AnimaMundi

Meatballs Reduxed

A few weeks ago we tried making meatballs and they came out pretty good but... This I know is only interesting to meatball freaks who are in search of the perfect golden browned meatball. Last time I did not use my memory and good judgement. My mother used to take me to Gentile's Meat Market in Westerly, RI. "Goose" Gentile was usually the person who waited on my mother while he gave it to me good. He knew I was a little shy and he was good about it. The meat of the matter. One pound freshly ground round or chuck, half pound each of ground pork and veal. More garlic, parsley and freshly grated Pecorino Romano from Murray's Cheese in NYC. These tweaks made a big difference and is the cause of my narcoleptic state at the keyboard right now.

They Say It's Your Birthday... Take a Cha-Cha-Cha Chance

This is a scan of the card that my spouse of so many years gave me tonight. She has the knack. What can I say? The pizza was beyond great, the 2003 Barbaresco disappointing and thin, the 2004 Yalumba Shiraz stunning (thank you Special K.), as was the Tasca d'Almerita Lamuri as always. I am now in my 62nd year. Thank the gods that I have made it thus far.

   

The Spirit of 92

I could listen to Ike Quebec and drink Alion all night long. I have a few Ike Quebec cd's and some vinyl that I can listen to any time, but we drank the last half bottle of Alion last night. It was a 1992 Reserva and still had backbone, subtle fruit and silky tannins. We had it with sliced pork loin marinated in orange juice, cumin, smoked paprika, olive oil that was then grilled on charcoal. I bought several bottles of the 1992 Alion Reserva for a song a few years ago at the Spirit Shoppe in Great Barrington, MA. The last bottle we drank was about a month or so ago. I could sense that it was time. It had peaked and was beginning to fade. I think part of the problem was the heat of last summer when the temperature in our cellar reached 70+. Alion Reservas or Crianzas of the future will not fit into our budget. Unless lady luck is with us, I don't foresee drinking Alion anytime soon. It was a fond farewell to the times circa 1992. Scents and sounds from times past. They commingle and make for magic that nothing can match. The 1990's were a decade of polar extremes for me. There was cancer, cure and a cancer. The sun at 16 degrees N made the sun at 42 degrees N seem like twilight at noon. There was the discovery of a new universe of music and dance. There were sleepness periods of three months. There were anti these and anti those. There were two therapists who fell asleep while I struggled to spit it out. The darkness polaxed me. I was almost inert. I was like a one-eyed pig running in a muddy ditch. There were horrible scenes with filled with contempt. I am the same person and I am not. On the morning of April 20, 1999, I had numbness in my right arm. The day before I had an angina attack that I thought was something else. I told my supervisor that I needed to leave and see my doctor, who luckily was right down the street. In response, my supervisor being the true bureaucrat that he is, asked me about some silly statistics. I told him that I had to leave and did. My doctor hooked me up to an EKG and called the ambulance. He told me had I waited a little longer that things would have been really interesting. He also said that he would have my car parked in his lot towed. I said thanks. After a stent was inserted at the hospital, I was wheeled into recovery. Everyone was glued to the TV. It was Columbine High day, the fourth deadliest shooting on modern history.

Time is relative as Einstein once explained by comparing his finger on a hot stove for a few seconds and a beautiful woman sitting in his lap for 15 minutes.

Bringing It All Back Home or East of Eden

I have mentioned this person before and I'll do it again. When New Orleanians say that they roll the way they do, I think they mean that they have a sense of place and soul connection with that tenuous place on the mighty-Twain Mississippi looking to empty its riches into the Gulf of Mexico. Mark Folse is one of the best writers that I have ever had the pleasure to read. He lives in New Orleans and recently put The Wet Bank Guide to rest. He, along with his city, has reached a critical turning point. He knows as well as anyone that his city is still crippled and does not have the flood protection for that 100 year deluge. Though he now writes from a slightly different perspective and in a somewhat brighter light. The anger and cynicism have not left, but it is tempered by living fully and looking for those little epiphanic moments. Here is a quote from his most recent post at Toulouse Street:   

"Now I try instead to celebrate the found moments of odd or profound beauty that come out of All That: the moments of simple, quiet pleasure and ecstatic, public joy that mark life in postdiluvian New Orleans, the surest signs that what we are building here is indeed New Orleans, heedless of the violent transfiguration of our landscape, the vast swaths of ruin that still blanket the Gentilly and the East, that mark the modern Land of Nod."

Harshly Made Money

Joan Didion's "Slouching Towards Bethlehem", contains an essay about the mansions of Newport, RI. I remember touring most them in the mid- 80's. After one sees all the marble and crystal, something says that the obscene display of wealth had "nothing to do with pleasure and nothing to do with graceful tradition, a sense of how prettily money can be spent but how harshly money is made, an immediate presence of the pits and the rails and the foundries, of turbines and pork belly futures. So insistent is the presence of money in Newport that the mind springs ineluctably to the raw beginnings of it." The kitchen at the Breakers Vanderbilt summer cottage is separate from the main part of the house because of the potential of a damaging fire. The dimensions of the kitchen alone is that of a two story three bedroom family home. One of the guides mentioned to us that a Vanderbilt descendent comes each year and stands in line just like us ordinary folk. Didion's essays are still powerful today. She doesn't come across as dated, even though some of the places and contexts she write of no longer exist. The vanished, like a film dissolve, is part of her style.

"Who could fail to read the sermon in the stones of Newport? Who could think that the building of a railroad could guarantee salvation, when there on the lawns of the men who built the railroad nothing is left but the shadows of migrainous women, and the pony carts waiting for the long- dead children?" 

Alfonso and William Shatner Cut New Album Together

Alfonso always seems to be in the right place at the right time. He gets to eat CIA buffalo sliders with freshly ground black pepper from William Shatner's personal peppermill, drink lots of Silver Oak blindfolded, Nero D'Avola from Calistoga? and meet Italian women with the perfect sarcasm quotient. He also knows Terry Hughes. And he's left handed, as Terry now knows.

"This Quintessence of Dust"

The Bayou Contessa : Ashes to Ashes is a paean to the grand old mansions of Louisiana. Some saved, some not. It derives its inspiration from Clarence John Laughlin's "Ghosts Along The Mississippi: The Magic of the Old Houses of Louisiana".

The Italian Museum of Smoking

If the Italians had a Museum of Smoking, smoking would be allowed. It's only right, non?

In the gift shop:  A curious-looking machine, the "Vapormatic Deluxe," which apparently allows one to inhale plant essences without creating secondhand smoke, retails for 299 euros.

"The Meaning of Sunglasses"

Hadley Freeman has written a book with the above title. The subtitle is: "And A Guide To Almost All Things Fashionable" 

From the article on the book and fashionistas in general:

As she writes in the section labeled "Cleavage, and the plumbing of depths," "Show me a woman with a good three inches of cleavage on display, and I’ll show you a woman who, rightly or wrongly, has little faith in her powers of conversation."

"A work colleague recently took one look at the four-inch peep toe heels I was wearing and snarled, “Don’t you know why men invented high heels?” I doubted anything I said would deflect what was coming next, so I just shrugged. “So you can’t run away when they want to rape you.” I understand. I used to be a humorless feminist, too, complete with shaved head and my father’s combat boots. Then I discovered Charles David heels and got over it. If only The Meaning of Sunglasses had existed sooner, I could have spent less time being a self-righteous twit."

"Don't Worry, Be Happy!"

Melancholia seems to be getting more press these days. I think this is a healthy reaction. Most of the delusional clamor we hear exhorts us to be happy, cheerful, perky. It is shameful to be otherwise. Look at what you have and how well it shines. Though, Native Americans measure a person's wealth by the number of friends one has. The rest of North America has a different yardstick.

Roy Strong's "The Renaissance Garden in England" comments on the influence of melancholy on the devlopment of landscape gardening. The Renaissance inherited two traditions from the humour, melancholy: the cold dry Galenic and the Aristotelian that is favourable to imagination and intellect. During the early 16th century this positive melancholy was revived and transformed by Marsilio Ficino by fusing the notorious excessive black bile and Plato's divine madness (I'm partial to the Dionysian). This became a big hit in Elizabethan England. The men in black with large floppy hats preferred the shade of the greenwood tree to the brightly lit formal gardens. The dark naturalistic glade was the place to be, well, melancholy.

B&N Gives It Up For Gentilly

When you buy books at Barnes and Noble, you will feel better than buying them at Borders. Why? Barnes and Noble recently donated $20 million to help restore Gentilly, an historic gem of a neighborhood in New Orleans. Gentilly was badly damaged by floodwaters from Lake Pontchartrain and failed levees. The doantion will go toward renovation and new contruction. The effort translates into 100 households being able to return home.

John Brunious

When Preservation Hall Jazz Band came to Albany last year, we got to see them at the acoustically sound Egg. John Brunious was playing trumpet that night as he has been for over 20 years with the band. His trumpet tone and style were very much like his voice: casual, soft, appealing and clear. At one point in the show, he merely said without drama that things in New Orleans were not good. He didn't say anything else about the condition of his home town. He didn't need to. Then he began to play "Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?" He died outside Disney-fied Orlando.

Creative Director of Preservation Hall, Ben Jaffe remarks, “John Brunious was living history.  One of the last things John told me was, ‘There’s another Louis Armstrong somewhere out there in New Orleans.  I’m going to find them and teach them all I got.’ It’s now in our hands to carry on his message and legacy the way he carried the torch for so many years.”

1947 Cheval Blanc, "a cuddly wild boar"

I have never been a Bordeaux afficionado and don't think I will ever become one, given the price of these aged wines. When I saw "Sideways", I had heard of Cheval Blanc and but did not know that it is composed of (57%?) Cabernet Franc and the balance Merlot with small amounts of Cabernet Sauvignon and Malbec. I also knew that it is revered in the wine world. What I didn't know was that the 1947 vintage is an exceptional wine. It is a remarkable tale. The wine, "a happy accident of nature", made itself despite an extremely hot growing season and stalled fermentation. Today, it has the nuances of fine aged port. We share the same birth year. We both are baby boomers. I have been told that the winter of my birth in Rhode Island was bitterly cold and snowy. Now I know that both births were troublesome. I doubt that I have aged as well as the wine. I have become a little portly, but not as fine as a aged port. I could have used some ice water in my face not a few times in life to jump start my fermentation. I have some residual sugar and volatile acidity. The prima materia has been transformed. The albedo is beginning to show faint signs of the rubedo on the horizon. My tannins are still resolving themselves and aren't fully integrated. The harmony between fruit and wood is always a work in progress. My distillation has been long and slow. The cockiness of my young fruit has been rounded into a more balanced garnet-ruby hue. More centered, as a fellow Oenatriaphile blogger once put it. I can pair with almost any food with spunk and flavor. I am not dead on the shelf and don't taste like a million other internationally styled wines. I am still alive and curious, though a little diluted. I remember where I was born and how. I hold those who raised me close to my heart, as well as those who have darkened my sense of humor. There's lots of sediment to be sure. I am not corked, yet. Labels don't stick to me, thankfully. Nor am I hoi-polloi.      

Golem, The Mighty Molecule and The Escapist

I am always a little behind on the latest books and music, so reading "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" in 2008 was no different. However, just last year 2007 the NY Review of Books named the book Michael Chabon's magnum opus. So, I'm not that out of it culturally speaking. The book is a very good read. It hits on so many cylinders with mercurial humor and pathos. Eloquent, amazing in scope, intertwined magical twists, slight of hand, friendship, romance, love, superheros, what the hand can portray, comic book escapism, everyone searching for a father. Read it and be amazed. Not much more that I can say. 

Here's an important source site on the book.

More Fire and Ice

This winter the ice collection on the trees and shrubs has been, well, spectacular and treacherous. The sunlight refracts into multicolored icey droplets that grace the branches like tiny light ornaments reflecting the sun. I'm not a cold weather lover, but it is beautiful in its own frozen way.

 

Is It Worth Saving NOLA?

The Library of Congress thinks so. They have saved WWOZ's record and tape collection. So far they have over 3,000 hours and expect more. It will take 10 years to digitize and catalogue the musical treasures of the legendary station.

"businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth, none of them along the line, know what any of it is worth"

Alfonso Cevola, the guy on the Italian Wine Trail, works for a large wine and liquor conglomerate deep-in-the-heart of Dallas, Texas. He is their Italian wine man. Yet, in the stupifying mega-world of wine sales, margins, profits, promotional gimmicks, 3 tier systems, spoofilation, fetishism, wine ghosts, wine geek-speak, points, pairings and poseurs, he manages to stay close to the earth and vine. It helps that he was raised in a vineyard. Sometimes I believe he channels Melo Minnella, although still living, and Rilke. In the above post he has some links to some fine bloggers that he has met via the vine. It beats me how I got included in the group. Thanks, Alfonso.

Valentine's Day

This is a Valentine that my mate of 37 years, Kathy, picked out. She didn't actually give it to me, yet. Cover, for those you can't read it: "It's amazing, the confidence a sexy pair of underwear can do for a gal". Inside: "You'll have a great Valentine's Day, I'm confident."  The woman reminds me of one of my dates in college from Russell Sage in Troy, NY.

Then, there's Indexed's Valentine.

Soul and the City

Angus Lind of the Times-Picayune writes of why people are drawn and stay in New Orleans. I was speaking to a friend about this today. The contradictions of living there are many, but the spirit of the city lives on and continues to be a mysterious magnet.

Thanks to Ashley Morris and Lafcadio Hearn.

To Pope VI on birth control: "He no playa the game, he no maka the rules."

Hi, I'm Earl Butz and I'm still dead.

This is his money quote though: "the only thing the coloreds are looking for in life are tight pussy, loose shoes and a warm place to shit."

Ice and Warmth

Last Tango in Times Square

Lost New York City  is "A running Jeremiad on the vestiges of Old New York as they are steamrolled under or threatened by the currently ruthless real estate market and the City Fathers' disregard for Gotham's historical and cultural fabric."  In his latest post he links to a NY Times article on Fazil's Times Square Dance Studio. The fabled feet that touched those maple boards is a wonderland full of ghosts.   

Italian Made

In a few weeks there will be a Italian wine tasting at Delaware Plaza Wine Company. I know two of the importers, Vias and Winebow's Leonardo LoCascio Selections. I'm not sure of the third. The owner gave me a brochure from The Italian Trade Commission entitled "The Wines of Italy". It is actually a small book rather than a brochure, printed on heavy glossy stock. What was interesting about the contents was that Sicily is the first region in the book. The journey starts from the island of the Golden Honeycomb and proceeds north up the boot. This is the first time that I have seen this. In most other publications, the order is from Nord to Sud. The Mezzogiorno and Sicily are usually the last to be mentioned. Sometimes the mention is scant at best. Things have been changing for a while now and this is just another indication of that.

The Lustau Sherry Squadron

Sherry is very under appreciated in this country and its sales in Europa are in a depressed state. There are some very informative articles on this fine wine at Wine Camp's Use it Or Lose It and Michael Schachners' piece at Cellartours. The book "The Wine Atlas of Spain" is also a very good source. Lustau produces a Solera Reserva Rare Amontillado named "Escuadrilla". I enjoyed a glass with some roasted almonds. Sherry should be served in wine glasses, not those 2 oz. teetotaler china closet curios.

"Amontillado is simply old Fino. That is, Fino left to age after the protective covering of Flor has died off thus developing an oxidized character. Real Amontillado is absolutely dry and should be served at cool room temperature. By cool room temperature I mean an unheated castle in the English countryside in December. The wine should taste cool, but not chilled. Amontillado is much richer in color, body, and alcohol and is more of a sipping wine than Fino, which can be a gulping wine in the right situation. Amontillado is a wonderful cool-weather aperitif and goes surprisingly well with braised game dishes, particularly when some of the wine is used in the cooking."

Give Me A Hit

Mardi Gras 2008 produced the most hits for my blog since I started blogging in the spring of 2005, more than the family bullshit stronzata of thanks for the memories, encore la familia, encore redux. New Orleans was and continues to be a prime impetus. So goes New Orleans, so goes the country. 

2005 Cotes de Tables Red

The Perrin family of Beaucastel fame owns Tablas Creek Winery in Paso Robles Cailifornia. When I bought the 2005 Cotes de Tablas red ($19 before discount), it was on the shelf beside one of my favorite Californicated-Rhone blends, Morgan Winery's Cotes de Crows. I went with the Tablas. It was a disappointment compared to the Morgan and $2 more to boot. I won't buy it again. It lacked depth and seemed a little vapid. What with all the hype because of the familial history, I expected more wine to chew on. Maybe they should stay in the Rhone to make their wines or maybe I should stick with Rhone wineries that make their best wines in the Rhone valley. I would try the Z Three from Zaca Mesa Winery before buying the Tablas again. 

Happy Mardi Gras, People!

In the rest of the country, this is just another Tuesday, but in New Orleans it's Mardi Gras. If you would want to catch a little of the spirit, you can listen all day and all night at WWOZ or Home of the Groove Internet Radio. Later you can listen and watch the webcams here.

The picture to the right is of The Divas

Bukowski Quote

“Sex is interesting, but it's not totally important. I mean it's not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement.”

Very Smelly Lundi Gras

The human tongue can distinguish only five basic qualities: bitter, salty, sour, sweet and umami (meaty, savory). The nose however can distinguish between hundreds of substances. Flavor is made of up olfaction, taste and nerves leading from the mouth to the brain. So, when we experience the flavor of a meatball or an Aglianico, it is a very complex array of interacting factors in motion. Take a look at an anatomical drawing of the human mouth cavity and how it is connected to the brain. What happens is astounding, yet most people take it for granted or never stop to think about what is really being sensed and perceived. On dogs and scent: As for superlative sense of smell, the bloodhound is number one. The Nick Carter bloodhound cited in Wikipedia is credited with picking up a scent that was 104 hours old. I have heard of much longer scent times that are incredible.

Alfonso has his nose in books, in wine glasses and in the fields of Segesta. In his latest entry, The Italian Wine Guy offers this earthy meditation on the ancient sense of smell. Some wine textperts like to use the term "barnyardy" in referring to a certain aroma or taste in a wine. What they really mean to describe is the smell of decay and manure that is so essential to the life cycle. People don't like to hear that. It is too indelicate. They would rather hear or taste "asphalt" or "lead pencil". Much more appealing.

The picture at the top was ganked. These are pictures of Sybil, our 110 pound Bloodhound with French Canadian champions in her bloodlines. She was born and raised in the country. We drove to Auburn, NY in a VW to pick her up as a pup. These pictures were taken in 1973 at our house that we rented from George Rickey in the country in New Lebanon, NY. She was a scent hound hunter and the suburbs killed her. There is a swimming pool next door that has never seen much use in the 27 years that we have lived here. The runoff from the pool was never properly drained and seeped up to the surface. That is what killed her. I knew it the second I saw her drinking from the small pool. It was one of the most horrible nights of our lives. I had just started a new job a week earlier, but that didn't matter. That was April 1982. She had a very gentle sensitive temperament. She looked fearful, but was a big affectionate slobbering creampuff. I could pull her soft skin almost over her head. We did not get another dog until 2003.

Meatballs

Thomas Pellechia, author of "Garlic, Wine and Olive Oil" and "WINE: The 8,000 Year- Old Story of the Wine Trade", blogs at the fine, clearly written and informative Vinofictions. I have yet to read his book on the wine trade, but recently had the pleasure of reading his "Garlic, Wine and Olive Oil". In the book he gives his mother's recipe for meatballs. This was one of the highlights of reading the book because it brought back many memories of cooking and wine. His mother's recipe is very similar to my mother's recipe. It was an undisputed fact in my family that my mother made the best meatballs. We haven't made meatballs in many a moon, but tonight we will rectify that sin. Here's Thomas' recipe:

• 8 cloves minced garlic
• 3 tbs olive oil
• 1 pound lean ground pork, veal and beef combined
• 1 egg
• 1/2 cup plain bread crumbs, plus 1/4 cup
• 1/2 cup chopped parsley plus 1/4 cup
• ground black pepper

My mother soaked 4 slices of stale Italian bread in milk, squeezed out the milk and then broke them up into small pieces instead of breadcrumbs and she added a 1/2+ cup of grated Pecorino cheese to the mix.

Flatten out the meat on a board. Place the garlic in the center of the meat. Crack open an egg and blend it into the meat and garlic. Add 1/4 cup of bread crumbs or half of the soaked bread and roll mixture into a ball. Make a crevice in the ball and add the res of the bread crumbs or bread and 1/4 cup parsley. Knead for a few minutes. Add the rest of the parsley and black pepper and mix well. Break of chunks of the meat and roll into small meatballs about 1-2 inches in diameter. Fry the meatballs in olive oil on medium until well browned on each side. Lay out cooked meatballs on a paper towl to drain. Try not to eat them all before they go into the sauce. This is the most difficult part of the recipe.

Update: Some of the meatballs made it into the sauce. We had them on foccaccia just as the Superbowl got underway. There are a few things that we would change with our next attempt. I would not buy a meatloaf mix. You don't know the proportion of beef, pork and veal. Ordinarily, I would never do this, but I was lazy and the weather that day was tricky. The next time I will have a butcher grind the meats for me. I would add more cheese and include some caciocavallo. Lastly, I would add more garlic and parsley. I don't think we used the amounts that Thomas' recipe call for. But they were damned good.

Times Square, Is Low Life Better Than No Life At All?

I first saw Times Square in the early 1960's, but don't remember anything. The first time we really walked around Times Square was in the early 80's before Disney, Virgin and The Gap. This is series of pictures of Times Square up until 1952.

The New World, Sicily

View Larger Map

I finally learned how to embed a Google map correctly. When I wrote this post about my tortuously beautiful shortcut, I couldn't embed the map. If you follow the yellow route SS 185 below Tonnarella to San Marco (Thank God for him), to Novara di Sicilia, Francavilla di Sicilia, Gaggi and (keyword) eventually to the coast at Giardini Naxos, where the Greeks settled in about 746 BC, you will see that the road leads through some very tough beautiful terrain. From there we made our way to Taormina, which at first glance seemed so close yet the drive proved otherwise. It was the New World for the Greeks, as it would be for many of the people of Sicily about 2650 years later. The Greeks were greeted by Mt. Etna, while the Sicilian immigrants were greeted by a woman with a torch whose flame has dimmed to a dusty ember over the centuries.

How Do You Know That!?

I was shopping at Marshalls the other day and heard a screaming out-of-control youngster. The screaming tantrum could be heard all over the store.  Since this is one of the most annoying things about public places, I made my way quickly to the checkout line. A cart had been left in the line corridor and I remarked that it was thoughtful of someone to leave it right there. I had to push it aside to get through. The woman ahead of me in turn said that it probably belonged to a sales person. Nope. The cart belonged to the spineless wishy-washy mother of the well clad screamer-screecher. The 5ish year old was screaming about a plate in her grasp that she wanted. The plate was decorative sayeth the mother and was not a plate that one ate off. It was a plate for people who like cats and dogs, the mother said calmly explaining to the hysterical run-amok brat. "How do you know that!!?" demanded the little tyrant dressed in pink. "I know that because I am a mama" said the poor helpless soul in a soft ineffectual voice. "This behavior is unacceptable" offered the shadow of a mother. All the while the child who-is-father-to-the-man kept up the tirade. The woman who was in front of me glared at the two and then looked at me. I just shook my head and turned away. Bing!Register 3 was now ready for me to get the hell out of there.

New Suit or Meet De Boys On the Battlefront

As the people of the city of New Orleans roll their floats and gird up for the big Mardi Gras weekend, shitty hall lags behind. Dan at Home of the Groove pays tribute to the Mardi Gras Indians. Here Come Da Indians!

Photo Professor Ashley and Hana Morris

"San Francisco isn't in the same country as Lakeside anymore than New Orleans is in the same country as New York or Miami is the same country as Minneapolis...They may share certain cultural signifiers--money, a federal government, The Tonight Show--it's the same land obviously--but the only things that give it the illusion of being one country are the greenback, The Tonight Show, and McDonald's."

Neil Gaiman  "American Gods"