I’m training to become a bee-keeper. By May I should have my own hive of bees.

d. Land Animals.
(3) Hunting hints.
(c) Moose may be found in heavy brush; they may charge. In the winter, they can be spotted by climbing a hill or tree and looking for the animal’s “smoke” (condensed body vapor which rises like the smoke of a small campfire).
P. 155

Friend Joanna has moved back from San Diego, and life just got 30 times more entertaining. A notable Joanna gem (from a while ago): “I went to the fish market, and the fishmonger was a black man and I had to ask him, ‘Do you have sole?’ “

Pieces of the moon?

Help Gabe identify me…

I have set myself the task of learning to cook Indian food in India. This turns out to be harder than one might expect. Indian cuisine is complicated and I need recipes, which I get from the internet. Most of the recipes are in English; but I don’t by the food in English! An “onion” might get you something at the market, but a “cauliflower” won’t. If the name in the recipe is given in Hindi, this creates another problem, because even if I know what it’s called, I don’t know what it is. It takes chutzpa to go to the market and ask for a “methi”, if there’s a “methi” sitting in front of you. Sure, you’re expected to be the dumb foreigner– but how dumb do you want to go? This problem is especially acute in the case of spices. Even if I know what a spice is called, and what it smells like, some are packaged away in plastic. I’ll have… um… the reddish one?

Still, going to the market is great, and gives me an opportunity to mix with an interesting slice of society. The kind of people I socialize with never go food shopping, especially in the vegetable market! (They might go to a supermarket.) Even my host family has a cook, and the servant does the shopping.

The market nearby isn’t really a market in the sense of a focussed collection of stalls. Instead, the food stalls are spread out along a couple roads in the old part of town. Men and women sit with their food splayed out in front of them. Many are older, dignified farmers– men in all white with little white caps that, I think, are peculiarly Maharashtrian. The food is kept in neat stacks. Everyone has more or less the same thing. I choose among them by the fresh-looking-ness of the food, and whether I bought from them and had a good encounter before. I don’t know what other criteria there are.

I wonder what the distribution network of the food is? How is it that, everyday, fresh vegetables get from the fields of the hinterland to the heart of bombay? Who grows it? Who regulates the stream? Who ensures that there is food today, and there will be food tomorrow? Do the farmers work in co-ops? Do they sell there own food? How many miles do they travel everyday? Food distribution is interesting in any part of the world. But in India, where infrastructure is often skeletal, and its weight is often born by individuals, more or less organized, the question seems all the more pressing.

Food availability is a bit unpredictable. A week ago every stand– I call them “stands”, but there is often no particular structure besides a box to sit on– had cauliflower. Today there is no cauliflower to be seen. I ask for “ghobi”– what I understand to be “cauliflower”– and the vegetable wallah points to cabbage, which I already have. I walk through the rest of the market, looking for cauliflower. There’s none to be found, and everyone’s got cabbage.

I like shopping around dusk, around 7 or 8 pm. Then the middle-class house wives come out to do their shopping. I like to ask them about the food as we peruse the produce. They usually speak a little English, and are both puzzled and a little flattered to be asked. What do you do with this? I ask one woman; I’m holidng up a branch of leaves. I think they are bay leaves, but I’m not sure. She hesitates: “good for dal, sambar.” I’m pretty sure they’re bay leaves. Is that a fair price? I ask one woman as the veg-wallah hands me my bag of onions, tomatoes, ginger, coriander, and a mystery vegetable. “All these prices are too much!” she exclaims, “but cheaper than your country!”

I regularly encounter things that are completely alien to me. I know enough Hindi to ask what they’re called, but not enough to understand the response. I can’t parse the difference between the answering name and the rest of the words in the answer, the “it’s called a…” I usually randomly pick out one word from what the veg-wallah has said and repeat it questioningly. He usually answers affirmatively– but vaguely, and it is unclear what has been communicated in total. At least: there has been communication.

Today I found something being sold that I have only seen once before, in Bombay, also at night. (I bought this around 9PM). It’s a sweet, translucent cheese or milk product, sold in slivers and chunks. It’s not at all oily, watery if anything, and has the consistency of flan. It’s served on a banana leaf. (Pictured above.) I’ve temporarily dropped my veganism– but not my vegetarianism– and I savor the cool, night time snack. This, I think, is what the moon is truly made of.

Yo dudes, I’m back from my fuckin trip to Maine. It was really fun and relaxing, EXCEPT…. the first thing that happened to me upon disembarking from the Greyhound in Bangor was that I got robbed of my purse, which contained among other very important shit, my digital camera, so no photos sorry folks. Gray’s family are not the kind of peeps who keep working digital cameras around the house, so documentation had to be strictly of the memory kind. But irregardless, who needs money anyways?

Anyway we did some wicked sweet stuff like we went to the island where Gray and his dad are working to restore an ancient lighthouse, which is covered in sheep skeletons because there’s a herd of sheep that has lived on the island for over 100 years and when they die, their bones just lie there and blanch in the sun, we did some rope-swing bombin’, muscadet sevre-et-maine drinking paired with lobster, and etc.

Finally, I didn’t go on the computer for 7 days and I absolutely am certain that I’m happier because of it. Too bad I have to go on the internet for my job every day and probably will for the rest of my life, but oh well.

Last night, I ate the biggest oyster of my life. It was larger than my hand. And raw.

There is a common piece of recieved wisdom that you shouldn’t eat oysters in months that don’t have an “r” in their name. I feel that May is an exception because it’s not too far from an “r” month, unlike July, which is sandwiched between two non-”r” months. On the other hand, I spoke with a oyster fisherman recently who told me that in Louisiana, they harvest oysters year-round, and they are always delicious, and the non-”r” month rule is strictly for pussies.

Another piece of recieved wisdom about oysters that I wish to problematize is the notion that they are aphrodisiacs. I think that’s inaccurate but not totally misplaced. I think eating cold, salty raw oysters, with hot sauce and a beer, is one of the most exhilirating eating experiences there is. It’s totally alive-feeling-making. (Enlivening?) It’s like standing in the sun at the prow of a ship as it splashes over a huge ocean wave and you get totally soaked. So while I don’t think that eating them makes you feel like you want to have sex, you might feel like you’re so alive, like your organs are singing, which maybe isn’t that different from wanting to have sex.

Last night we had oysters as Felix’s, in the French Quarter, where you stand at the bar facing the oyster shuckers, and they pass you new oysters as you finish the ones in front of you. I think it’s about $7 for a dozen. They do not serve mignonette sauce, which is kind of a recherche condiment in my opinion. They have lemon wedges, ketchup, Tabasco, and horseradish, so you can make your own personal sauce recipe.

I visited some friends in New Jersey including the wonderful Steph and Geoff.
Stephanie coordinated an amazing meal:

Carrot soup with coriander seed and cream
Freshly roasted red-pepper risotto
Parmesan on asparagus
Chicken, grilled on the outdoor grill, with thai curry seasoning

Then, they taught me Texas Hold’Em, and some Texas Hold’Em was played.

Can you believe it?
Consumer Reports: McDonald’s Coffee Beats Out Starbucks…

I dreamt last night that Starburst had come out with a new line of flavors, (coloured white grading into off-white and black into dark-purple) including Port, Endive, Yoghurt, Lemongrass, Blackccurant-thyme and something called “Perfect Bath.”

This is probably because yesterday I was reminded of the deliciousness of Starburst’s “Baja California” flavors.

And also because yesterday I took a bath with a Lush Cosmetics bath ball scented with lemongrass.

The dream is not entirely false. There exists a very delicious Japanese candy called Hi-Chew that is quite similar to Starburst and comes in a yoghurt flavor.

 

 

 Green soup that I made tonight. Helpful with post-holidays repentance and the re-establishment of calm. Directions: Put stock, sweet onion, garlic, cilantro, spinach, peas, and mint in a pot. Warm gently. Puree. Add S&P 500 to taste. Eat.