Think Kit #28: Eating The Peel

Part of Think Kit.
Warning: this post contains shirtless photos of the narrator.

I haven't spoken to my maternal grandfather in over 23 years. In the fall of 1990, when I was six, he passed away. I can recall seeing him for the last time, in what seemed to be a nursing home. I remember the smell – it didn't smell like home. The air seemed clotted with strange things, and I didn't want to touch anything in the room. It all seemed temporal.

Time has glossed over enough of my neurons that I can't remember saying anything to my Grandfather, although I assume I shared the wisdom of a five-year old. I was really interested in baseball at the time; maybe I spouted a random Mark Grace statistic, or talked about my best friends in Kindergarten, Asher and Dan and Steve. These are all probabilities, though considering any of them feels foreign.

I remember going to a house that he lived in – there was a lofted room and a hammock indoors. In my memory, the room seems as big as a factory floor, the walls a burnished white, the trim a dark-stained brown. There aren't items in the house other than people, the loft, a hammock, and stairs. It is Summer, and the yard is hot and dry, the trees short and far apart.

I wonder what we would talk about, on the eve of turning 30. He liked driving, and cars – I wonder what he'd say to my ten years of bad luck with used vehicles. (Blown transmissions, selling for scrap metal.) Would I have medical questions? (He was a doctor back in the day that house calls were still made.) Would I mail him my latest band's cassette tape? (His father was a musician, and played a ukulele.) Would we disagree politically? (Or has my not-knowing turned him into a sympathetic character?) Would he have any other light to shed on family history? (In college, I was fascinated by his, and our, Hawaiian heritage.) What would he think of my writing? (He considered himself a writer, and left material unpublished.)

Even creating a fiction around him is hard. Decades pass and things become rigid – maybe he is too far away to get roped easily into a new story. A favorite story about him was his ability to eat the peel. He and my mom loved oranges – and after eating the orange, he'd eat the peel, piece by piece. My mom can even recall him eating a banana peel or two, although, "Those weren't his favorite."

There's a bag of tangerines on my counter. I think I'll eat one today. And try a piece of the peel.

Self Actualization

I suppose self-actualization is different for everyone–we all have different selves. Just before the calendar flipped over to 2012, I made the decision that I was no longer resigning myself to the dreary routines I felt like I was embodying. No, I told myself, 2012 would be different, it wouldn't be all talk.

Finally, just past November 2011, I bought airline tickets to-and-from Europe without telling anyone at work. For several months, I held the secret inside my chest like a boot. We planned to visit friends in Germany & Belgium, family in the UK, and in-between see new cities and baroque facades and drink deep from cultures and urban smells and ripe public transit–––and when we returned...well. Well, something else would happen.

I went up to Chicago for my birthday and hung out for an extended weekend with my old roommates. We had started writing songs in my basement on a lark, locking ourselves into the dank space with a 4-track, our instruments (which we played fecklessly), and a bottle of Jim Beam Rye. The results weren't stunning; they weren't even that impressive; but they were songs–they were compressed gems of artistic intent and ambition, wrought from our own post-recession brains.

While in Chicago, in-between sessions at the Hopleaf and 3 Floyd's, we decided that 2012 was going to be the Year of Doing Shit. We'd make a full-length. Amelia & I had tickets to Europe and a planned-but-blank slate for five-plus weeks. We had aims to head west, minus the conestoga, to new lands, faces, landscape color schemes.

That didn't quite transpire–but when life has no rules, you have to roll with opportunities, and sate your wanderlust in domestic flights, bike wheels, or Megabus tickets.

The other thing about self-actualization? If you think you are actualized–you're not. Let 2013 be a continuation of my efforts.

(Sunburst in Prague. Easter 2012. )

(The definition of "bucolic." Lake Country, England, April 2012.)

(Mt. Rainier. Moon. Sunset. August 2012.)

(Artist Point, Mt. Baker. August 2012.)

(Brothers, pre-wedding. August 2012.)

(Final Wooves LP recording session. September 2012.)

(Pendleton. Autumn in Indiana, 2012.)

(Part of SmallBox's ThinkKit project.)

haiku

amelia's mom got me a set of haikubes for Christmas. tonight, while making-and-eating a ham-bell pepper-onion pizza, amelia and i, and wes & sarah, all completed haiku and read them while snapping and/or golf-clapping. here are the results (parentheses are the "theme" of the poem as determined by the dice. apologies for any punctuation I screwed up.):

sarah (a dream about my work life)

Her putrid limbs up;
gleeful he killed the sweet girl.
Desperate for fire.

amelia (a reflection on my romantic life)

Finally the tiger
bust hellbent between hard limbs.
Dilemma eats heart.

drew (a dream about my childhood)

My brother--A grand,
greased villain, slowly looks
for my limbs. Torture.

wes (a reflection on my childhood)

Baby villain sang
through torture-esque lips, after
the ravenous war.

back to the present

things i have been up to lately:

Writing album features (here and here) for Musical Family Tree, the Indiana-related digital music repository.

Went to Florida with Amelia to see my parents, who reside in Land O' Lakes...not the home of the butter. We walked beaches, ate fresh shrimp & grouper, saw botanical gardens, rode bikes on nature trails, slept-in, made pancakes, drank lots of coffee, saw dolphins, river otters, and all kinds of cranes, visited my Mom's co-op, introduced my parents to Cuban food...had a great time.

My parents & I outside their house in Florida. I think we were all looking into the sun...which is out 95% of the time. Now I remember why people move there...

An extra-sauced Thanksgiving due to generous tastings of Amelia's cousin's cider...

A mini-roadtrip on a freezing & rainy day to Cincinnati to see German experimentalist/improviser/elder-statesman Roedelius, in an art-space converted from a century-old brewery & warehouse, the Mockbee. also ate one of the finer meals of our life at Senate Pub---my review here.

One of the best live shows I've ever seen...(6-part vocal harmonies? Yes, please.) Enjoy this nugget filmed in their home-base of Athens, GA.

A month prior, roadtrip to Columbus to see a recently reunited (and completely awesome) Olivia Tremor Control at the fabulous Wexner Center, preceded as always by the irresistible Clever Crow pizza.

Released (digitally-only, for now, vinyl to follow in February) the new Everything, Now! album, Do It On The Moon, via the wonderful musician's tool Bandcamp. Check it out here.

Cover of the new Everything, Now! record, Do It On The Moon. Painting by Allen, our guitarist.

Read at least three incredible books, Steinbeck's East of Eden, and Orhan Pamuk's Snow, and Dexter Filkins' The Forever War.

Watched way too much 30 Rock / Parks & Recreation via Netflix, and finished the currently-streamable, anxiety & stress-producing, overall way too depressing seasons of Mad Men. Also discovered, thanks to my brother Wes, the British-comedy Peep Show, with its near-constant internal monologue.

One of the best moments of Season 4...had me rolling around on the couch with awkward laughter.

Third annual post-Thanksgiving bash filled our house with good friends & good times. Along with breaking the fire-code for bodies in the building, lentil stew & cranberry cake were served, along with a baby keg from Sun King, and aforementioned ciders. As a sign of getting old, the night slowed down pretty early & ended with a sleepy round of Scattergories (I blame this on so many English degrees in one place).

Two impromptu basement recording sessions with amigos Andy & Tyler have produced roughly 8 workable tunes. Went into the basement with just ideas, came out hours later with live tracks recorded through a 4-track into Garageband. Mixing & Chicago-apartment-overdub session is imminent for January 2012, with an internet release to follow shortly thereafter, with the nom de plume of.......well, I can't say. "D's P" for short.

Lastly and most recently, trip to Louisville for the family Christmas. Stayed in my sister's sweet new home, dined at the now-traditional Irish Rover (been coming here for a good 2/3rds of my life...yikes!), exchanged some small gifts, and helped cook a ridiculously awesome Christmas dinner of beef tenderloin, cheesy potatoes, balsamic brussels sprouts, garlic & butter green beans, homemade bread, and strawberry & cream cheese jello. Decadent to say the least. Who knew we'd all be able to cook so well! Oh, and can't forget the yearly treat of Buckeyes, as made by Jennifer. Thanks sis! Now, back to running...

west, vol. 1

Wednesday
I flew out late Wednesday for my third trip out to the Pacific Northwest (although one of these was just passing through, on tour with EN!). After flights that rendered me as stiff as when I completed the half-marathon, my brother plucked me from the Seattle airport at close to midnight local time, in the midst of a three-lane rat-race that made the Indianapolis pick-up zone look like a machine. On the ride back to Bellingham...my desperately-empty stomach needed something warm. (I'd only managed to find a lemon-blueberry scone via Caribou Coffee in Minneapolis), and reluctantly turned to the McChicken. Glazed in mayo, of course, with hot-n-salty fries. I'm not sure when the last time I ate McDonald's, but I wasn't disappointed...except in myself. Desperate times call for pre-shaped particle-pressed chicken patties. Got back to the house past 2am, and immediately went to bed in the wooden loft of the guest room.

Thursday
My body and brain were so confused, I failed to sleep in. Woke up around 8, showered, started reading one of my vacation books (all food/culture this time): Spice: The History of a Temptation, by Jack Turner. After showering and considering cooking in, we took advantage of the sun & newfound warmth to walk downtown to a Belgian-styled breakfast joint, the Mount Bakery. Having never consumed Eggs Benedict before, this seemed like a ripe (and recommended opportunity) for which i was richly rewarded with two poached eggs laying seductively atop half a belgian waffle topped in thin-sliced ham, all on a bed of roasted potatoes. This was, naturally, blanketed with a golden blanket of Hollandaise. Combined with great coffee and a sunny patio...this blew my jet-lagged mind.

Post-food coma, Ad and I headed out on bikes to gather in more of the sun, riding streets and paths down to Boulevard Park, which is on the bay and was crowded with sun-seekers. Rode a little farther to Marine Park, off the beaten path and much smaller and quieter, with some nice stones to sit and look out at sailboats, the port, even Lummi Island. He had an outdoor soccer game to play in the early evening, so we booked back through town, and I worked on some LP art (the 2-color center of the record) for this fall's EN! release.


Early draft for Do It On the Moon record centers.

He returned in time to respond to gnawing hunger pangs from Megan and I, and then they treated me with a gift certificate he'd been hoarding (or...hadn't had time to use while jetsetting across the midwest and east coast) to a local "gastropub" (something about that word just rubs me the wrong way...I blame Indiana), the Copper Hog. I needed little encouragement to try one of the best burgers I've ever had, excessively topped with fried egg, bacon, and cheese, of course. The featured brewery that night was Seattle's Two Beers Brewery, which provided a smooth & tasty blonde, and an IPA that was distinctly hoppy, but not overly so. Both I thought were more than adequate representations of each style. By this point, it was close to midnight, and my sleep-addled brain had been feeling like mush since 8pm, so I was out immediately upon returning.

buttermilk and/or bringing the funk

This week I've really been ruminating on buttermilk, especially after learning an awesome buttermilk recipe from Megan, the older-bro's girlfriend.

She got it from a bread-recipe collection from baker-extraordinaire, Beth Hensperger. You can get it too, via Google Books, here. Hensperger says,

"This is the breadmaker's 'little black dress,' a beautiful bread to grace any table..."

and it really is. Deeply bronzed on top, with a nice sheen (via the egg wash prior to baking), it's awesome for toast, sandwiches...and if you let it get stale (tough to do, I know), supremely great French toast.

The other day I decided I wanted to make some buttermilk cornmeal pancakes, inspired by this Serious Eats restaurant brief. Some quick searching yielded a Bon appetit recipe.


Piggly Wiggly--I've almost forgiven you for wronging me so.

As a kid, my Tennesseean (by way of California, Indiana, Nevada, & Arizona) grandpa often made buttermilk hotcakes for breakfast; I despised them. They had an almost-creamy texture, very soft, with the pungency that comes from buttermilk evident in each bite. My distaste may have come from a singular event; as a youngster I atypically helped myself to a refill while at the kids' table during a family get-together. I saw the familiar "Piggly-Wiggly" logo, and poured what I assumed was milk into a tall glass. I took a sip before sitting down, and made a face that was referenced for years by older family members, who apparently watched with humorous detachment the entire sequence of events.


Injera--maybe the most unique bread product I've ever eaten.
Currently have a heavy jonesing for Major Restaurant.

But I guess since then my tastes have advanced---some of my favorite flavors in the world are fermented. (Which as it turns out, may be healthier than I knew, according to this article, in which people are only slightly more crazy than college-friends I assisted in consuming plenty of dumpster-salvaged foods.) Sourdough bread, Greek-style yogurt, beer, the fantastic Ethiopian flatbread "injera"---and now, buttermilk. Back to the pancakes at hand, (or maybe Johnnycakes or hoecakes, though the latter is linked to a Paula Deen recipe, a reference I wash my hands of) they were fantastic. A little thinner than typical pancakes, but with the cornmeal they turn out of the pan a burnished gold. Using some blackberries (we froze several gallons picked from Amelia's grandparents' bushes this summer), a couple tablespoons sugar, water, and cornstarch, I made a simple syrup to put on top. Pretty close to perfect...I'm glad I've come around to fermentation.