« June 2006 | Main | August 2006 »
July 12, 2006
Write about Anchovies, here.
Tuesday lunch time is about the only time I leave the building during working hours. The Ferry Building is a few blocks away, and I like to wander over to the farmer's market that appears there twice each week, Tuesday afternoons and Thursday after work.
There's not much you can't find over there. I've gotten onto a beet jag recently, purchasing these wonders in myriad colors and sizes. The gold beets were good with bleu cheese, chopped red onion and garlic pistachios, but the red ones are still aces with me.
Yesterday, I shopped my way in from the outside, stopping at stalls to smell, squeeze and purchase:
- salad mix
- lemon cucumber
- red onion
- sweet gold peaches
- blueberries
- broccoli
Everything's organic.
Inside the building, I sidestepped "CAUTION: SLIPPERY" pylons, cargo-shorted tourists, Gap Inc. execs and other hazards, searching for something I could eat for lunch. Though I was thinking "sandwich," I somehow found myself in a fish market, staring at the selection in the refrigerated case. They stared back.
An abalone shell overflowing with a heaping pile of shimmering anchovies was centered neatly beneath a light in a pile of ice. I was transfixed and disturbed until I realized that the fishmonger who staged this had evoked Un Chien Andalou, which is hard to do in the Ferry Terminal. Bravo, Sir.
The guy behind the counter who sought to help me was wearing a clean apron, but his boots were covered in scales and fish guts. I almost asked him about this, but thought better of it.
I had no idea what I was going to do with them, but I left with a half-pound of Engraulidae caught about 150 miles north of here for $2.79 and stashed them in the office fridge. For lunch, I ended up gobbling a uncured hot dog made from grass-fed beef raised about 40 miles on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge.
At home, I Googled for anchovy recipes, but I wasn't about to head out to the store for white wine vinegar, capers, olives or other things I don't keep on hand. I looked at what we had in the crisper, and here's what I came up with:
Sauteed Anchovy Salad
Salad greens (chervil, arugula, lettuce, endive, tatsoi)
1/2 pound or more of fresh anchovies, eviscerated
olive oil
salt
pepper
flour
basil
6-8 cloves garlic
lemon
red onion
avocado
lemon cucumber
grated parmesan
vinegar
Directions:
Wash the veggies thoroughly. Put the salad greens in serving bowls.
Slice two rings of red onion and chop finely; add to salad, depending on your taste. Slice the cucumber and avocado and reserve them for later.
Peel and mince the garlic cloves, then set them aside.
With a sharp knife, cut off the fish heads and pull out the, uh, guts. Try not to dwell on what you're doing. (And if you're not planning to take the trash out immediately, put the chum in a plastic bag and toss it in the freezer. Everyone but the cats will thank you.)
Rinse the anchovies in cold water and pat dry with a paper towel
Find a container with a lid, and add about a cup of flour, along with a 1/2 tsp. of salt and a equal amount of pepper. If you have some fresh basil, chop up a few leaves and add them now, otherwise add 1/2 tsp. of dried herbs.
Add the chopped garlic, close the lid, do the hokey-pokey, and shake it all about.
Set a large saucepan generously coated with olive oil over a medium flame. One at a time, add the dredged anchovies, flipping each fish when they're light brown.
Lift them right out of the pan, let gravity drain some of the oil, then drop them on top of the salad greens. Add the sliced cukes and avocado, then squeeze a half lemon over the bowl, catching the seeds in your fingers. Drizzle a tablespoon of vinegar over each salad.
You'll probably have quite a bit of chopped garlic left over from the flour coating -- sift it out with a fork or spatula, and saute until it turns light brown, then add to the salad and sprinkle in some Parmesan.
Serve!
Posted by Your Protagonist at 07:49 PM | Comments (0)
July 10, 2006
"A national dream-life."
I spoke to a media executive yesterday who's written 6 (unproduced) screenplays in the last 20 years or so. He's working on a new one, daunted but undeterred by career, famiily obligations, stress, etc. Somewhat inspiring.
He recommended several books and loaned me a few others, including "Writing in Restaurants" by David Mamet. Here's a snippet that resonated with me during this morning's commute:
To the greatest extent we, in an evil time, which is to say a time in which we do not wish to examine ourselves and our unhappiness; we, in the body of the artistic community, elect dream material (plays) which cater to a very low level of fantasy. We cast ourselves (for the writing and the production and the patronage of plays we cannot but identify with the protagonist) in dreams of wish fulfillment. These dreams -- even and, perhaps, especially those which seem the most conservative and bourgeois -- seem to offer solutions to our concerns based on the idea that the concerns themselves do not exist, that they are only temporary aberrations of an essentially benign universe, or (and here is, perhaps, the hidden delusional postulate in our election of the happy-ending comedy-drama) of a universe which is positively responsive at that point at which our individual worthinesses (or inabilities, as it amounts to the same thing) are brought to its attentions. We leave the theater after such plays as smug as after a satisfying daydream. Our prejudices have been assuaged, and we have been reassured that nothing is wrong, but we are, finally, no happier.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 09:18 AM | Comments (0)
July 03, 2006
Not buying it.
I try very hard not to have an opinion about things that don't really matter at all to me. Things like Barry Bonds' steroid scandal, whether the penny is phased out, and Britney Spears are all low on my list.
Some days, I'm excellent at not caring one whit about these topics. Other times, I'm not very adept at batting these gnats out of my consciousness. I had one of these days recently. People who talk about these things are abuzz over Britney Spears' nude madonna portrait on the cover of Harper's. I think it's meant to evoke the Annie Leibovitz portrait of Demi Moore for the cover of Vanity Fair.
Britney's done this before, for Esquire magazine when she recreated (or retconned) an iconic shoot from the 60s featuring Angie Dickinson. When I showed the original photo to Liz recently, her eyebrows shot way up. "Damn," she said.
But when Britney does it, it's entirely different. Look at her face in this photo, and compare it to the woman she's aping:
 |
 |
Who seems more self-possessed and aware of her sexual power, Angie Dickinson or Britney Spears? When I showed the former mouseketeer's take to Liz, she just pursed her lips.
Which woman presents her naked, pregnant self in a confident, classical pose, and which squats self-consciously? I know this is unkind, but Ms. Spears' photos look more like parodies than earnest homages, to my eye.
|
|
As I said, I strive not to have an opinion about these things, but sometimes, I just can't believe what we're expected to consume with our popular culture. I'll spare you the creaky, "in my day..." tirade, but I just don't feel today's luminaries really exemplify glamour, beauty or other elusive (and I grant you, contrived) star qualities.
Perhaps we can next look forward to Ashlee Simpson cutting a Nina Simone tribute album.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 04:25 AM | Comments (0)
A superlative purchase.
There are things I hate buying -- things I'd prefer to take for granted. Light bulbs and toilet paper are two products that come to mind. One should never find themselves without these items, but they aren't always top of mind when I'm lost in Safeway's canyons.
Can openers have always bothered me. Electric or manual, the sharp edge always dulls and becomes caked with sticky brown grime, there's never a guarantee of a clean cut, and the lid falls in as more often than not.
Result: I'm left using a finger or a fork to pry a jagged lid out of a can of Costco salmon while flanked by two yowling cats flank me, each nagging at high volume about a half octave apart. It's stressful on everyone.
It's nice for Polly and Scooter. They don't get along that well, but can readily agree that I'm a bumbling feeb who can't open a can of fish without cursing or cutting himself. A few weeks ago, while they gracelessly inhaled piles of sockeye, I went to eBay in search of relief.
Last week, the Rosle can opener arrived, and my life is better for it. I'll let the elegant bit of copy from their Web site stand for itself:
The cutting-wheel of the Can Opener works its way safely and smoothly around the edge of cans without touching the inner contents. The cut at the side allows you to lift the lid up easily as well as reuse it as a short-term storage cover. The cut edge is blunt and smooth, so it's a very safe way to open a can.I hadn't taken it for a run until Liz was tucking into a can of split pea yesterday. Realizing that I'd yet to experience the Rosle's ergonomic goodness, she offered to let me do the honors, then stood back with arms folded to see if I could figure out how to work it.
I hefted the tool in my hand and looked at its business end. The part of the opener that made contact with the can consisted of a steel loop and a small, flat metal blade. I fit the loop against the lid of the can, pressed down on the handle, and felt the tiny edge perforate the can's top. As I twisted the key, the can turned with ease.
When I grasped the lid and lifted it off, I was pleased to see that there were no sharp edges, and that nothing needed to be wiped down. It's was like I'd used some Bond villain's laser to open a freaking can of soup. Liz smiled at me, and I smiled right back.
I will show those cats who's boss.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 03:26 AM | Comments (0)
