East Infection
Tonight, this hit the spot.
I used to have dreams of levitation and flight. For it to work, my body had to adopt a particular posture, and there was something specific I had to do with my hands and feet. Like swimming through air. Like alchemy. Come morning, I could remember the motions, but what was missing was dream physics.
My body always remembered what to do. So too do I remember what it’s like to dance (not surprising; I haven’t danced in thirty years, but there was a time when I danced with great enthusiasm, if little talent).
And somewhere inside me, something remembers accordion, and sweat, and beer bottles on the back of the head, and a good hard shagging. Call it another life.
D.
Where have I been?
That’s what I asked myself while watching a program this evening on Saturn. What really caught my attention was Saturn’s smallest moon, Enceladus, scarcely 500 km in diameter, covered in water ice and venting water from geysers at its south pole:
I thought perhaps this was relatively new information, but no; much of the data was gathered by the Cassini craft in 2005. Maybe I ought to resubscribe to Nature.
Of course, liquid water suggests the possibility of life, and geysers suggest the possibility of geothermal heat (another prerequisite for life in this otherwise frigid environment). Wikipedia has more. Interesting that Titan, the largest of Saturn’s moons, has long been the darling of science fiction writers . . . but Enceladus could well be our best bet for extraterrestrial life close to home. A quick google shows that NASA-JPL is at least thinking about a probe that could return to Earth with samples from the polar plumes.
And how cool is that?
D.
Chicken shawarma
Today, for a lark, I googled “Tongan recipes” and discovered pani keke, which are donuts, more or less. Can’t have donuts for dinner, so I googled “Lebanese recipes” and eventually found this recipe for chicken shawarma.
This was good. I followed the recipe almost to a tee, but did add about 1/2 teaspoon of cumin, 1/2 teaspoon of turmeric, and 1/4 teaspoon ground clove to the marinade. I chopped the chicken thigh meat into 3/4 inch cubes and marinated for about 4 hours. Instead of cooking on the range, I put the chicken with its marinade into a casserole dish, covered it with foil, and baked it for 45 min at 350 F. Then I fished out all the chicken, put it on foil, and broiled it until brown. Probably not a necessary step, although I suspect it added some flavor at the cost of dryness. But if you’re going to make a nice salad of plain yogurt, cucumber, and tomato, then it doesn’t matter how dry the meat is.
For posterity (just in case that link disappears some day — and also because I changed things a bit), here’s the marinade:
1 cup plain yogurt
1/4 cup malt vinegar
4 cloves garlic, crushed
1 teaspoon pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon of cumin
1/2 teaspoon of turmeric
1/4 teaspoon ground clove
juice from 1 lemon
The tahini sauce in that recipe is ridiculous. If you start with one cup of tahini, trust me, you won’t use even one-quarter of the end result. Here’s a nice tahini sauce:
1/3 cup tahini
juice of one large lemon
One large clove of garlic, crushed
salt to taste
water
In a can of tahini, the oil will typically separate from the solids. Carefully stir the can (the oil tends to splash, if you’re a slob like me) until homogeneous. Mix 1/3 cup tahini with the lemon juice. As you stir, you’ll notice that the tahini thickens to a remarkable degree. Add garlic, thin out the sauce with water, and then taste for salt.
For the yogurt, cucumber, and tomato salad, simply be careful to use plain yogurt and not vanilla yogurt. Yes, I did this once. We usually have plain AND vanilla in our fridge, so it’s an easy mistake. Cut the cucumber and tomatoes into small cubes and add enough yogurt, however much you like.
Then it’s just a matter of salting the chicken shawarma and putting it all together into pita pockets, along with some red chili sauce. We always have a jar of the red chili garlic sauce you can get at Chinese markets. Harissa would be nice, but oddly enough, the Chinese red chili garlic sauce makes an awfully good harissa.
Enjoy!
D.
The pale blue dot
No, this photo didn’t get much press twenty years ago. Back then I subscribed to Nature and Science, devoured science programs on TV, read the occasional Scientific American.
Oh, wait. Back then, I was drowning in the middle of internship, sleepwalking from one call night to the next. Maybe that’s how I missed it.
I would have gone through at least another 20 years without seeing this image, were it not for NPR’s story today. It was interesting to learn about the controversy over taking this photo. Nooooo! It’ll fry the camera! But I wonder whether the resistance had something to do with message control. Someone high up understood that images have power.
They needn’t have worried — not about the fried camera, not about message control. If people don’t become alarmed over shrinking ice caps and retreating glaciers, the fragmentation of ice shelves, or the opening of the Northwest Passage, one little blue dot is hardly enough to awaken their environmental consciousness.
D.
Sloppy agape?
Agape, for those of you who forget your classical education, is one of the Greek words translated as “love,” and usually connotes brotherly or parental (as opposed to erotic) love. To quote Wikipedia, “Many have thought that this word represents divine, unconditional, self-sacrificing, active, volitional, and thoughtful love.” In the past, when I’ve heard this word used by people of faith, it usually refers to the love of God or Jesus for humanity.
The wife likes to listen to Catholic radio, probably for the same reason I used to watch televangelists as a kid (and still do, when the mood hits me). Even secondhand, unquestioning faith can be an exhilarating emotion. Exhilarating? Maybe that’s not the right word. Exasperating, perhaps. Anyway, thanks to Karen, we’ve encountered the oxymoronic concept of Sloppy Agape. Here’s one example.
I’m on a crusade to end what I call “sloppy agape.” In 25 years of urban compassionate ministry experience I see churches, ministries, and good people fall into this trap over and over again. In our attempt to be politically correct and because we’re afraid of offending anyone, we give out the goods without the good news. We give out bread without also offering the bread of life. We practice social compassion without offering spiritual solutions.
. . . . If we simply give out the goods without offering the good news, we are no different than all the other social welfare efforts. People will remain hungry and lost.
The author, Church of the Nazarene elder Dean Cowles, goes on to provide scriptural support for his contention that, well, unconditional love is a bad thing. Jesus didn’t just feed the multitudes, he did it after making the multitudes listen to a “marathon preaching session.” So too with the loaves and fishes.
He describes how his “heart aches” when he hears people talk about getting taken by panhandlers who have used their money to buy alcohol, and notes ” . . . the primary problem is unwise compassion — ‘sloppy agape.’ . . . . If we allow people to manipulate us, we become enablers who contribute to their destructive lifestyle. We will miss an opportunity to empower them beyond the con.”
Perhaps the wife and I are misinterpreting this. But to us, “sloppy agape” seems to turn Jesus’ philosophy on its head (yeah, but what do we know?) The speaker who says these words seems to suggest that unconditional love is a destructive force, that we should place strings on our care and compassion. You are entitled to my charity/caring/concern only if you do as I say and believe what I believe.
And I had always thought that teaching by example was the best practice.
D.
CLAMS!
Dean is back from his brother’s funeral and all I can think about is New England fried clams. Which means, I suppose, that my sensitivity is in my stomach. Or something. But clams. Fried clams. New England Ispwich whole belly clams.
Used to be a place on the Ventura pier which flew in Ipswich clams. All manner of New England seafood, in fact — the lobster there was fine, not like that gamy crap you pay $40 for in a restaurant and then choke down. But then the pier washed out some time in the 90s, and our one west coast connection for fried clams closed for good. Sigh.
So, what’s so great about these clams? If all you’ve ever tasted are the frozen, store-bought clams that you toss in the oven, bake, then chew like bubble gum: you have no idea. The flavor of the real thing is intense. The big deal about “bellies” is, they’re soft and tasty, not chewy like the rest of the clam.
Over at Chowhound, someone asked if there was any place in LA where you could get Ipswich clams. I’m sure my sis would be up for a clam run, eh Sis? And yes, there’s a place called The Jar, which has Ipswich clams for $17. Hell of an appetizer.
But they’re not alone, and apparently not the best. Here is the Holy Grail Post for fried clam seekers in Southern California.
I am so there.
Except I’m not. I am so on call.
D.
Discovery
Just discovered Savage Chickens by cartoonist Doug Savage, who apparently has perfected the art of cartooning on post-it notes. Here’s a representative bit.
Feeling worn out tonight. And it’s only Tuesday. Gotta get more sleep.
D.
Best Superbowl Commercial
This is what got me thinking about Abe Vigoda and Betty White yesterday.
Love those two.
D.