Into the Woods – Page 115 – Watching a bewildering world from the middle of nowhere

Faces of the First Amendment

My camera is one of the most important political tools I have. Whether it’s a political campaign or organizing for environmental groups, photos are important, especially on social media.

I find photos of public meetings strangely moving. Sometimes they capture the spirit of a Rockwell painting. I’m thinking, of course, of Rockwell’s “The Four Freedoms.” Freedom of speech and freedom of assembly are the bedrock of our American democracy.

These photos were taken at a commissioners’ meeting last night. A coalition of environmental groups and plain unaffiliated citizens pleaded with the Stokes County commissioners to draft and approve an ordinance protecting the county from fracking and coal ash. Here’s a link to a news story on what the meeting was about.

On the one hand, this was a heartwarming outpouring of love for our county and concern for our rural way of life. Black people and white people, conservatives and liberals, are working together in this county like they never have before. But I also am a cold-blooded political operative. This event was organized. Back in May, environmental activists had politely asked the commissioners for an ordinance. They crudely blew us off. This was payback. Note the attitude of one of the commissioners in the last photo. It’s the classic attitude of an authoritarian who’d rather not be bothered with the people — at least when the people disagree with him.

Yum. Mac and cheese.

One of the hippest places in San Francisco when I was there was (is?) the Virgin Records store on Market Street, just across from the Apple Store. On the third level, with big windows facing Market Street, was (is?) a small café. They had lunch specials there, and sometimes the lunch special was “mac and cheese.” I, not being hip, had never heard it called that. In the context of food, “Mac” meant entirely something else to me. But with my clever skills of discreet cross-cultural observation — watching the natives — I figured out what it was. It was macaroni and cheese. They let me order some. It was good.

So macaroni and cheese, then, is an all-American phenomenon, not just something that we white-trash Southerners eat. I wouldn’t give you two cents for quick-made macaroni and cheese stirred up on a stovetop. Proper macaroni and cheese is a slow food. It must be baked. You will not be surprised to hear that I baked this batch in my new Cuisinart steam oven, using the the “steam/convection bake” mode. It was very good. For all its carb-iness and comfort-food qualities, it’s actually a fairly low-glycemic food. One must, of course, use good pasta, eggs laid by Helen and Fiona, organic milk and butter, and good cheese.

I figured that I had earned the comfort food, because I got back to writing this weekend after more than a month of slacking. I’m not sure why I hit a block. It may be my feeling of obscurity owing to the fact that Fugue in Ursa Major sells only in a trickle. Why work so hard on the sequel? Or it may be that I was faced with a couple of difficult scenes — turbulently emotional scenes, Jake’s last day on earth before leaving on a long trip.

But this weekend I got Jake shuttled up to a deep-space cruiser operated by the galactic union. Jake, forlorn, dropped his book and fell asleep in his posh bedroom, and in the morning he will meet the mysterious galactic ambassador at breakfast.

What a team. No wonder we earthlings blew ourselves up. The ambassador will probably call the whole thing off after he actually meets us. What is this, Jake? Search your feelings. It’s shame. That’s what it is — shame. Shame for the planet I come from, shame for the state it’s gotten itself into, shame for the pathetic crew who are supposed to find a cure for their pathetic planet, and shame because my even being here is some kind of mistake.

Poor Jake. It is difficult being cruel to characters we love, but sometimes we must. But he can have comfort food at breakfast.

Hallelujah — Steam!

After you have struggled for as long as I have to make professional quality bread at home, including sourdough, you eventually realize that it cannot be done without a steam oven. Truth is, throwing water into a hot even accomplishes very little. The Dutch-oven method of baking — trapping steam inside a covered Dutch oven — is hardly any better.

From Googling for steam ovens and dreaming, I’ve long known that commercial steam ovens can’t be had for less than about $3,000. I’d often wondered why no one (or so I thought) made an affordable steam oven for home use. Somehow I missed the fact that Cuisinart came out with such an oven early last year. It’s a combination steam, convection, and toaster oven. It’s the Cuisinart CSO-300. It can be bought in the usual places from Williams-Sonoma to Amazon in the range of $265 to $285. Of course I bought one as soon as I became aware of its existence and read up on the reviews.

I won’t attempt a full review of an item I’ve baked in only once, but it worked beautifully for my first loaf of sourdough bread. The oven can serve as a proofer, using a temperature of around 100 degrees F plus steam. I gave the loaf its last rising in the oven, then baked it using the oven’s bread mode. Bread mode starts out with steam for the first part of baking. Then it shuts off the steam and switches automatically to convection mode. The steam-assisted final rise plus 10 or 15 minutes of steam as baking starts gives a fantastic oven spring — the best I’ve ever had, by far, effortlessly. The steam also gives the crust that nice “shattery” texture that proper bread should have.

I often feel a fair amount of remorse when I spend money on nonessentials. But it was pretty easy to justify this purchase. Being able to bake proper bread is a part of it. But the small oven also uses far less energy than a big oven. This oven is better insulated than most small ovens. It’s the first convection oven I’ve ever owned. My only oven was the big oven in the stove. Those who have reviewed this oven say that the steam function is great for reheating leftovers without drying them out. I have not owned a microwave oven for years, just because I don’t like what they do to food. Until I bought this little Cuisinart, I did not really have an efficient way of reheating leftovers. I have not tried it, but the oven’s “super steam” mode is supposed to be great for steaming vegetables, a job I usually do in a covered saucepan. “Super steam” also is said to be good for casseroles that need to stay moist, such as rice dishes. I’m sure the super steam mode will be great for my vegan meatloaf, which contains barley, ground walnuts, and soybeans.

Next: probably a peach pie. Someone gave me a bunch of homegrown fresh peaches.

First apple pie from the abbey’s orchard

I started the abbey’s small orchard seven years ago with small, bare-root trees, all of them old Southern heirloom varieties from Century Farm Orchards. Lots of grief and patience are involved in getting a new orchard to the productive stage. I’ve had a few apples in previous years, but this year was the first year I’ve had enough to make the orchard’s first apple pie. I took some portraits of the apples before I picked them and put them in the pie. The pie is totally from scratch and largely followed Irma Rombauer’s “Apple Pie I” recipe from the 1943 wartime edition of “Joy of Cooking.”

The sin of asyndeton

As every science fiction fan knows, this year is the 50th anniversary of Frank Herbert’s Dune, first published in 1965. I am pretty sure that I read it long, long ago — so long ago that I’ve forgotten. But the 50th anniversary seemed like a good time to read it again.

The writing is driving me crazy. I don’t know why I am so sensitive to quirky writing styles, and so intolerant. I fling many books against the wall after five or ten pages because either the writer doesn’t know what he or she is doing, or because the writer wants a unique “style” — which really just means quirky.

Frank Herbert’s quirk is asyndeton — the omission of conjunctions between parts of a sentence. Now, lots of good writers (and speakers) use asyndeton sometimes. I believe I did it once or twice myself in Fugue in Ursa Major. But a writer — even if he’s now dead — deserves to be strangled if he pretty much omits conjunctions altogether and gives you sentence after sentence, page after page, chapter after chapter, of asyndeton, asyndeton, asyndeton. (Can you espy the asyndeton in the previous sentence?)

It’s like watching a speaker who’s being pestered by a fly, and every so often he slaps at it. Or it’s like listening to a speaker who has the hiccups. Pretty soon, all you can think about is when the next slap or the next hiccup is going to come, and you’re completely distracted from whatever the speaker is trying to say.

Here are some examples from Dune, just from the first few pages:

Paul sensed his own tensions, decided to practice one of the mind-body lessons his mother had taught him.

When dawn touched Paul’s window sill with yellow light, he sensed it through closed eyelids, opened them, hearing then the renewed bustle and hurry in the castle, seeing the familiar patterned beams of his bedroom ceiling.

He studied the tallness of her, saw the hint of tension in her shoulders as she chose clothing for him from the closet racks.

Paul sat up, hugged his knees.

Jessica crossed to the window, flung wide the draperies, stared across the river orchards toward Mount Syubi.

Jessica’s hand went to Paul’s shoulder, tightened there.

Had enough? All those examples come from just two pages, and it’s not even all of the asyndeton on those two pages.

I’m trying to decide whether to keep reading or not. Herbert’s heirs and publishers ought to come out with a revised edition — with conjunctions.

An aside: Frank Herbert, like me, used to work for the San Francisco Examiner. Herbert worked as an editor on the copy desk during the Dune years. Many of the Examiner old-timers remember him. I ought to ask some of those old-timers if they remember how Herbert felt about conjunctions.

Frank Herbert at the San Francisco Examiner, sometime in the 1960s

Update: I posted a comment in the Facebook group for San Francisco Examiner alumni, asking why someone on the copy desk didn’t teach Herbert the value of conjunctions. One of the responses I got from someone who knew him was: “I think ideas and invention concerned him more than literary style. Particularly his interest in ecology.”

Someone also posted the above photo of Herbert.

Some doubts about the new “Poldark”

Ross Poldark and Demelza from the old 1970s series

I’m certainly not giving up on it after the first episode of the new “Poldark” was broadcast on PBS on Sunday. But I have some doubts about how well the screenwriter, the directors, and the cast really understand this story. I’m going to claim some standing to complain, because I’ve watched the old series from the 1970s many times. I’ve read nine of Winston Graham’s “Poldark” novels. I’ve even made my pilgrimage to Cornwall.

My biggest concern is that the new production is flirting with being a bodice ripper, aiming to capitalize on the success of the “Outlander” television series based on Diana Gabaldon’s books. (I’m aware that Gabaldon’s readers probably would not agree that her books are bodice rippers. I haven’t read them. But I did watch a couple of episodes of the American television production, and it sure looked like a bodice ripper show to me.)

Winston Graham was a different kind of writer. He certainly got involved in his characters’ personal lives, but romance was not really his theme. Nor are Ross Poldark’s relationships particularly romantic (though the new series is trying to make it seem so). There is never anything resembling real romance between Ross and Elizabeth. They bicker. They torment each other. But it’s not romantic. When Ross brings the young waif Demelza home as his kitchen maid, lice and all, that’s not very romantic either. One night some years later Ross gets exceptionally drunk, and …. But that, and Demelza’s confusion, are not very romantic. Nor is his marrying Demelza out of a sense of duty and responsibility very romantic — nor their struggle to make their marriage work with no social support, brutally hard times, Demelza’s temptations from the young Dr. Enys, and Ross’ going off to London after he was elected to parliament.

Graham does write very strong and complex women characters, but romance generally eludes them. The extraordinary Demelza character, whom the novels follow from the age of 13 to middle age, is a fine literary exploration of growth, complexity, and transformation. Elizabeth’s life is tragic. Verity, the embodiment of feminine modesty and virtue of that era, is too plain to be a romantic heroine, though she does find some happiness. The elderly and frail Aunt Agatha remains very much involved with life from her exile in an upstairs bedroom. Even the servant Prudie is a woman of many dimensions.

But “Poldark” is not a story driven by romance. Its themes are justice, inequality, social ossification, the rich, the poor, economic interdependence, the problem of aristocracy, the unfairness of life, the constant hope for a change of fortune. Winston Graham was a serious historian. I think that one of the questions that fascinated Graham was why France had a revolution (and nearly exterminated its aristocracy) while England did not. I think Graham’s answer to that question would have been: Because England’s aristocracy was decent enough (perhaps just decent enough) to not push the lower classes too far. There was no English equivalent of Marie Antoinette, no English version of Les Miserables.

One of the factors that makes “Game of Thrones” such extraordinary television is that the cast know their characters extremely well. I am wondering if the cast of the new Poldark have even read the books. I Googled for cast gossip in Britain (where the series has already been shown), and the gossip was pretty low-brow. If you watch the behind-the-scenes videos of the “Game of Thrones” cast, you’ll see that they love to sit around and analyze their characters. Whereas I get the impression from the new Poldark that the cast just parachute into Cornwall for a hasty shooting schedule.

I also question whether Aidan Turner knows his character very well (though it could be the director who is causing the problem). At times in the first episode, Turner’s Poldark comes across as mean or menacing, as though he struggles with a repressed demon. But Ross Poldark was not that kind of person. When Winston Graham’s Poldark was angry, it was almost always because of injustice or brushes with real wickedness (such as the wickedness of the Warleggans). The plot puts Ross Poldark’s man-of-the-Enlightenment character to every imaginable test.

Anyway, I hope I’m just being sentimental about the old series and that after a few more episodes of the new I’ll be hooked. It can take time for a cast to learn to work together. We’ll see.

Outdoor bagels

Making homemade bagels may seem daunting, but it really isn’t. It had been ages since I’d made bagels. Then it occurred to me that bagels would be excellent candidates for finishing off in a gas grill.

You can read various theories on what defines a bagel, including the use of barley malt in the boiling water. But, as far as I’m concerned, what defines a bagel is that they’re boiled before they’re baked. This boiling of the dough until the dough sets is what gives the bagel’s crust its “pull.”

Today’s bagels were a mixture of sourdough and yeast. The flour was about a third stone-ground whole wheat and two-thirds unbleached white flour. There are many recipes on the web (as well as YouTube videos) on making bagels, so I’d suggest starting with some Googling if you want to try it.

I really don’t think bagels are prone to failure. What happens when the dough hits boiling water is really more predictable than what happens when dough goes into an oven. Plus, bagel dough is not a delicate affair. A strong, less wet dough (which is easier to deal with) is fine for bagels. If the dough were too soft, you’d risk having it fall apart in the boiling water.

Managing them on the grill is a challenge, though. No spot on my grill seems to be exactly the same, so uniformity is a problem. I found myself frequently moving the bagels around to try to equalize their baking. Given that I had to shuffle things so much, getting perfect grill marks was out of the question.

The bagels were delicious. The crust was better than any bagel crust I ever had in San Francisco (which is not the best bagel city in the world). No one in his or her right mind would claim the ability to compete with New York bagels.

The rising is done, and they’re ready to boil

A bagel in boiling water

Brunch today was low carb — roasted onions and cabbage and a slice of vegan baloney — to help make up for bagels at supper.

After the daisies: black-eyed Susans

First outdoor bread

I was itchin’ to try the gas grill as a bread oven, so I made a loaf this afternoon. It was not perfect, but baking in the grill seems entirely manageable. And after some Googling, I see that plenty of other people also use grills for baking bread.

To add a margin of safety, this loaf was only about a third stone-ground whole wheat and two-thirds unbleached white flour. It was a mixture of sourdough starter and ordinary yeast, which has become a habit with me mostly because I like the taste. There was not much oven spring, but I have never been good at oven spring. Such oven spring as I got was not at the top of the loaf, where I had slashed an X, but around the edges.

My grill has a warming shelf several inches above the grill surface. I set my cast iron skillet on the shelf. To try to get some steam into the oven, I put a pan of water on the grill and let it come to a boil before I put the bread in the oven. The bread was still slightly too done on the bottom because of the high flame down there, but that was not a big deal. It didn’t burn.

The best part of this bread was its shatter-y crust — not a bit tough. There was a very slight whiff of flame in the taste, but not much. Here are some observations and some notes for the next attempts:

— Put the pan of water directly under the bread pan to keep the bottom crust from getting overdone. Use less water.

— Get a smoker basket and give the bread a teensy touch of hickory smoke.

— Throw an onion on the grill for the last ten minutes or so to give the crust a little roasted onion taste.

Overall, it was a fine little loaf of bread with a superb crust. I think there are two keys to getting a good crust. One, don’t use any oil at all on the dough either while it’s rising, or in the pan. Use only flour to prevent sticking. And two, get as much steam into the oven as you can. Steam is always the biggest challenge.

The normal failure of CFL bulbs

Note that the top of the base is slightly brown from heat, which may have occurred when the CFL failed. This is normal.

I happened to be standing right underneath a compact fluorescent bulb yesterday when it failed. It failed exactly according to the book: There was a quiet pop, about the volume of a single grain of popcorn popping, and the bulb went out. When I removed it and looked at it, the white base was slightly brown from the heat of the ballast failure. This was a completely normal failure in accord with the way CFL lamps are designed to work.

The bulb was one of four in my kitchen ceiling that light the countertops. The lamp was seven years old. It was one of the brighter types — equivalent to 100 watts of incandescent light at 23 watts power consumption.

Right-wingers who believe that any kind of energy conservation is a left-wing conspiracy have done everything possible to demonize CFL bulbs. A while back, a conservative friend on Facebook shared a propaganda post about how terrified some right-winger was when a CFL bulb made a popping noise and a blackish brown spot appeared on the base. If I hadn’t been home it could have burned my house down! said the Facebook post. Horse wash. Some of the earlier bulbs failed less gracefully, but they all eventually fail, and the failure is usually in the power supply. As the Wikipedia article on CFL lamps points out, one of the challenges of designing CFL lamps is designing in an inoffensive failure mode. And of course nobody wants to smell smoke. My CFL failure yesterday created no odor at all.

The power supply in the base of the bulb, by the way, is a small electronics board that first converts AC house current to direct current. Then transistors convert the direct current to very high frequency alternating current, which is fed to the bulb. It’s this circuit that normally fails, not the glass part of the bulb.

No one claims that CFLs are perfect. What we all want is cheap LED lighting with a natural sunlight color. We’re getting there.