It's a Living

I have a funny job. A lot of times, not only do I know that I don't know what the purpose of it is, but I'm afraid that a lot of the people that are supposed to know don't really know either. Or at least, they have trouble putting it in the proper context. To be fair though, I don't suppose that's an easy job. I also hate when people ask me what I do. The purpose of what I do is very different from what I do, but people can't seem to separate the two. For now it's all about the purpose, something which I don't really understand.

It's pretty well accepted that the physical reality which we find ourselves in follows certain laws, which when studied by different people, do at least on some continuously evolving level yield some agreement. Some folks want to know what those laws are. One question is why they want to know? But that's not what I'm talking about.

One problem in finding out what those laws are is that the most basic laws are hidden within a very strong medium. This medium shields us from seeing what those laws actually are. Some folks call this medium a field, or a sea, but I like to think of it as a wall-to-wall shag carpet. For historical reasons, I suppose, it's also called the vacuum (not to be confused with what you use to clean a plush wall-to-wall carpet, that's a vacuum cleaner), or more properly it can be called the vacuum state (and I'm not sure which state that is, but it's definitely not New Jersey).

Folks used to think that the vacuum was empty, because after all that's what vacuum means. But upon closer inspection it seems this so-called vacuum is full of things (though this revelation was not enough for them to change the name). But the existence of these things is contingent upon the very much in vogue Heisenberg uncertainty principle. So, these suckers exist, but only if the product of their energies and the amounts of time that they exist are below some ridiculously small threshold, and I guess for that reason they are called virtual. But since there is this non-zero limit, however ridiculous, there can be a lot of them, and they're also very hard to see because they hardly exist.

These virtual suckers are like the actual suckers except there's tons of them and they pop in and out of existence at the drop of a hat. Thing is they align themselves to shield us like overprotective guardians from what the laws uncorrupted by them really are. It seems that the everyday world, the world by all practical measures, is determined not only by the basic laws, but also to a great extent by the guardians.

However, one way to help see what the laws actually are is to get some of the actual suckers (the ones whose existence in a vacuum make it not a vacuum) really close to each other so there's not so many of the guardians between them. So you aim a couple of those actual suckers right at each other, and give them enough energy to get past the guardians, and overcome the repulsion they might have for each other. Then they interact with each other, according to the basic laws, and the outcome can be studied. Albeit though studying the outcome is necessarily fraught with the same problem. That is, the guardians are still busy at work shielding us from the outcome, but I guess something new can be inferred from the results anyway. The higher the energy of the incident actual suckers is, the closer they can get to each other, and the better the information about the basic laws is that you get out of it. So, I'm wondering if that's what the purpose is: Getting some suckers going so they can meet each other despite the all encompassing, barely existing, very resilient, shag carpet that they have to travel through...Probably not.

Why Do I Always Get Tomato Juice on a Plane?

I love tomato juice, but I get it more often on a plane than elsewhere. Funny thing is, I think other people do too. I've often wondered why that is. My main theory is that it's more substantial and savory than just getting a soda, or even another kind of juice. It's more like a snack than a drink, but because of some fluke it's considered a drink, so airlines are compelled to offer it with the other drinks. When I order it, I guess on some level I think I'm getting a good deal.

But I think it's more than that. Tomato juice, like meatloaf, is one of those things that I have to be in the mood for and I'm just in the mood for it on a plane more often than I am otherwise. Maybe it's like a special treat that I reserve for such occasions (I don't fly very often).

Other kinds of juice are generally sweeter and it's hard to savor something that's so sweet. I'm generally not inclined to get those. Yet I noticed on a plane to Spain once that many of the other passengers seemed prone to get pineapple juice. Different culture, I guess. Perhaps this is somehow related to why I like to watch cooking shows, except for ones that involve dessert and sweets. I am not interested in them at all, except maybe Jacques Torres' shows, because he's an artist.

Who wouldn't prefer to savor some nice tomato juice than have a can of coke as they fly 1000s of feet above the ground? I remember when I took British Airways once and the stewardess asked me if I wanted Worcester (pronounced woosteh) sauce, when I asked for my tomato juice. I felt like I was home. Admittedly though, I would've liked it more if they asked me if I wanted tabasco sauce too.

There are other benefits to drinking tomato juice on a plane. Due to it's high salt content it causes one to retain water, and so the trips to the restroom are prone to be less frequent. This is especially relevant as it goes well with vodka, and can therefore pleasantly counteract alcohol's diuretic effect. I can't believe that it's anti-diuretic effect is why I drink tomato juice on a plane though because early on when I used to order it that hadn't occurred to me, and I doubt my subconscious is smart enough to have figured it out.

Now, of course, these observations pertain equally well to V-8 and bloody Mary mix.

The Genius of the Gyro

It occurred to me one day a while back that the idea behind the Gyro, or doner kebab as it's called in some parts, was quite brilliant. I had always considered it as some kind of mystery meat, tasty mystery meat, but still mystery meat. Lately though, I've noticed that the higher quality ones show definite signs of being actual meat.

But I'm starting to drift from my main point: That shaving off thin slices from the outside as it rotates allows the part to soon be eaten to be cooked just before it is eaten. But more than that, every slice that is taken off is like the outside of a roast. It's like a regular roast except every slice you get has a large portion of the tasty outside crust. Now I guess that isn't always the case, it depends on the fire, how fast the gyros are selling, and last but not least the skill of the carver, but still it has that potential. And as regards the skill of the carver, in that sense Gyro meat slicing could be compared favorably to other great carving arts. The pride with which ham is sliced by "Los Cortadores" on the Iberian peninsula comes to mind, a tradition which Americans could learn a lot from, as anyone who has been to a deli lately can attest.

The Table, After Supper

This is from the late 80s. I think it was in the spring, late in the day, after supper on a weekday. I still have the pepper grinder. It was my grandmother's. It makes a nice mix of ground pepper. Some is fairly fine, but some is in pretty big chunks too. But it doesn't hold much, and I'm always struggling with how much to loosen the screw on the top. You might think I'd know if tightening the screw makes a finer grinder, but I don't, it does make it harder to turn though, and if it's too loose peppercorns can fall out when you turn it, and it doesn't work that well.

I'll probably never know what was in the container on the lower left, though I probably once did. If I had to guess I might say leftover reheated mashed potatoes. I believe that's the Keg O'Ketchup in the center of the frame, with the soon to set sun glittering upon it. Behind the ketchup may be some unfinished boiled broccoli. Which gives me a thought. Maybe the container in the lower left is cheese sauce for it! I guess I was wrong, that makes sense, maybe I do know what was in it! Shows what a little analysis can do.

The wallpaper had different colored tulips on it. I imagine it's long gone, as we moved from there in the late 90s. The bottom halves of the walls were paneled. The parquet table, which I inherited, is in my dinette area covered with a year's worth of mail and receipts, a tray I tend to cook pizza on lying on top of a kitchen towel (used to protect the table from the heat), a large bowl, and if it's not there now, another dirty kitchen towel that I use as a potholder often is, plus other stuff. It's a mess.

The curtains (window and door) have the same pattern as the wallpaper, and the coiled up phone chord hangs between them. Above that, was the phone, which was affixed to the wall. In the distance, behind the chair is the entrance to the family room. There is a plant hanging to the left of it. I forget what kind. Maybe some kind of creeping ivy type plant? And to the left of that a triangular chime for signaling mealtime. It's use was never required, and I think it was just for decoration. The light that's striking the bottle is probably coming through the windows at the far end of that room, which is to the west. I think the salt shaker is still around, and that I've used it recently, but I don't have it here.

The lines on the place mats were different colors.

Using an English Muffin as a Burger Bun

I started thinking about this because of putting an English muffin on a burger last week. Something I've done many times, and will do again. I don't mean to imply that such a thing isn't ok. The English muffin is very tasty in this instance. But it isn't perfect. In particular, I'm a stickler for hamburger texture. I think the texture of a burger is paramount, and is often given short shrift. It should be loosely packed. Last week I formed these suckers myself and I packed them fairly loosely. Not too loosely, but loosely. I put quite a few toppings on my burger. First, as mentioned previously, pickles, but also in this case shallots, jalapenos, and 2 slices of Land 'O lakes American. That's a bit to fit on a burger, and my burgers always puff up a bit. I'm still working on that. Your nominal muffin is a bit on the small side, but that's not really the problem.

I toast the muffins, and I place them with the nooks and crannies facing the burger. The burgers I made last week came apart quite a bit. That's not the end of the world, but it doesn't help. They were still quite good though. You might say it's because of all the crap I put on it, or it's because the burger is not flat enough, or too round, or it's not tightly packed enough, or you might say it's because the muffin is too small. But I realized over the past few days that perhaps the main problem is that English muffins aren't really soft, especially when approached from there exterior, as in this case. My teeth aren't sharp enough to pierce the outer crust of the muffin without my jaws applying some pressure. The result is I am squeezing the burger too much. The meat breaks apart and crumbles, and the toppings spill out.

I'm not saying I don't like a burger on a muffin, but I see now there's a good reason why hamburger buns should be soft. I bought some today. I also wonder if placing the nooks and crannies on the outside would help with this. I think it would be a little easier to bite through, probably not easy enough, and I think the interior would tend to slip out.

Rib Roast Over Time

Two views of a Rib Roast. The first is circa Xmas 1978, the second Xmas 2012. I used to take it English-style, that is sliced thinly (we never called it english-style, we didn't call it anything). About 20 years or so ago I put in a special request to the carvery for a thick, presumably American-style cut, and I've been taking it that way ever since. The rest is cut English-style for the other diners. If I finish the thick slice I can continue eating by taking thin slices.

Rib Roast, English-style cut, Xmas, circa 1978

Rib Roast, American-style cut, Xmas 2012

You may have noticed I elected to call this Rib Roast. Some folks might call it a standing rib roast, but I'm not quite sure if it is. If it was roasted with the 'tail' standing up, like a rack of lamb, then I guess it would be that. I'm embarrassed to say that although I think it may very well have been cooked that way, I'm not entirely sure. I'll have to pay better attention. Naively, I'd be afraid it might tip over. 

Another thing, I think people usually call this prime rib, especially in restaurants. But this meat was not prime, probably choice, and I'm pretty sure what's on the menu called prime rib isn't normally prime either. How do they get away with that? 

Most regrettably, I've heard some people call the thick cut a steak. I do believe calling it roast beef is entirely acceptable.

My Procrastinative Tendencies

I just did my taxes and I had the occasion to reflect on the causes of my procrastination. First of all, it's almost always easier to put off an unpleasant task, even if it's only slightly unpleasant. Someone might think I don't do things just because I'm lazy or don't care. By my behavior that would not be unreasonable to infer, but actually I think it goes like this: I have something to do->I put it off-> In the meantime I think about what it is I have to do-> the more I think about it the harder it is for me to do. The harder it is for me to do, the less likely I am to do it and the more I think about it, and so on. Actually, it's amazing I do anything.

Why do things become harder to do because I think about them, you ask? Because I build them up into something more than they are. Now you might ask, why do I do that? Well, I do, and on some level it doesn't matter why as it's still true. Or you might ask, why don't I do them right away then? From experience it would seem that the logic behind that question is not persuasive enough, since I am aware of that option.

But there is another side to the equation, if I don't do it, the pain level rises, and at some point if the pain of not doing it is greater than the pain of the imagined task at hand, I do the actual task. Then the former pain goes away, as does the latter. From my experience this process doesn't get any easier, no matter how many times I go through it. This is also true even if the benefit (a refund) is much greater than the downside (spending an hour doing taxes).

Bombay Red Onions?

Recently I found some shallots in the Dual Specialty store. The Dual Specialty Store is an indian type spice store in NYC on 1st avenue by 6th street (where a large cluster of indian restaurants are). It has a great selection of spices and chile powders, other indian type food stuffs, and a few fresh items like these shallots. I had the occasion to go to Sri Lanka once years back, and I always thought the onions there were great. I was told that they're little bombay red onions. After some investigation I was led to believe they were actually shallots, but they're not the french shallots you normally get here. However, french style shallots are great, especially when you live alone because rarely do you need a whole onion and shallots are smaller. They also impart a really nice flavor that's a cut above an onion in my humble opinion. Don't get me wrong, I love onions.

The remaining shallots

Now the thing is, these shallots at the Dual Specialty store are smaller and rounder than the french style shallots. They're like the onions I remember in Sri Lanka. I bought a bag, and I think they're the same kind. I don't slice them, but more or less cut them in half and saute them in olive oil when I'm making pasta (which is like how I found them cut there). They caramelize very nicely and they impart a great aroma to the apartment. The bag says they're from China, which is a terrible distance for a shallot to travel, but they're pretty close to the onions I remember.