KC Rep: The Glass Menagerie

poster from The KC Rep's production of The Glass Menagerie featuring a unique interpretation of the story

I read this play. Once. A long time ago. In high school. But I don't remember it being quite so moving as what I experienced at the KC Repertory Theater’s production at the Copaken Stage downtown. The characters were so intense and the story so bleak. Only a few actors on stage and the emotional dynamics were palpable. I got teary at Laura standing at the phonograph and wailing in her one moment of noise. Tom running off to the movies every night is so pathetic; you don't blame him but you don't fully support him either. And their mother who pushes and pushes and pushes them away, even as she grasps for them so desperately. They all three seem to trap each other.

The production (very positively reviewed in the Wall Street Journal) had several key elements to savor: namely the videography. At some moments there were images (blue roses) and words (“I don’t suppose you remember at all, do you?”) projected onto the upturned ceiling and outturned wall of the set’s living room. At other times it was live close up footage of the actor at that very moment, staring into the mirror on the set or off to the side, staring right into the camera, their face writ large above where they stood. This externalized and made hard to ignore the emotional struggle inside the hearts and minds of those particular characters.

I particularly loved the image of the tiny glass figurine aglow in the bright candle light, filmed by a camera we couldn't see and projected onto the ceiling - the small glass unicorn shining bigger than anything in that sad little apartment. Shining so brightly you even think maybe it won't break this time.

A Game and a Show in a Bookstore

Last night I met up with Sid and Deena for dinner at Blue Koi and a Barclay Martin Ensemble show at Prospero's Bookstore. After dinner and coffee & reading at Javanaut, we arrived at Prospero's early and Sid had a brilliant idea: a game. Let's split up, find a book that is of particular interest, and report back to one another to share what we found. Ready? Go!

20 minutes later, as the musicians were preparing to play and the crowd was gathering for the show, we shared what we found. Sid, continuing the lively dinner conversation on feminism, reported back with Mary Wollstonecraft's classic A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, originally published 1792. Wollstonecraft (the mother of Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein) posed this question in the dedication: "Who made man the exclusive judge, if woman partake with him the gift of reason?" Deena had discovered Art Lover: A Biography of Peggy Guggenheim by Anton Gill, 2001, with a great photo of Peggy on the cover, staring out cheekily through her exceedingly funky sunglasses and hosting three fluffy dogs on her lap. The inside of the dust jacket reads "Mrs. Guggenheim, how many husbands have you had?" she was once asked. "D'you mean my own, or other people's?"

I cheated on the game and came back with two books. The first was Huxford's Old Book Value Guide: 25,000 Listings of Old Books with Current Values, 1997, which I chose for its ironic qualities. This Old Book Value Guide is simply a list of books (not all collectible, per se) and their values - everything from $12 to $150 and beyond. But by now this Old Book Value Guide is an old book itself and since all the data in it is old, it's lost its value. It is not a book that was meant to go up in value. The book cost $19.95 in 1997, though it was evidently purchased at Borders for $17.95. Now it is on a shelf in a used bookstore with a price tag of $7. And what's more: if you wanted to know the truly current values of old books now, you would look, not for a book, but for a website. Which makes you wonder about the value of old books.

My second book, which I picked up to keep entertained since the Old Book Value Guide was such dry reading, was The Perfumed Garden of the Shaykh Nefzawi, a middle eastern manual on sex, written in the 16th century, translated by Sir Richard Burton and published in 1964. It treats its subject matter practically and frankly; in its own way, it was quite dry as well and full of hilarious euphemisms. It made for interesting reading. In 1964, The Perfumed Garden cost $5 but is now valued at $7.50 at Prospero's. It is not, by the way, listed in the Old Book Value Guide.

The music started and we enjoyed the show, deciding afterwards that a used bookstore is, indeed, the perfect place to attend a concert; a used bookstore with creaking wooden floors, hammered tin ceiling, and one suspicious, wobbly stack of books that reached from that floor to that ceiling. The Barclay Martin Ensemble is wonderful anyway - they were even better surrounded by books.

Two meals, somewhat local

"Noodles with the Red Topping"

Sunday night at Cosentino's I bought local basil. In January. It's Living Basil from Basehor, Kansas. I must say that there was something jarring about the sensation of smelling basil in the winter at the grocery store - three elements that felt strange all mixed together. After a few years in a CSA, I have grown accustomed to the most pungent fresh basil in the summer and only in the summer and only at a farmer's market, not a grocery store. But eating with the seasons is one thing - eating locally is another. And the CalAnn's Living Basil smelled so good and we were having pasta for dinner and it's local. So I bought it.

The basil has roots and soil - it stays fresh sitting on your counter top, growing.

I thawed tomato sauce in the fridge over night.

For the pasta sauce we used tomato sauce that I made and froze in July. It is a totally local, pure and simple, delicious and reliable tomato sauce. We added Smart Round (from an, ahem, undisclosed location) to make it a "meat" sauce, added the basil and some parmesan ... and it was delicious!



Vegetable Pilaf

Then Tuesday night we made Vegetable Pilaf. This is one of my all time favorite dishes and has been a repeated standard in our repertoire for years. But tonight, for the first time, we made it with local carrots and corn. The peas were from ... well, you know. But hey - you can't win 'em all, at least not all at once. (Note for next year - freeze some peas!)


The corn I froze berry style, meaning I spread it out on a cookie sheet first to freeze and then compiled it in a very large tupperware container. This method is meant to keep the kernels independent of one another. Even so, it was a little difficult to wrest 1/3 cup of corn from the frozen mass. The carrots were even harder. I think I need to freeze them berry style next year.

Now if only I can get some of that rice from the rice producers in the bootheel of Missouri, then this would be really local.

VEGETABLE PILAF
from the Vegetarian Best Ever Collection, page 166

1 cup basmati rice
2 T. olive oil
½ t. cumin seeds
2-3 bay leaves
6 green cardamom pods
6 cloves
1 onion, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely diced (or about 1/3 cup frozen)
1/3 cup frozen peas
1/3 cup frozen corn
¼ cup cashews, lightly fried
1 can or 2 cups vegetable broth
¼ t. cumin
salt

Wash rice in several changes of cold water. Put in a bowl, cover with water, let soak 30 minutes. Heat oil in large frying pan, sauté cumin seeds for 2 minutes. Add bay leaves, cardamom, cloves, and sauté for 2 more minutes. Add onions – cook for 5 minutes. Stir in carrots (if fresh) – cook for 3-4 minutes. Drain the rice and add to the pan together with the peas, corn, and carrots (if frozen) and cashews – cook for 4-5 minutes. Add 1 can vegetable broth, ground cumin, salt. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer for 15 minutes over low heat, until all broth is absorbed. (Keep watch and add water if needed). Let stand, covered, for 10 minutes before serving.

Cooking with our Frozen Greens

Last October, towards the end of the growing season, Sergio and I blanched and froze a LOT of greens for use all winter long. This weekend we finally reaped the rewards of our endeavor and used some of that preserved harvest for dinner; we made a delicious Squash, Kale, and White Bean Stew with local butternut squash and, of course, local (frozen!) kale.

You can also see a larger version of this video here. (Select "watch in high quality.")


A couple of notes about using frozen greens:
• My book recommends thawing greens by running them under water or putting them in the fridge but not letting them thaw at room temperature. However I've done it that way and it's fine if you don't leave them out too long; make sure they're still pretty frozen when you start to cook with them.
• Only thaw what you are going to use as you don't want to refreeze something that's thawed out (this will reduce the quality of the frozen goods).

Bright orange Bonner Springs butternut squash with garlic and spices

(click to see larger image) The recipe we used (and modified) is from the October 2006 issue of Country Home magazine; it made its way to me via a friend who jotted a note to someone else at the top before photocopying it and sending it on. Those are my bean musings in pencil in the middle; I highly recommend Anasazi beans with this dish.

Inauguration Report #4

This fourth and final report is the film and photo edition.

Click here to see my whole set of pics on Flickr.

And here is a wonderful video compilation of the trip, courtesy of Sergio (you can also see a larger version in high quality on YouTube by clicking here and selecting "watch in high quality" just below the screen):



The wonderful, long, inaugural weekend in DC would not have been as feasible or as fun if it hadn't been for these folks on the left. Ken and Lindsay were very gracious hosts and enjoyable company - as usual. And I loved experiencing this historic moment with them.

KC Symphony - Stern Conducts Mahler

Before Stern conducted Mahler this evening, pianist Kuok-Wai Lio performed Mendelssohn. The Concerto No. 2 in D Minor, a pleasant piece, was pristinely and perfectly played and evoked all the adjectives I associate with the delightfulness of the piano. I do love the piano (I know it's not a very original passion) and Kuok-Wai Lio played exceedingly well. But the Mendelssohn was a little bit ... I don't know ... dispassionate? It was simple and sweet - perhaps more like a Ruby Port? But I liked the Mahler better (Symphony No. 1 in D Major). It was more complex and interesting - like a Tawny Port? - but without being discordant or dissonant. The concert guide indicates a great deal of emotional turbulence in Mahler's life: three love affairs started and ended during the time he wrote this symphony. Mendelssohn, on the other hand, was writing this concerto during the year when Queen Victoria declared him her favorite composer. I think he must have been far too happy.

No, I preferred the Mahler symphony - lots of happy and sad and everything in between. It was quite robust, too, and loud enough to make the woman in front of us plug her ears. (She often plugs her ears, just when things get good.) The crowd was strangely out of sorts tonight, with false-start applause at the wrong time not just once but TWICE. Quite the faux pas. But in their (the crowd's) defense, each of the movements in the Mahler piece had a finality to it that made it sound like it could have been the last. Maybe that reflects the ends of those love affairs? Maybe not?

The Port Report

Tonight I learned about fortified wine. Thanks to the informative and entertaining program of classes offered at Cellar Rat Wine Merchants, I learned lots about port at the Port Class; I jotted it all down on the table paper and now will share it with you.

Port is from Portugal - specifically from the Douro valley in northern Portugal. It began its rise to fame in the late 1600s / early 1700s when wine merchants from Liverpool were sent to Oporto, Portugal to learn more about the trade. (Oporto is in the northern region of Portugal, in the Duoro Valley - the higher you go in the valley, the better and more complex and more expensive the port is.) There they learned from the abbeys that if you add a neutral spirit (like brandy) to wine during the fermentation process (at 6 to 8 % alcohol), the yeast is killed off and the grape ripeness is maintained, and a delicious elixir is produced. The higher the ripeness of the grapes, the higher the sugars in the wine - hence the sweetest properties of port.

There are two types of port: Ruby (very pink, very fruity, very spicy - more like an 18 year old kid, according to Steve at the Cellar Rat) and Tawny (brown in color, more robust, more butterscotch, more reflective and subtle). And what did I think of these tawny and ruby ports? Well, as it goes with Clinique, so it goes with port - I am much more of a tawny kind of person. The rubies seemed cloyingly sweet to me, but the tawnies I could stick with for a while without feeling like I'd eaten too much cotton candy. The tawnies were still sweet - but it was a tempered sweet and a far more complex sweet.

Back to the technicalities: one of the differences between tawny and ruby is the oxidation: oxidation is prevented in ruby ports whereas tawny ports are allowed to oxidize (this accounts for the darker, browner color). Another technicality: like Champagne, which should only be from the Champagne region of France, and Sherry which should only be from the Jerez region of Spain, Port should only be from Portugal. You can find "port style fortified wines" that are produced elsewhere, but port itself must be Portuguese.

Something else to remember: port should be consumed within about a week, depending on whether its ruby or tawny, etc. So if you buy a bottle, try to arrange for 9 to 18 friends to be on hand to help you drink it. Or, if you are exceedingly generous and make fast friends with your fellow Cellar Rat Port Class attendees, you could always buy a bottle after class to share with the group.

I am certain that they would be pleased, if you did.


Post Script Port quote: "It should feel like liquid fire in the stomach; should have the tint of ink; it should be like the sugar of Brazil in sweetness and the spices of India in aromatic flavour." -Association of Port Wine Shippers, 1754

Inauguration Report #3

So here's what happened on the Big Day...

We managed to wake up at the dark, strange hour of 4:00 am on Tuesday. We bundled ourselves in our double layers and extra hats and headed out. It was dark and cold and the streets were quiet, but a few blocks from Ken & Lindsay's apartment we spotted some other inauguration-bound early birds. Our first stop was breakfast at Open City, a coffeehouse • diner • bar that stayed open 24 hours during the Inauguration festivities. It was actually kind of bustling (for 4:30 in the morning); we weren't the only ones prepping for the big day with a big meal.

By 5:45, after stopping to buy a couple of copies of the Post, we were boarding a very crowded Metro, just wedging ourselves into the back of the train. We got off the train at Farragut North and joined the strong current of people heading south to the National Mall. It was still dark as night, but the people were out in droves and everyone moved in a unified direction. It was surreal to feel so in tune with such huge numbers of perfect strangers and to be making this epic journey at this ungodly hour with them. That we were moving so far all together on foot, that the bone-chilling cold did not deter us, that such a diverse range of people all had the same destination in mind ... all contributed to the visceral quality of the morning.

So, on we went, skirting the closed roads and barriers, remarking at the strange feeling of so many military personnel standing by, marveling at the some-what delirious man with a bicycle and a tiny American flag who asked us "Is somethin' goin' on today? Where's everybody goin'?"

It was 6:30 by the time we arrived at our pre-scouted-out spot immediately east of the Washington Monument where the hill gave us a nice vantage point of the capital, which was still (of course) about a mile away but was glowing brilliantly. There were plenty of people arriving when we did, plus some who had been there already and were sound asleep on the ground, bundled in sleeping bags. I had just arrived and was already freezing, so I couldn't imagine what those folks must have felt. Although after a couple of hours of cold I began to imagine.

The 11 degree wind chill effectively chilled me to the core rather quickly and though we huddled together, bought lots of hand warmers, and jumped up and down to keep warm, I couldn't fully shake the piercing edge of the persistent cold. I thought that my toes would go numb. The temperature rose slightly a couple of hours later after the sun had come out fully. But by then we were nearly frozen solid and were reluctant even to remove our gloves long enough to use our cell phones, (which had trouble working anyway). And so we just watied with eagerness and watched.

The monumental significance of the event was touted proudly by everyone's Obama wear, but uniquely so by some inauguration goers who wore shirts or carried flags that said "we were there." I kept thinking "I can't believe I'm really here." But the phrase "we were there" already pushes the event into the past, even as it is still happening, even before the ceremony has begun.

As the fully diverse crowd began to fill in thick and steady, the hour approached for the ceremonies to begin. With binoculars we could see the jumbotron and could watch the dignitaries move into place. The crowd booed & hissed a couple of folks but mostly hoorayed the rest, going crazy when Obama was on the screen and calming down to almost-silence in anticipation of the big moment.

That 2 million people were all gathered in one spot was obviously remarkable. But the fact that 2 million people were more than willing - happy even - to stand for hours in the freezing cold, work through the crowds, wait in line 30 minutes for an unpleasant porta-potty, etc., all in order to gather in one spot for this one event - that was something I couldn't fully grasp, even as I stood right there and felt it myself.

The ceremonies transpired quickly, like Christmas morning after so much anticipation, the culmination of unparalleled excitement. After the prayers, the songs, the oath, the speech, the poem, the tears, the squeals, the hoorays, and the thunderous gloved applause ... the mass exodus began and we all jostled together like penguins slowly waddling our way out - moving as one body - trying to leave the mall.

The great quantities of people dispersed on foot through the city, moving through the transformed streets and filling up the restaurants and metros. We were hungry and tired, so we took a taxi back to Ken & Lindsay's and began the slow process of thawing while reveling in the reality of our new president. With vegetable stew bubbling on the stove, we listened to the radio, watched the TV, and Googled for more information.

The inauguration was beyond exciting. But the thrill didn't stop there: later that day, when someone on the radio reported on "former President George W. Bush" and then said "President Obama" - my heart skipped a beat at the thought of what just happened. The city hummed with excitement into the next day as Ken and Lindsay reported elevator and metro conversations with fellow chatty and happy inauguration goers. The excitement followed Sergio and me home on our direct flight back to Kansas City - on the airplane it was every topic of conversation. And even on the shuttle bus out to economy parking at MCI, the people around us were abuzz with inauguration stories.

I am happy for this buzz to continue for a long time.

Inauguration Report #2

It is Christmas Eve (according to Sergio) and we are too excited to sleep. But we have decided to force ourselves to go to bed early enough that we can get an early start tomorrow. And by early, I mean 4. The city is abuzz; the excitement is in the ether and is intoxicating everyone. The string of tour buses headed down the street (as Lindsay pointed out), the siren sound of (perhaps) a very important motorcade (as Ken pointed out), conversations overheard in passing, presidential helicopters overhead, restaurants staying open 24 hours, and - of course - plenty more Obama specials to be had at every retail location ("Obama Rama Small Cakes - $7" at Sticky Fingers Bakery). Even the parking spots near the 3100 block of Connecticut Ave were already becoming scarce by early this afternoon. You can feel the hum of the inauguration all around.

We generated our own giddy buzz at (Ken & Lindsay's) home tonight where we have been all a-twitter scouting out entry points and jumbotron spots on the national mall for tomorrow, deciding what to wear to keep us sufficiently warm (high of 31 , but the windchill in the AM will be 11 and we don't want to pull a Wm Henry Harrison), deciding what kinds of provisions to take (only "small snacks" are allowed - whatever that means - and our wait will be long so we're taking granola & vegan jerky), charging the batteries in all our electronic devices & cameras, and speculating comically on what both Barack Obama and George W. Bush must be doing or thinking on this momentous eve.

We are preparing all the hats and long johns, snacks and cameras tonight ... but I'm sure there will be something much more inspiring to remember tomorrow.

Inauguration Report #1

The inauguration is like Christmas. Not in a Santa/wish-come-true sort of way (although there is that for some of us), but in a ubiquity sort of way, in the sense that it is everywhere - advertisements, parties, concerts, events, sales, specials, drinks, window decor, street decor, street vendors. Everything that said "Christmas" one month ago now says "Inauguration." This is not much of a news flash, I'm sure. But the degree of pervasiveness struck me. The obvious garlands of American flags, the images of Obama, the postcards at the airport (we bought 4), the buttons at the museum (we bought 10) ... all of that I expected. But I didn't expect the Ikea ads in the metro that say "Change Begins at Home" or "The Time for Domestic Reform Is Now;" I didn't expect the image of Obama on the back of my metro ticket or the Ombama yoga poster or the 'bamablooms. The headline on the current issue of the City Paper reads, very simply, "He's Here!" But he is more than just here, he is everywhere.

He really is here now - came in last night, so we were told. Not that we've bumped into him or anything. But we did see the Shepard Fairey portrait of Obama at the National Gallery. We have also seen lots of stuff about the last 43. Also at the Portrait Gallery we enjoyed seeing the likenesses of all previous presidents and particularly enjoyed George W. Bush's portrait, which has only recently been added to the exhibit. In it, Bush isn't wearing a tie or jacket. He is seated on a couch, very casually. He is leaning forward, as though chit-chatting with you the viewer as you sit across the living room. It's a strange departure from the portraits of preceding presidents' which all feature a traditional stance and a formal setting, except for the slightly relaxed Clinton leaning comfortably on the mantle piece, the close cropped portrait of Nixon painted by Norman Rockwell (of all people), and the Elaine de Kooning portrait of JFK featuring abstract expressionist swaths of color, instead of an oval office or a living room.

Last night we attended a "Songs for Presidents" concert featuring songs from the album "Of Great and Mortal Men: 43 Songs for 43 U.S. Presidencies." The different bands in this concert sang unsung stories of each president: Truman once wanted to run a men's clothing store (and ended up dropping the bomb), Gerald Ford was drafted by the Green Bay Packers, Jimmy Carter saw a UFO, Calvin Coolidge's son died of a blister from a game of tennis. Nellie McKay sang a song about Thomas Jefferson's invention called the Moldboard of Least Resistance and - perhaps the best song of the evening - Tim Fite sang about Grover Cleveland who raised his best friend's daughter from infancy and married her when she was 21. So strange. But so great. The information conveyed in these songs was not the traditional stuff of patriotism. But I liked the hodge podge of facts and quirky stories. And after just two days in DC and I am actually feeling quite patriotic indeed.

nothing says hope like a tiny garden of origami blooms with Obama's image on each side of each flower.

And Justus for All

I've been hearing about a place up north, off of my beaten path, called Justus Drugstore. Everyone said it was amazing. And even though I didn't doubt them, it still took some convincing before I was willing to get in the car and drive 20+ minutes (gasp!) to get to Smithville, MO (where?) to go to a place that used to be drugstore (what?).

But, hey. I'd heard they are supporters of local food. So when I finished the big rhetoric-of-the-local-food-movement paper I've been working so diligently on, I decided a trip to a restaurant that supports local food might be the perfect celebration.

So finally tonight I went to Justus Drugstore and Oh. My. Gosh. . . . EVERY single thing that passed through my lips was remarkable. From the Beet Ricotta Gnocchi amuse bouche (the vegetarian amuse bouche they brought us so generously when we told them we don't eat meat) to the flight of housemade ice creams for dessert. The thyme/rosemary infused gin ... the "persimmon paint" ... the pea shoot salad ... the butter ... the crispy bok choi in my risotto ... and everything in between was just amazing.

I am certain that even the best of English majors would struggle to find the words to describe what went on around my taste buds tonight. No, not taste buds. Taste blossoms. No, wait: taste full blooms. Yes that's it - full blooms of taste.

All I know is that the mint powder ... or did they call it mint dust? I can't even remember what they called it; much less can I describe it myself ... when that mint powder/dust touched my tongue and melted - I tell you - MELTED, I immediately thought of every fresh mint plant I have ever smelled, tasted, harvested, cooked with, garnished with, chopped into a salad, or macerated into a mojito. It was like cotton candy for adults. Mint cotton candy. Exquisite mint cotton candy.

And THAT was an item served on the side, so imagine how much you'd be reeling if you'd had a full meal - amuse bouche, appetizer, salad, entree, AND dessert - like I did tonight. Positively reeling.

Drive to Smithville, MO, I tell you. You won't be disappointed.

KC Symphony - Midori

Last night was our first concert of the calendar year. Our conductor and music director, Michael Stern, could not be there, as his wife was in labor at the hospital. In his stead, our fresh faced new assistant conductor Steven Jarvi took the helm. Since this is his first season with the KC Symphony, we hadn't seen him before. He is very talented and was very nice to watch. He moves very calmly and with precision. And has conductor hair. Red conductor hair.

The renowned violinist Midori was the guest performer and she was dynamic. She played the Brahms Concerto in D Major for Violin (one of the greatest pieces of the 19th century1). She stood so calmly at first, and then with a few wide waves of her bow, as though she were getting a running start, she launched in to her first solo with so much vigor. It was beautiful - and she is so amazing to watch. She has a wide-legged stance, curls her upper body around her violin, and moves haltingly like a marionette or an automaton ... making it even harder to believe she is actually real. During the second movement, which had a much calmer tone, wisps of hair that had come loose from her bun and bow strings that had snapped waved in the wind as she swayed back and forth. In the third movement - which I realized I knew suddenly when her solo began - the energy returned and she mesmerized the audience straight through to the end of the standing ovation.

Midori debuted to wide acclaim 25 years ago with the New York Philharmonic. She was just 11. Since then, she has founded an organization that supports music education for underprivileged children, in addition to touring extensively, recording, and mesmerizing. As if all that weren't enough, she is also being designated an official Messenger of Peace by Ban Ki-Moon, Secretary General of the United Nations.

Oh, and her violin? It's the 1734 Guarnerius del Gesu "ex-Huberman." I'm not certain exactly what that means. Except for the "the." Her violin has a name and a "the." It must be something very singular indeed ... like Midori herself. "The" 1734 Guarnerius del Gesu "ex-Huberman" violin is on lifetime loan to Midori from the Hayashibara Foundation. And based on her performance last night, I think I can see why.
______________________
1. Richard Rodda, KC Symphony Concert Guide, 22.

Epiphany

Today is a red letter day in Downtown Kansas City - the day that the city got even better. Cosentino's Downtown Market, the long-awaited grocery store, has finally arrived. They opened their doors to the public at 8:00 AM this morning. We were there at 7:55. Which is saying a lot, since there aren't too many things that get me up and out the door before 7:55 in the morning. We weren't the only early birds - there was a line of eager shoppers gathered at the front door and at the back door waiting to be let in. The place was bustling immediately and all the shelves were so beautifully full, all the products perfectly arranged, aligned, and well stocked. Each item eagerly awaiting to be the first of its kind to be purchased at this very special store on this very special day.

We were giddy. Like kids in a candy store. Adults in a grocery store. A grocery store with everything you need (but pleasantly not one that feels like a warehouse or seems like it's the length of a football field). Fully stocked but totally cozy, too. I checked for all the things I like: Local Shatto milk? They have that PLUS Shatto butter and Shatto ice cream. My favorite orange juice - they have it AND it's cheaper than at the other store. Environmentally friendly toilet paper - bingo! The good kind of yogurt? Three different brands! Organic products? Plenty! Reliable vegetarian and vegan fare? Yup! "Natural," "Organic," "Gourmet." Everything. They even have prepared foods, too and an olive bar (!); everything looked so delicious - I would have eaten Eggplant Parmesan and Risotto Balls for breakfast. (But instead I had a delicious muffin and a cup of Roasterie coffee.)

There was only one thing I couldn't find, but do you know what happened when I asked one of the many helpful staff members about it? She took down my name and phone number, the name of the product, and said she'd let me know. Above and beyond.

They have some things we don't want, too - like pig's feet. When Sergio picked up the jar and showed me I said, "Oh no!" and laughed. Standing next to us there was a quite elderly woman wearing a scarf over her head; she interceded - "Oh, but they're so good!" "Really?" I asked. "Sure," she said, "except I can't have them any more - that's why they're so good. But when I was kid ..." and she smiled. The range of shoppers was just as diverse as the range of products.

This is a funny moment in life for me to be so especially enthusiastic about a grocery store as I am currently immersed in exploring an off-the-grid food system (which has left me wanting to buy all my produce directly from farmers and to make all my food from scratch) ... but even with all that, I am still beyond thrilled by the new store. After all, you gotta buy your beer and toilet paper somewhere, as they say.

And Cosentino's Downtown Market has my favorite kind of both of those things.

Our local Central Soyfoods tofu!

So many great mustards!

Hooray for Cosentino's!


a delightful surprise caught on tape

Cosentino's Downtown Market Index

number of trips to Cosentino's Downtown Market today: 2
amount, in dollars, by which my favorite cereal at Cosentino's is cheaper than my favorite cereal at Sunfresh: 1.02
amount, in dollars, by which my favorite orange juice at Cosentino's is cheaper than my favorite orange juice at Sunfresh: 1.10
amount of bring-your-own-bag credit, in cents, per bag: 5
number of people we ran into that we know: 7
number of different brands of the good yogurt: 3
number of bottles of wine: 3,500
length, in feet, of the salad bar: 83
approximate residential population of downtown Kansas City: 17,000

Happy January First

on the corner of Market and Main

We rang in the new year - and celebrated our sixth anniversary - in Weston, Missouri, a historic town north of here that is very charming indeed. Situated in the remarkably hilly terrain of the bluffs above the Missouri River, Weston was a bustling place 150 years ago. It used to be one of the western most towns in the US, was a port for western-bound wagon trains, and for many years, was the only major tobacco market west of the Mississippi. Now it is a hub of history and tourism, hosting festivals year round, and housing visitors in many of its quaint B&Bs.

We stayed in the Benner House Bed and Breakfast, a 114 year old "painted lady" (do two shades of purple count as a painted lady?) that was originally built by an owner of the McCormick Distillery in Weston (oldest continuously operating distillery in the U.S.!). Our hostess at the B&B started out the New Year's Evening with a champagne toast to the New Year ... and to us. (I pretend that all the celebrations are also in honor of our anniversary.)

The Benner House is replete with decor, Victorian and otherwise. Creaking floors and twisting staircase, antiquarian furniture, wallpapers galore, the yellowed sheet music of "I Love You, Truly" open on an antique "peerless" organ ... right next to a Panasonic laser jet printer ... on a doily. A modem blinking in the corner behind an antique wooden stool; a grand piano, two guitars, a Christmas tree, and a remote control fireplace in the solarium. It was our first foray into the world of B&Bs and we were fascinated by every tiny bit of it. We stayed in the Rose room which - as you might imagine - has a floral motif. We had a view of the neighbor's "widow's walk" and the wide-stretching fields on the horizon, which looked beautiful at dusk. Everything is dormant as this is the deep sleep of winter. But there are fields, foliage, and rolling hills all around Weston. We have vowed to return in the spring.

For dinner we headed down the street (past "Old Geezer's Mantiques") to Avalon Cafe for the New Year's Eve Wine Dinner, all five courses of which were delicious. After that we stepped out into the biting cold where the Main Street sidewalks were completely empty. Not a creature was stirring except us, standing on the corner, discussing how much brighter and more numerous were the stars here than at home. We walked a block down the hill and turned down Short street to find the pub that Sergio remembers from his first visit to Weston 10 years ago - O'Malley's. We stepped inside the very plain looking building, paid the cover, and descended into the subterranean former wine cellars that make up O'Malley's Irish pub which is where everyone in Weston was last night. Cavernous and smoky and deep beneath the surface of the earth, all kinds of people had gathered to celebrate loudly - young and old and middle-aged; singles and couples, big groups and small; people dressed up and sparkly, people dressed down and dull; two men in utilikilts; one red head in a red satin strapless dress; lots of singing; cigars, pipes, cigarettes, kazoos, and hats shining "Happy New Year," all the revelry enhanced by booze, bright stage lights and a band with guitar, fiddle, and hammer dulcimer.

underground at O'Malley's

We stayed just long enough for one beer and then headed out, through the upper room of the bar, still subterranean, where a cozy subset of people were belting out limericks of the sort that could only be sung so loudly in a bar beneath the ground. We climbed our way up and out and into the freezing cold again and on the street above O'Malley's you could hear positively nothing. We tiptoed back up the hill to our B&B and counted down the new year - and our anniversary.

After breakfast this morning we drove in and out of the 22 block historic district of Weston, ooh-ing and ah-ing at the charm. We hit the road early and were home in time to spend the rest of the day without a care in the world, before heading out again tonight for dinner and a movie, the cap on our New Year's anniversary celebration. Every bit of which was perfect.

(Oh! And the person who planned this entire outing for us while I was so busy with school I couldn't see straight? Sergio. To whom I am very grateful.)

The Weston Depot (1922), now the Weston City Hall, is in the same spot where Lewis and Clark's Corp of Discovery camped out in 1804. The land where Weston is was part of the Louisiana Purchase of 1803.

Today Only!

I don’t remember if it was this way last year at the holidays, or if the economic situation has ratcheted things up a notch, but this year I am bombarded by sales pitches. Every day for a week, I have received 8 to 12 emails each day from retailers enticing me to buy something. It’s the same stores sending me a new email every day, making my inbox a broken record. Didn’t I just delete that email yesterday?

But each day is a different incentive: discounts? one day only? gifts under $10? gifts under $6? free shipping! additional discounts! buy something red! (?) something free if I hurry? clearance items? last minute gifts? extra points on my rewards card? free gift with purchase!

None of these offers have enticed me to do anything except hit delete. Right now I am not going to buy any of that, no matter how much of whatever they offer me. But since the economy is bad and I know that retailers are suffering and that circumstances are dire, I actually sort of … feel … kind of … guilty. Like I’m saying “No” to a desperate plea each time I click delete.

Hey! Want to buy this? No thanks.
What about this? No.
Okay how about these – they’re buy one get one free! No, really.
Just buy it! We’ll give you a free gift. No. Not now.
Please buy something? No, I already said No.
Are you sure you don’t want to buy something? I’m sure.
But we thought maybe you wanted one of these. No, I don’t.
We’ll ship it to you for free. No.
Yes we will. I know, but still – No.
Oh, just buy something from us, will you? No!
Please? No.
Pretty please? No!!
Pretty please with sugarplums? No, No, No!!
Fine! But this is the last time we’re asking you. Fine.
Don’t expect to get this great offer tomorrow. Fine, I don’t want it anyway!
And today is your last chance for free shipping, too! Good!
Until tomorrow. Okay.
See you then? Yeah, see you tomorrow.

Snow Day

Today was a snow day, so to speak. This does not mean the same thing at this stage in my life that it meant when I was younger, but I still get excited about the snow as though I were a kid. It doesn't matter that I still have to go to work when it snows and it doesn't matter that I don't have the time or interest to play in the snow. (Although that snow angel I made a few years ago was kind of fun.) There's still something exciting about the possibility of it all, of just knowing that I could go out and make a great snowman or enjoy a day free of obligations, given the right circumstances. Those prospects, even if unrealized, are delightful.

Yes, I believe it's official now: I could not enjoy life in a place that does not have seasons like this.

old St. Patrick's in the snow
cold covering of snow outside, warm glow of lamp inside

Christmas in a Cup

The Mayor's Christmas Tree at Crown Center is 100-feet tall, only slightly taller than the mayor himself (joked Sergio). It is a massive piece of merriment secured on four sides by powerfully strong ties latched to the ground amidst a whimsical Christmas village of tiny train cars, giant peppermint sticks, small houses, nutcracker soldiers and two brown pigs (?). The tree has 7,000 white lights and innumerable ornaments, as well. It is extremely merry.

Tonight, on the ground in the whimsical Christmas village, I found two tiny pieces of a branch from the Mayor's Christmas tree. I brought them home to spruce up the place a little bit (pun intended) with some natural Christmasness (in lieu of any garland or tree of our own). It felt a little like Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree. Except I guess this was Mr. Funkhouser's Christmas Tree.

But now it's my little Christmas in a cup.

My Saturday

And just because you are confined to your apartment all day reading genre theory, doesn't mean you can't have a nice snack.


In the foreground: bruschetta featuring local parsley and fresh (fresh!) local tomatoes (an heirloom variety of cherry tomato, grown in a greenhouse by Alice) and Woolly Rind, a local sheep's cheese from Green Dirt Farm - both purchased at Bad Seed Winter Market. Plus crackers from an undisclosed location. (Okay, they're from Whole Foods. *sigh* You can't win 'em all...)

In the background: Writing Genres by Amy Devitt.

My Friday Night

Just because you are really busy writing a paper, doesn't mean you can't have something nice for dinner. And just because it's December, doesn't mean your dinner can't be somewhat local.


In the foreground: pasta with local oven dried tomatoes, local dried oregano, local dried chili, and fresh (fresh!) local parsley from Root Deep Urban Farm and local rosemary fougasse bread by Roaring River Bread Company, both purchased at tonight's Bad Seed Winter Market. Plus a few local pickled okra - not pictured, but fun to say - which I pickled myself about four months ago.

In the background: a paper about hair in nineteenth-century sensation fiction from both sides of the Atlantic.

A Little Christmas

It's December 1 and already I am really craving Christmas. However, I have determined that this year there will be no time for much of a display around here. No time for a tree or garland - no time for ornaments - no time to bake things - no time for the Saul Steinberg Christmas plate - no time for "Love, Actually." Only time for school work and travel. If it weren't for tight deadlines looming on the horizon, I'd probably have already whipped out the ornament box, made some hot cider and played Vince Guaraldi on the iPod. *sigh* But there is no time for that.

So, today when I got two little bits of Christmas in the mail - it was not a moment too soon. Perhaps I'll hang them on the houseplants in lieu of a tree.

Thanksgiving Day

Happy Thanksgiving from the cutest pilgrim salt and pepper shakers in all of Nashville. (Wait a minute: were the pilgrims Shakers?)

In Honor of the Piano in Harwich, Mass

Recent news reports have shared the strange details of an abandoned piano found in the woods in Massachusetts recently - a good condition, Baldwin upright, complete with bench, sitting in the middle of the forest. How, why, and by whom it was left remain a mystery.

News organizations have snapped up the chance to ask if a piano is played in the forest and there's no one to hear it ... etc.

But here's another What If proposed by poet Winfield Townley Scott. (This is from a strange little volume I bought for $1 at the library book sale years ago. It's called Some Haystacks Don't Even Have Any Needle.)


IF ALL THE UNPLAYED PIANOS

If all the unplayed pianos in America--
The antimacassared uprights in old ladies' parlors
In the storehouses the ones that were rented for vaudeville
The ones where ill fame worsened and finally died
The ones too old for Sunday School helplessly dusty
The ones too damp at the beach and too dry in the mountains
The ones mothers used to play on winter evenings
The ones silenced because of the children growing away--
Resounded suddenly all together from coast to coast:
Untuned joy like a fountain jetted everywhere for a moment:
The whole nation burst to untapped, untrammeled song:
If would make--in short--a most satisfactory occasion,
A phenomenon which the scientists could never explain.

- Winfield Townley Scott

ThanksVegan, The Meal

For the last three years our Thanksgiving table has been graced with vegetables from our CSA with Fair Share Farm. Even though the season ends in October, our farmers still have a few winter crops that keep growing into November, which they harvest and bundle and bring in to town just in time for the biggest food day of the year. We picked up this year's Thanksgiving share last Friday and drove it straight to Tulsa for ThanksVegan. Several items from our abundant local stash featured prominently in our meal, including the sadly maligned Brussels sprouts (whoever thinks those adorable little vegetables aren't delicious maybe just hasn't eaten sprouts fresh from the farm?) which we roasted until slightly crispy with olive oil and walnuts. We also had swiss chard (sauteed with onion in olive oil) which we combined with chard from Jon & Erin's yard, the food "miles" of which could be logged in a mere handful of footsteps. We also had a plenteous Wilted Spinach Salad with Fair Share spinach and a good old fashioned Sweet and Sour Cabbage, complete with a local apple from Bad Seed Farm. Looking back, I think this year's meal may be the most local we've had.















Looking forward, I am realizing how absolutely possible (dare I say, simple?) it can be to source an entire ThanksVegan almost completely locally; we could have done that with this year's meal, had we eaten in Kansas City where I have learned about so many great sources for local food. This year, the only things we ate that are not available locally are lemons, orange and cranberries, walnuts, olive oil, and olives. But everything else is available this time of year, at least around the midwest. We could have gotten bread for the stuffing and the croutons in the salad from Hot Mama Bakery or Bread of Life bakery (to name just a few). We could have gotten butternut squash, potatoes and onions from any number of places near by. We even could even have made our Tofu Roulade with local tofu from Central Soyfoods in Lawrence, KS. It hadn't occurred to me that we could do almost everything local since for our version of the holiday we typically buy a Tofurky® or a Field Roast®, but by making the main dish ourselves, we could.

Well, if we went completely local, I guess we'd need to find a midwestern substitute for cranberries. Or I suppose we could make an exception for the sake of an old tradition, even in the midst of what I think makes a lovely new tradition - a full Thanksgiving dinner made with food from close to home.

To Be Grateful

The most relevant aspect of Thanksgiving is obviously not the turkey, as we all can agree. But you have to admit that the bird features pretty prominently this time of year. And if you happen to be a vegetarian or a vegan, your version of this holiday will necessarily shift a little. In 2003, Sergio and our friends in Tulsa, Jon and Erin, became vegans, and the next year for Thanksgiving, we decided to get together to partake in an turkey-less meal. It was a great weekend - we spent hours and hours cooking and chatting and filling in the gaps of time that stretch and grow in long-distance friendships. Sergio cleverly named our event ThanksVegan and we had so much fun that weekend that we did it again the next year ... and the next ... and the next ...

This year we celebrated our Fifth Annual ThanksVegan. It is our tradition now. Jon pointed out that we have been doing ThanksVegan longer than we knew each other in college. Which was a startling, but nice, realization. Each year this holiday has been our spot of time to savor all the things we have in common - things much greater than the turkey missing from the table. But I am grateful for that missing turkey and for the opportunity it gave us to start this tradition of getting together with friends, about whom there is much to be grateful for.


home grown swiss chard from Jon & Erin's yard

trusty resources

Let's eat!

A Lot of Hands

Tonight was the penultimate class session for Transatlantic Sensations. We are off next week for Thanksgiving, then we meet on the 3rd to do peer reviews on our papers, then our final papers are due on the 10th and that's it - the end of this, my last literature course for my degree. Next semester I have only one rhetoric class left (and one huge thesis project) in order to finish my masters degree. So six months from now ... I'll kind of ... be done.

On the one hand, this is really exciting because it means I'll have successfully completed this major accomplishment. But on the other hand it means I won't get to go to class any more. But on the one hand it means I will have more free time to read other things. But on the other hand it means I will not get to sit around with 12 people and discuss what we've all read. On the other hand it means I won't exhaust myself staying up until 2:00 am. to finish school work. But on the other hand it means I won't be writing academically as much. But on the other hand it means I can write non-academically more. But on the other hand it means I won't be reading thematically like I am now ('transatlantic sensations'). But on the other hand it will free me up to do other things besides read, other things entirely.

But in the meantime I have a 15-page paper to write and a big thesis project to work on.

Ready for Winter

I've been preserving the harvest this year and tonight it was time to reap some of those rewards. The cold weather gave me a hankerin' for Red Bean and Quinoa Chili. So, I used some local frozen corn and some local canned tomatoes which I processed in September, combined them with local fresh bell pepper, garlic, and onion, and of course kidney beans (not local but cooked from scratch!) and quinoa (not local, but I hear there IS local quinoa which I am determined to find!) - and added a tomato juice ice cube (local!) - and I made a very nice chili indeed.

Sergio's new winter coat came in the mail today - while I was dishing out our dinner, he tried on his coat and confirmed that it will be just the thing he needs to keep him warm this season. With a new boldness towards the cold weather that he typically abhors, he asserted, "Winter's got nothing on me."

And with two heaping bowls of my mostly local chili, I heartily agreed.

RED BEAN AND QUINOA CHILI

from "Feeding the Whole Family" by Cynthia Lair

2 t. olive oil

1 onion, chopped

2 t. sea salt

1 green pepper, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 or 2 t. cumin

1 t. dried oregano

1/8 t. cinnamon

1/8 t. cayenne

2/3 cup quinoa, rinsed in warm water and drained

1 cup fresh or frozen corn

1 or 2 cups tomato sauce or crushed tomatoes

1 cup water or broth

1 can of kidney beans (or one cup of dry beans, soaked 6-8 hours, cooked 50-60 minutes with cumin and a bay leaf)

Heat oil in skillet on medium. Add onion, salt, garlic, pepper, and spices; sauté for 5 to 10 minutes. Add rinsed quinoa and stir in. Add corn, tomatoes, and water (or broth) to onion/quinoa mixture. Simmer 20 minutes. Add cooked beans to other ingredients; simmer around 10 minutes.

You Should Go to the Library

The Central branch of the Kansas City public library is hosting two very nice exhibits which I recommend highly to all.

Hungry Planet: What the World Eats features photographs of families from around the world and the food that they eat in a week's time. They are all photographed in their dining rooms, surrounded by food. It is a fascinating array. Descriptions and explanations support the photos making for an enlightening view of what we typically don't think about that critically ... but what is absolutely essential to our being. It is interesting to note the amounts of food and how much processed food (or not-processed food) is a part of people's diets.

Illuminating Kansas City is a collection of photographs (photographer Kevin Sink) of Kansas City from a variety of interesting perspectives. There are some stunning shots and unique perspectives of the city, many downtown shots as well as views of the Plaza and some remarkable images of the Bloch building at the Nelson-Atkins.

Oh, and the library has books. Another good reason to go.

Consumption

Tonight on All Things Considered, News Analyst Daniel Schorr speculated that the Age of American Consumerism May Be Over. Though being consumers is closely tied to patriotism in our national psyche, current economic circumstances necessitate or reflect a decrease in spending that might make us, as a nation, change our tune.

But what's interesting about Schorr's analysis is the use of the word "consumption." Even though I assume there is a definition of this term that is exclusive to the field of economics, that didn't stop me from pondering the other definitions of the word and placing them in this economic context. Since I am studying 19th century literature just now and not economics, each time Schorr said "consumption," I couldn't help but think of an old-fashioned disease.

The OED confirms this sense of gloom with the tone of some other definitions of consumption: "the action or fact of consuming or destroying; destruction," "decay, wasting away, or wearing out," and "wasteful expenditure, waste." When you put it that way, it brings a whole new meaning - as Shorr hinted - to "shop til you drop."

"Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better"

In yesterday's paper there was a blurb on the front page enticing readers to find out if their favorite blog is written by a man or a woman by testing it at www.genderanalyzer.com. Never one to pass up a good opportunity to examine gender stereotypes (especially gender stereotypes about writing), I couldn't resist trying it out. I was hoping to find proof of the inaccuracy of the sharply contrasted gender conventions on which I assumed the analysis is based, so I was disappointed when the "Gender Analzyer" guessed the gender correctly on 8 blogs out of the 12 I tried. However, I was delighted (and surprised) with the 2 it got wrong, and I was tickled with its verdicts on the blogs I submitted which are co-written. MY blog rated 67% feminine; I'll take that over a higher percentile - the kind of higher percentile reserved for blogs that are pink - but I'd rather have gotten something in the 50% range which wins you a "gender neutral" designation.

Here I am acting like I really care what the Gender Analyzer says when what I really care to know is what criteria the site's "Artificial Intelligence" uses to determine masculinity and femininity in blogs - and how they determine it to a degree, no less. And what I really wanted to run through their little tester is some editorial copy written by a man but meant to sound like a woman ... and maybe some novel passage from the 19th century that was written by a woman but published under a man's name.

I am skeptical of easy, clear distinctions between men and women. Perhaps the percentage range in results on the Gender Analyzer does bridge the chasm between the diametrically opposed gender poles of simply "male" and "female." However, doesn't this spectrum still uphold the polarization, the strict either/or? Obviously, the Gender Analyzer did not address this. It picked one gender or the other and designated a percentage rating. It did not critically investigate the notion of gender entirely. Needless to say, this wasn't quite the level of gender analysis one might hope for.

Weekend with the Girls

These are the friends I have known the longest ...

... and what better way to spend a cold, autumn weekend than with a group of people who have known you since forever - a group of old friends that you admire and enjoy. Last weekend they converged from Chicago, Oklahoma, Overland Park, and Olathe and gathered at the M&A B&B (my apartment) in downtown Kansas City and together we began celebrating our 30th birthdays. Turning 30 means that we have known each other for a long time - 15 years at least. It's hard to believe it's been that long. We were quite different back then and are quite different now but we're still the same people somehow and a remarkable bond has ensured that we still have a wonderful time together every time we converge. I am already looking forward to 30th birthday celebration part 2 next year, or any other opportunity to enjoy the company of my dearest, oldest friends.

Yes, We Can

And we did!


President-Elect Barack Obama

All Souls' Day

Three years ago when we bought this apartment, we were delighted by the perfect view: Old St. Patrick's - the second oldest church in Kansas City (1875) right across the street. We watched people coming and going each Sunday and listened to the bells chime. But only for two months - at which point the diocese shut down the church for renovations.

For three years it has been just another pretty face - quietly housing a community of pigeons on its spires, but otherwise looking quite lonely. We'd see an occasional truck load of stuff going out (blue carpet) and better stuff (new lumber) going in. Each weekend the only visitors were a family that came to tend to the lawn across the street and the long skinny patch of grass on the side of the parking lot, which on the weekends is always empty. Until yesterday, an unseasonably warm All Souls' Day, when the church was finally open for business again after three long years of lying fallow.

So, with Garrison Keillor telling ghost stories on the radio, I re-potted the basil in my window sill while Sergio pulled the threads of my scarlet A off the rented costume ... and we watched the parishioners pouring out, one after another, after another, clowns-in-a-Volkswagen style.

Here comes the neighborhood!

Sinners and Saints

We were invited to a fabulous Halloween party this weekend, the theme of which was Sinners and Saints. Sergio and I, not wanting to play it too straightforward, decided we wanted costumes that were ambiguous in their representation of the notions of virtue and vice. My mom came up with a brilliant idea: Hester Prynne and Reverend Dimmesdale from The Scarlet Letter. It was perfect. A couple of puritans who sinned - one is a reverend while the other wanders in a "moral wilderness" (Hawthorne 183).

It was a costume that any English major could love. And love it I did. But for that matter, so did all the other party-goers with their bouffant hair-do, devil horns, angel wings, metallic face paint, rubber mask and foil wrapper hat. The best moment was when a woman at the party approached me, having not seen the red A on my chest, and said "Ah, you must be a saint." I smiled, shook my head no, pointed at my scarlet letter and said, "I'm a sinner."

Works Cited

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. Bantam Books, Toronto: 1981.