Remembering that there are smart people in the world



Sarah Paine. Source: YouTube. The interview from which the screen shot was made is here.


Every day and every hour, idiots and fascists flood the zone with you-know-what. The media scramble to deal with it and even manage to expose a lie or two occasionally. But the zone is still flooded with you-know-what, and there’s hardly any bandwidth left over for anything else.

Consequently those of us who know you-know-what when we hear it not only have to do a lot of filtering for the sake of our sanity. We also have to work extra hard to find, and hear, the voices of those who actually know something about the world and whose purpose is to improve the world rather than to rape it.

Sarah Paine is one of the wisest voices out there. Reading about her background in the Wikipedia article reminds us that there are still people who spend their lives learning and teaching rather than making deals, lying, and ripping people off.

Paine has been making herself available for YouTube interviews lately. Almost a million people have watched that interview in the last two months, so people are paying attention. She also had an article in Foreign Affairs last fall. Foreign Affairs is behind a paywall, but there is a PDF of the article available here: By Land or by Sea: Continental Power, Maritime Power, and the Fight for a New World Order. The article is a must-read about how MAGA, if not stopped, is leading the United States toward impoverishment and collapse.

The American intelligentsia have mostly been pushed into the margins today. Fortunately they’re doing their best to continue a real conversation in venues such as YouTube and Substack, where they are needles in a haystack waiting for you to find them. We can dream of a day when we take the microphone away from idiots. Until then we’ll have to work a little harder.

⬆︎ Roger Penrose is 94 years old. He is the Einstein of our time, and for as long as he is still with us, every word he says is priceless. Brian Cox, by the way, though he is television personality in the U.K., also is one of the few people who know enough to do a good interview with Penrose.

⬆︎ Those who have been reading this blog for years will recognize Ken in the video above. I’m linking to this video because it’s charming and because it shows how transformational voices that are drowned out in a zone flooded with you-know-what never go silent. Rather, they do what they can wherever they are, and they keep at it. It was Ken who organized “No Mow May” in the Scottish village of East Linton.


Hummus

⬆︎ Before there were food processors, there were mortars and pestles. I thought of hummus because my cucumber plants just started blooming, and I’ve seen two tiny tomatoes coming along, smaller than peas. Nothing goes better with fresh, raw, summer vegetables than hummus — except maybe pesto. My basil is growing fast. The drought here finally gave way to a rainy spell, and the garden has started taking off.

Dreaming of vegetables, but we’re in a drought



The water wagon delivers water to my rain tank. Click here for high-resolution version.


During the previous two years, I didn’t do any vegetable gardening. Instead I’ve been buying fantastic organic vegetables locally from Brittany and Richard, who make a nice living selling vegetables from their gardens.

But this year I was inspired to get back into gardening again, I hope in a way that won’t defeat me when high summer arrives with bugs, ticks, briars, heat, and humidity. I’m late to no-till gardening. I finally realized that, with a no-till garden, most of the work can be done early in the season, and summer maintenance should be greatly reduced. My ideal temperature for outdoor work is around 50F. That’s March weather.

It was reading about perennial leeks that inspired me. Leeks are one of my favorite vegetables, but I don’t live in leek country. Grocery stores usually have leeks, but they’re expensive and shopworn. Brittany and Richard say they can’t grow leeks profitably because the leeks take so long from seed to harvest. But Brittany and Richard happily started some leek seeds for me in their greenhouse while I made a no-till leek bed. I bought a big load of leaf compost for the job. I already had a lot of well-rotted chicken manure.

If it weren’t for the drought we’re in, I’d already have moved the baby leeks from the greenhouse into their new leek bed. But we’ve had hardly any rain for weeks, and there’s no real rain in the forecast. The entire southeast including Florida is under a high-pressure system that is keeping moisture away. Temperatures also are 10 to 20 degrees above normal. I think I’ve decided to go ahead and plant the leeks anyway, after the leek bed has had a good, long soaking from the rain tank.

I have a rain tank that Ken set up several years ago. When there’s rain, the roof of the shed catches it and spouts it into the rain tank. The tank is up the hill from the garden. A buried pipe carries water downhill to the garden. When there’s no rain, my nearest neighbor brings out his water wagon. He pulls it with his Jeep or with a tractor. There’s a gasoline-powered water pump on the back. Just down the road in the woods is a small stream that is always flowing. So water is always be available for the neighbors’ garden and for mine without having to use well water.


⬆︎ Filling the water wagon from the creek. Click here for high-resolution version.


⬆︎ The leek bed, with a drip hose. I’ve made a longer, narrower row with room for six tomato plants, four cucumber plants, and some basil. Click here for high-resolution version.


⬆︎ Doodle-bugs like the dry weather. Rain, I’m sure, messes up their traps. Click here for high-resolution version.

Chicory coffee



Chicory coffee with chocolate muffins. Click here for high-resolution version.


Back in the 1970s and 1980s, before I moved to San Francisco, coffee in the South was pretty terrible. New Orleans, I suppose, was the exception. In those days, my house coffee for many years was Luzianne, which is part chicory (that is, roasted chicory root). Luzianne’s headquarters are in New Orleans. As for San Francisco, it was a wonderful coffee city before Starbucks came along and ruined the world. In the early 1990s, there were many neighborhood coffee shops, with superb Italian-style coffee served in white porcelain.

It was because I was thinking about microbiome health, and therefore inulin, that I ordered some chicory coffee from Amazon. Chicory coffee is shockingly good. I certainly still have my two cups of strong Italian roast coffee in the morning. But, especially in winter, chicory coffee is a fine thing for later in the day. I find it even more comforting than hot chocolate, and it’s easier to make. There is no caffeine.

Chicory root is a rich source of inulin. I’m not sure how much of it survives roasting, and how much of it is infused into the coffee. But some of it is. And, like coffee, chicory is a good source of antioxidant phytochemicals.

As for porcelain cups, the idea of drinking coffee out of a paper cup is horrifying. Also horrifying is the idea of stopping somewhere for coffee in the morning. Furthermore horrifying is what people pay for terrible coffee in paper cups, when homemade coffee is much better and and much cheaper.

I bet chicory coffee would make a fine espresso or cappucino. One of these days I’ll probably break down and buy an espresso machine.

We all eat for two



Note: The microbiological information in this post comes from ChatGPT 5.2. Because AIs can be wrong (though they’re very good at science), I’ve asked another AI — Claude — to fact-check ChatGPT’s facts. As always, I don’t allow ChatGPT to write for me. I use it only for research.


For a long time, I’ve been working on improving my microbiome. Only in the past decade or two have we really learned how important this is for health. But articles in the media rarely provide information or advice other than to eat a varied, balanced diet with fiber and to eat fermented foods such as yogurt, kefir, and sauerkraut. But I wanted to get technical and go beyond that.

What one learns, I think, is that we all eat for two — ourselves, and our microbiome. The typical American diet is aimed at feeding oneself (though poorly) while the microbiome is left to starve. The trick is to feed both ourselves and our microbiome with the same foods.

Here is a list of the nutrients that our microbiome needs:

1. Resistant starch. Sources: Some legumes (especially lentils), not-quite-ripe bananas, cooked and subsequently chilled starches such as potatoes and pasta.

2. β-glucans (a viscous fermentable fiber). Sources: Barley and oats.

3. Inulin and fructo-oligosaccharides. Sources: Leeks, onions, garlic, chicory root.

4. Pectins. Sources: Apples, pears, plums, carrots.

5. Hemicelluloses (partially fermentable structural fibers). Sources: Whole grains, beans, lentils, cabbage, root vegetables.

6. Legume carbohydrates (galacto-oligosaccharides + resistant starch). Sources: All beans, lentils, chickpeas.

7. Polyphenols. Sources: Berries, cocoa, coffee, tea, olive oil, red cabbage.

Note what is missing from the list above: Meat. Meat, we now know, has very little or no food value for the microbiome. In fact, meat-eating shifts the microbiome toward inferior types of microorganisms.

Also note that the foods listed above are the foods that are almost certainly missing in a diet of fast foods and processed foods.

It’s quite a wonderful thing, really, that all of these foods are abundant and cheap. Historically, the people with the best diets would have been people living in the country with farms and gardens. In times of plenty, at least, country people would have had an excellent diet.

Many of the most common health problems closely correlate with diets that leave the microbiome underfed. These health problems become chronic, and they cause us to age more quickly.

As I’ve said here many times before, I’m a barley evangelist. Bread is one of my favorite foods, but white wheat bread has very little to offer the microbiome. In fact most of it is absorbed upstream (as empty calories) and never reaches the microbiome.

It may take some determination to wean oneself off of wheat and switch to barley, because wheat and everything made from it are such appealing foods. But barley is more versatile than we might think. Pearl barley is much better than no barley, but the best barley is hulled barley, which is a whole grain. It’s possible to buy barley flour, but I greatly prefer to buy organic hulled barley and grind it myself. Below is a photo of my vintage Champion juicer with the mill attachment. I use it every day.

We all would benefit from detailed discussion with an AI about our diets, our health issues if any, and how we might better feed not only ourselves, but also our microbiome. It’s entirely possible that both of ourselves will want the same supper.

R-r-r-r rumbledethumps



Rumbledethumps. Click here for high-resolution version.

Just as I was thinking about what to cook on a bleak midwinter day, a friend who lives in the south of France (who is Danish but shares my appreciation for British cultures) sent me a link to a YouTube video about making rumbledethumps. So I made rumbledethumps.

I have only two Scottish cookbooks. One, The Scottish Women’s Rural Institutes Cookery Book, sixth edition, 1948, does not mention rumbledethumps, but it does include a short recipe for making colcannon, which I believe is considered to be the Irish version of rumbledethumps. My other Scottish cookbook, The Scottish Cookery Book, 1956, includes a short reference to rumbledethumps among the potato recipes My guess is that rumbledethumps is so simple and so basic that no one really needs a recipe.


⬆︎ The Scottish Women’s Rural Institutes Cookery Book. Click here for high resolution version.


⬆︎ The Scottish Cookery Book. Click here for high resolution version.

I looked at a number of online recipes for rumbledethumps. Some sauté the cabbage along with the onions to precook it. Other recipes boil the cabbage. I boiled my cabbage to cut down on calories. But I suspect that much of the savoriness of rumbledethumps comes from lots of butter (or drippings) and salt. I used only a little butter and made up for it with olive oil. But in these old recipes, there really is just no substitute for butter (and lots of it), or drippings (and lots of it).

⬇︎ In the video, the cook pronounces the th in rumbledethumps as though it is a t. This puzzles me. ChatGPT says that TH-stopping is a normal feature of Scots. If so, I’ve never noticed it. Notice that he also rolls his r’s sometimes.

I wonder if I could make bubble and squeak from the leftover rumbledethumps.



Burlap! Camellias! Verdi!



Click here for high-resolution version.

I regularly order wheat berries and hulled barley from Amazon, five pounds at a time, to grind into flour. This time the wheat came in a beautiful burlap bag. It’s a tiny burlap bag, but I haven’t seen a burlap bag in years.

My camellias are blooming. Camellias in bloom always make me think of La Dame aux Camélias, the 1848 novel by Alexandre Dumas fils, which I read in French some years ago. Verdi turned the story into an opera, La Traviata. It’s a tragic story, but Verdi included a happy piece, which also is a waltz.


⬆︎ Click here for high-resolution version.

Barley pancakes, and two mysteries


Why is it that grains that are so difficult to make into bread — barley and buckwheat, for example — make such perfect pancakes?

And why is that so much barley is grown — especially in Europe — but that so little of it is eaten? Most of the barley goes into beers and ales and whiskeys, while trendy but inferior grains such as quinoa get all the attention.

I’m a barley evangelist, as regular readers know. I can’t imagine not keeping organic hulled barley in stock, with an electric mill to grind it into flour.

The pancakes in the photo are made from fresh-ground barley flour, a little olive oil, a little baking powder, and nonfat milk.

Getting by in a pub-deprived culture



Vegetarian fake chicken pie. Click here for high-resolution version.

To those of us born into a Northern European culture, there is no food more magical than a pie. Pies have ancestors in the ancient Mediterranean, but I suspect that it was in medieval England where the magical pies of fairy tales (and now, pubs!) came into existence.

Regular readers know how much I like the British and Irish pubs, and how deprived I feel because America does not have a proper pub culture. And, in pubs, it’s not just about the drink. It’s also about the food. I’m recently home from Scotland, and fall weather has arrived. So I can’t stop thinking about savory pies.

I kick myself for neglecting to photograph the seafood pie that Ken and I had in a pub in Peebles, near the John Buchan museum. Every pub is different, of course. Many pubs don’t have savory pies with a complete top and bottom crust — a lazy compromise. Instead, the filling is poured into a baking vessel, and a round piece of crust is laid on top. The pie is still good, but the magic isn’t very effective. The best pies, really, come from high street bakeries.


⬆︎ Click here for high-resolution version.



Cream of mushroom soup and whole wheat bread. Click here for high-resolution version.

⬆︎ Bread and soup

And then there’s bread and soup. Somewhere in Scotland there must be pubs that can beat me at bread and soup. I haven’t yet found those pubs, though.


⬆︎ Wood for winter

The photo is from my morning ATV ride. An old oak up on the ridge had died. Neighbors sawed it up and split it for firewood. I wish I had the option of heating with wood. But I don’t have a chimney.

21,000 steps before supper



Click here for high resolution version.

Probably the most written-about hotspot for food in Edinburgh is the Sheep Heid Inn, especially their Sunday roasts. This inn lies some distance from the more trafficked parts of Edinburgh. If you walk down the Royal Mile to the Palace of Holyroodhouse, you’ll be right at the foot of Arthur’s Seat, a high, steep hill with stunning views. The walk up Arthur’s Seat will burn some calories.

Then if you descend from Arthur’s Seat in just the right direction, you’ll find the Sheep Heid Inn, hidden among some trees and a high stone wall. According to my watch, I had gone more than 21,000 steps in Edinburgh that day before we had Sunday roast at the Sheep Heid Inn.

Dunrobin Castle


Click here for high resolution version.

Most of Scotland’s castles are in varying stages of ruin. An exception is Dunrobin Castle, which is about an hour’s drive north of Inverness. The castle is in beautiful condition, and it’s fully furnished. It must cost a fortune to maintain.

Oyster stew


There’s no other taste in the world like oysters. I remember having oyster stew fairly often as a boy, and though I was a picky eater I loved it. Here in North Carolina — and probably all along the Eastern Seaboard, oysters are a rural as well as a coastal tradition. On the unpaved private road I live on, 200 miles from the Atlantic, this rural tradition has survived. I or a neighbor will buy a 40-pound box of oysters and share them around.

My share this weekend was a dozen oysters. I turned the whole dozen of them into one serving of a very oystery stew. As I recall, when I was a child, oysters, butter, and milk were pretty much the only ingredients. These days I like to add a little diced celery and diced onion — and heavy cream. Crackers are de rigeur.

I assume these oysters came from the Chesapeake Bay. From Googling I find that the oyster harvest there is still improving as work continues on reviving the Chesapeake Bay oyster industry, which was in steep decline twenty years ago. Fresh oysters are cheap again — $30 for a 40-pound box. They come packed in ice. I still have the shucking tool I bought years ago for shucking oysters from Tomales Bay in California. The Tomales Bay oysters are superb. But the Chesapeake Bay oysters are just as good.

Some years ago, in a vacation cabin on Tomales Bay, my mother, sister, and I made Southern-style deep-fried oysters. What a lot of work, and what a mess! Whereas making oyster stew is easy once the shucking is done. I’ve also had oysters at an oyster bar in Edinburgh. That was interesting. But homemade oyster stew is still my favorite.

By the way, that vacation cabin was a part of Manka’s Inverness Lodge, which I understand is now permanently closed. The cabin was right beside Tomales Bay with a path leading to the water. The main lodge was on a ridge, in the woods, on the other side of the road. Manka’s demise was tragic. The New York Times wrote about it here: Margaret Grade, Whose California Inn Was Beloved by Stars, Dies at 72. Stars indeed. I’ve been there many times, and even if you are a nobody like me, you felt like a star as soon as you walked in the door.