Oh, The Books!

Today was a day to purge the library. Yes, purge. You see, there are two of us, each with an undergraduate degree in literature, and each of us with a Master’s – one in Information Systems (me), the other in English and Creative Writing. So, we have had quite a lot of books.

In order to move, we’ve decided that there are three categories of object: that which comes with us, that which is sold, and that which is given away. Nothing will be stored at this end. So, we went through the libraries (one in the office, the other downstairs, and the miniatures next to our bedsides) and pulled all of the books which will not be going with us, and we took them to the used book store. We ended up with 15 paper grocery bags full of books to sell, of which the bookstore took about 7. The other 8 went to the library, as donations.

Did we make a fortune? No – enough to cover gas, and probably some yarn. Nothing earth-shattering. Selling books is never a paying proposition, really. But they were books, and we parted with them. Can you tell that this is a serious venture, moving abroad? In the process, the book-buyer informed us that Scotland is wonderful (he’d been there a decade ago), as did the librarian. Has everyone associated with books been to Scotland? Strange.

I spoke with the financial office of the university this morning, and it was a truly surreal conversation. I’m gathering that I talk a little faster than the Glaswegians expect, and that their time-scale is a bit longer than what I’m used to. I was told that “there’s plenty of time,” something which is just … well, bizarre to me. I feel the need to “go go go,” but they’re just not that way, somehow. It was like speaking to someone from the American South, but with a different accent. Strange.

I mentioned this to the book-buyer (yes, we had that many books) and he confirmed my impression: he says that if we’re to visit London at all, we should do it while we’re still adjusted to the pace of life here in California, else it’s going to be quite a shock, once we’ve adjusted to Glasgow. We’ll see. It’d be nice to be that relaxed … but, well, I’m not sure I know how to be, really. I mean, I’ve been relaxed, but it means something different, to me, than I think it does to the Scots. I’ve been known to be perfectly happy waking up at 4 a.m. to bake a dozen loaves of bread, for example. I think that’s not relaxed enough for Glasgow.

Culture Shock, here we come.

Major Upheaval

Newsflash, everybody:

I’ve been accepted into the University of Glasgow.

It’s a Master’s in Philosophy, with an option to continue on to a PhD if I do well. I expect to do well, and to continue on to pursue a PhD in the Philosophy of Language.

How’s that strike you all? It strikes ME with terror, ‘though fortunately we tend to take turns being terrified, so can calm one another down from panic.

Now begin the lists – what to take, what to sell, what to give away? What we’d miss, how to ship things, where to live? Should we store things back here for 3 or 4 years? Can we survive without a car? Can we stand the idea of selling our beloved Honda Hybrids (#7 in Sonoma County to own a Hybrid Insight, #12 to own a Hybrid Civic)? What to do about money while we’re there, about renting the condo out, how to handle banking, property and income taxes?

Lists. That’s the answer, and deep breaths, and friends who’ve done this before – or who’re on the other end, to tell us where we shouldn’t try to live. And more deep breaths, and faith. Lots of lots of faith.

You see, when I applied, I made a bargain with God ( or the Universe or whomever makes you happy). The bargain was this:

I’ll do the footwork to make this happen – meaning filling out the application, getting the references, getting the transcripts, and getting copies of all the appropriate certificates and passports and whatnot.

You make the decision as to whether it’s right for us, by making it absolutely fail to come through if it’s not right; in other words, have me be accepted or not, period.

I will abide by what comes down.

That was the form of the thing – regard it as a Biblical Fleece, as Gideon set out, if you will.

Well, I’ve been kind of in limbo since I put the application in & got everything lined up, so I’ve been pointedly ignoring the whole thing. I simply made a truly concerted effort to put it out of my head and to get on with other options. We’d discussed taking up an opportunity for work in Juneau, Alaska, for example. I’d been teaching and developing other contacts in the San Francisco area, as well.

This morning I awoke to check email, and was going to ask my Alaska contact for more information & to maybe get the ball rolling in that direction … only to find a terse little note from the Admissions people informing me that I’d been accepted, pending receipt of the physical copy of one of my references (I’d had them email them, as well, and one’s apparently slow in the post).

So. I’m guessing that our lives will be insane for the next … oh, four months. Probably five, actually. But we’re trying to be as relaxed as possible about it, and to take things as they come. Really, we are. We’re just not wired that way, unfortunately. So, to make lists.

DIY Tofu Continues

The Spicy Tofu Salad we saw the other night on “A Lyon in the Kitchen” was part of an episode in which the host, a Nathan Lyon, visited a restaurant which made its own tofu.

Man, talk about jealous (and no, not of the gleaming-pated host, but the happy man in his restaurant)! The tofu-maker had obviously had a few moments with a welder’s torch. His hand-crafted machine ground soybeans and spat out okara in one direction, and soy milk in the other, and came with big pans for draining out milk and pressing tofu curds. He used food grade calcium sulfate (gypsum), which we haven’t yet tried, and came up with a really small curd, out of which he had far less liquid to press. Apparently calcium sulfate creates a more ideal flavor in tofu as well – which will go well with our next experiments, which may our dehydrated cherry tomatoes, leeks, fresh basil and thyme, or might include making a sweet tofu studded with dried fruits and Moroccan spices! A big potential “Mmmm!”


Since our efforts have been so tasty thus far, we’ve been fiddling with the idea of getting a soymilk maker, and went so far as to wander around our local Asian supermarket to see what we could find. It was instructive, as always — candied jackfruits, fresh lychees, packaged papadums and unidentifiable (well, to me, anyway) silvery fish swimming in large tanks made shopping much like a sort of culinary field trip — but sadly, no tofu makers, just lots of rice cookers, which we already have. (No trip to the Asian market is wasted, however; we were well entertained and came home with sacks of soybeans and sticks of agar, which is dried seaweed, and which is useful in making things gel hot, so it makes soups and gravies velvety without added starch or fat.) We considered borrowing my mother’s soymilk maker, but when we dropped by (she wasn’t home), it was spread across her kitchen counter (So is it broken already, Mom? Or are you cleaning it?). It’s called a ‘soy toy’ or something, anyway, which we weren’t too sure of (Toy!? Tofu is serious, people!) so we’ve been looking and wondering how worthwhile it would be to cobble together something of our own.


Today our deliberations concluded in a draw: no soy milk maker for now, but — we’ve decided that we’re going to get …a sausage attachment to the KitchenAid. Yes, I know. Weird. But here’s the thing: the soybeans have to be soaked and ground, and what better for that than a sausage grinder/food grinder? That way we’ll save what’s left of the poor blender engine before we burn it out completely. With a finer ground bean-mass, the okara will be easier to sieve out, and more of the flavor and richness in the milk will be left. Next, we’re in the process of finding or making a metal tofu press of our own, so the whole undignified tower of cans will be a thing of the past (Um, maybe. We’ll see…). It seems to be just a metal pan with holes in it, inside a larger metal pan topped by a metal lid… it just doesn’t seem that hard to make a decent press for a larger scale operation.

It does look like we’re going to need to order food-grade calcium sulfate. I find myself oddly not eager to hop down the street to Ace for gardening gypsum for my tofu (although I seem to have no issues with going to the drugstore for Epsom salts? Maybe it’s a hardware store stigma. Such sad prejudices!). We’ll lay in a supply of muslin cloth, and voilà – we’ll be in business.

Hope springs eternal, anyway. Stay tuned for more random food adventures… As the weather is suddenly quite cool and breezy, someone’s spare time is being spent concocting scones and other things I shouldn’t be eating — but my attention is turning toward making apricot preserves with ginger and citrus, since another friend’s tree is just loaded, and they’re on vacation until August and don’t care what happens to the fruit. Also, experiments are afoot with the dried apricots and the lovely pounds of mustard seed – a spicy hot/sweet apricot mustard with champagne vinegar – lovely tasting, we hope! Stay tuned!

Succulent Succor



This dear little plant has been with us now for about six years, and is finally feeling well enough that it’s giving us some flowers! We picked it up in a pot containing less than one teaspoon of dirt … and a substantial amount of glue! It was one of those pots with a suction cup on it, and was meant to be stuck to the refrigerator or something. As if living things should be refrigerator baubles!



So, we took it from its pot – a feat involving a knife, much coaxing, and a pair of scissors with which to extract the roots – and repotted it. It lived in a little mustard pot for a few years, and grew larger, until we finally gave it its current home … in a coffee mug which had developed a crack.



It’s been happily living in the coffee mug, in various window sills, for several years now … and has been growing steadily all this time. It’s now about three inches across and three inches high.

We didn’t expect anything of it, and have simply been enjoying having a little plant which doesn’t seem to mind infrequent waterings or adverse conditions. So, when it began to develop a flower spike, we were excited!

So we waited. And waited. And waited some more. And finally gave up on anything happening, except for maybe thinking that we’d get a few seeds or something, because it was just taking sooo long for anything to happen. We were finally rewarded, though, with tiny little flowers which started off being light green, and now are … well, not light green. Don’t ask me what color they are, but I’m going to guess that they’re kind of pink. Sort of. Or off-white towards pink, at least. But with green stripes.

How Does the Garden Grow?

The garden … limps along. This year’s been a rough one, for some reason. We’ve had strange weather – with long periods of cool, punctuated with intense heat for a few days in a row. We’ve had several variety of grasshopper – the monster green ones, and the little tiny green ones, too. We’ve had black aphids. And we’ve had no peppers survive, no okra survive, and very slow growth on the tomatoes: they’re only 3 feet tall, when they should be at least six and bearing fruit by now.

The Amaranth is already trying to go to seed, so I’m worried about it as well, and the kabocha is already starting to fruit, when it should be sending out long tendrils to conquer the rest of the garden.

Sigh.

Ode to a Camera

Quite often, I include pictures along with whatever I’m blogging about, but that’s going to have to pause for a while, because The Camera is going into the shop. It’s 4 years old, and I’ve shot hundreds of rolls of film with it, so I suppose it’s about time for a tuneup.

But I’ll miss it while it’s away.

I realized, this morning, when I’d finished speaking with the factory repair people, that I love this camera. It’s strange, to love a thing. I don’t know that I’ve had the experience before, except, perhaps, for my violin, and that’s kind of … different.

The camera provides me with a challenge, in that it’s got many more options than I’ve ever used, and can somehow keep on giving me new things to know, each and every time I paw through the manual. And, yes, I still have the manual … and the original sales receipt.

So, today it’s going in the post, and I’ll be relying on the … digital camera. Sigh.

Legal Thoughts in the Morning

Early this Independence Day, we’re checking email & began to discuss the rights of bloggers. Kinda appropriate, I suppose. Kinda strange, to have been asleep half an hour ago. But there it is.

I’m particularly interested, not in the legal aspects of “speaking,” as it were, but in the aspects of commenting. For example: if you comment upon someone’s blog, who “owns” that comment? All blogging software provides for the deletion of comments … which would imply that, at the very least, the blogger has the “right” to mediate comments, to some extent. But there are several blog-writing packages out there (other than blogger) which allow the owner of the site to edit comments; to change them entire. This would seem to imply that your comment, once made, has become the property of the site owner.

It’s a stretch, yes, but it’s being established by precedent all over the blogsphere. Now, what I’m thinking is this: if someone edits your comment but does not also change the attribution, are they actually infringing upon your legal rights by implying that you made the statement that they are attributing to you?

To state it differently, let’s pretend that you work for the world’s largest pea-processing company. You’re commenting upon somebody’s blog, and you said said, “I like peas,” and the owner changed that statement to “I absolutely hate peas.” You are being misquoted, as it were. You could suffer all manner of ill effects, because you work for this pea-processing company, and if they find out that you hate peas, well … let’s just say that you’re going to be doing the nasty jobs for a while, at best.

So, to me, comments are still the property of the commentor, while existing upon the site at the discretion of the commentee. If you, as a commentor, may be held liable whatsoever, then the comment must be yours in property terms. Now, there’s a whole other world out there in terms of liability law, apparently, and I don’t really care about it. What I’m interested in at the moment are the questions of property; when you make a comment, who “owns” those words?

As far as I’m concerned, any comments may remain your property as long as you want them. Considering that you, as the commentor, may delete them at YOUR whim, I’d say that blogger has essentially already weighed in: if blogger is establishing law by precedent, then the commentor is the owner.

Now, off to make breakfast. And to enjoy this day full of people who don’t have to go to work. Ahh, mass leisure.

Bloggers' Rights at EFF

Using Garam Masala: Chai Tea



As I’d said in my post on making Garam Masala, we like to do up our own. As to what to do with it, well, we usually end up using it in shakes or in various sweet dishes, but as I was making my morning pots of tea (I have two French Presses … so I make two), I realized that I’d left out an important bit: you don’t necessarily end up with one batch when you grind whole spices into masala.

You see, when you grind up all of your spices using a blade grinder, you usually get sick of the whole fine-mesh strainer process after about half an hour of grinding, sifting, grinding, sifting… so you just give up & bodge the larger bits into a jar & leave well enough alone. What to do with the leftovers, though? Well, if you’re like me, you put them into cheap black tea, and have your own version of Chai Tea. You get a subtly different flavor from the coarse bits than from the fine bits, primarily because the pieces which get left behind tend to be largely comprised of coriander hulls. But there’s enough of the other spices to give you that distinctive Masala flavor, and it’s a good use of something which would sit until chutney-making season. Of course, for the decaffeinated version, you can still use the fine-powdered Masala with your hot soy-milk & a bit of sweetener, but for the tea version, the coarse grind make for a clearer brew.

The Tofeta Experiment, Part II

Now, we hadn’t forgotten that we were going to try and really do something with tofu, but sourdough starter… sort of takes over the world when it gets going. But eventually we knew we had to make tofu again — after all, freshly ground chai-spiced soy milk and hot cocoa tastes best with fresh soy milk. We finally had a good excuse — well, another good excuse, anyway, to pull out the beans.



The other night, we put a pound of dried soybeans in to soak, and started the usual drill: beans double in size and are drained, then ground in the blender and the resulting white goopy paste is boiled in a monster pot for twenty-five minutes after its first foam appears.

(NOTE: If there’s ever any doubt about whether or not the foam has appeared…? Then it hasn’t foamed. It’s like watching what happens when you put dish detergent into the washing machine. BIG bubbles, fast.)

Normally, after this step, the okara is cooked and rises to the top. Usually, we simply take the milk off the heat, then pour it through a muslin strainer. This time, multi-tasking led us to leaving it on the stove. It grew a skin. A light went on in our brains. “Hey! We made yuba!” Yuba is a thin bean curd… skin that is sometimes fried in Chinese restaurants and served with various spices as “Buddha’s (Buddha being a vegetarian Deity.) “Mock Duck,” (recipe via The Vegan Feast Kitchen). Yuba is very high in protein — higher than either tofu or milk. Seasoned and fried or eaten with condiments, it’s quite tasty – but pretty high maintenance to make if you’re making soy milk from scratch…

So, we set aside our Yuba Quest for another day, and continued on our path. We loaded the okara on drying screens and then pondered the hot soy milk. Our original quest was to experiment our way toward something like feta. We’ve seen recipes for something like ricotta, with cashews and almond, but we wanted to create something …else.


“What if we flavored it?” one of us asked. (Who knows which one of us. Genius generally strikes anonymously.) “Well, we’ve got these dried leeks and mushrooms…” the other of us mused. The consensus of “why not?” meant that before adding coagulant, we added a quarter cup of whole, dried sage, two cups of dried leek pieces and about two cups of dried champignon mushrooms. Then we added the coagulant, poured it through the strainer (sheer polyester mesh, since with the newly organized kitchen, who knows what happened to the rest of the cheesecloth and muslin) into the molds (one a Japanese sushi mold, not really meant for tofu, but it works, and it’s beautifully made, so it gets used, and the other “mold” is a stainless steel strainer. With a dish and cans on top of it for weight Again: it works.), and we waited.

Our first fear was that the coagulant — magnesium sulfate, and truly awful, if you’ve ever had the misfortune to taste it — would alter the taste of the vegetables put into the soy milk — but since the horribly sourish-bitterness is undetectable in homemade tofu, we took our chances. Our second fear was that we should maybe have added something else — the leeks were making it look a little greenish. Maybe we should have added saffron or turmeric. Perhaps the consistency would be strange.

Well, as you can see, we worried needlessly. You can SEE what it LOOKS like. My goodness, I wish you could smell and taste it. Think of savory onions and mushrooms…

Many people are ambivalent about tofu, thinking “meh” because it is basically white, somewhat gelatinous (if it’s silken, really gelatinous), and entirely tasteless (unless it’s made from a stronger milk source and then it has a heavier soy flavor that still basically tastes like… not much). Many view the vegans and vegetarians who enjoy it as humorless (and tasteless) ascetics, but I’m here to tell you that I don’t bother eating things that don’t taste good. This. Tofu. Tastes. Good.

If we were coming up with a name for this, I would say it is ganmodoki-style — almost. Ganmodoki is a Japanese method of mixing crumbled tofu, vegetables and mountain yam (yama-imo) and forming it into patties or balls and deep frying it. Without the yams (darn) or the frying, this is close. We could simply call this ‘flavored tofu,’ or ‘vegetable tofu,’ but we’ve been calling it …quiche. I know. That name’s taken.

We ate this “raw,” and warm, straight from the press with just a little soy sauce, and it was really nice. We baked it with a smidge of olive oil, and about a teaspoon each of garlic powder, salt, curry powder, freshly ground black pepper, and smoked torula yeast, and wow — it took on subtle flavors that were unexpected. Paired with a green salad, it becomes a most satisfying egg-and-onion pie. Lightly stir fried and paired with grilled tomatoes, it’s amazingly like a breakfast bake of eggs and mushrooms. It’s an unbelievably versatile food, and now we’re wondering: why stop at tofeta? The possibilities are endless…

Pumpernickel 2.0

It was difficult for me, but I held back from adding any truly interesting ingredients to this bread. It’s the first attempt, you see, at trying to duplicate Westphalian Pumpernickel bread. After my first attempt, I did a bit more research, and arrived at the Wiki article, and then realized that what I’d been making was American Pumpernickel. Long article short (for those who don’t want to go there), American Pumpernickel adds a whole bunch of things to duplicate the color of Westphalian Pumpernickel (namely chocolate, molasses, prunes and the like) and also adds Caraway Seeds in an attempt to duplicate the flavor.



So, I held back on the things I’d usually throw into a savory bread, and ended up with a truly basic, sourdough rye. I started it off with 1 cup of my sourdough starter, but everything past that point was rye. I fed it on rye flour, gave it whole, steamed rye berries, and stirred it every couple of hours for two days (except at night, of course, because that would’ve awakened the birds, who would awaken the rest of the house). It was necessary to let it sour to some degree, because rye flour tends to be a bit alkali, so yeast doesn’t work properly unless you let it sour or give it something to acidulate the flour. Next time I won’t let it go quite so long, as it is truly a sour bread.



I was told at the time that I should have let it raise a bit more, but I was concerned about not letting it over-rise. I shouldn’t have worried, and should’ve let it go, because I ended up with quite a dense couple of loaves. That said, though, the incorporation of such a quantity of whole rye berries gives a good, chewy texture, and the aroma is uniquely rye: slightly bitter, slightly floral, somewhat reminiscent of barley, but its own. Baked at 250°F, the crust is essentially nonexistent. As you can see, it slices quite thinly, which isn’t possible with wheat, necessarily. I don’t know if it’s due to the density, or due to the lower gluten content, but it certainly lends itself to those strange little sandwiches one encounters at parties.