One of her favorite pretend games is calling Hadley, Cruzen, Jocelyn, ZZ, Pa, Marty or Dada on anything that has buttons. I bring over some dinner
to her chair. She doesn’t look at it but she does eat a bite here and there. Wonderful, I think! No crying and she eats whatever I give her. Just then Lang Lang makes an appearance on screen. I have to watch this. He is sitting at a Steinway piano with Oscar and the Grouch Symphony Orchestra. Mijanou loves piano music. Bob comes over to ask Lang Lang what he is doing on Sesame Street. Lang Lang is auditioning because just not anyone can play with the Grouch Orchestra. He plays Rachmaninoff which everyone agrees is amazingly beautiful. Oscar asks if he can play anything else so Lang Lang plays an energetic piece by Liszt. Now all the grouches agree that Lang Lang plays too beautifully to be a part of their orchestra. They only play yucky, awful, noisy music. Lang Lang is so depressed he puts his elbows on the keys and terrible ugly sounds come out of the piano. “On the other hand,” Oscar says, “if you can play like that you can be in our orchestra.” Then it’s back to bananas. Grover appears to talk about bananas. He isn’t just going to talk about eating bananas though. He shows footage of banana plantations and two kids talk about how they can use banana leaves to make baskets. After a few minutes of basketmaking, Mijanou awakes from her trance. She talks straight to the screen. “No,” she says, “more grouches!” Luckily the basket weaving doesn’t last long. Then we learn about the number “9.” Mijanou loves to count, especially going up the stairs. 1,2,3,4,9,10. 9 purple (Mijanou’s
favorite color) fish swim across the screen. She nods her head in understanding. Finally Elmo’s World begins. There is more singing and dancing with bananas. Then Elmo interviews kids about how to eat bananas. His last interview is with a baby who can even eat a banana. A familiar song begins to play, “Sunny days, sweeping up clouds away.” I shut off the show. Mijanou instantly screams and cries. “More grouches,” she wails, “More grouches!” I feel bad for her; the show was just so good. Luckily there are thousands of episodes just waiting for us to watch. Why can’t they make shows this good for adults?~ Bijou Robertson CALL THE MIDWIFE, BBC In order to prepare to give birth this year, I binge watched all six seasons of a British drama about mid-century midwives delivering babies in the dirty
impoverished streets of the Poplar neighborhood of London. In some ways, a pregnant woman should not watch this show because everything that can go wrong in childbirth does go wrong on the show. Cords get wrapped around necks. Women go into labor weeks early. Moms die. Babies die. It’s awful. But also, in every episode babies are born. With fake blood and fake sweat, but in very realistic detail. And they’re born in a simpler time. When women delivered babies in women’s homes, in their own beds with their own sheets and their own teeth grinding and their own fists clenched. Seriously, part of my decision to try to have a natural drug-free childbirth came from watching this show. It’s so empowering! Plus, the period costumes from the post-war wool capes to the metallic gowns of the early 60s make up for all the diseases and deformities. ~ Jennifer Pemberton
NO-KNEAD BREAD Peter Robertson via Jim Lahey After eating Dave’s famous baguette, being chastised for never baking bread by Jennifer and moving away from a world class bakery (we miss you Crumb Bros!) I decided I needed to bake my own. I was on a quest for a perfect toothsome loaf with a crisp crust, chewy and nutty with lots of big irregular holes. So I started experimenting with bread recipes and I tried many things, kneading until my arms ached, adding extra gluten, growing the perfect sourdough starter, trying all of the different flours (organic, bread flour, cheap all-purpose, etc). While I did make a few tasty loaves, and developed a potent sourdough culture, my bread was never spectacular, it was not consistent and I never developed the gluten chew with the large air pockets found in an artisanal loaf. But then I found a recipe that not only completely altered my process for making bread but also gave me the ability to make fabulous bread at home. But not only does this recipe make some of the best bread you have ever eaten, you only need to get one bowl dirty, doesn’t require a mixer or any special hard to find ingredients.... The secrets to this recipe are a cool multi-day fermentation for complex flavor and baking the loaf inside of a Dutch oven in a very hot oven to replicate an industrial oven for maximum oven spring (how you get the nice big holes). This recipe is a modification of Jim Lahey’s no-knead bread that rocked the bread making world in 2006 when Mark Bittman pushed this recipe in the New York Times. Somehow I missed this earth-shattering recipe, despite working at a bakery at the time of publication! Hopefully this recipe will be old news to you, but if somehow you too have been living underneath your baking stone for the last 11 years and missed this I present to you J. Kenji Lopez-alt (of SeriousEats.com) Better No-Knead Bread four ingredient recipe: NO-KNEAD BREAD 300 grams all-purpose flour 4.5 grams salt 3 grams yeast 210 grams water Tools: large metal bowl wooden mixing spoon spray bottle filled with water kitchen scale cast iron pot with tight-fitting lid (Dutch oven) Directions: Although I said you don’t need a mixer you will need one piece of special equipment to make this bread easily: a digital scale that measures to the gram. Hopefully you already have one for the kitchen, if not it should be on your Christmas List. They are cheap and very useful in the kitchen (and would be great for making wine). Place a metal bowl on your scale, tare your scale and measure out all the ingredients into the bowl. You can do it simply by adding the ingredients in order, so you end with 517.5 grams on the scale. Or you can press the tare button after adding each ingredient. Either way this allows for the use of only one bowl and eliminates the need to dirty any measuring cups or spoons. After weighing the ingredients stir with a big wooden spoon until all of the flour is thoroughly moistened. The dough will be very soft and will stick to the spoon and won’t consolidate into a tight ball. Don’t worry the gluten and shape will develop magically over time. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap (and write the date on top in permanent marker, you will need to do this to keep track of your loaves since you will be making it often) and let sit on the counter for 12-24
hours (the amount of time will depend on the temperature of the room, cooler rooms the dough can sit out for the full 24 hours). The next day put the bowl in the fridge and wait 3-5 days (I have never had the patience to wait 5 days, and have had success waiting only 2 days. But try and wait at least 3 day as the more complex nutty flavors as well as the gluten develop over time). After you can wait no longer, remove the bowl from the fridge and heavily flour your working surface. Scrape the dough from the bowl onto the pile of flour and lightly form into a ball (or whatever your preferred loaf shape is). Grease the same bowl and put the loaf with the seam side up and recover with plastic wrap. Let the loaf rise at room temperature for 2-4 hours. The amount of time will depend on your yeast as well as the temperature of the room. Check the dough for correct proofing with your finger. Pushing the dough with your index finger, the dough should feel soft and airy and your finger should leave an indentation that still rebounds. If the dough is not proofed enough the dough will be firm and your finger will not leave an indentation (let rise more), and if the dough is over-proofed the bread will be very soft and the indentation will not rebound (bake immediately). When your dough is close to the correct stage preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Place the Dutch oven in the cold oven and allow to preheat with the oven. When the oven has reached temperature, stage the bread, ready a spray bottle filled with water, and have a sharp knife nearby. Time is of the essence here! You want the bread to get into the oven as quickly as possible. So work quickly as soon as you remove the Dutch oven from the oven. Pull out the Dutch oven, open the lid, and flop the bread into the pan (it should slide out easily if you have thoroughly greased the bread bowl), score the top with the knife with three slashes (to allow the crust to expand uniformly, and for decoration), and heavily mist the loaf and the inside of the pan with the spray bottle (steam helps develop a thick crispy crust). Put the lid back on and put into the oven. Set a timer for 15 minutes. When the time goes off, remove the Dutch from the oven and open the lid for a 10-15 seconds to vent the steam. Lower the temperature to 450 degrees, put the Dutch back into the oven and set the timer for 15 minutes again. When the second timer goes off remove the Dutch from the oven and using a meat thermometer check the temperature of the bread. You are looking for a temp higher than 205 degrees. If the crust needs more time for browning cook with the Dutch oven lid removed, and if the bread hasn’t reached temp but has a good color, lower the temperature of the oven to 400 degrees and cook with the lid on. Once the desired color/temperature has been reached remove the loaf and let cool on a wire rack for as long as you can stand (at least 15 minutes). Serve with good butter and salt. After you master this basic loaf the recipe is easily modified to make different kinds of bread. I have been using this recipe to make a rye loaf, substituting 50 grams of all-purpose flour with rye flour and 50 grams of whole-wheat flour and adding 3 grams of caraway seeds. I have also made a killer wheat loaf with 100 gram substitution of whole wheat bread flour (plus a teaspoon of gluten), and a great multigrain loaf with 1/3 cup of a mix of seeds and grains (such as flax, millet, sunflower, quinoa, pumpkin, sesame) added to the basic recipe. You can easily use this recipe for a nice sourdough, instead of using yeast I substitute 100 grams of water with my sourdough starter and follow the recipe as listed, the longer your let the bread rest in the fridge the more sour the bread will become. You can also double or triple the recipe and after the first room temperature rise and a few days in the fridge you can remove a loafs worth and leave the rest for baking the next few days. This limits preparation time and helps to show the effect more days in the fridge has on the final loaf and makes it easy to have fresh baked bread around every day.
50TH HIGH SCHOOL REUNION Our big event this year was returning to Hillsboro, Oregon to attend our 50th high school reunion. It was a good turnout at Century Farm, perhaps 200 folks from our 400 graduating class. Leslie had gotten the graduating yearbook out to familiarize us with our former classmates. I tried hard to see the 17-year-old in the face, but the voice was often clear to me. We were glad we went. Leslie saw kids from kindergarten, fourth, fifth grade and through high school. One of my favorite images was from Sam Dinsdale whom I’d known from a large family, needing help from his wife, shuffling off and away, a rancher and farmer from Fort Rock, Oregon. Dave Vanderbeek, a friend from choir and confidant, and I, walked arm in arm as we tried to connect over 50 years, then we went out into the night most probably never to see each other again. It was nice to see familiar faces that have aged gracefully and put a happy end to that part of our lives. ~ Steve Robertson
BLOOD LINE by Jennifer Pemberton They say when you’re born, you’ll know our voices. I hope you will also know the song of the canyon wren — call to prayer in the desert. And the cottonwood’s applause in the wind that brings summer’s only rain. I imagine my womb like this secret ouzel nest White noise of whitewater, a constant cleansing rush of snowmelt flushing, flushing. I know when we take you to the river, you’ll know our world isn’t different from your world. That the loudest voice was and always is the rapid water — our blood line, familiar.
ROSE TANTRUM By Michael Earl Craig A rose was throwing a tantrum deep in the botanical gardens. An angel fell in the bathroom, knocked her front teeth out on the edge of the toilet. A long-haired dachshund was crossing the Bosporus I’m jumping around here. A rose. A tantrum. An angel saying it was the sink. A sign on a dumpster saying unwanted diamonds. But it was the toilet. Was definitely the toilet. The rose shook slightly but violently. Like a bruise happening. Sound of cable straining. The angel danced all night in a club. Music deafening. Rum & cokes. Carpenter blokes. Dried blood on her chin. I fell and smashed these in she tried saying, pointing to her mouth. On the sink! Today! At noon! The sink!
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COFFEE STOCKINGS CROWN PECANS PEKING DUCK CRAB ROBERTSON FAMILY CHRISTMAS GAS CATCH PHRASE CANJO MRS.C GROAN SANTA DOGS LOX HOUSE WOOL SUGAR
TP H o l i d a y
CRUZEN ZHOOS LEES BLUEBIRD JNR LIVER RED RYDER ICE BANANA CLOUDY MARY BOADY MIJANOU TALK CAROLS LIVING ROOM GOOSE BOWS PIANO
Word
WINE CHEESE TREE CAT ART SILVER GOLD MAIL BACON BEER FISH SALES COOKIES GAMES VINES COZY YULE ICICLE SNOWSTORM
NUTS COLD WARM WINTER GLOVES SHAWL GLEE MOVIES HATS HOME GAVIN MERRY WOOD DEER BOOKS YURT THANKS YOU
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February 19 Gerry February 20 Hadley March 2 Jocelyn March 5 Alex March 10 Jim March 11 Jenny
September 3 Gavin September 5 Sally September 11 Barb September 12 Dave September 13 Mijanou September 15 Mom
October 5 Mark
April 14 Anna
October 29 Will
April 30 Peter May 7 Maggie May 14 Dad May 19 John December 3 Boady
June 29 Shelley July 4 Jane July 15 Marty July 17 Nancy LEO August 21 Brian O.
December 27 Zoe December 30 Cruzen January 10 Bijou