56 Up - New Meaning To The Term "Old Friends"

Back in 2006, Liz and I discovered the "Up" series of documentaries.  For those of you who may not have heard of them, it started as a film called "7 Up" wherein a British documentary team recorded little vignettes in the lives of 14 British children in 1964.  Every 7 years, this same crew has revisited these children (now adults), checking in with them at the ages of 14, 21, 28, 35, etc...

These films are absolutely captivating.  We introduced them to several of our friends, and we watched them together, right up until "49 Up" which was released in 2006.  Seeing a group of strangers literally grow up before your eyes is a surreal experience, and in a bizarre way, you wind up invested in their lives in much the same way as you would an actual friend.

And that investment is a double-edged sword.  The series presents a pretty unvarnished look at how the lives of the participants progress.  Certainly, some of the kids, particularly those from upper-class families, have a reasonably smooth go of things.  They go to good schools, get good jobs, build perfect-looking families, you know, the whole Game of Life winning package.  But for others, it goes a lot less smoothly.  You see the impacts of divorce, mental illness, failed ambitions, and the general malaise of post-Thatcher Britain.  By and large, there is little social mobility among the group, with the UK's class system seeming to hold everyone firmly in place (with one awesome exception - you should watch the films for the details on that one).

But once you begin, you have to keep watching them.  And at some point, it may occur to you that these intermittent check-ins with these people, each one seven years apart, aren't that different from some of the real-life interactions that you have with your own friends.  Facebook has made the work of keeping in touch with long-distance friends a heck of a lot easier, but think about how long you go between face-to-face visits with friends who have moved away (or who you have moved away from).  Weeks and months easily give way to years, and the "Up" documentaries' format, with 20-odd minute vignettes serving to provide an update on 7 years of elapsed lifetime, aren't that different from how many modern relationships are managed:  A few beers on a weekend afternoon when you happen to be in town.  Lunch or coffee when work happens to take you to the same conference.  Maybe even an entire weekend at someone's destination wedding.  Small slices of time, made all the more precious by the gaps that separate them.

So, you can imagine our excitement when the release of "56 Up" happily coincided with a wedding that was going to bring much of our old viewing crew back together for a weekend in DC.  Once we saw how the timing aligned, it was a given that we would be setting aside a few hours to watch this latest installment at the E St. Theatre downtown.

However, that excitement gave way to a bit of nervousness as we got to the theatre.  After all, 56 is an age at which it wouldn't be entirely inconceivable for someone to have died - and based upon the past few films there were definitely a few candidates for us to be worried about.  And you do worry.  Not about the wealthy ones - Their vignettes are pleasant, and happy, and without drama.  It's the less-well-off cohort you worry about.  The ones who seem like they might be living paycheck to paycheck, or maybe on the dole.  The ones who have had past struggles laid bare in previous films.  They're the ones you worry about.

Fortunately, all those worries were unfounded.  Everyone is still alive and kicking, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that everyone in the film seemed to have achieve a near-equivalent level of happiness (or at least contentedness) by the age of 56, no matter what their circumstances.  It was really uplifting to see so many different and divergent paths to happiness represented in the film, and by extension, the series, and I left the theatre in a really positive frame of mind.

Today, I turned 37.  And while it's definitely an intimidatingly large number for me on some level, I'm happy to see that there are at least a few more decades of upward trajectory waiting for me out there somewhere.

Pass the tequila - let's get this party started.

Adventures in Charcuterie Episode III - When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Preserved Lemons

I'm pretty sure it was Liz who first introduced me to Moroccan food.  I can't remember exactly when or where, but I'm pretty certain it was somewhere in Vancouver, sometime in the late '90s.  It was a real gamechanger for me, food-wise.

Up until that time, I had eaten pretty much every variety of Asian, and most varieties of European cuisines, but aside from a handful of South African dishes that my mom would make, I had never tried any sort of African cuisine before.  Moroccan food, with it's aromatic spice blends, slow-cooked tagines, and novel-looking starches was a gateway to a whole new, and delicious, world for me.

So naturally, I eventually wanted to try cooking it myself, discovering in the process, that Moroccan food can be a real pain in the @$$ to make.

Why, you ask?  Because procurement of all the different spices and condiments can be a serious impediment.  Some of them, such as mace and saffron, are not so much hard to come by as they are annoyingly expensive.  But others, such as, say, ras el hanout, are pretty much impossible to find, leaving you to instead procure 20 separate individual spices in order to blend your own.

Which brings us to preserved lemons.  Preserved lemons, so key to so many amazing Moroccan dishes, is both difficult to find, and annoyingly expensive when found.  Fortunately, it is incredibly easy to make your own.

Here's the mise en place:

A clean jar, with a lid
Enough lemons to be able to fill the jar with lemon halves (and maybe a few extra if you like)
Kosher salt (lots)

Ready to preserve some lemons?  Here we go:

1. First, you'll need to rinse/scrub the lemons.  Mold is the only thing that has the potential to screw with this process, so a bit of a surface cleaning of the lemons is useful.
2. Trim the ends off of the lemons and then cut them in half
3. Pour about an inch or so of salt into the jar
4. Jam as many lemon halves into the jar as you can
   
5. Pour more salt into the jar until it is completely full
   
6. Optional: If you have a few extra lemons squeeze their juice into the jar
   
7. Seal up the jar and put it someplace dark for three weeks

It should look something like this

Three weeks later, you will have beautiful preserved lemons.

Let your adventures in Moroccan cuisine begin!

...

What's that you say?  You don't know any Moroccan food recipes?  OK, I'll post a couple up in the near future, but in the meantime:

Using Your Preserved Lemons

• Pull one half lemon out of the brine
• Scrape out the flesh from the middle and discard it (it is technically still edible, but tends to be overpoweringly salty)
• Slice the rind into thin strips
• Use the strips to garnish your favourite salad

Well I love that dirty water - Thoughts on the Boston Marathon

In some of my rare moments of introspection, I think of the concept of "Home," and whether I am someone who has one Home, many Homes, or no Home.  Usually, these thought exercises end with me deciding that I am lucky enough to have several places that I can call home.  New England is one of those places.

As a foreigner living in New England, the first thing you learn is that New England is a really parochial place. The second thing you learn is that most of the people there don't know what parochial means, but that's beside the point.  The takeaway here is that New England has a lot of its own traditions and its own culture.  Patriots Day, and The Boston Marathon are big parts of that.

Most of New England doesn't actually get Patriots Day as a holiday.  Massachusetts observes it, as does Maine, but living in New Hampshire, it was not a holiday for me or my colleagues.  But every year, a cadre of my coworkers would schedule Patriots Day off, and head down to Boston to hang out, enjoy the emergent spring weather, drink crappy American beers, and give out water and Gatorade to a bunch of complete strangers.

I have to confess: I didn't really get it at first.  In fact, it took me years to figure it out.  But in time, I found the answer: It's a chip.  Boston as a city, and New England as a region, have always carried a big chip on their shoulder.  Home of Great Patriots, Cradle of The Revolution, Athens of The New World, but overtaken and overshadowed by New York, and then Chicago, and then Los Angeles... Boston is a city whose primacy, in nearly every way, belongs to the past.

But on Patriots Day, Boston gets to be The Hub once again.  Once every year, on a holiday given to almost noone else in the country, Boston gets to steal the spotlight.  The Marathon.  A Red Sox game.  A Bruins or Celtics game.  It's a dawn to dusk tailgate, early in the New England spring, replete with alcohol, chicken parms, and contests of physical prowess...  So close to a pagan fertility festival, the only thing missing is a maypole.  It is, quite literally, the happiest day on the Boston calendar.

Which is what makes today's events all the more galling.  The contrast between what everyone who has ever lived in New England expects from this day and what actually transpired is a gulf of such immensity that the human brain can barely process it.

It just. Makes. No. Sense.

On 9/11, I had only lived in the US for a little over a year.  I didn't know anybody in New York.  I hadn't even been to New York.  I felt the same overwhelming sadness as everyone else did, but I was spared the personal connection that impacted so many of those around me.  

Today was different.  Today was personal.  Today saw me going through a list of everyone I know who lives in New England, and trying to assess the odds of their being in the vicinity of the explosions.  Fortunately, most of those I know in New England either don't get the day off, or are too out of shape to even want to watch a marathon.  And those who were in the vicinity had thankfully left the area before the blasts.  But that in no way detracts from the shock and anger that I've been carrying around since 3pm today.  I saw links to photos pop up on twitter soon after the blasts.  Then that six-second Vine clip that we've all now seen replayed a thousand times.  Then the escalating casualty numbers, which, if they remain where they are (3 deaths at last count), will somehow seem mercifully low, despite being at least 3 too high.  It all adds up to an affront to all civil societies.  

A marathon is the softest of targets.  It is impossible to secure a 26.2 mile course through public streets.  Impossible to screen 500000 spectators.  Impossible to cover every possible escape route.  It is, in many ways, an exercise in trust.  Trust that evaporated today in two plumes of smoke, a hundred yards apart.

Betrayal of trust is hard on the psyche.  The trauma of betrayal often involves a lot of anger, a lot of confusion, and a lot of questioning of one's reality frame.  In the wake of that kind of trauma, many will turn to prayer.  Others will console themselves with something a little more secular, like the Mr. Rogers quote that makes the rounds whenever this kind of thing occurs.  Those looking for something more tangible will find solace in the arms of a loved one.

But don't forget about the anger.  There is nothing wrong with being angry, and a lot to be angry about.  I will readily acknowledge that if I could get my hands on whomever did this, I would make Abu Ghraib look like a tea party.  That anger is natural.  Feeling it is a reminder of our humanity.

And don't forget about the confusion.  There is nothing wrong with being confused, and a lot to be confused about.  I stopped counting the number of times I've wondered why someone would do this.  Asking 'why' and not being able to answer, explains why you aren't the kind of person who would ever do this. That confusion in natural.  Feeling it is a reminder of our humanity.

But most of all, don't forget about the questioning.  There is nothing wrong with asking difficult questions, and there is a lot to ask about.  As the days go by, proposals will no doubt be made in an effort to make our world safer.  These proposals will all be well-intentioned.  Some of them (ideally most of them), will even be effective.  But they all need to be questioned.  And we all need to ask ourselves what kind of society we want to live in.  The American mythos makes prodigious use of words like liberty, and freedom, but it is an uncomfortable truth that America is a less free place today than it was on September 10th, 2001.  Are we ok with that?  So far, it seems that we are.  But how far should the pursuit of security go?  How do we decide what is a civil liberty and what is a national interest?  Where is the boundary between 'I want to feel safe?' and 'I don't want to feel scared?'

Asking these questions is natural.  Making sure they get answered preserves our humanity.

Requiem for The Iron

In my family, Monopoly has never just been a game.

For us, it's a contact sport.

Not-so-Great Expectations - Thoughts on NYE

I like to go out.

If you know me (and if you're reading this, chances are that you know me pretty well), you will know that I go out pretty frequently.  Maybe a little too frequently for a man of my age, but that's another post entirely.  For our purposes here, it is important to establish that I do, in fact, go out, with friends, to bars, have drinks, and have a good time.

I just don't like to go out on New Year's Eve.

New Year's Eve kinda sucks.  And it does so on a number of different levels.

Level 1: Inexplicable Societal Pressure

I have no idea how this happened (any social anthropologists in the house?), but for some reason society dictates that you are supposed to go out and tear it up at the end of the calendar year.  However, this can't just be a run-of-the-mill, bomb drink and tequila-fueled drinking binge.  No, New Year's Eve (NYE) absolutely must achieve a level of fabulosity at least 2 notches above a normal night out.  This means that throughout the night, instead of having schlubby, drunk strangers spilling Miller Lite all over your T-shirt and jeans, you will instead have well-dressed strangers spilling Moet&Chandon all over the same suit and shoes that you need to wear to your next job interview.  At the stroke of midnight, you are also required to find someone with whom to share a toast of champagne, and a storybook kiss in order to properly ring in the hopes and optimism of a fresh 365.

I just don't get this.  I've never gotten this.  Even now, at a point in time where I have actually acquired a bit of a taste for fancy cocktails, own more than one suit, and am married to a lovely girl who I am 99.9999% sure will kiss me at midnight (risk of early pass-out notwithstanding), I still resent the idea that if I am not checking off every box on this unspoken checklist that I am not having a proper NYE.

Level 2: The Amateur Night Effect

NYE ranks right up there with Mardi Gras and St. Patrick's Day as the worst days of the year for rookie, or out-of-form boozehounds who can't pace themselves properly.  Hey, we've all been there, and I am perfectly willing to indulge, and even assist, one or two such lost souls on any other given evening.  But the sheer number of these poor, overwhelmed, thin-livered, shot-drainers on NYE introduces a powder keg element to the evening that can only end either in blood or vomit (and very often, both).

It's all the more tragic, because so many of these erstwhile NYE partiers approach the night with the expectation that it will be one of their big highlights of 2012, and instead simply winds up as yet another blackout story - this time with a more expensive purse to puke in.

Level 3: The Price Gouging

There is nothing worse than going to one of your regular spots on NYE - your favourite neighbourhood bistro, or your go-to sushi joint - and seeing that they have replaced their regular menu with an uninspired prix-fixe offering featuring a generic, chicken-based thing that the kitchen can crank out quickly, steaks that will invariably be overdone and served cold, and a trite, albeit proven, dessert that will do just enough to make you think you had an OK meal... until you get the check.

And then you will nod your head and think to yourself, "oh yeah, it's New Year's Eve... #@^%&!"

I understand this.  Supply and demand.  Because of the amateur night effect (see above), demand for tables is higher, supply is constant, ergo, prices go up.

Just because I understand it, doesn't mean I don't hate it.

Level 4: The Power of Self-Deception

Show of hands: How many of you go through this same process every year, remark on how much you dislike NYE, and yet, 364 days later, are somehow able to talk yourself into doing it all over again?

Come on, let's see them...

Be honest now...

...

Yeah... thought as much.

Gluten Free Livin' - Waffles Edition

9am on a weekend morning.  Early enough to be slightly conscious. Too early to be upright.

A poke in the ribs.

"Will you make waffles for breakfast?"

Well... ok.

Here's the mise-en-place:

1 Cup - Gluten-free flours (this particular example used 1/2 c. Buckwheat and 1/2 c. Millet flours)
3/4 Cup - Milk
1/2 Tsp - Baking Powder
1/4 Cup - Canola Oil
3 Eggs

The observant among you will note that this is very similar to the pancake batter described in a previous post.  It's not an accident - Waffles are basically just squared-off, crispier, toastier pancakes with dents in them for holding syrup.

Regarding the flours, feel free to experiment with different combinations.  I have had success with varying proportions of buckwheat, millet, rice and teff flours so far.  I'm not sure that I would recommend using only one flour, unless you're a really big fan of that flour's particular idiosyncracies.  I, for instance, am a big fan of buckwheat and can happily chow down on a 100% buckwheat waffle.  Others, however, may not share that sentiment.  Based upon feedback from Liz, I think that my best results for gluten free waffles have always come from batches that used at least two different flours.

Here's the drill, very similar to the pancake routine:

Step 1: Get Crackin'
Separate your eggs, and start pre-heating your waffle iron.  Liz and I have a sweet All-Clad Waffle Iron that we got as a wedding present that produces great results at a heat setting of 4 out of 7.

Step 2: Deal with the yolks
Yolks go into a bowl with the flour, milk and baking powder.  Mix them thoroughly.  Once they are well combined, stir in the canola oil.

Step 3: Whip It
Whip the whites until stiff peaks form.

Step 4: Combine
Fold the whites into the batter.  Don't try to get everything 100% uniform, you'll just wind up breaking down the air bubbles you're trying to introduce into the mixture.  Just get the egg whites incorporated to the point where there aren't big white chunks of foam floating around, and then stop.  Optionally, if you wanted to add berries, or chocolate chips, or other garnishments, this is where to do it.

Step 5: Prep your waffle iron
Having the canola oil in your batter greatly reduces the chances of sticking.  Our waffle iron works great without any oiling, but if your particular model does best with a spray of Pam or olive oil, by all means, do so.

Step 6: Make Waffles - Part I
Load the batter into your waffle iron.  Generally speaking, you should only need to fill the iron halfway or so - otherwise you are courting the risk of overflow upon closing the top.  Not the end of the world if it happens, just an annoying mess...

Step 7: Make Waffles - Part II
Pay close attention to the steam blasting out of the sides of your waffle iron.  When the steam output has decreased to a few thin, wispy strands, then your waffles are done.

If your waffle iron does not emit any steam, then go plug it in and start this step again.

Step 8: Eat Waffles

I am a bit of a waffle minimalist.  I don't like much besides maple syrup (and perhaps a piece of fried chicken) to touch my waffles.

Generally, my Canadian patriotism is going to have me leaning towards using syrup produced north of the 49th parallel.  But today, I'm going to name-check a great little Pennsylvania based maple syrup maker.

Langdon Wood makes a barrel-aged maple syrup that is aged in a used, rye whisky barrel to add an interesting little twist on the usual maple syrup experience.  It's incredibly delicious, and I highly recommend it!

If you prefer to trick out your waffles a little further, these waffles will hold up very well to whatever creams, fruits and compotes you may want to subject them to, so by all means, go crazy with it.  They're your waffles after all...

Tasting Notes:

Texture and mouth feel are always challenges with gluten free recipes.  As with the pancake recipe, the beaten egg whites really help with the texture, and keep the waffles from being too heavy.  The canola oil also helps the waffles toast up nice and crispy on the outside, and prevent the interior from getting too dry and crumbly.  I know you might be tempted to try to make a low-fat waffle by omitting the oil, but I really wouldn't recommend it...

Dear Republicans: The solution to your current problems is simple - It's Me

My old friend Brian Yang, while breaking down the results of this past week's election noted that:

The republicans as they are now, with American demographics as they are now, 

will never be elected into power again. They need a even more ethnic presidential 

candidate than Obama. I suggest the Asian Gilbert Godfrey himself, Brian Tham.

Up until this moment, I never would have thought of myself as casting my lot with the GOP, but the analysis makes perfect sense - In an environment where the GOP needs to appeal to diversity, who else is more diverse than me?

Check it:

- My mother was born in South Africa
- My father was born in India
- Previous generations of my family spent time in Mauritius and in China

And to cap it all off, I was born in Canada North America: Just the way republicans like it!  I mean, let's face it - I'm so multi-ethnic, I make Barack Obama look like Barry Manilow.

True, there is not a lot of Hispanic blood in there, but the party isn't going to want to be perceived as disingenuously pandering to the Hispanic masses.  An Asian-looking candidate is just brown enough to work here.  Besides, the demographics in Nevada and Virginia could definitely swing on the Asian vote in 2016 if current immigration patterns hold.

Having proven that I meet the diversity criteria, the next question is obviously whether or not I have the kind of platform that America will find electable.  Don't worry, I've got that covered too.  Here I present to you my platform for the Republican Party in 2016:

Tenet 1: No Mean Legislation

As President, I will pledge to veto all legislation that can be distilled down to just being mean.  For example: Gay marriage bans?  Fundamentally mean - Veto'd.  Restrictions on where Muslim communities can build mosques?  Fundamentally mean - Veto'd.  Americans are, by and large, nice people, and will understand, and support this position.

Tenet 2: No Government in the Boudoir

As a wise Canadian North American once put it: There is no place for Government in the bedrooms of the people.  That's right - My administration will be pro-choice and pro-whatever-your-consensual-kink is all the way.  True small-government conservatives will back this 100%.

Yeah, that guy...

Tenet 3: Trust Smart People on the Economy

The budget needs balancing, yes.  How should this be done?  Not by asking self-interested groups who are paid out from it, or who are elected on it.  That way lies only the status quo.  Fortunately, there is this thing called Math that is very useful for solving problems that involve numbers.  There are also very smart people out there who know how to use Math, and they are the ones who will be put to work on balancing the proverbial checkbook.  Will taxes go up?  Yup.  Will spending go down?  You betcha.  Can I give you details?  Of course not - I'm trying to be a politician here.

Tenet 4: Continue and Expand the Drone War

One thing that the US produces at a rate that no other country can match is Red Bull-fueled, high-twitch HALO players who would make awesome drone pilots.  In fact, as President, I would pursue the development by DARPA of humanoid drones that would be able to translate the video game front-end into actual frontline combat.  Having an army of FPS drones piloted by battalions of 14-year old boys high on caffeine at my disposal will have Iran and N Korea reversing their positions on their nuke programs faster than Mitt Romney at a -- oh, too soon?

The Cenrepiece of My Foreign Policy - No, really...

Tenet 5: Immigration is Useful

As a Canadian immigrant North American citizen who is remarkably well informed about how the US immigration system works, I can tell you that immigration reform is needed to simplify the immigration process.  You see, people don't come to the US illegally because they are criminals who are trying to evade the law.  People come to the US illegally because they can't figure out the damn forms!  Under my leadership, the GOP will be the party that makes immigration easier, not harder, and the brown-skinned masses will flock to our banner.


So there you have it Republican America - You have a problem; I am the solution.

I am the candidate you need, with the platform America wants!  Search your feelings.  You know it to be true.

See you at the Primaries