Q: But, Lulu, I thought you loved San Francisco? Isn't it your favorite city? A: Yes, both are true. San Francisco is my favorite city and I've become quite comfortable here -- perhaps a little too comfortable. Settling in over the last six years has felt good, but I can't help but feel like I've lost my sense of adventure in the process. I find myself taking for granted the amazing food, music, people and scenery here. My San Francisco learning curve has leveled off and I guess you could say I'm in a bit of a rut. When I return to this city, I want to see it with new eyes... and hopefully bring something new and unusual back with me to contribute to it.
Q: How long will you be gone? A: I'm not sure... I'd say a minimum of one year. Perhaps two years?
Q: What's going to happen to your apartment? A: It's up for grabs. Do you want it? Let me know and I'll pass your information along to my attentive landlord, John. I've lived here long enough that this place has become a real home and, selfishly, I'd love to see it occupied by friends who have enjoyed it with me in the past.
Q: Why Austin? A: My good friend and former roomate Liz has always raved about Austin, her hometown, and I assumed that her praise was just high-falutin' Texan pride. It turns out Austin really is a great city. I discovered this when I was there a few weeks ago for SXSW. It felt good to be there, wandering around, and I concluded that Austin was a place I could crash for a little while and be happy; maybe learn a few new things. I also determined that it is a good city for fresh local food and music = super important to me!
Q: When are you leaving? A: I'm tentatively planning to land in Austin in the fall. Before I ship out, I will dogsit Miss Lucille again this summer in San Diego while my parents are away. I may also go WWOOFing with my friend Chelsea sometime at the end of the summer before I head to Texas.
Q: When can I visit? A: Inevitably, I'll be a little homesick, so I'd love visits from SF friends (and others, of course). Just give me a little advanced notice and my couch is yours.
Q: Hey isn't your birthday coming up soon? What are you doing to celebrate? A: Just kidding! No one has asked this question yet, but I figured I should take it upon myself to advertise my 24th birthday/Going Away party. I'm going to go all out this year and offer a --brace yourself -- "24 Hours with Lulu" extravaganza. I know that sounds a little ridiculous at face value, but what I mean is this: I'm going to plan 24 hours of activities in order to give my friends and acquaintances a better opportunity to come say goodbye. I'd really like to see everyone before I leave, if possible, and I think this might make it less overwhelming for all parties involved. For example, if you'd like to hang out one last time before I skip town and you are working in the morning of my birthday, come drop by for happy hour in the evening; or if you have to catch a flight home later in the day, join me for breakfast. I'll post something on here a little later with my intended "official" whereabouts for that particular day.
One of my SWSX articles (written in collaboration with festival cohort and managing editor, Ken Taylor) is now up on the XLR8R website. Check it out to read my impressions of some of the bands that played during the week. What follows is a blurb about a noise rock band called HEALTH, from Los Angeles, that didn't make it into the final article because we didn't have a picture for it. Fortunately, I found a video of the show on YouTube that captures the experience pretty well. You might enjoy it if the camerawork doesn't make you sick first.
Who: HEALTH Where: The Mohawk
I was thrilled to secure a spot near the front for HEALTH’s Saturday show at the Mohawk until the first atomic blast of the band’s sound check made me realize that I was probably soon to lose whatever was left of my hearing. Whatever, it was kind of worth it. Through polyrhythmic guitars, edgy synths, and turns of taiko-style drumming, the performance found that difficult but satisfying place between sex and violence. While my left ear bled, I watched three of the four band members manhandle their taped-up guitars (each working with about five feet of pedals). The lead singer, who crooned delicately into one mic and abused a second, was sweating by the end of the first song. And so was I.
The South by Southwest Music Festival celebrated its 23rd anniversary this year by welcoming a record-setting 1,900 registered bands and enough visitors to raise Austin’s population by about a fifth of its usual size. The festival evolved out of an interest the local cowboy blues and punk scenes in the late ‘80s and has since grown to include bands from across genres. For four days, festival goers can see bands performing R&B, thrash metal, punk, techno, and everything in between, at over 80 official venues (and countless unofficial ones). Given the overwhelming amount of stages packed into the greater Austin area – believed to have the highest per capita of official venues in the U.S. – it makes sense that the city is often referred to as the “Live Music Capital of the World.”
Perhaps most notably, though, SXSW proves that pretty much any establishment might serve as a venue. During the festival, taquerias, churches, rooftops and backyards, BBQ pits, and even furniture stores became temporary stages. On Friday afternoon of the festival, Philadelphia native trio Akron/Family tucked in among the sleek armchairs and coffee tables at Design Within Reach in Austin’s Warehouse District for a rousing performance of warm harmonies, polyrhythmic percussion and literal bells and whistles that echoed distinctly in the unlikely musical hall.
SXSW also provides a lesson in the art of letting go. With so many bands on the festival roster, even in such a relatively dense setting, it’s impossible to see every one of them. In truth, it would be difficult to see even an eighth of them. The best bet is to pick a must-see show for each night and take it from there, wandering past nearby venues, checking lineups with the doormen, and listening for tip-offs and things that tickle the ear. Either way, the SXSW festivalgoer can rest assure that he or she will hear some good music (especially with a pre-purchased wristband).
I feel like my SXSW experience was a pretty good example of what to expect once you head into the fray. I began the first official night, Wednesday, with a rich, synth-driven set from Ulrich Schnauss at Elysium, before heading to an energetic performance from DFA sweethearts Late of the Pier at a warehouse-sized venue called Zona Rosa on the other side of town, before finally finishing with the crowd-surfing electro-garage of French punkstress Kap Bambino all the way back at Elysium. Somewhere in the interim, I stopped by the communist-themed, punk-friendly Red 7 where San Diego-based band Rafter packed the house with a set combining the antics of Talking Heads with the funky vocoder-infused sound of Chromeo; meanwhile, a bit later down the street at the Red Eyed Fly outdoor stage, Atlanta punk foursome The Coathangers screamed its way through otherwise endearing songs about noisy neighbors and other little things that piss people off. And this was only the first night.
Festival participants who weren’t in town by Wednesday night were generally there by Thursday, as evidenced by increased foot traffic along main thoroughfares like 6th Street, Red River Street, which had been closed off to vehicles, and South Congress (“SoCo”) on the other side of centrally located Ladybird Lake. Thursday night saw buzz bands like Los Angeles punk rockers Mika Miko and experimental electronic duo Telepathe catering to mixed audiences back at Red 7. At Emo’s famous mainstage, eccentric crooner Francis Farewell Starlite of Francis and the Lights hopped, shimmied and scooted in untraditional ways to his soulful, Peter-Gabriel-meets-Prince style vocals. San Francisco outfit Thao with the Get Down Stay Down charmingly beat boxed and strummed away at The Parish a little further deep into the bustling, grilled onion-smelling scene on 6th St. The night ended with some added excitement for those who went to the Beauty Bar backyard for the late Drop the Lime DJ set, after which the pugnacious Brooklynite picked a near-epic fight with the soundman post-set for doing what he felt was a less than adequate job.
In order to escape the rush of visitors, noise chaos and resulting congestion, many locals opted to skip town for the week or head for the hills (i.e. nearby parks like Barton Springs). The obvious exceptions to this trend were the many Austin-based bands performing in the festival. The free Auditorium Shores Stage performance by perennial local favorite Explosions in the Sky appeared at the top of nearly everyone’s must-see list this year as well as The Wooden Birds, the latest project from former American Analog Set leadman and Austinite Andrew Kenny. AmAnSet fans that enjoyed the dreamy acoustic set from Wooden Birds at the Parish on the last day of the festival got a sneak preview of offerings from the band’s upcoming debut album, Magnolia, set to hit stands May 12 on Barsuk Records. Other beloved local bands to grace the stage at “South By,” as the UT students call it, included blues master Gary Clarke Jr., dub-centric experimentalists Grimy Styles, and arbiters of sweet, quirky pop, The Octopus Project (who dined five feet away from “surprise” festival performer Kanye West at Japanese fusion hotspot, Uchi, later in the week).
Music fans and bands alike who decided to break for real food at mealtimes (as opposed to several cans of the locally preferred cheap Lone Star beer) dove headlong into the grease at BBQ joints (like Stubb’s and Iron Works), Tex-Mex eateries (like Guero’s), and Pizzerias (like Home Slice Pizza) – all which, interestingly enough, still acted as venues for the festival. In fact, Metallica played a “secret show” at Stubb’s BBQ, which is equally notable for its tasty ‘que as it is for solid booking. Alternatively, those looking for less grease (or who were coming from nearby famed crate-diggers’ delight, Waterloo Records), stopped at the WholeFoods flagship store to sample from the roasted nut bar, raw food café, or mind boggling supply of other serious local edibles – as well as, yes, more live music. The pervasiveness of loud music coming from various orifices of the city in most areas made earplugs a necessity for even a walk down the middle of the street.
Visitors wanting to let their ears rest – or stop bleeding if they happened to pass within 50 feet of the Metal, BBQ, & Booze day party on Friday in the Red River district – could dip into the Austin Convention Center to check out Flatstock 20, a showcase of some of the finest concert poster art of the last two decades from contemporary artists like Jay Ryan, Mike Budai, Dan Stiles, and Billy Perkins, among hundreds of others. Some artists demonstrated the printing process on the spot by hand-pressing their own commemorative Flatstock posters for curious onlookers to purchase.
By Friday night, classic blues spot Antone’s was the place to be (unless you missed one of the Pains of Being Pure at Heart’s many shows earlier in the week, in which case Emo’s Jr. was the place) to hear tiny singer-songwriter Mirah open for the strange, classically beautiful avant-garde multi-instrumentalist St. Vincent, who played with a full band this time around. Handsome San Francisco-based lo-fi/garage artist Ty Segal, who also usually plays solo shows, took the stage at Red 7 with two members from another band, The Fresh & Onlys the next night. “One-man-bands are super fun, but they get really limiting,” He said. “If stuff starts to go wrong, it’s all on you. This is great because it’s really full and loud and crazy.” Indeed it was. In addition to a lineup of familiar songs that had girls all the way in the back row doing the hippie shake, Segal played a few songs off his forthcoming album, out in June on Goner Records. Even with an exhaustive late set full of throaty screams and stage rolling, Segal planned to spend the last night of the festival checking out other visiting bands – The Sonics, Devo, Mika Miko and Vaseline, to name a few. “Oh, and there’s also this house party later with The Mayors and The Intelligence and The Oh Sees,” he added. Ah, the ubiquitous house party. Once again, there is no venue too great or too small for SXSW – especially not if it continues to expand the way it is.
My friends and I get a vicarious thrill just reading about the range of situations and emotions surrounding everyone else's "Missed Connections" on Craigslist.com. Granted, it's twice as exciting when you're actually (finally) the subject.
I swear it will only be a matter of time before someone makes a movie about this growing cultural phenomenon (and it will probably be a romantic comedy, although I think a documentary would work just fine). Orson's tasting menu was fantastic, by the way.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Just as I began my week-long New Year's detox vegan diet, I received an e-mail from my dad containing only a link to this horrifying video:
Good grief! Meanwhile I'm chopping away at leeks, beets and chard, people in Arizona are consuming Quadruple Bypass burgers in celebration of the likelihood that a greasy diet will lead to a stroke or a heart attack. You only live once, right? Yes, but perhaps not for very long!
I myself like a good cheeseburger, but fortunately greasy food isn't the only way I get my rocks off. This time of year, I truly look forward to roasted root vegetables, poached pears and my mother's hearty leek soup. Today, I used her basic recipe for leek soup to make my own take on another seasonal favorite: borscht. Don't judge! I think that even those who aren't huge fans of beets might like this soup because it balances the hardcore earthiness of the beets with sweetness from the potatoes and savory, garlicky warmth from the leeks. The neon magenta color that comes from the blend of orange sweet potatoes and blood red beets is absolutely stunning -- it's really hard to believe that there isn't any food-coloring involved. Thus, I present:
"Borscht is for Lovers" Soup
1 red beet, scrubbed and quartered
1 sweet potato, peeled and chopped into about 6 chunks
2 leeks, cleaned and chopped into little 1/2-inch shreds (white part only)
1 tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil
about 1 to 2 cups of vegetable stock (8 to 16 oz)
about 1 to 2 cups of unsweetened soy milk
salt, white pepper, and nutmeg to taste
In a medium to big pot, "melt" the leek: coat the shreds with the tablespoon of oil and a pinch of salt and sautee over medium heat until approaching translucent. Don't let them brown! Reserve 1/3 of the melted leeks in a bowl. Add to the pot the quartered beet and sweet potato chunks. Add to the pot enough stock to just cover the lot of it. Cover the pot and allow everything to simmer until both the beets and sweet potato are tender when pierced with a knife. When the tubers are finally soft, add the reserved leek back into the mix (this retains the leek-y flavor -- something my mom taught me). Using a hand blender, puree everything in the pot while still hot. Season the resulting puree with salt, pepper and fresh nutmeg to taste and then thin with soy milk to the desired consistency. Plenty for two!
I used soy milk and olive oil on this recipe only because I'm attempting to go completely animal-free food-wise for the week, but my mom would have certainly cooked the leeks in butter and thinned the puree with, gasp, heavy cream! You only live once, right?
There are now no less than five pages between me and freedom (Whoopeeee!!!).
I'm back with old Foucault, this time joined by his friend Habermas, and we're putting our heads together to come up with something about social rationalization. I'm still trying to figure out what social rationalization is, let alone what I think about it. Needless to say, I'll be burning the midnight oil.
Meanwhile, my computer emergency dialogue box just popped up to let me know that my hard drive, which I labeled "Lulu's Brain," is dangerously full and that I should back up my information. This issue could prove disastrous and yet I can't help but smile at the coincidence. Hopefully my brain has enough room for one more paper...
I'm not sure which one is Foucault in this illustration, but supposedly he is tucked in among these gentlemen.
So, www.youtellconcerts.com is this pretty neat blog run by a couple of LA kids that features fans talking about their favorite bands before or after they see them live. Since one of myfavorite bands (electro-shoegaze Frenchies M83) was playing in in LA at the Henry Fonda Theater while I was home in San Diego for Thanksgiving break, I just had to make the trip up to see them. Leaving the show, these guys approached me for my opinion (in addition to a number of other concert-goers, including British DJ Adam Freeland). Check it out:
Maybe I'll do something similar in San Francisco? Everyone knows we have better music here... ; )
It’s Thanksgiving and I’m sitting on an oversized white couch in my parents’ house, trying in vain to battle the tryptophan overload and get through the final 100 pages of Michel Foucault’s Discipline & Punishment. The day’s dinner guests have already headed home with their tinfoil-wrapped leftovers. My dad is playing loud music in his office with the dog. My mom and sister are in the living room watching the (terrible) movie version of the Sex & the City series. I know I should be doing something similar, but the pulse of my usual obligations is hard to ignore and so I’m here, alone with my studies, as I have often been throughout the better portion of my life.
I told myself – that is, literally noted it on my desk calendar earlier in the semester– that I would not be doing any schoolwork on this particular day. As it turns out, that was easier said than done. As many fellow students will attest, not doing homework during Thanksgiving break is nearly impossible when it falls so close to finals time. Regardless, family and friends have often teased me about the fact that I have a hard time going on vacation. “Don’t work too hard,” my Dad always says, slightly ironically.
For as far back as my memory serves, working hard at school has been my job, my religion and, done well, my joy. I might be criticized as a perfectionist occasionally, but it has been mostly curiosity that drives me to take my studies so seriously. I have consumed the gospels of one teacher after another, culling pieces here and there to add to my own changing doctrine of beliefs. I have pursued new topics, studied countless hours, failed tests, written “A” papers, laughed at the folly of some education and felt frustration in my own occasional stupidity. I have truly fought the good fight where education is concerned.
In theory, this is about to change because my graduation is less than a month away now. I’ve weathered the usual questions about my future for longer than most college seniors because I’ve been a college senior for longer than most college seniors. Having graduated from culinary school before attending USF and then taking an additional semester beyond the traditional four years to wrap things up, I am now about one-and-a-half years older than the usual undergraduate senior (23, if you must know). Occasionally, this fact makes me a bit self-conscious, but I certainly don’t regret the path I’ve chosen. Sometimes I think I would stay longer, but lately I’ve become pretty excited to see what will happen to me once I’m no longer officially a student.
Part of me quietly hopes that my matriculation will reveal some kind of epiphany – a divine revelation – to cap off my long academic struggle. But, exactly what greatness will follow? The hopeful fool in me wants to believe that all the secrets of the universe will be revealed to me the moment I throw my mortarboard up into the air, but the realist in me knows that this is likely far from the truth. Any conversation about the current economy is not likely to raise the recent graduate’s spirits. The reality is that my graduation will probably only raise more questions for me – mostly the same questions I’ve already been asked. What happens next? What will I do with myself? How, now, will I occupy my mind? How will I maintain what’s already there? How will I replace this thing that has provided about 80% of my social life and formed the constant rhythm, the backbone of my schedule?
I cannot yet fear the intellectual, emotional and social absence that awaits me once I step outside the walls of the academic world that has cradled me for so long. It’s still too early to imagine what it will feel like to be free of homework and compulsory essays; I am still working on my final papers and will be right up until I graduate. The weighty questions are therefore still temporarily easy to ignore. Obviously I will “do” something because that’s what humans (especially Americans) are good at. We can be very efficient. But what will I think about? What if not Rousseau and digital literacy and Mandarin Chinese? Thinking about the possibilities, I straddle the line between anxiety and excitement.
Perhaps it will be good to let my mind wander, or rest, as it were. It’s good to let the fields lie fallow every now and then. Hopefully the next crop of ideas will be stronger for it.
I have been working for Performer Magazine, writing profiles and album reviews, for over a year now! I originally applied for their internship and ended up sticking around as a writer instead. Here is the "300-word review of a band I like" that got me into the job:
The Go Find – Stars on the Wall Review by Lulu McAllister
Belgian Indie-pop group The Go Find takes a softer turn in their recent Stars on the Wall. Haunting melodies layered over understated electronics and strumming guitar riffs on the second album seem to delve deeper into the lullaby mentality of the group’s 2005 release, Miami.
Stars on the Wall varies slightly from song to song, contributing country guitar solos in some areas and nursery-ready electronic accents in others but remains generally down-tempo from start to finish. The uncomplicated, melancholy vocals of the songs “Beautiful Night” and “New Year” sound like something Ben Gibbard might have produced in the time between his Postal Service rendezvous and latest offerings with Death Cab for Cutie. “Beautiful Night” remains streamlined, building to a rich harmonic vocal breakdown toward the end of the song. “New Year” ripens when similar background vocals come in like a cannon, weaving together the song’s simple message (“This is the new year I’ve been longing for”). “We Don’t Wanna” moves completely into the acoustic end of things while also throwing in some drums where they were previously omitted. The single, “Dictionary,” maintains simple elements of the first few song but opens up when the drum track doubles up over the catchy repeated main theme. “Ice Cold Ice” builds with a tribal Bjork-esque beat but never really takes off. “OK Kid,” the last track, boils the previous songs down to a string of discreet instrumentals that seem to capture the essence of the album as a whole.
The Go Find have honed their downtempo sound in Stars on the Wall, seeming hesitant to break out of this calmer mindset. (Morr Music)
A year later, I still struggle with interesting substitutes for words like "upbeat" or "beautiful" or "moody" and it's hard to be technically specific when I'm not much of a musician myself (excluding, of course, painful piano lessons in the early years and that awkward 7th grade experiment called the euphonium).
Furthermore, finding that delicate balance between hardcore musicology and abstract description is always a challenge. Is it going too far to inform the reader that a musician is singing in the hexatonic scale or is it better to simply state that the vocals are bluesy? Both would be accurate.
Either way, I keep ploughing my way through various music -- be it jazz, techno, hip-hop or any other genre out of left field. To see some of my other reviews from the past year, click here.
If you've ever heard of mead -- that ancient alcoholic drink -- and thought instantly of syrup and church pews, then you aren't alone (although perhaps I am).
I was intrigued but dubious going into a Slow Food USA workshop on pairing heritage pork (also interesting) with sparkling mead. Lo and behold, despite how much I enjoyed the Ossabaw pork preparations, the Heidrun sparkling mead really stuck with me -- so much, in fact, that I was inspired to purchase some off the Internet following the festival (I'll have you know that, before this transaction, I'd never purchased alcohol online before, so this was kind of a big deal).
The sparkling mead is like all you hope a champagne would be. Given that it is made with honey rather than grapes, it's surprisingly very dry. It's like sipping a really great sparkling wine while smelling artisanal honey.
I got my Club Mead order in the mail yesterday: California orange blossom, avocado blossom and buckwheat blossom sparkling mead. Now what to serve it with? Pork works pretty well, apparently, but what else could I do? I was thinking it might be fun to throw a medieval dinner party. If only WholeFoods offered fresh mutton, I'd be set.
It isn’t exactly health food: waffle or steak fries with cheese – usually mozzarella – and more brown sauce than you would find in a gravy boat at Thanksgiving. In addition to this, the dish comes with even more gravy for dipping – if you can manage to lift one of the soggy fries before it goes flaccid under the weight of the primary sauce and cheese.
Kevin Snow, a weight trainer who has spent all 21 years of his life in the small community of Basking Ridge, New Jersey says the dish makes up “at least your 2,000 calorie limit in one appetizer. If you are trying to maintain any sort of weight or care about the way you look whatsoever, they are the worst possible thing to put in your body.”
This notion doesn’t appear to have hurt the dish’s popularity much over the years. “Disco Fries”, as they are known, have survived prominently in New Jersey for the last couple of decades, after they first made the jump from nearby Quebec.
In Canada, the dish is called poutine. It first popped up on menus around Quebec in the late 1950s as soft cheese curds melted atop fries. Eventually, dark chicken gravy was added to the dish. Now, poutine is a fast food staple there, offered by chains like McDonalds and Burger King on their Canadian menus. By the 1970s the dish made the leap over to the U.S., appearing particularly in New York and New Jersey, initially as an “off-menu” item with slight variations of the original.
Around the same time poutine wandered onto American plates, the kids coming back late from the New York discos had big appetites fired up from a night of drinking and dancing. Diners were, as always, open late and welcomed these hungry patrons in the early hours, serving them the greasiest comfort food on the menu – the messy, salty fat-soaked starch that would come to be known as “disco fries”.
On the Internet there is relatively little authority on “disco fries”, but a definition on Urbandictionary.com describes them simply as “cheese fries with gravy,” with one of the two definitions noting that they are the “perfect end to a night of binge drinking” – a clear nod to the dish’s origins.
The spread of this unhealthy late-night favorite halted and remained isolated to a relatively specific part of the country. Traveling outside of the Mid-Atlantic states, people might raise their eyebrows if you asked for a plate of “disco fries”, but at the Spinning Wheel Diner in East Lebanon, New Jersey, manager Tony Julian smiles and asks, “What kind?” The diner offers the original version as well as other incarnations with various types of cheese. The menu also features a near relative to the disco fries called “pizza fries”, which substitutes gravy for marinara sauce.
Manuel Garcia, one of the fry cooks in back at the Spinning Wheel, is amused by the interest in something that, to him, is as basic as hamburgers and hotdogs. It’s not even halfway through the week and he has already prepared 19 orders of the legendary “disco fries”. Mine will be order number 20.
Garcia tears into a bag of frozen steak fries – the kind that are five inches long and half an inch thick and still have the consistency of a baked potato when you bite into them. He pours these straight into a metal basket and dips them into hot oil, where they remain, sizzling, for three to four minutes.
Garcia doesn’t use a timer; practice has given him an inherent sense of when the fries are perfectly crisped.
When he thinks they are ready, he pulls the basket out by the handle, giving it a few shakes to release any excess oil and then quickly dumps the fries in a shallow metal serving platter.
On top of the fries, Garcia ladles one generous Cup of chicken gravy, made from the pan scrapings of other dishes on the menu.
He distributes three slices of mozzarella cheese evenly on top of the fries and slides the platter under a broiler. After a minute or two, when the cheese has melted and begins to bubble, Garcia removes the platter and checks it to make sure that it has cooked evenly. He notes that patrons request varying levels of color on their melted cheese: some like it turning deep brown, some like it just barely melted. In this case, the dish is somewhere between.
He places the silver platter of cheesy fries on top of another plate and adds a ramekin with more gravy. Sliding the dish under the hot lamps of the service area, he dings a bell to call a waitress, and the “disco fries” embark on the second part of the their short life.
The fries arrive sticking out at random from a pile of gooey cheese.
Within minutes, the dish has dissolved into a jumbled mess of indistinguishable wet starch and semi-hardened cheese; to select individual pieces one must inevitably submerge a finger or two into the muddy pile.
Between figuring out how to deal with the messy factor and finding room in the stomach, finishing a plate of “disco fries” proves challenging.
Eating the dish is a mix of basic comforts: warm starch, gooey cheese, savory drippings; yet, like the disco era that crowned it, the experience of eating these fries is grounded by the creeping guilt that often follows good things in excess. It’s nothing that a root beer float or malted shake can’t fix.
It's July. Your cruisin' with the car windows rolled down, your best friend in the passenger seat (which might be your Labrador, Lucy, if you're me), and nowhere to be for the rest of the day but the beach or someone's birthday BBQ. What else could you possible need? The ultimate summer soundtrack blaring out your shoddy stereo system, that's what!
In keeping with this, I present to you a list of summer 2008 albums for your consideration and, I hope, enjoyment:
M83 -- Saturdays=Youth
Ultimate Summer Track: "We Own the Sky". Hands down. This song is brimming with airy, multi-layered synths, wide-eyed innocence, romance and a little bit of mystery all against an uncomplicated drum machine. It's like coming of age in five minutes.
Cut Copy -- In Ghost Colours
Ultimate Summer Track: Pretty much everything on here. This is one of those albums that's solid from start to finish. That said, I literally look for someone to high five whenever I hear "Hearts on Fire".
MGMT -- Oracular Spectacular
Ultimate Summer Track: I might be tempted to say "Time to Pretend" because of how much the beginning of the song makes me think of fireflies; however, the nod goes to "Electric Feel," which has a groovy, summer of love kind of thing going on that I... well, let's just say I dig it.
Does It Offend You, Yeah? -- You Have No Idea What You Are Getting Yourself Into
Ultimate Summer Track: "Let's Make Out". Needless to say, making out is great for summer. I can't emphasize enough how much I dislike the band's name, but I digress. The album is like a solid pass through Blood Brothers and Death from Above 1979 and, alternately, The Killers and The Bravery (their older, better work).
The Presets -- Apocalypso
Ultimate Summer Track: "Anywhere". Didn't make it to Ibiza this summer? No prob. Just pop in this track and you're halfway there -- with some of Australia's finest gentlemen of electronica, no less.
Crystal Castles -- Crystal Castles
Ultimate Summer Track: "Courtship Dating" is space pop with unintelligible lyrics and some well-placed screaming -- it roolz!
I am currently hosting two guests, Russell Bentley and the lovely Sky Madden.
We went downtown to watch the fireworks right next to the S.S. Midway and got stuck in traffic for the next couple of hours following the demonstration. Still not sure if it was worth it.
Here are the things on my plate at the moment:
I am currently helping the Rancho Santa Fe Historical Society put together a cookbook featuring historical recipes, contemporary submissions from current residents and famous recipes from local businesses. I'm hoping to get Chino's Farm, The Inn, Delicious, Thyme in the Ranch, and Milles Fleures on board as well. I'm also helping the society renovate their website and begin a blog to update their members. We'll see how that goes.
When I'm not spending time with Russell and Sky (and Miss Lucille), I'm working on my summer Arts Reporting directed study. I've read some submissions from MFK Fisher and Alex Kapranos' collection of food memoires from his tour with Franz Ferdinand called Sound Bites. Next I will read "Vibration Cooking or the Travel Notes of a Geechee Girl" by Vertamae Grosvenor in order to write an essay comparing the three as well as my own food memoire. Where to begin? I have so many great memories that involve food.
I'm also working on an essay about the importance of lyrics. Namely, do they matter in music? If so, under what circumstances do they matter? The Professor of Pop (who is currently away from the internet for a month or so to write about Zep) is overseeing this one. Feel free to give me your thoughts on lyrics. I've gotten a mixed bag of answers so far.
This summer I am taking a directed study course on arts reporting with assignments from Professor Teresa Moore and the Professor of Pop, Andrew Goodwin.
One of my first assignments was a food comparison exercise. I was to select and compare nine different types of salad greens, focusing on aspects like softness/crunchiness and sweetness/bitterness, among others. Here is what I found:
Heirloom Freckles Romaine Lettuce (from my own garden) Freckles romaine lettuce -- an heirloom variety -- is oval, narrowing at the base of the stem. The leaves are smooth, slightly waxy and very thin, tearing easily. Their color is striking – pale green with blood-red freckles and a light pink stem. They taste grassy and nutty with a sweet finish.
Frissée
Frissée has thin pale-yellow branch-like stems off a thicker main stem. The jagged, narrow chartreuse green leaves on these branches curl around each other, adding to the tangle of aggressively bitter greens. The leaves are soft, but the stem is crunchy and rigid – this unusual structure makes it somewhat difficult to eat.
Iceberg
Iceberg lettuce has waxy, concave round leaves with a ragged edge. These leaves hug closely to one another, the foremost leaves conforming to the layers beneath it. Iceberg is pale green at the base and lime green around the edges of the leaves. The top of each leaf is soft and floppy and partially crunchy like Styrofoam towards the base. It is watery and sweet with a grassy finish.
Spinach
Spinach’s fibrous, dimpled leaves are lobed, almost spade-shaped at times and grow a single leaf to each stem. They are medium green, dull and soft with fine veins. The stems are long, thin and crunchy. Spinach is nutty and slightly salty with a metallic finish. The stem has a greater concentration of this flavor. The smaller leaves seem to be bitterer.
Romaine Lettuce
Romaine is large, compared to other salad greens, with a round tip that becomes jagged on the edges near the base. It is leathery and slightly ruffled with many veins and a big stalk-like pale green stem. The leaves are a medium green with a mild flavor and only a hint of bitterness in the stalk. The leaves are soft relative to the crunchy stem.
Radicchio
Radicchio is soft and flexible at the edge of the leaf with a stiff, crunchy stem. It has a waxy texture, similar to iceberg lettuce – rounded into a concave “bowl” with many ripples and folds. Radicchio is predominantly a saturated magenta with contrasting white veins and stem. Its taste is equally sweet and bitter.
Arugula (from my garden)
Arugula has a thin, crunchy stem and soft, flat lobed leaves that increase in size up the stem and end with a round lobe at the top. These leaves are grass green with thin magenta veins and rimmed with the same bright pink color along the edge. Arugula is not overly toothsome, but it is fibrous like spinach. The taste of arugula is nutty and salty initially, followed immediately by intense bitterness and a peppery punch that moves in quickly and recedes slowly from the tongue. The flowers are also edible with a similar taste.
Red Mustard Greens
Mustard Greens are thin and feathery, like a quill, with a pointy leaf and edges that poke out like flattened green fused thorns. The leaves are flat towards the tip and slightly curly where jagged along the edge. The stem is crunchy with tiny prickly hairs that disappear towards the base of the leaf. Most leaves are a medium green with a yellow tone; however, some have a deep pink stem, much like radicchio, while some stems are predominantly yellow with a hint of pink. The flavor of mustard greens is intensely bitter (the magenta-stemmed ones appear to be more bitter than their yellow-stemmed counterparts), then nutty with an acrid finish.
Belgian endive
Belgian Endive’s leaves are very pale – almost white – yellow with light fuzz (like one finds on a peach). This fuzz is denser on the top of each leaf. The edge of the leaf is soft and tears easily. The stem is thick and crunchy and blends into the thin leafy portion. The leaves fit tightly together like shingles to form a dense core and when pulled apart resemble hollowed out rabbits’ feet. Belgian endive is slightly bitter, although less so than frissée.
These are just a few of the many varieties of lettuce out there. Next on my agenda is to make three recipes using some of these greens. Stay tuned for that.
This blog is about me, my friends, my family, my teachers, my enemies, my pitfalls, my curiosities, my findings, my hopes, my fears. It's about all the funny little things I encounter in the places I visit and the lessons I learn along the way.
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