White Bread on the World Stage

I'm part of a dining group that has potlucks around a theme. I've written about some of those dinners in this blog. The next dinner's theme is German. I have in my head a notion about German food, so I was delighted when the host wanted to sample German culinary culture around the world - including Pennsylvania and East Texas.

My own family has German roots. My Stepmom's father was born in Germany. Until I started thinking about this meal theme, I didn't think that German had too much to do with the way I ate as a child and growing up. I'm changing my mind. My grandfather was a farmer in and Colorado. He always had a large garden and a root cellar. My grandmother raised chickens. I'm pretty sure they raised some pigs, too. Grandpa liked his sauerkraut. Grandma sometimes made him spaetzle, but more often chicken soup with biscuit dumplings.

I think underneath the food I grew up with was this Germanic theme that emphasized meat, root vegetables, and garden vegetables. We often baked our own bread and desserts. We rarely purchased prepared foods or ate out very much. The food was hearty and perhaps heavy, and often overdone.

So along comes this German-themed dinner. I decided to pick a place that was not Germany, but German-influenced. I also wanted to prepare a homey dish. I settled on a dish from the Alto-Adige region in Italy, Speck Knödel. It's a bread dumpling (as opposed to a biscuit dough or noodle dumpling) that uses Speck, a cured and smoked bacon imported from Alto-Adige.

Speck is hard to find in the greater Washington, DC area. I finally procured a (large) quantity from Antico Mercante in Atlanta, Georgia. It's a slab of bacon, and it has a subtle, smoked taste to it. I've been eating too much of it. It makes the Speck Knödel into a wonderful dish.

Of course, I get to experiment on Ron. I made this dish this weekend, and it tasted really good. I've had bread dumplings before, and they are often heavy. These were not. My Mother made a bread dressing and stuffing when I was growing up, and these dumplings taste a lot like that dressing. I think it's interesting how the form of food changes as it moves from place to place. Do noodles become spaetzle, then bread dumplings, and finally dressing? Maybe not, except that there remains a commonality of taste and ingredients. It's been a lot of fun exploring some (perhaps stretched) cultural culinary connections.

An Important Part of Cooking

An important part of cooking is creating the smell. Try this: heat the oven to 400°F. Take some chicken giblets, and maybe the wing tips, and place them with a little oil and butter in a small iron skillet. Sprinkle them with salt, a grind of pepper, and two large pinches of thyme. Set the skillet in the oven for fifteen minutes. In the meantime, chop half an onion, a small carrot, and a stalk of celery. Add to the chicken giblets, and continue cooking for another 15 minutes or so.

Take a sniff. The smell is herby from the thyme. The onions are fragrant, and you can smell the sweetness of the carrot and the fresh whiff of the celery. The aroma hits my nose when I open the oven door.

Quickly, my chicken stock takes shape as I dump the skillet contents in a saucepan, and add some water, a bay leaf, some cloves, and allspice. As the stock bubbles, the wonderful smells continue, and my home smells lived in and loved. The joy of onions, carrots, and a chicken neck transform a cool autumn day into an abundant scent of memories.

Dinner and All That (Explained to the Uninitiated)

Ron pointed out to me that I tend to gloss over details in my blog entries. So I thought I'd try to explain better what I mean in my annotated version of yesterday's entry.

Sometimes, dinner is just what dinner is. You can't explain it. It just happens. Well, actually you can explain it, but I put in those two sentences for dramatic affect. And dinner doesn't "just" happen, it takes a fair amount of work, if not planning. The less planning the more chopping, paring, and drinking spirited beverages. I know this from personal experience.I like the word melange*. I'm not quite sure what it means (I really do know what it means, because I looked it up before I published this blog post), but I think it explains tonight's dinner perfectly (It didn't, but that's the subject of another blog post).

Ron had prepared a list of dining possibilities inside our kitchen. I kid you not! He withdrew a list from his shirt pocket. I was totally amazed! They included green salad; warmed over veggie stew (more about that later*); watermelon, beet, and tomato salad; potatoes; roasted cauliflower; corn on the cob; and beet greens. He said we didn't need to fix all of it(!), but these were the options. He was going to pass on the veggie stew, but everything else was in play, if I wanted it.

Okay, here's the lowdown on those asterisks and the veggie stew. I'm not sure that I literally "like" the word "melange," but it fits in well with my narrative style, at least I think so, and I'm writing this blog. If you can come up with a better word, please comment on this post. Oh, and about the veggie stew, it was another chili debacle. I accidentally put too much heat in it, like two ancho chilies and a fair amount of chipotle chili powder, plus some significant amount of cayenne pepper, and many grinds of black pepper. Honestly, it did not taste too hot for me, but when Ron started sweating profusely, I kind of figured maybe I could have used a lighter touch. Bless his heart, he did not complain until after eating at least three spoonfuls, and then he ate the rest of the bowl with a manly determination. You have to love this guy!

Ron's keen on corn, almost like he was born in Kansas Do Tel Aviv natives eat corn on the cob? or something. I really wanted some fried potatoes (it's a well-known fact that fried potatoes contain significant amounts of essential vitamins and minerals, especially if they are Idaho potatoes). The veggie stew had so much chili in it, that I figured the fried potatoes would cut a little of the heat, and my heartburn wouldn't kill me when I went to bed. I did have heartburn, and it did affect me when I went to bed, but I consider that as a minor penance for subjecting Ron to the veggie stew earlier. Besides, it really tasted wonderful, smoky and hot. I was a go on the beet and watermelon salad, and the beet greens. Operation Melange Dinner* was about to get underway.

*I started using nomenclature like this after Operation Iraqi Freedom. I figured if Dick Cheney could co-opt a perfectly useful word and turn it into a militaristic slogan of American Imperialism, I could do the same when referring to certain culinary operations in my own kitchen. Besides, I'm quite sure that Dick and Lynne must love chili because they are from Wyoming, and Wyoming is famous for buffalo chili. The Cheney's would probably think that my vegetable chili was a little effete, and if the shoe fits, wear it.

I figured Ron could eat the corn, and I would eat the veggie stew. I peeled the potatoes; he finished prepping the watermelon, beet, and tomato salad*, husked the corn on the cob, and washed the beet greens. *Did you do a double take when you read watermelon, beets, and tomatoes? I did, too. But I have learned that Ron's recipes, while exotic, are more than worth the experiment. The salad was very good, with watermelon sweetness and crunch, and the subtle flavor of the beets, plus their texture. This dish deserves a repeat on the dinner table. I got the potatoes frying about the time the beet greens were cleaned. Then all we had to do was to wait on the potatoes, warm up the veggie stew, and zap the corn on the cob.

And we did all that, got it on the table, and had an absolutely wonderful meal. He loved his corn, and the potatoes did cut the chili burn on the veggies. We had this colorful, delightful, and fresh meal that was tasty, and didn't have any cholesterol, corn syrup, BHA, or BHT. Nothing came from a box. Most of it came from the CSA farm in Pennsylvania. The food was good, and the company unsurpassed. I enjoy these cooking adventures with Ron, and appreciate his skill, talents, and inquisitiveness in the kitchen. I'm happy he cooks for me! Real food for real homosexuals.

Dinner and All That

Sometimes, dinner is just what dinner is. You can't explain it. It just happens. I like the word melange. I'm not quite sure what it means, but I think it explains tonight's dinner perfectly.

Ron had prepared a list of dining possibilities inside our kitchen. They included green salad; warmed over veggie stew (more about that later); watermelon, beet, and tomato salad; potatoes; roasted cauliflower; corn on the cob; and beet greens. He said we didn't need to fix all of it(!), but these were the options. He was going to pass on the veggie stew, but everything else was in play, if I wanted it.

Ron's keen on corn, almost like he was born in Kansas or something. I really wanted some fried potatoes. The veggie stew had so much chili in it, that I figured the fried potatoes would cut a little of the heat, and my heartburn wouldn't kill me when I went to bed. I was a go on the beet and watermelon salad, and the beet greens. Operation Melange Dinner was about to get underway.

I figured Ron could eat the corn, and I would eat the veggie stew. I peeled the potatoes; he finished prepping the watermelon, beet, and tomato salad, husked the corn on the cob, and washed the beet greens. I got the potatoes frying about the time the beet greens were cleaned. Then all we had to do was to wait on the potatoes, warm up the veggie stew, and zap the corn on the cob.

And we did all that, got it on the table, and had an absolutely wonderful meal. He loved his corn, and the potatoes did cut the chili burn on the veggies. We had this colorful, delightful, and fresh meal that was tasty, and didn't have any cholesterol, corn syrup, BHA, or BHT. Nothing came from a box. Most of it came from the CSA farm in Pennsylvania. Real food for real homosexuals.

Wedding Bells, Revisited

I think that Ron and I have trouble committing. It's really weird, when confronted with the reality of marriage, it's hard to say, "Okay, let's do it." Part of it is reluctance to accept an institution that has been, in the past, hostile to our interests and to our understanding of the relationship and friendship that we share. Part of it is, simply, marriage sounds so permanent. Are we really going to be together for the rest of our lives? Well, of course we are!

I came home last night, and Ron was entertaining a delightful visitor. Ron was radiant, happy, alive with the excitement of the moment, and it melted my heart. I was grateful and happy for the joy manifest; I was deeply touched. Well, the three of us sat up and talked until 1:30 a.m. I hope that Michael has more energy this morning than I do.

Ron took Michael home, and when he came to bed and crawled under the covers, I told him how happy I was for him and for us. He is so profoundly a part of my life. I love him with all my being. I told him that I wasn't going to call him my partner anymore; he's my husband, that man who is my other half, the man who cherishes me more than anyone else, and the man who has captured my heart. He takes care of me as I take care of him. He's my husband, whether those wedding bells ring, or not.

Are There Wedding Bells in My Future?

Let me state right off that I feel ambivalent about the subject of same-sex marriage in general, but maybe not about my same-sex marriage in particular. I think that anybody who wants to get married should be able to get married. Deep down inside, I'm pretty sure I want to get married. I'm not convinced that marriage is the gay issue, but it has come down to that ever since the Massachusetts court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage.

So where does this find me and Ron? I was talking with a friend last night, and he and his partner have decided to get married. Like us, they live in Maryland. They will go to the District in a few days and get their license. Soon after, they'll tie the knot. Two square dancers that I know, also from Maryland, danced down the aisle together last week. The reason for all this activity is that Maryland Attorney-General Douglas Gansler has ruled that Maryland will recognize out-of-state same-sex marriages.

The square dancers married for love. My other friends married for the benefits that Maryland offers married couples. Perhaps Ron and I should get married for the showers. After 27 years, lots of stuff begins to wear out, and nothing matches anymore. Is that a good enough reason to get married?

For all practical purposes, Ron and I have tied all the legal knots that we can to make sure that we remain together and that our wishes our followed in times of illness or death. Admittedly, marriage would make much simpler (and considerably less expensive) what we have done with trusts, will, and powers of attorney (and several thousand dollars). And marriage would add a guarantee about our intentions that all of our legal work can't, because under the eyes of the law, in spite of everything we have done, we are still regarded as two unrelated adult men who live at the same address.

Should we get married? Will you search out our bridal registry? Should I wear white?

For the Record

I'm pleased to announce that the clutter in the office is gone. Stay tuned for pictures.

A Little Resolve Around Here

Here's a preliminary list.

1. Okay, I intend to write in this blog more often. That is a threat!
2. I'm going to be slimmer in 2010. The love handles will still be there, just a tiny bit harder to grab onto.
3. I'm going to review C-1 square dance calls at least once a week. Tim will keep me honest.
4. I'm going to be as heartless about clutter as Ron is (I'm trembling, already).
5. I'm going to crack my Portuguese phrasebook.
6. I'm going less for sex and more for camaraderie this year (present blog readers excluded).
7. I'm going to get back to my civic software project.
8. I'm going to write at least one poem a month.
9. I'm going to write at least one short story, and share with my readers (both of you).
10. I'm going to visit the Smithsonian at least six times this coming year.

None of these are earth shattering, but are some little things I really want to do, which should improve the quality of my interior planet considerably. As I lay in bed this morning, reveling in this New Year, I felt so grateful and happy, so alive to this arbitrary moment of made up possibilities. It was a perfect morning for a new year.

Love Handle Example

The Office

Okay, The Office is about the personal miserable lives of employees at a paper company. I have a different tale. It's also about a lame life (mine), and although it doesn't take place at a paper company, paper plays a big role in the misery.

I finally got tired of the mess. Ron asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I told him a visit from Clutterbusters. It didn't come to pass. Instead, he offered to help me clean up the office, so he and I have been tackling it, pile by pile for the past week. Progress has been slow but steady. Here are the BEFORE pics.

The mess has been growing since 1994, the last documented archaelogical dig that took place at this location. Lots of dust has accumulated, and some organic compounds have broken down over the years. Lots of computer technology crap has accreted over the years, much to my hidden shame.

Ron took on as his special project to tidy up the bookcase. The bookcase had turned into another lateral storage and retrieval area. Unfortunately, it was becoming a lot easier to store than to retrieve. I became quite frustrated with the office, and really haven't used it for a couple of years, and I was angry with myself for wasting valuable space in my home with an ugly mess.

We're not done yet, and we'll be sorting crap for a while, and storing "stuff" for a flea market sometime in the spring. But we are making tangible progress. Here is what that looks like so far:

The corner consisted of boxes of papers that I had not looked at for fifteen years. I threw out the papers and saved the photos, because a picture is worth a thousand words, or something like that.

This corner contained records of a group that no longer exists. I shredded hundreds of address and lists, and threw out all the paper, flyers, announcements, and detritus that collects in an office when you are its co-chair. It's gone!

So far, we've removed sixteen grocery sacks full of paper wasted and six garbage bags of computer disks, drag, radical faerie costuming, plastic bags, and evidence of a life that needed some organizing skills.

We aren't done yet, but we're making progress!

The Elf Man Cometh

T'is the woolly season of fashion gone awry, and mysterious men ending up in the living room under bad lighting conditions. Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la! la! la! So much for gay apparel.

Santa's Little Lost Elf....

Thanksgiving: Revised

Wow, I had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend, thanks to my friends and family, some great cooks, stunning conversationalists, and unintended irony from foreign nationals. For what could I lack? Of course, it was a wonderful holiday!

I had some misgivings about my vegetarian cornbread dressing, but when it came out of the oven, I knew it was a winner: too bad I didn't write down the recipe. Cornbread dressing is, perhaps, my favorite seasonal affective disorder medicine. It also cures rabies and erectile dysfunction, honestly, it does. It's the perfect accompaniment to anything on the holiday table, including very dry gin martinis.

Ron made some Road Kill Cabbage (okay, Rodkaal), a Danish delight that will undoubtedly grace our table in the future. Ron has a remarkable touch when it comes to cabbage; he's quite a Brassica oleracea Linne chef. The great thing about cabbage is its anti-inflammatory properties, as well as a source of vitamin C and Riboflavin. That's why I eat cabbage. I'm thankful for cabbage.

Most importantly, I'm thankful for my friends. We shared Thanksgiving, and the day after with friends, and had a wonderful time, talking and eating - two activities that complement each other. I love to eat. I love to greet, and I love Thanksgiving.

Twenty-five Years

Yesterday marked twenty-five years that Ron and I have known each other. We think of it as our anniversary, although we have a different set of milestones, perhaps, than other couples. We met in one of the apartment houses on Cleveland Ave, NW in Washington, DC, in front of the elevator on our way to a potluck dinner. Ron was facilitator for a group called Washington Area Gay and Lesbian Scientists. The group was having its monthly potluck. He was looking for a scientist, and I was looking for one, too. I guess it was fate.

I impressed him that first meeting. I think he liked the way I smoked my cigarettes. Or maybe it was the hayseed on my lapel. I'm not sure which. At any rate, when the potluck broke up, Ron, in his best facilitating way, was going around thanking the guys for coming. When he got to me, I asked him if he liked to dance, and he said yes. I asked him if he'd like to go out, and he said, "When?" I said, "Right now." He agreed, and we went to the Fraternity House on our first date. It really was a date; we didn't have sex until the following week, so maybe we should celebrate our twenty-fifth next week.

Or maybe we should celebrate our twenty-fifth next year on June 1, the date we moved in together, or maybe a couple of weeks earlier when we signed our living together agreement. Gay couples have a difficult time figuring out exactly when and what to commemorate, so we've stuck with the initial meeting - a night at a gay bar discovering that we had absolutely nothing in common, and deciding over the next several months, that that was quite enough with which to fashion a relationship.

Early in 1984, Ron was notified that his apartment building in Arlington, VA was being converted to a condominium. He didn't particularly want to own a place, so he proposed that we live together. I told him that if we did, we needed a living together agreement, and he was amenable to that. I read what I could about such documents, and had some difficulty with it, because I didn't know how permanent we wanted to make it. After all, we didn't know any couples that had been together for a long time, so we set our time horizon for five years, figuring that it probably wouldn't last that long, but what the heck.

When we moved in together in 1984, we stayed in that apartment in Silver Spring for five years and a month. Because of circumstances in the apartment building, we decided that we had to move, and did so in July 1989. At that point, we decided that we could extend our relationship horizon to ten or fifteen years, and bought a townhouse in Wheaton. Well, it's been downhill ever since, and now it's been twenty-five years, and it doesn't seem like that at all. I clearly remember our fifteenth anniversary celebration. We certainly talked about something for twenty five, but that will probably have to wait for fifty. Time is whizzing by at about the same pace that my nose and ear hairs are growing.

As time has gone by, we've taken opportunities to protect legally our relationship. It's difficult, time-consuming, and expensive to do. At this point, I think we're in it for the duration of our natural lives. And I'm just fine with that. I love Ron dearly and am deeply grateful that we have a life together.

Movie Reviews

Into the Wild is the story of a driven, emotionally immature college graduate who is seeking to expiate the sins of his parents in an ill-fated Alaskan adventure. Emile Hirsch plays the character, Chris McCandless, a lost soul on the road looking for something, creating a myth.

I liked this movie. It's a raw film that captures the arrogance, innocence, and tragic inexperience of youth. Chris's hubris is not letting go of a poisonous past, while fleeing the people who really love him. Chris has a dream, a quest that seduces him. Part of growing older is gaining the experience to know that we don't have to live our dreams. We can be less than our dreams - a discovery Chris makes too late.

Hal Holbrook plays the character, Ron Franz, an old retired army guy who is living a reclusive, fearful life. Chris happens into Ron's life and changes it. Holbrook's performance is masterful and poignant, and is the humane, loving heart of the movie.

Orgazmo (1997) is a sophomoric farce starring Trey Parker as Joe Young, a Mormon missionary cum inconvenient porn star, and Dian Bachar as Ben Chapleski. Through various plot twists, Joe ends up starring in a porn flick as Orgazmo, a sexual superhero with Ben playing Choda Boy, his heroic sidekick.

The plot is contrived, the performances are over the top, this is a good film to watch with beer and popcorn. I really liked this film. It manages to skewer the Mormons, Hollywood, and pornography in one convenient DVD.

Its portrayals should not be mistaken as literary truths. The film takes a lot of license with the facts (e.g. conflating Catholic iconography with Mormon practice), but gets at some deeper truths about the nature of belief, desire, and fame. I want Choda Boy's helmet. I loved the costumes, and I'd really like to try out for the part of "Stunt Cock." P.S. This film is rated NC-17 and is offensive to just about any audience.

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You Can Go Home Again, and Again...

You can go home again. But it's not the same home you left. As I get older, everything around me gets older, too. I've known this objectively, but my visits home make the point, tellingly.

Moscow is growing like mad with new houses, but the population stays pretty much the same (those households get smaller as the square footage gets larger). The Methodist Church Annex looks so dated now, sleepily seedy, and I remember it snazzy and shiny back in 1960 or so.

The University Library has a new front. The Classroom Center has been rebuilt. Downtown Moscow has some of the shops I knew as a kid, but many new restaurants and boutiques, a gym or two.

It's the same as I remember in 1974, only very different, recognizably the same and different. Progress decays to new progress. Shiny becomes dull, becomes burnished, becomes a whisper of something past and a harbinger of new progress and decay. Nothing ever stands still. Why am I puzzled?

Windows

Installing the Kitchen Window

Ron is busy in the kitchen washing windows - new windows. Today, a crew came out and installed new vinyl windows with argon, or whatever. It's kind of weird looking out of an empty window frame. One window wasn't installed, because the manufacturing company made the window too large, but everything else was installed. In the meantime, Ron is meticulously cleaning every shiny surface (while I'm writing this blog entry).

The crew had a few challenges. The window frame for the kitchen bay window wasn't quite plumb, so they had to shim it, and add some extra insulation (styrofoam) around it. It ended up okay. In the dining room, the window simply didn't fit. They reinstalled the old window (upside down!) and promised to be back with a new window in about two weeks.

(I'm not complaining about the dining room window. For the next couple of weeks, it's a conversation piece. It's also inside out. It looks okay, until you look closely at it. You don't know quite what's wrong.... Then, hmmm, this must be an alternate universe.)

So the home improvements continue.

Fixing up the House

Back in June, I saw my neighbor painting the trim on the front of his house. So I got a wild hair to get all the house projects out of the way that had been accumulating since 1989. This included painting the front door trim, repointing the steps, and hiring a home inspector to identify other things that needed to get fixed.

In July, I joined Angie's List. This is a great resource. It's a consumer-driven comment site that rates contractors for different kinds of home services. The front steps were in terrible shape, so I looked up masonry contractors, called a highly-rated one, and within a day had my estimate. The steps were fixed the following week.

Well, one thing lead to another. By now, windows and a back door are on order, and the roof has been replaced. Oh, and I had some concrete work done on the patio. The only flaw in my plan is that if the place gets fixed up too nicely, I won't want to leave it after retirement.