Hawks Jumbo Boiled Peanuts

Years ago I worked with a guy in Taiwan who was born in Africa. Deschler grew up eating native foods, including grass hoppers. When he visited Bangkok as an adult, he saw a street hawker selling deep fried grass hoppers. The vendor did not want to sell any to him. Westerners don't eat bugs.

As I was driving North through the Keys on US 1 (at a flea market somewhere near mile marker 60), I saw a sign for boiled peanuts. The Cantonese have something similar. I used to have them for lunch. Roast duck on top of steamed peanuts, steamed white rice with duck broth, sauteed greens. I pulled over. The vendor was incredulous: Northerners don't eat boiled peanuts. Three flavors were simmering in Nesco roasters: Regular, Cajun, Jalapeno. I tried all three and left with the Cajun. Hot on the fingers, hot on the taste buds. Satisfaction all around.

A Penny and Pieces of Eight

There was a party at the Earnest Hemingway house in Key West last night. The chance of rain was nil but there was a tent anyhow. I suspect the same reasoning that went into that decision was also present when Mrs. Pauline Hemingway replaced all the ceiling fans in the house with chandeliers. An elegant flourish perhaps, but out of touch. The band was damned good.

The tour Stan gave this afternoon was almost as good the music had been. Short on canned humor, longer on interesting tidbits. The house was built in the 1850s by a Connecticut sea captain who made his fortune scavanging the frequent ship wrecks in and around the Keys. Hemingway bought it in 1931 for $8,000. He converted the attic of the carriage house into a studio and built a cat walk to reach it from his bedroom. He worked from six in the morning until noon and then he went fishing. He liked to sit in birthing chairs; there were several around the house. Hemingway had a six toed cat; dozens of its descendents still live in the compound (the bookshop under the studio is redolent of them). Picasso gave Hemingway a ceramic sculpture of a cat; it sat on top of a Spanish armoire in the master bedroom until December 2000 when a visitor swiped it. Pauline ditched the back yard boxing ring and replaced it with a $20,000 swimming pool; Earnest, in a rage, said she would spend his last penny and took one from his pocket and cast to the ground (she imbedded it in the terrace by the pool). Later he added a pool of his own: a urinal from a local bar set horizontally in the ground as a water fountain for the cats. Two thirds of everything Hemingway wrote was produced during the eleven years he spent in Key West.



Another larger than life Key West character can be visited at the other end of Whitehead Avenue. Mel Fisher's story began when the galleon Nuestra Senora de Atocha sank in a hurricane one day after departing from Havana on September 5th, 1622. Fisher spent 16 years hunting for the wreck before discovering the "main pile" in 1985. Pieces of eight, gold bars, emeralds as well as astrolabes, cannons, crockery were part of a trove estimated to be worth $300 million. A small portion of the find is in the Mel Fisher's Maritime Museum . Visitors to the museum are encouraged to heft one of the gold ingots recovered from the wreck. I bet Fisher didn't need a tent for the party he and his crew had after finding the Atocha.

Tobacco Barns in the Corn Fields

Tobacco barns still populate the countryside in Southern Wisconsin but the leaf itself is less evident. Corn seems to have taken its place. I suspect something more complicated than crop rotation is responsible for the changing landscape. Perhaps the end of tobacco subsidies in 2005 and misbegotten ethanol policies bear some responsibility. I would feel a lot better about ethanol if the U.S. government eliminated subsidies for corn and the plants which convert the crop from food to fuel.

The Shell station in Cambridge used to have a sign in front advertising NO ETHANOL. Not anymore. (This struck me as a bold statement, considering its proximity to the corn fields.) Apparently, the station is now required by Wisconsin law to supply gasoline with ethanol. So now only the Shell V Power 93 octane fuel is unadulterated. It costs $0.30 (about 7%)per gallon more, but yields about 9% better mileage (29.2 mpg versus 26.7 mpg as tested this morning on Interstate 39 in my 2003 Passat V6 4 Motion Wagon--I filled up with gas without ethanol for my trip and drew the tank down to empty before refueling with 89 octane 10% ethanol at a Kwiktrip in Stevens Point).

Granite Faces in the Black Hills

Sullivan's Brontosaurus

Jurassic Park reinvented dinosaurs. Before Steven Speilberg brought them back to life, however, they were dusty skeletons in natural history museums or Emmit Sullivan sculptures in South Dakota's Dinosaur Park.

Dimetrodon


Sullivan rendered tail dragging, reptilian behemoths life size in concrete over steel mesh and then painted them bright green. Today they look cartoonish, but I suspect that has more to do with what has happened to dinosaurs over the seven decades which have passed since Sullivan and his WPA crew were at work.



The fate of two iconic dinosaurs, brontosaurus and trachodon, tells part of the story. They were demoted. Brontosaurus has been reclassified as Apatosaurus; Trachodon is now Hadrosaurid. Both were the creations of early bone hunters. Later research has shown they were cobbled together from two or more creatures. But they captured the imagination and became real for generations of enthusiasts.

Trachodon and Brontosaurus


Paleontologists have a much deeper understanding of dinosaurs now than they did in Sullivan's time. The closest living relatives of dinosaurs, we are told, are birds, not reptiles. Most probably were not green; they probably did not drag their tails. Contrary to conventional wisdom, they were survivors and ruled the planet for over 100 million years. Only recently did we learn their tenure was abruptly terminated when the Earth collided with a very large rock (estimated to be about the size of Mount Everest) 63 million years ago. Otherwise, they might still be in charge.

Stegosaurus


None of that serious scholarship detracts from the charm of the Dinosaur Park. Sullivan's sculptures will continue to inspire. Kids at least. Riding Triceratops beats peering at presidents on Mount Rushmore any day.

T. Rex and Triceratops

Berkshire Mass Transit Busses

The mass transit system in Hong Kong is among the most colorful and efficient in the world. In addition to the world class rail systems, both above and below ground, it has London style double deck busses, mini busses, ferries, and trams. The Star Ferry and Peak Tram have never ceased to excite me, even after three decades. Everyone in Hong Kong is familiar with the system and almost everyone uses it regularly. It is so good I could not imagine a resident not using it. I was dumbfounded several years ago when I met a not-so-recently arrived British expatriate who had never ventured below ground on the MTR. Perhaps I should have been more understanding.

I returned to the Berkshires about six years ago. Over that time I have seen the shiny blue BRTA busses crisscrossing the county. Until this morning, I had never boarded one. I needed to drop off a car at Hertz in Pittsfield and then return to Lee. Hertz was located near the Allendale shopping center and BRTA route 2/16 began there and terminated in Lee. Perfect. I would take the bus.

No one at Hertz knew where the bus stop was; I asked at least five people. Directly behind Hertz in the shopping center, a clerk at Big Lots advised the bus stop was along side the Big Lots building. At 10:40, right on time, the bus pulled up to the building. Before I could get on, however, I was advised to allow passengers to disembark first. A frail looking old dear, with dark glasses and black gloves, declined my offer of assistance. A couple of big dudes wearing shorts and sporting dreadlocks followed. When I stepped on I was the only rider. The bus was spotless. The only advertising posters inside were public service announcements.

The fare from Allendale to Lee was $3.30, or $1.10 per zone with each town representing a zone. The driver would not make change, but he would make conversation. He suggested that at the “intermodal center” on North Street in Pittsfield, I buy a pack of gum at the coffee shop to break my twenty and then pay the fare. Fine. Contrary to an NPR report earlier this week about increased mass transit ridership in Boston, LA and Miami: “No. More people are not riding the bus around here,” the driver explained. “Only the poor and unfortunate ride the bus; the rest just complain about gas prices but keep driving their cars.”

The NPR story emphasized how the economy in general and fuel prices in particular were compelling the new straphangers to use mass transit. A sad story made only more so by the observation that those still driving were benefitting from less traffic. No doubt unintentionally, this month’s Berkshire Living magazine validated the notion that riding the bus is for the “poor and unfortunate.” Nowhere in an issue dedicated to “green” living was there a mention of the excellent BRTA busses or routes throughout the county.

Earth Day in Central Park

Three years ago, Christo transformed Central Park. I was reluctant to spend a gray February day in the park and was fully prepared to be disappointed. I wasn't. In fact, I was converted by The Gates within seconds. The installation was magic. The scale was breathtaking, the execution was impeccable; but for me the beauty was mostly in the mood The Gates created. Everyone in the park or near it was thrilled. For three of the most dismal winter weeks, those bright orange flags made New York a sunny place. Yesterday, Central Park had much of the same vibe. Rather than emanating from the vision of one artist, however, it came from the efforts, and perhaps relaxations, of many: Pope Benedict XVI, the local Earth Day organizers, Frederick Law Olmsted and the sunbathers.



Along Fifth Avenue, throngs gathered to see the pope. Signs read "WE LOVE YOU"; some waved Vatican flags. There was lots of music and singing, mostly Latin American. Kids waited with their parents and dogs; no crying or snarling. Everyone was in a fine mood and the helicopters hovering directly overhead did nothing to dampen it. I saw Pope Benedict for a few blinks an eye, encased in his white popemobile. Lots of waving, cheering and then it was time for a walk in the park.



There were activities all over. Like the police spotters guarding the pope, Red Tailed hawks watched us from skyscrapers; we spied on them through Swarovski scopes. One meter yatching enthusiasts raced remote control boats in the Conservancy Water. Following in Dylan's footsteps, Don McCloskey sang protest songs to a new generation at the band shell. The music was part of an all day program organized by peacexpiece. Paul Kostabi provided direction for a collaborative patchwork mural, said to be the world's largest and longest "eco mural." Sunshine Burger and Wholemato handed out organic whole food veggie burgers with the best ketchup I've ever tasted. Glint and Rely Records distributed Dawn redwood seedling kits with instructions how to propgate them (and a web address to track where they are eventually planted). Lennon fans decorated the Imagine Mosiac with dozens of cut flowers.



It was sunny, warm, and positively bursting with life. The grass was lush, the daffodils and tulips were glorious, and Olmsted's trees were sprouting fresh foliage which cast a lemon lime light. New Yorkers were soaking it all in. I can think of no better place on Earth to be on this particular day.

Branzino in Boulder

Branzino resonates strongly. Several years ago in Venice, a waiter at Da Raffaele recommended branzino carpaccio. It was served in paper thin slices with olive oil, lemon and garnished with minced tomatoes and capers. I can still taste it. With that memory lingering, I have paused when ordering suzuki sashimi at Fin in Lenox, Massachusetts but Nick Macioge has never disappointed me. Apparently the Adriatic and Sea of Japan are far enough apart for both to fit comfortably on my palate.

As a first time visitor to Radda Trattoria, a hip restaurant in Boulder, Colorado, I asked our waitress what would be the best item on the menu. Without hesitation she offered branzino. A Mediterranean fish in the Rocky Mountains? Before arriving at Radda, my companions had mentioned how good the wild boar was. I thought she might retreat but the lass stood her ground. I accepted her recommendation. It was excellent. The skin was crispy, the bones had been removed and replaced with fresh rosemary, thyme and lemon. Cippolini onions on the side made Chef Matthew Jansen's creation a memorable meal.

Watts Towers

Los Angeles is spread out across a desert between the ocean and mountains. Perhaps because of the light rain overnight, the air this past Sunday was clear, the sky was deep blue and the snow capped mountains looked close enough to touch. I approached the city from the southeast on the Santa Ana freeway and one overpass along the way afforded enough elevation to see the cluster of skyscrapers way off to the north. I was far from the city center.



I imagine the sounds of Watts on Sunday were similar to those Sabato "Simon" Rodia heard when he moved to the neighborhood eighty some years ago. Trains jangled and whistled, people talked, the wind rustled, roosters crowed. But mostly it was quiet. LA's cars and highways seemed a long way off. In Rodia's day, they had not yet become the defining characteristics of the landscape. They still aren't in Watts.



For most in my generation, if Watts is known at all, it is for the riots which took place there in 1965. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Watts was a farming community well removed from Los Angeles proper; it was populated by immigrants from all over, especially Latin America and Japan.



In 1923, Rodia bought a wedge shaped lot along a trolley line and spent the next three decades creating the most interesting back yard in America. Using only hand tools, scrap metal, concrete, and his imagination, he built walls, fountains, and towers nearly 100 feet tall and created what our guide described as an open air cathedral. And he did it without written plans or drawings, scaffolding or any help. His creation is thought to be the largest sculpture in the world made entirely by one person.




In 1954, Rodia's gave the property to a neighbor and left for good. Five years later the city of Los Angeles Building and Safety Department declared the towers were unsafe. A stress test conceived by an aeronautical engineer proved otherwise. The Watts Towers site is now a California state park and is one of nine works of folk art listed on the National Register of Historic Places.



Simon Rodia continues to inspire. The visitor's center adjacent to the lot where he built is towers hosts art classes for the community. When I bought Bud and Arloa Goldstone's book about the towers, it was handed to me in a shopping bag. Without seeing the front, I offered to return it. I was gently advised to reconsider. I am glad I did. It was painted by the art director at the center.

The Arb, the Apollo and Tooo Chinoise in Oberlin

Eisenhower’s Interstate Highway system shrank driving times and boosted economies along its path. While the topography changes dramatically from East to West, the human developments along the I-roads are completely reassuring: the same Mc Donalds, Marriotts, and Mobils everywhere. I have often thought about driving cross country on US 20 instead of I 90, taking time to see the towns change along with the landscape, but I am always seduced by the fast route. This time the travel genies conspired to slow us down and encouraged us to spend a day looking around.

The VW required new brakes around 40,000 miles, so I was not surprised that it would need new brakes again now that the car had 75,000 miles. I usually have the car serviced before an extended road trip but this time I was unable to schedule an appointment. So we hit the road anyway. When we arrived at the Holiday Inn in Elyria, Ohio the rear brakes made a hideous noise. Spitzer VW in Amherst agreed to look at the car immediately. As chance would have it, the necessary parts would not be in stock until the following day and we were only 8 miles from Oberlin.

While it is only a few miles south of I 90, the approach to Oberlin bears the signs of a town which has very much been passed by. There are no strip malls. The slate roofs of barns and farm houses sag, threatening collapse, the cows long gone and most of the farmers gone with them, their lands committed to row crops but no livestock. The houses on the outskirts are in better shape but most of have seen better days. Oberlin proper, however, appears to be healthy and not much changed from Eisenhower’s time. The college and commercial establishments are centered on a very large square populated with mature trees, a few random students and a professor or two.

We had lunch at Tooo Chinoise. I expected to find some cool restaurants in a college town. This menu caught my eye with Zajiang Mien and Shrtz Tou, two dishes I hadn’t seen since I lived in Taiwan. I over ordered and loved each bite. Our waitress recommended a walk in the arboretum on the outside of town (but only a few minutes walk from the center). The temperature was in the sixties and all the snow and most of the ice had melted. Shorts and tee shirts for the students; no leashes for the dogs. We hung out there until dusk. Later we went to the flicks.

The Apollo Theatre is a classic: lights from the marquee cascade over the ticket booth. Shows cost $3 and a large popcorn is only $2.50. The place seats around 900 and I suspect there were about 100 there on a Monday while most students were still away for winter vacation. I am Legend with Will Smith was not legendary material (Night of the Living Dead crossed with Twelve Monkeys), but it was perfect for that old movie house. If I lived near Oberlin, I would be a regular.