Thursday, March 11, 2010
Daniel Gundlach is a countertenor resident in New York City. Today he posted a link to this delightful and highly honored (Cannes Advertising Film Festival Grand Prix) 1992 European commercial.
*******
This recipe for Moussaka originated in Claudia Roden's The New Book of Middle Eastern Food. It's one of the loveliest cookbooks I've seen thanks to beautiful full color food photography throughout. The name is something of a misnomer as her recipes originate from cuisines found a big arc around the Mediterranean from Morocco across North Africa to Egypt, north through the Levant, then east to Iraq and Iran, and north to Turkey and Greece.
Much as I admire certain books or recipes, I always do some adaptation to my own personal taste. Frequently that means reducing fat content and adjusting spice content, as here with the addition of the Moroccan spice mix Ras el-hanout and substitution of ground turkey for beef or lamb--with no sacrifice of flavor.
Moussaka
2 onions chopped or thinly sliced
Olive oil
1-1/2 pounds ground turkey
2 tsp cinnamon
1 Tbs Ras el-hanout or other Moroccan spice mix
5 large tomatoes, chopped
eggplants, 1-1/2 lbs total, unpeeled, cut crosswise in 1/3 inch slices
Options--1/2 cup chopped flat leaf parsley; 1/2 teaspoon chili-pepper flakes
Brush the eggplant slices with olive oil both sides, broil or grill until lightly browned, and line the bottom of a 10x14 inch baking dish with 1/2 of them.
Saute the onions in olive oil until golden, add the turkey and break up with a spatula, stirring until browned. Add spices, salt and pepper to taste, tomatoes and cook until the liquid has almost all gone off. Add the parsley if using, then mix and spread on top of the eggplant in the baking dish. Cover with the remaining eggplant. Keep warm.
Make a bechamel sauce:
Melt 4 Tbs. butter or margarine in a pan, whisk in 4 Tbs. flour gradually until blended. Gradually add 2-1/2 cups hot milk, stirring vigorously to prevent lumps forming (a whisk works very well) and heat until just boiling. Lower the flame and simmer until sauce thickens. Add salt, pepper and 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg. Beat two eggs lightly in a bowl. Add a bit of the sauce to warm the eggs, then pour them into the sauce pan, beating vigorously (a whisk works very well here). Turn heat off and immediately stir in 1/2 to 2/3 cup grated very sharp cheddar, stirring until the cheese is melted. Pour the sauce over the moussaka and bake at 400 degrees about 45 minutes or until browned a rich gold color.
*******
This recipe for Moussaka originated in Claudia Roden's The New Book of Middle Eastern Food. It's one of the loveliest cookbooks I've seen thanks to beautiful full color food photography throughout. The name is something of a misnomer as her recipes originate from cuisines found a big arc around the Mediterranean from Morocco across North Africa to Egypt, north through the Levant, then east to Iraq and Iran, and north to Turkey and Greece.
Much as I admire certain books or recipes, I always do some adaptation to my own personal taste. Frequently that means reducing fat content and adjusting spice content, as here with the addition of the Moroccan spice mix Ras el-hanout and substitution of ground turkey for beef or lamb--with no sacrifice of flavor.
Moussaka
2 onions chopped or thinly sliced
Olive oil
1-1/2 pounds ground turkey
2 tsp cinnamon
1 Tbs Ras el-hanout or other Moroccan spice mix
5 large tomatoes, chopped
eggplants, 1-1/2 lbs total, unpeeled, cut crosswise in 1/3 inch slices
Options--1/2 cup chopped flat leaf parsley; 1/2 teaspoon chili-pepper flakes
Brush the eggplant slices with olive oil both sides, broil or grill until lightly browned, and line the bottom of a 10x14 inch baking dish with 1/2 of them.
Saute the onions in olive oil until golden, add the turkey and break up with a spatula, stirring until browned. Add spices, salt and pepper to taste, tomatoes and cook until the liquid has almost all gone off. Add the parsley if using, then mix and spread on top of the eggplant in the baking dish. Cover with the remaining eggplant. Keep warm.
Make a bechamel sauce:
Melt 4 Tbs. butter or margarine in a pan, whisk in 4 Tbs. flour gradually until blended. Gradually add 2-1/2 cups hot milk, stirring vigorously to prevent lumps forming (a whisk works very well) and heat until just boiling. Lower the flame and simmer until sauce thickens. Add salt, pepper and 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg. Beat two eggs lightly in a bowl. Add a bit of the sauce to warm the eggs, then pour them into the sauce pan, beating vigorously (a whisk works very well here). Turn heat off and immediately stir in 1/2 to 2/3 cup grated very sharp cheddar, stirring until the cheese is melted. Pour the sauce over the moussaka and bake at 400 degrees about 45 minutes or until browned a rich gold color.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
What American accent do you really have?
Your Result: Northeastern
Your accent is basically what people speak with around the Tri-State area (New York City, north Jersey, Connecticut) and Rhode Island. If New York City is the greatest city in the world, it's not too much of a stretch to say you have the greatest accent in the world!
Result Breakdown:
100% Northeastern
88% Mid-Atlantic
83% Northern
65% Midland
62% Northeast New England
57% Southern
38% North Central
38% Western
Quiz URL: http://www.gotoquiz.com/what_american_accent_do_you_really_have?
Well, they got it right -- I was raised first on West 72nd Street between Broadway and West End Avenue in New York City until I was four and a half years old, and then in Rego Park, Queens. When I got to College in Boston, the locals said the only trace I had of a New York accent was that I said SCALLops instead of SCOLLops. I suspect they thought with a Noo Yawk accent I'd be saying things like, "Hey, howya doon?"
*******
Recent event in Great Britain, courtesy of BBC America: Prime Minister Gordon Brown who is fighting for his political life right now, and who is also being pommeled in the government's investigation of how the UK got suckered into the Iraq War, took time out to do something that, sadly, isn't possible here in the U.S. -- at least not yet:
British Prime Minister Gordon Brown thanked his nation's openly serving gay soldiers in a ceremony celebrating the contributions of LGBT people to Britain.
Brown told guests at 10 Downing Street, including a number of gay servicemembers, that there was a “debt of gratitude we can never fully repay”. He said that the pride they felt was “nothing compared to the pride we feel in them”. Mr Brown cited the current struggle in the US to repeal Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, which bans gays and lesbians from serving openly in the military, saying he knew debate on the issue continued. In 2009, for the first LGBT reception at Downing Street, Mr Brown said that the ban on gay marriage in California was “unacceptable”.
This year marks the tenth anniversary of the British military allowing out gay soldiers. Mr Brown said: “I promise you that no one need walk the road to equality alone again.” He also listed the achievements made for gay equality in the last ten years, such as gay adoption and fertility rights for lesbians, saying people had warned these things could not be done.
*******
"It's movie line week here on Facebook. Copy and paste this to your status and in the comment box write your favorite line from a movie and see how many of your friends know the line and from which movie it came."
I don't always get in on these things, and this is one I let slip right by me. So here it is on the blog. I actually have a couple of favorite lines, but here's the one I'd like you to guess:
"Yonda lies da castle of my fadda."
There's a small catch in that I have heard this line and its delivery attributed to three different movie titles.
I'm also partial to "O, Moses, Moses!" from The Ten Commandments. Just about every character in the movie gets to say this line at least once, each in a distinct tone depending on his or her current relationship to Moses. Fun trash, best savored several glasses of wine to the wind, and in the company of smart-ass friends.
*******
The latest picture of the granddaughter, two teeth showing. Reports are that she spent all of last week working on moving each leg in a certain way, then adding arms -- and suddenly she was pushing herself up into a sitting position all by herself.
My daughter and son in law are going to really be in for it within the next two months, because when this little one gets up on her feet finally, she's going places!
Your Result: Northeastern
Your accent is basically what people speak with around the Tri-State area (New York City, north Jersey, Connecticut) and Rhode Island. If New York City is the greatest city in the world, it's not too much of a stretch to say you have the greatest accent in the world!
Result Breakdown:
100% Northeastern
88% Mid-Atlantic
83% Northern
65% Midland
62% Northeast New England
57% Southern
38% North Central
38% Western
Quiz URL: http://www.gotoquiz.com/what_american_accent_do_you_really_have?
Well, they got it right -- I was raised first on West 72nd Street between Broadway and West End Avenue in New York City until I was four and a half years old, and then in Rego Park, Queens. When I got to College in Boston, the locals said the only trace I had of a New York accent was that I said SCALLops instead of SCOLLops. I suspect they thought with a Noo Yawk accent I'd be saying things like, "Hey, howya doon?"
*******
Recent event in Great Britain, courtesy of BBC America: Prime Minister Gordon Brown who is fighting for his political life right now, and who is also being pommeled in the government's investigation of how the UK got suckered into the Iraq War, took time out to do something that, sadly, isn't possible here in the U.S. -- at least not yet:
British Prime Minister Gordon Brown thanked his nation's openly serving gay soldiers in a ceremony celebrating the contributions of LGBT people to Britain.
Brown told guests at 10 Downing Street, including a number of gay servicemembers, that there was a “debt of gratitude we can never fully repay”. He said that the pride they felt was “nothing compared to the pride we feel in them”. Mr Brown cited the current struggle in the US to repeal Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, which bans gays and lesbians from serving openly in the military, saying he knew debate on the issue continued. In 2009, for the first LGBT reception at Downing Street, Mr Brown said that the ban on gay marriage in California was “unacceptable”.
This year marks the tenth anniversary of the British military allowing out gay soldiers. Mr Brown said: “I promise you that no one need walk the road to equality alone again.” He also listed the achievements made for gay equality in the last ten years, such as gay adoption and fertility rights for lesbians, saying people had warned these things could not be done.
*******
"It's movie line week here on Facebook. Copy and paste this to your status and in the comment box write your favorite line from a movie and see how many of your friends know the line and from which movie it came."
I don't always get in on these things, and this is one I let slip right by me. So here it is on the blog. I actually have a couple of favorite lines, but here's the one I'd like you to guess:
"Yonda lies da castle of my fadda."
There's a small catch in that I have heard this line and its delivery attributed to three different movie titles.
I'm also partial to "O, Moses, Moses!" from The Ten Commandments. Just about every character in the movie gets to say this line at least once, each in a distinct tone depending on his or her current relationship to Moses. Fun trash, best savored several glasses of wine to the wind, and in the company of smart-ass friends.
*******
The latest picture of the granddaughter, two teeth showing. Reports are that she spent all of last week working on moving each leg in a certain way, then adding arms -- and suddenly she was pushing herself up into a sitting position all by herself.
My daughter and son in law are going to really be in for it within the next two months, because when this little one gets up on her feet finally, she's going places!
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
We finally got to see A Single Man last Friday evening. With all systems at the house down because of the power failure, Portsmouth on the coast with its lights bright and The Music Hall functioning was doubly attractive. We had our usual pre-movie dinner at Popovers (very good, reasonably priced, quite healthy food, topped just for fun by outrageously yummy pastries).
We had expected Portsmouth’s healthy-sized gay audience to be out in force, but were surprised to find ourselves surrounded by a large number of middle aged ladies in small groups and older straight couples -- and a sprinkling of young straight couples some of whom seemed to be out on a date. While we weren’t the only gays in the audience, we were a distinct minority (there are several more showings this week, so maybe they’re all going to attend then).
The evening got off to a hilarious start with a seriously unaccustomed glitch by the music Hall’s projectionist: the trailer for The Last Station, the excellent film on the last months of Tolstoy’s life (which we had already seen) came on -– upside down and backwards. The audience giggled as the opening text showed the mistake and howled as the soundtrack began. I listened for a second to English being played backwards and said to Fritz, “now it actually sounds like it’s in Russian.” There was a scurrying around of Music Hall staff and everything was set to rights.
We liked the movie a great deal. I had read the novel last summer and was knocked sideways by the first twenty pages which were really brilliant. Not that the rest wasn't very good indeed, but that beginning grabbed my by the throat and wouldn't let go. I hadn't read a great deal of Isherwood -- and that a couple of decades ago -- so it was as if I were encountering him for the first time.
Tom Ford has adapted the novel for the film, updating it and taking it into a more upscale environment than in Isherwood's novel. That all went down fairly easily for me because the way he's done it is fully the equivalent of the kind of productions period plays and operas are being given these days -- I've even designed a few myself. And he has "opened-up" the novel considerably, which shouldn't surprise anyone who understands the difference between the written page and the needs of a visual medium like cinema.
What we didn't understand was the criticism by several critics who found the movie devoid of emotion and a self-indulgent design-fest for Ford. Emotion in the characters seemed very available to us, particularly in Colin Firth's outstanding performance as George, and also in Julianne Moore's desperately needy Charley.
In the days following seeing A Single Man, I've thought more and more about one thing in particular: how times have changed when a gay-themed movie is considered a good middle-aged women's night out flick, or a 20-something's date movie.
*******
Ffrom BBC News on the Web:
A colossal red granite head of one of Egypt's most famous pharaohs has been unearthed in the southern city of Luxor. The 3,000-year-old head of Amenhotep III - grandfather of Tutankhamun - was dug out of the ruins of the pharaoh's mortuary temple. Experts say it is the best preserved example of the king's face ever found.
The 8ft head is part of a larger statue, most of which was found several years ago. Antiquities officials say the statue is to be reconstructed.
"Other statues have always had something broken - the tip of the nose, or the face is eroded," said Dr Hourig Sourouzian, who has led the Egyptian-European expedition at the site. "But here, from the top of the crown to the chin, it is so beautifully carved and polished, nothing is broken." Egypt's antiquities chief, Zahi Hawass, described it as "a masterpiece of highly artistic quality".
Amenhotep III ruled Egypt from about 1387 to 1348 BC and presided over a vast empire stretching from Nubia in the south to Syria in the north. Scientists using DNA tests and CT scans on several mummies have identified him as the grandfather of Tutankhamun - the boy-king born of an incestuous marriage between Akhenaten and his sister, both the offspring of Amenhotep III.
*******
By Nick Bryant
BBC News, Sydney
More than 5,000 people have shed their clothing on the steps of the Sydney Opera House to pose for a photograph by the American artist Spencer Tunick, famed for his snapshots of mass nudity in public spaces. The organizers had only expected about half that number to take part. The installation had been commissioned by the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, which took place over the weekend.
For once the eye was diverted away from the magnificent white sails of the Sydney Opera House. It was drawn instead to the tableau of naked flesh assembled on its steps. "Gay men and women lay naked next to their straight neighbours and this delivered a very strong message to the world that Australians embrace a free and equal society," Tunick said.
More than 5,000 men and women shed their clothing - people of all ages, shapes and sizes, who were undeterred by the chilly pre-dawn weather on this, the first morning of the southern autumn. The naked models included a pregnant woman, who went straight to hospital afterwards to give birth, and a television weatherman whose viewers got to see considerably more than his usual Monday morning forecast.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
You guys obviously did a bang-up job of wishing us luck. Ten hours after I posted yesterday from the Epping Public library, we were on our way to bed when the lights popped on, the fridge revved up and we were back in business. We'd been 46 hours without power which wasn't all that much, but I was very ready to get the power back.
It began Thursday night at 11PM when the lights flashed on and off for fifteen or twenty seconds, then failed completely. I felt my way to a flashlight, and got my way to bed. There was no sound except for the roaring of the wind. It kept accelerating to the point that I was hearing what people who have experienced a tornado bearing down on them describe -- a speeding freight train.
A year or so ago a tornado struck, causing extensive damage and one death in Deerfield, a town just to the northwest of us. I wondered if the house would withstand a tornado. I watched it being built; it's put together like a fortress but tornadoes rip such buildings apart all the time. Where would we go? Built on a slab, the house offers no basement shelter. I couldn't fall asleep -- every time the roar became louder and the trees whipped violently back and forth outside, I wondered if this was it. By 2:30 the winds had dropped sufficiently to let me sleep.
Friday night I slept at the beginning but came bolt awake at 3:45 and that was it for me. So last night after we'd played cribbage by three candles and an oil lamp, I was fading fast. But I perked up noticeably when the power came on. "So, now you'll be up all night on the computer", Fritz laughed and I said no, I'd just check my eMail and Facebook and come to bed. Which I did and I slept deeply all night.
With the power out, a reading candle behind the sofa with a pie tin reflector taped to a big metal office-style bookend.
Snow and ice melting into dish washing water in my French grandmother's big iron dutch oven on the wood stove.
It began Thursday night at 11PM when the lights flashed on and off for fifteen or twenty seconds, then failed completely. I felt my way to a flashlight, and got my way to bed. There was no sound except for the roaring of the wind. It kept accelerating to the point that I was hearing what people who have experienced a tornado bearing down on them describe -- a speeding freight train.
A year or so ago a tornado struck, causing extensive damage and one death in Deerfield, a town just to the northwest of us. I wondered if the house would withstand a tornado. I watched it being built; it's put together like a fortress but tornadoes rip such buildings apart all the time. Where would we go? Built on a slab, the house offers no basement shelter. I couldn't fall asleep -- every time the roar became louder and the trees whipped violently back and forth outside, I wondered if this was it. By 2:30 the winds had dropped sufficiently to let me sleep.
Friday night I slept at the beginning but came bolt awake at 3:45 and that was it for me. So last night after we'd played cribbage by three candles and an oil lamp, I was fading fast. But I perked up noticeably when the power came on. "So, now you'll be up all night on the computer", Fritz laughed and I said no, I'd just check my eMail and Facebook and come to bed. Which I did and I slept deeply all night.
With the power out, a reading candle behind the sofa with a pie tin reflector taped to a big metal office-style bookend.
Snow and ice melting into dish washing water in my French grandmother's big iron dutch oven on the wood stove.Saturday, February 27, 2010
I'm in the library at neighboring town Epping, one of the very few that has its electricity back -- and that has wireless internet. Thursday night a storm spawned in the mid-Atlantic states came roaring in with torrential rains and winds of hurricane force. Just before 11PM, the power failed with 300,000 households and business blacked out. With trees down everywhere across some roads and raging rivers flooding others, the crews are having a job getting the power back.
We are a little better off than some, because we have both a wood-burning stove and and the Aga cooking stove in the kitchen that is always on and radiated a bit of heat continuously. We also had a good stock of gallon jugs of drinking water, because the pump from the well shut down with the power. We're living a Little House on the Prairie life right now just as we did fourteen months ago with the infamous ice storm that left some people without power for almost three weeks. We're hoping we don't repeat history.
We're melting snow for washing ourselves, our dishes and for flushing. We stood in the shower with two roasting pans of water warmed on the Aga -- one for washing, one for rinsing -- and laughed which is about the only thing one can do under the circumstances. Wish us luck!
We are a little better off than some, because we have both a wood-burning stove and and the Aga cooking stove in the kitchen that is always on and radiated a bit of heat continuously. We also had a good stock of gallon jugs of drinking water, because the pump from the well shut down with the power. We're living a Little House on the Prairie life right now just as we did fourteen months ago with the infamous ice storm that left some people without power for almost three weeks. We're hoping we don't repeat history.
We're melting snow for washing ourselves, our dishes and for flushing. We stood in the shower with two roasting pans of water warmed on the Aga -- one for washing, one for rinsing -- and laughed which is about the only thing one can do under the circumstances. Wish us luck!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
A wrap-up of pictures from our time in Key West:
A banyan tree in the front yard of a house in the Truman Annex district. This handsome neighborhood, that includes private homes and condos as well as the Naval Station, is home to:
The Harry S. Truman Little White House, his beloved working R&R retreat from Washington D.C. The simplicity and lack of pretension of the building perfectly reflects the far less complicated presidential style of pre-Kennedy assassination America. In both D.C and in Key West, Truman walked through the streets frequently for relaxation and exercise, and there are photos in the Little White House of him casually driving a convertible car through Key West with the top down, crowds waving and gathering around.
Key West's extensive colony of feral chickens are seen -- and definitely heard loud and clear -- all around town; on the ground in heavily trafficked areas . . .
. . . and up on roofs and fences. Noisy fights between roosters broke out every evening outside the tall wooden wall around Big Ruby's Guest House. A sufficiently violent fight would lead to birds fluttering up onto the wall and facing off in plain view during happy hour.
A gold rod salvaged from the 1622 wreck of Nuestra Senora de Atocha, captive in a lucite case to prevent theft but allow museum-goers to put in a hand and lift it. The weight of these solid gold rods is startling. Gold and silver from the wreck were measured in tons and there was evidence throughout the hoard that smuggling was going on among all classes on the ship. Gold ingots without the requisite stamps embossed on them meant that there was no official trace of them on the Kingdom's records; they could be removed by those running the contraband when they arrived in Spain without fear of the ship's manifest giving them away.
Others without a taste for contraband had Inca artisans at cheap wages fashion gold into jewelry, which ounce for ounce was taxed at a far lower rate than raw ingots. The jewelry could be melted back down into ingots in Spain and sold at a price that guaranteed a big profit. This impressive necklace, however, never made it back to Spain when the Atocha broke up in a hurricane and and went down with all aboard.
A splendid condor dish of Inca craftsmanship and combined Inca/Spanish design elements. It's a rare piece, as almost all Inca silver was melted down into coinage. Along with the tons of silver ingots that comprised what the salvage divers called "a reef of silver" on the sea floor, the Atocha carried hundreds and hundreds of boxes of newly minted silver "Pieces of Eight."
This is a painting by Jim Salem that caught my eye. He has his own gallery on lower Duval Street. I love orange, properly used, and this just revels in the color. Prices on art in Key West are about twice what they would be elsewhere for comparable work which kept me from just putting my credit card down on the counter and arranging to have it shipped home. Fritz also reminded me that we have almost no space left for art on our walls. But every time I look at this picture I get a twinge -- it will always for me be "one that got away."
Friday evening -- our last in Key West -- we all planned on dinner at La Trattoria on Duval Street, just steps away from Big Ruby’s Guest House. Fritz and I had eaten well in Key West, and the guys we had come down from New Hampshire to meet had provided laughter and all the warmth that the weather hadn’t. The reservation was for 8:30.
We arrived on time and were told that it would be just a few minutes for the table to be cleared. A quick glance caught the party at the table for eight finishing desserts. We waited in the bar.
At 8:40, we were updated that the check had been paid. By this time some in our party had retreated back to the street outside to escape the crush inside. The next update was that the restaurant regretted the delay but was pleased to inform us that free appetizers would be served. No hint of movement from the guests at what was to have been at our table twenty minutes earlier. Comments circulated among us that avoiding this sort of delay is why reservations are made.
At 9:00 there were clear signs of discontent in the ranks. Dr. Michael (Spo Reflections), who had made the reservation, and I were standing by the hostess desk and I pointedly asked her if it were not possible to discuss leaving with the party at the table, something I have seen done politely and effectively many times. She stared past me into some vague space near one of the wine racks build into the wall. I knew then she was useless.
At 9:10, forty minutes after we were supposed to be seated we walked, clearly disgruntled with the ineffective hostess. On the corner we discussed the likelihood of getting a table without reservations at any decent restaurant in the area. We decided to rough it at a nearby pizza place, where the group’s accustomed good spirits returned. When we got “home” we were given a message from the restaurant, expressing deep regret for what had happened and giving us priority for any reservation time the next night. Whatever the others eventually decided to do, it was too late for us.
Several of us ended the night in Big Ruby’s hot tub, actually a large capacity in-ground pool with ledges and jets all around. After breakfast next morning, we kissed the guys good-bye and set out for the airport for our flight to Fort Lauderdale.
*******
We flew out of Key West as we had come, in a 19 seat prop plane that was an enjoyable ride. Huge areas of south Florida are neither land nor water but something unresolved and startlingly primeval.
And then, there are big expanses of an almost lunar-like landscape . . .
. . . which soon develops into what looks like beadwork at a first, quick glance but quickly comes into focus as tightly organized and laid-out subdivisions around artificial ponds.
In the heart of the luxury hotel district in downtown Fort Lauderdale, an early morning view across Sebastian Beach -- "the gay beach" -- to ships at anchor, waiting for the signal that it's their turn to enter Port Everglades to unload, perhaps take on new cargo, and set out to sea again.
A banyan tree in the front yard of a house in the Truman Annex district. This handsome neighborhood, that includes private homes and condos as well as the Naval Station, is home to:
The Harry S. Truman Little White House, his beloved working R&R retreat from Washington D.C. The simplicity and lack of pretension of the building perfectly reflects the far less complicated presidential style of pre-Kennedy assassination America. In both D.C and in Key West, Truman walked through the streets frequently for relaxation and exercise, and there are photos in the Little White House of him casually driving a convertible car through Key West with the top down, crowds waving and gathering around.
Key West's extensive colony of feral chickens are seen -- and definitely heard loud and clear -- all around town; on the ground in heavily trafficked areas . . .
. . . and up on roofs and fences. Noisy fights between roosters broke out every evening outside the tall wooden wall around Big Ruby's Guest House. A sufficiently violent fight would lead to birds fluttering up onto the wall and facing off in plain view during happy hour.
A gold rod salvaged from the 1622 wreck of Nuestra Senora de Atocha, captive in a lucite case to prevent theft but allow museum-goers to put in a hand and lift it. The weight of these solid gold rods is startling. Gold and silver from the wreck were measured in tons and there was evidence throughout the hoard that smuggling was going on among all classes on the ship. Gold ingots without the requisite stamps embossed on them meant that there was no official trace of them on the Kingdom's records; they could be removed by those running the contraband when they arrived in Spain without fear of the ship's manifest giving them away.
Others without a taste for contraband had Inca artisans at cheap wages fashion gold into jewelry, which ounce for ounce was taxed at a far lower rate than raw ingots. The jewelry could be melted back down into ingots in Spain and sold at a price that guaranteed a big profit. This impressive necklace, however, never made it back to Spain when the Atocha broke up in a hurricane and and went down with all aboard.
A splendid condor dish of Inca craftsmanship and combined Inca/Spanish design elements. It's a rare piece, as almost all Inca silver was melted down into coinage. Along with the tons of silver ingots that comprised what the salvage divers called "a reef of silver" on the sea floor, the Atocha carried hundreds and hundreds of boxes of newly minted silver "Pieces of Eight."
This is a painting by Jim Salem that caught my eye. He has his own gallery on lower Duval Street. I love orange, properly used, and this just revels in the color. Prices on art in Key West are about twice what they would be elsewhere for comparable work which kept me from just putting my credit card down on the counter and arranging to have it shipped home. Fritz also reminded me that we have almost no space left for art on our walls. But every time I look at this picture I get a twinge -- it will always for me be "one that got away."Friday evening -- our last in Key West -- we all planned on dinner at La Trattoria on Duval Street, just steps away from Big Ruby’s Guest House. Fritz and I had eaten well in Key West, and the guys we had come down from New Hampshire to meet had provided laughter and all the warmth that the weather hadn’t. The reservation was for 8:30.
We arrived on time and were told that it would be just a few minutes for the table to be cleared. A quick glance caught the party at the table for eight finishing desserts. We waited in the bar.
At 8:40, we were updated that the check had been paid. By this time some in our party had retreated back to the street outside to escape the crush inside. The next update was that the restaurant regretted the delay but was pleased to inform us that free appetizers would be served. No hint of movement from the guests at what was to have been at our table twenty minutes earlier. Comments circulated among us that avoiding this sort of delay is why reservations are made.
At 9:00 there were clear signs of discontent in the ranks. Dr. Michael (Spo Reflections), who had made the reservation, and I were standing by the hostess desk and I pointedly asked her if it were not possible to discuss leaving with the party at the table, something I have seen done politely and effectively many times. She stared past me into some vague space near one of the wine racks build into the wall. I knew then she was useless.
At 9:10, forty minutes after we were supposed to be seated we walked, clearly disgruntled with the ineffective hostess. On the corner we discussed the likelihood of getting a table without reservations at any decent restaurant in the area. We decided to rough it at a nearby pizza place, where the group’s accustomed good spirits returned. When we got “home” we were given a message from the restaurant, expressing deep regret for what had happened and giving us priority for any reservation time the next night. Whatever the others eventually decided to do, it was too late for us.
Several of us ended the night in Big Ruby’s hot tub, actually a large capacity in-ground pool with ledges and jets all around. After breakfast next morning, we kissed the guys good-bye and set out for the airport for our flight to Fort Lauderdale.
*******
We flew out of Key West as we had come, in a 19 seat prop plane that was an enjoyable ride. Huge areas of south Florida are neither land nor water but something unresolved and startlingly primeval.
And then, there are big expanses of an almost lunar-like landscape . . .
. . . which soon develops into what looks like beadwork at a first, quick glance but quickly comes into focus as tightly organized and laid-out subdivisions around artificial ponds.
In the heart of the luxury hotel district in downtown Fort Lauderdale, an early morning view across Sebastian Beach -- "the gay beach" -- to ships at anchor, waiting for the signal that it's their turn to enter Port Everglades to unload, perhaps take on new cargo, and set out to sea again.Thursday, February 18, 2010
A visit to the Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory was doubly a foregone conclusion: first, because this sort of thing is exactly what we love to do on vacation; second, because one of our friends who’s down here is Doug Taron (blog: Gossamer Tapestry) who is a major force at a Butterfly museum and laboratory in Chicago, with a specialty in the propagation of endangered varieties.
So, we headed off to the Conservatory after our visit to Papa Hemingway had ended. Being the celebrity he is in the world of insect studies, Doug was greeted warmly by Sam, the co-owner/operator/resident butterfly artist, who very kindly comped us into the heart of the operation –- the big all-glass conservatory.
Butterflies have a short life span –- some of them last only two weeks. Doug had hoped to arrange for a cutting of a plant whose pollen is the fountain of youth for one particular variety, extending its active reproductive life to five months. But it so happened that one worker mistook the Conservatory’s plants for weeds and destroyed them all. Cold weather has destroyed the desired plant at other butterfly sites, so Doug will have to return to work empty-handed.
The Conservatory is s magical place, its environment containing a wide variety of flowering plants and trees, flowing water in woodland settings with fish and other aquatic or amphibious animals, and birds carefully chosen to NOT feed on live butterflies. All serve a function in the life of the environment, including cleaning up the insects when they die.
The butterflies exist together with their visitors in the big conservatory, frequently landing on shoulders, heads and arms. These blue ones flashed brilliantly through the air.
Others landed at feeding stations placed at frequent intervals along the trails snaking through the environment.
A bit of insect camouflage.
Two miniature grouse, one very nicely disguised, on the environment's "floor."
Another butterfly resting on the back on one of the many turtles in the stream running through the exhibit.
Our other visit was to The Little White House of President Harry Truman, which is located on the Naval Base at the western end of the island. Truman was in a state of exhaustion at the end of his first year as President after having taken over unexpectedly from Franklin Roosevelt. His doctors recommended a working rest cure in Florida and the Base Commander's old building was chosen as his residence/office. The climate and atmosphere at the base worked wonders and Truman fell in love with the place, coming down from the capital ten more times during his presidency for working vacations.
The second time he arrived, it was to find the large house transformed by a Miami interior decorator who had created a relaxed, informal and comfortable but very chic suite of rooms for both domestic and official purposes. Truman's devotion to the place has led to its being made available to several later Presidents (Eisenhower, Kennedy, Carter, Clinton) and other officials of various administrations to use for official business or simple vacations. Much of the final phase of the Second World War, the reorganization of the military (creation of the Defense Department; the integration of the armed forces which Truman insisted on despite overwhelming resistance by white Americans), and the rebuilding of war-devastated Europe was planned and implemented from this modest but very important building.
