Sourdough Waffles

It certainly does happen very often, so when the spirit moves me to bake, I go with it. It is hot here right now, and absolutely not the weather for such activities. More like smoothie weather.

But I wanted to bake bread.

And really, the only kind of bread worth baking is sourdough bread. Those of you who have not experienced REAL sourdough bread, I can only pity.

Sourdough is associated with gold rushes, and my home state of Alaska is associated with gold rushes too. During the Alaska gold rush, it was practically illegal to enter the state without sourdough. It kept you alive.

In fact, old-timers in Alaska are called “Sourdough.” Well, old timers that know what they’re doing. You can be an old-timer and still not have a clue. Those types would not be sourdoughs. Even though I was born in alaska, I would not be an old Sourdough.

Allman’s book, Alaskan Sourdough, explains a lot of this. She gives some lore, and more importantly, she gives the right recipes for how to make and cook sourdough.

Let me tell you, that frenchbready stuff they sell in the store is NOT sourdough bread. It’s more like sourdough flavored bread. And flavored wrong, actually. Real sourdough is not sour to the taste, it’s a very unique kind of sweet.

Now that I think about it, the subtlety of the flavor reminds me of good wine.

Unfortunately, most peopleare unaware of the many OTHER uses of sourdough. In my opinion, the pinnacle of sourdough excellence is the sourdough waffle.

Fortunately, it is also the easiest recipe to make. Once you have the starter, the waffle recipe is hardly any more difficult to make than bisquick.

It is the lightest, fluffiest, tastiest waffle you will ever have. I have never met anyone outside of alaska that has even heard of this delicacy, let alone tasted it.

If anyone reading this is an adventurous cook, you really MUST try this stuff. It’s the coolest thing in the world, and very worth the work.

Well, look who’s back!

First Newborn Bald Eagles in Years Seen in Southland

I grew up around Bald Eagles. THey ate the salmon in the river near my home in Alaska. The little Susitna River was fed by hot springs, and so it never froze all the way in the winter. The Eagles could have their eagle convention down there in the winter, with the river serving up the snacks.

I was surprised and horrified when I learned as a child that Bald Eagles were an endangered species. It seemed like a terrible thing, to have our national symbol die out.

They didn’t seem endangered where I was. It made me proud of my home state.

Well, the eagles are apparently recovering from the DDT poisoning that California inflicted on them the last century. Some babies have been born near my near home in L.A.:

If the 9-week-old eaglets survive, federal and state wildlife officials say, they will have begun repopulating the southern end of their historical nesting range before bald eagles were all but wiped out in California by coastal development and the manufacture and use of the pesticide DDT.

Good luck to them!

Iranian Blogs

CNN.com – Prostitute diary tops Iran Web hit – Jun. 16, 2003

Looks like Iran is enjoying the same freedoms blogging brings:

“An Internet boom has caught officials by surprise and prompted them to draw up rules for the largely unregulated sector. The number of users has jumped by 90 percent in the past year. Still, only about three million of Iran’s population of 65 million — half of them under 25 — have access to the net. ”

But they have the same problem we americans do. It’s a small niche.

I’d like to find that prostitute’s website, actually.

Who me?

Right away back from Philadelphia, I had to go do a story about an artist for my off-line journalist gig.

Urartu cafe was having an opening for their new art installation.

As I was sitting outside, bopping to the excellent jazz combo, this guy asked me what if I was doing a story.

Why yes, I was.

He had heard of me. He reads the newspaper that I write for.

!!

Somehow, it had not actually dawned on me that people read this stuff. He knew my name! He knew my stories.

I am still astounded.

Below average

So, I just got back from this cool wine-’em-and-dine-’em conventiony user group thingy for Video Conferencing.

I had a fun fun time! And YES, I was working. It was a lot about tech stuff and strategies.

But the people that work for this company are so young and fun. Plus, everyone is having babies…
But that’s a different story.

I got back on Friday night, and the first thing that I took away from this conventiony thing was:
“I need new shoes. CUTE shoes.”

‘Cause those young fun females were all sporting their lacquered toes in hip little sandals. In PHILADELPHIA!
LA is even more of a naked toe environment.

I have been bashful to try these kinds of shoes. I admire them, and i do think I have attractive feet.

But I am of below average coordination.

FAR below average.

These ladies with their little teeny straps holding the shoe to their foot….I don’t think so.

I like something FIRMLY attached to my foot. I tend to be very absent minded. I am very likely to leave my shoe behind if it is not fully fastened.

And if you add HEELS to the equation-well…i fear for my ankles.

But what is practicality in the face of cute?

I went shopping.

I got some GREAT shoes. Some super high boots, with the new thin but wide heel. Very sexy, in a art deco macintosh pattern.

But these are not the CUTE shoes I am looking for. They are very hip and sophisticated, but not CUTE.

Perhaps I fear cute. I want to be taken seriously. But I want to be surprising, too.

Cute shoes. I must persevere to the cute.

There were some incredibly cute sandals for sale. They had beaded staps, and a big gem flower between the toes.

But I couldn’t decide which color. Hot pink? Electric Blue?

I chickened out.

Naked toes.

But there were some other sandals on sale. They were a comfortable black, but they were studded with red stones.

They were pretty.

But they only had one little piece of leather over my foot. And they were about 3 inches of heel.

scary.

I’m wearing them today. Cute feet at work. It’s a little difficult, trolloping around in my strappy shoes, trying to remember to walk in such a way as to keep my feet in my shoes.

I’m catching myself, just as I slip off the edge of the shoes, or teeter on the verge of snapping off my ankle.

Beauty is hard. I wish I were a little more coordinated.

Maybe there’s a class I can take.

But i still feel very cute.

In Praise of Preserves

I would like to take a moment and discuss the deliciousness of Jam.

What with all the new marketing campaigns and new products out there for everything anyone can think of, it’s easy to lose site of old favorites. “to thine own self be true” as the bard wrote. Don’t forget where you came from!

Jam has been around for centuries, and there is a good reason why. Berries and fruits are some of the most interesting and full flavors you can find. jam was a way that people preserved the berries for storage.

People would take those preserved fruits and make all kinds of yummy baked goods out of them: Pies, Cookies, Cakes with Jam fillings.

But who has time to do that anymore? Even those of us who do enjoy the process of cooking don’t have the time!

But jam, even without the surrounding baked item (crust, cookies, whatever) is really good! My friends in Russia (who DID make their own jam, store-bought wasn’t an option) taught me to just stick in a spoons and chow down.

Yes, jam does have a lot of sugar. But other than that, it has a lot of good things in it’s favor. No fat, no cholesterol, tons of vitamins and an incredible amount of flavor.

I’m tired of bland pre-packaged flavors. I am reviving the habit of spooning up jam in my life. I encourage you all to try it too!

Pick a flavor that you really like! Except grape jelly. That’s nasty.

Personally, I like jams with some heft. Jellies are too smooth; I want to feel the berries pop in my mouth.

Raspberry and boysenberry have seeds with add interest. But if you don’t like seeds, try the apricot or plum. These have incredible zing and still retain some texture in the chunks of fruit.

If you are worried about the sugar, you can get the 100% fruit spread that are everywhere now. I ate just a tablespoon last night with a hot cup of black tea, and I was extremely satisfied.

Check it out! See if you don’t rediscover an old-fashioned delight.

An Award for acting

I just heard on NPR this morning about a woman who was trying to save her sons from Saddam Hussien.

It’s just like Anne Frank, really. Except the guys make it.

This mother of her two sons put on a huge act for the soldiers who came to her house to arrest her sons She would demand to know where they were.

Of course, she knew they were right upstairs. All the soldiers had to do was go look. But she acted so convincingly that the soldiers never did seach.

Eventually, she went down to THEIR station to demand to know where they were.

To get rid of her, they finally told her that the men had been executed.

For 20 years, these men did not leave their home’s upstairs. Two decades.

What a mother~! She saved her sons.

NPR interviewed the sons and the mother. The mother told them it was difficult to act for the soldiers when she knew they could put her to death.

But she also said she was pretty good at acting.

Gathering Impressions

Tamara Kobilkina, a dear friend from Mirnyy, had that certain turn of phrase. She spoke English very well, but there are ragged edges in the overlap of languages. One idea can be expressed beautifully in one language, perhaps because it is a concept widely understood by the culture. But that same idea is awkward in another language.

Tamara liked to ask me what my impressions of Russia were, what I thought of different things and places that I have seen.

I had forgotten about her “Impressions” question until I went to Germany with Chris. I was full of ideas and new sites, sounds and tastes. I turned to Chris, to ask him what he thought of everything.

I had to grope for the right phrase. “So what do you think?” did not adequately cover the ground.

“What are your impressions of this place?” is just right.

If I ever see Tamara again, I will thank her for that beautifully fitting question.

I have so many many many many impresssions.

I loved the trip. I have been LONGING to go to a foriegn country. I have been to the UK and to Ireland in the past decade. But they did not feel foriegn.

Because, you see, we speak the same language. How foriegn can we be?

And I remember the HIGHLY foriegn country that I spent a year and a half in.

Anyone that knows my family, not just one or two individuals, but my whole family, knows that some part of us is frozen, like Han Solo, around the impressions we got in Russia.

So, I wanted to try a new flavor of foriegn country. Russia was so tremendously exciting.

Tamara told me that I understood the Russian soul.

I don’t think so. Maybe just being impressionable is the Russian soul.

Right now, I am full to the brim of impressions of my trip to Germany. I am very sad to have left.

Yet, here I am talking about everything but Germany!

well, there is a lot to tell.

One of my huge impressions is of the contrast, how INCREDIBLY TERRIFYING my stay in Russia was.

and how incredibly ignorant I was. I did not even know enough to be afraid.

My mother told me that she was really scared to be in Russia.

To her, she said, Russia was the bad guys.

In school, she said, we were taught to drop under the desks to be safe if Russia dropped the bomb on us.

Well, I didn’t go to school. I had VERY little TV, or Movies to tell me who the bad guys were.

Because, you know, you have to be told.

It has been ten years since I lived in Russia. That’s pretty much the span of my adult life.

I’ve seen a lot of TV and Movies since then.

And most of those TV and movies pointed to the Germans as being the bad guys.

When I was in Germany there were a few moments of feeling illogically afraid.
I have more sympathy for my mom’s fears, now.

The right map makes all the difference

I just got back from my vacation to Germany.

Chris had never been on a driving tour of a foreign country. I told him, “You know we are going to fight over the map.”

Peaceful, considerate man that he is, he said, “why? I don’t want to fight with you.”

I said, “Trust me. Driving in a foriegn country means that you will have a fight while driving. It may mean that you fight the entire time you are driving.”

He is a good man. We really didn’t fight that much. Yes, there were the moments of tension when the directions we were given ceased to bear any relationship to the signs posted.

We made it through okay, and I think it is due in large part to the superior map we had. I recommend this one.

Michelin Germany/Austria/Benelux/Switzerland/Czech Republic Atlas
by Michelin Travel Publications, Michelin

hissy face

That’s what Bryan calls Martha Stewart.

After my last post about Martha Inc, the TV movie I watched last night, I went to check out MarthaStewart.com

I’m gonna break out in hives.

You know, i watched her show once, I think. “Living”. But you have to say “Living” in that certain pear-shaped, sighing tone.

I remember that she was telling her viewer that she liked to make home-made marshmallows for smores on the picnic that was the theme of the show.

Homemade marshmallows.

What kind of masochistic woman flagellates herself about not making homemade marshmallows for picnics with her family?

Is this an East Coast thing? Are they so snooty over there that they have to invent ways to feel simultaneously class-superior and personally deficient?

The woman was not raised in California.

And let’s not even talk about what kind of homemaking show would originate from Alaska. I can just imagine Martha coming up with cute ways of using natural fibers for toilet paper in the outhouse when the family is snowed in and low on supplies in the winter.

She wouldn’t last a winter in Alaska. The woman would have been mysteriously dead come spring.

I think that some of her ideas are kind of neat. I would make home made marshmallows once, to try it. It would be interesting.

But I cannot hold myself to that kind of standard. Good god! I enjoy my life too much to impeccably clean up after myself.