Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
What’s my motivation?
When I woke up this morning, I’d intended to write another installment of Gastronomy Domine. Hence the altered subtitle above. (Pop quiz: have any of you noticed that I change the subtitle with each new blog entry?) I wanted to do a piece on basturma, the Armenian ur-coldcut that is to pastrami what a Top Dog Polish is to Oscar Meyer. Real scientist George Muscat introduced Karen and me to basturma some time in the late 80s. The three of us went to Tarver’s Deli in Sunnyvale (now closed, I think) and picked up some flat bread, tarama (carp roe), basturma, and a ball of vicious cheese we’ve never found anywhere else. George taught us how to make taramosalata. We spent the afternoon scarfing roe, itsy bitsy flat bread-and-basturma sandwiches, and dime-sized bits of vicious cheese. Then we went into a crowded supermarket and breathed on people.
But, alas, I’ll have to leave that story for another time. For the past two days, I’ve been stressing over Jacob. He had three good days, and then Monday morning the headache came back in force. Most of my anxiety comes from the fact that Jake’s Medford neurologist wouldn’t return my calls. 4PM today, we’re still waiting for the guy to set up a lumbar puncture (something to look forward to! . . . but the point is to get an answer). He finally called Karen about 5PM. Tentative plan: Karen will drive in to Medford with Jake tomorrow, and the procedure is set for Thursday morning. They’ll be doing it with IV sedation, so it should not be terribly traumatic for Jake. I’ll keep you posted.
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We’ll get back to basturma some other time. It’s worth its very own bit.
D.
Here’s hoping things go well for Jake. Not being a parent, I can only try my best to imagine your emotional state. I hope for the best for you all.
-pat
Thanks, Pat. Thanks to the normal MRI and CT, we’ve already gotten past the omigod itsabraintumor stage. But, as I’ve said elsewhere, I have a very active imagination. When you’re a doctor it’s not called hypochondria — it’s called experience. ‘Common things are common’ but I see weird shit all the time . . . It doesn’t help matters that I saw an intracranial tumor today (on an MRI) of a type I’ve never seen before.