Coconut Cars

The story on cars fueld by coconut oil on an island in Papua New Guinea sparked a lively conversation in our household about the various alternative fuels on trial all over the world. Coconut oil sounds like the perfect sort of island-based fuel that seems to make environmental sense. Apart from the lower concentration of sulphur dioxides, nitric oxides and general soot, not having diesel delivered to the island by diesel-burning ships also makes sense (apart from the fact that the ships are still necessary for trade and transport). While coconuts are probably not in as plentiful supply on tropical islands as us continental types would like to think, they do have more coconuts than they can use in terms of juice, meat, soap and cooking oil. This begs the question of just how many coconuts one would have to gather to fuel a moderately low mpg vehicle. And just how much energy is expended on processing the coconuts? Can the processing plants be run on coconut oil too? Can electricity generators be adapted to use it? How long does processed coconut oil last (the cooking stuff tends to ming after a while if not properly stored)? What nasty additives have to go into the mix to get it to burn nicely in infernal combustion engines?

And all these questions got me to thinking just how negative we were being. True, as part of our job, we think critically: always looking for flaws in the data or hypotheses, poking around to ensure data is not misinterpreted, second guessing. All without meaning to be cynical. Just careful.

And it also got me thinking of how news of alternative fuel is always met with a few "so what?"s from the commentators. They have a point: there is absolutely no way that the USA could ever grow enough corn to fuel all their cars with ethanol¹; no way that every little Pacific island could be completely self-sufficient on coconuts for oil; no way that Asda's recycling of cooking fat in their trucks could inspire every householder in the UK to rob their local chippy. But they also miss the point that every small number of converts means that the trend for increasing oil-driven energy consumption is ever so slightly diminished. Every solar panel installed, every wind turbine that gets past the "Conservative Communities Concerned for Conservation of their Beautiful and Historical Landscape", every wave harvester makes a difference, however small. Slowly, one small appliance² at a time, we can slow down the growth of energy consumption. It's accurate to point out that demand for energy is still growing. The alternative energy sources will not fix that problem. That is up to individuals and governments to tackle. It may hurt attempts to invest in alternative energy if we keep lumping them together. For it to work, it must be economically viable, even if the early stages are heavily funded by rich governments.

It also seems fairly obvious to a numpty like myself that it is to the interest of growing super-powers to invest heavily in research in this area now. Countries like China and India already have enormous energy demands, which will no doubt increase. Peak oil may be upon us (although it is still heavily debated, but let's not go into that now). Unless China and India (and any other super-power I don't have the precogniscent ability to see) have ever-lasting supplies of coal or oil, or can twist OPEC's arm, they will need to not just use current alternative energy sources, but drive the development of new ones. Which they probably are already doing (apart from nuclear power, that is; but let's not get into that now either).

This didn't start out as a rant, though it has turned fairly incoherent. I guess my point was that it is easy to be a nay-sayer when it comes to the real benefits of alternative energy sources, be they fuel for vehicles or to provide electricity to needy bloggers. But as the hegemon known as Tesco likes to say, every little helps.

Incidentally, this news comes as I've finished reading a recent LA Times Book Festival purchase: The Sex Lives of Cannibals, by J. Maarten Troost³. I wonder if the inhabitants of Kiribati (pronounced Kikibas⁴, according to Troost) have the technological ability or drive to consider adopting coconut oil as a fuel? Or failing which, export their copra to their Pacific neighbours in exchange for some food that is not fish.

¹ Speaking of which, doesn't the harvesting, transport and processing of the corn crop suck up a whole lot of energy in itself? Oh me oh my, how easy it is to be cynical.

² e.g. the iPod. Oh, we're back on the greenness of Apple again are we? Incidentally, this reminds me that I desperately wanted a Solio before I left for LA because I thought there would be enough sunshine here for it to work. But they were out of stock then. Would it be naughty to buy one now and have it shipped here? Even more naughty than charging the iPod on the mains every other night?

³ And speaking of the book, this gives me an opportunity to have a photo in the post. Haven't you missed my awful photography?

⁴ Typo: should be Ki-ri-bas. Thanks David. My fingers must have had the dog's nickname (kiki) programmed in instead.

Apple is not exactly a Granny Smith

How is Apple so low on the Greenometer with all those hazardous chemicals that Steve Jobs claims they've eliminated or are in the process of phasing out? Based on no research whatsoever on my part, it sounds like Dell is planning to, but has not actually achieved the elimination of PVC and BRF:

Nokia and Dell share the top spot in the ranking. They believe that as producers they should bear individual responsibility for taking back and reusing or recycling their own-brand discarded products. Nokia leads the way on eliminating toxic chemicals, since the end of 2005 all new models of mobiles are free of polyvinyl chloride (PVC) and all new components to be free of brominated flame retardants (BFRs) from the start of 2007. Dell has also set ambitious targets for eliminating these harmful substances from their products.

The specific report on Apple claims that:

For a company that claims to lead on production design, Apple scores badly on almost all criteria. The company fails to embrace the precautionary principle, withholds its full list of regulated substances and provide no timelines for eliminating toxics polyvinyl chloride (PVC) and no commitment to phasing out all uses of brominated flame retardants (BFRs). Apple performs poorly on product take back and recycling, with the exeption of reporting on the amounts of its electronic waste recycled.

(via)

Protracted proclamation

New (b)leader, new (b)liar?¹ And to christen the beginning of the end, has Guardian Unlimited hired the same website designer as Times Online?² And does this hint at some editorial change I've missed out on?

¹ Contrived, I know. It's been a long day.

²Update: All these fancy pictures on the new website meant I missed the editor's explanation. Meh.

Mr Moore, kindly crawl out of Uranus

Sir Patrick Moore has his knickers in a twist about women running the BBC.

I would like to see two independent wavelengths - one controlled by women, and one for us, controlled by men."
[snip]
"I used to watch Doctor Who and Star Trek, but they went PC - making women commanders, that kind of thing. I stopped watching." --Sir Patrick Moore

Deafened by Bright Eyes

Bright Eyes deafened me at the Walt Disney Concert Hall.

Green up my Mac

Is this merely Apple patting itself on the back or a genuine effort to lessen the environmental impact of their products? Aside from the lower use of toxic materials (which is to be applauded), Steve Jobs claims that Apple recycled 13 million pounds of "ewaste" last year (9.5% of the weight of product sold 7 years ago) and plans to improve on it. It raises the question of what the 13 million pounds refers to: starting weight of the products or actual weight of suitably reused/recycled material? This comparison suggests the 13 million refers to total product weight and not weight of material recycled. (Actually, while I'm wondering out loud about the validity of the comparison, how about making the products last longer so there's less frequent turnover? Ah... It doesn't make business sense, that's why...)

Anyway, it's an effort to be encouraged and not to put down too much. Perhaps this little piece of PR will encourage the other major computer manufacturers to put some of this in practice themselves (unless they already do, but just haven't come out and said so). I wonder if there are smaller manufacturers out there who are already making greener machines but just not shouting loud enough for a deaf person like me to hear (whatever happened to that $100 laptop project, and will they be recycling the end-of-life products too?).

And speaking of recycling, back to Apple's announcement of their greenhood. If you are one of the many people hanging on to a defunct 2G or 3G iPod with a failed battery, perhaps this 10%-off-future-purchase-unless-you've-already-given-up-and-switched-to-a-Zune offer will appeal:

Let me take a moment to talk specifically about iPods, even though they are included in the above data. All of Apple’s U.S. retail stores, which now number more than 150, take back unwanted iPods for environmentally friendly disposal free of charge. As an incentive, we even offer customers a 10% discount on a new iPod when they bring their old iPod to our stores for proper disposal. This summer we’re expanding it to Apple retail stores worldwide, and we’re also extending it to include free shipping from anywhere in the U.S. No product purchases are required for any of our free take back programs. In a few months, we think we’ll have ‘best of breed’ iPod recycling programs in the U.S., and we plan to continue to expand our free iPod recycling programs globally in the future.

Incidentally, over at treehugger.com, they're promoting an energy-saving alternative google search page, which is not green in the sense of the colour spectrum. Unfortunately, going by the stream of comments at the end of the post, it sounds like this is only useful for CRT monitors and will make no perceptible energy savings on LCD screens. I wonder if lower page load times on the more popular sites (like the Beeb's news page) would help save energy. Or browsing via RSS feeds instead. Or blogging less. That last one I can definitely do.

Disclaimer: I currently love Apple products and own a Powerbook, 3 iPods (don't ask... I'm not as green as I'd like to be), 1 AirTunes router and a small smattering of accessories. So I might be considered somewhat biased.

Travail, toi Français!

Presumably, the French ballots were a lot simpler and this autocrat is exactly what France wants. Ah well, there goes my hope of the 35-hour work week spreading globally...

Scottish Presider

Oh, the Scottish Elections have descended into the realms of the farcical. The ramifications of the huge SNP gain, small party losses and Labour/Lib Dem backlash is that the one party that could not get even one seat in the first Holyrood elections may now preside over its proceedings. (via)

More votes for Scots

"Either we re-run the election or the returning officer contacts these 10,000 people who had their ballot treated as spoiled to ascertain their actual preference. "We need to do that, otherwise democracy is in crisis in Scotland." (via)

Sure. And open the process to bribery of said 10,000 people? I think not.

If there was a re-election, perhaps folk will finally cast their TRUE vote. Methinks that in the future, Scotland should hold practice runs.

I am one monkey in a billion1

I am a self-confessed billion monkey* (via). Even worse, I am a billion monkey who snaps her monkey nuts before she eats them. See the other very crappy results of my billion monkey machine here.

Incidentally, I know a Real Photographer^TM who enjoys a spot of self photo-ing.

¹That means there are 6 more of me on this planet; if one of you reads this, get in touch. Starting to feel like I've been spread too thin.

Gaelic word for the day

There's a splendid Gaelic word, bourach. It means an utter, hideous mess. This is bourach, Mach Five.

Scottish (Muckadidoodah) Elections 2007

What a dickadeedoodah the elections have been this year! I've missed out on all the fun. Followed doctorvee's twittering and subsequent indignation at the mess made by the decision makers:

Some people wonder what the Scotland Office is for these days. Obviously they are looking for stuff to do, so have been busybodying with this e-counting stuff. The e-counting systems might have been desirable for the local councils, but they did not need to be used for the Scottish Parliament elections.

I was feeling a small amount of sympathy for the poor electorate, expected to cope with oh-so-many ballot papers, until I saw a photo of the ballot sheet (or rather a photo of the poster explaining the ballot sheet). Honestly, it's not that difficult.* Maybe they could have hired some expensive design agency to make the parliament ballot a little clearer (maybe some dozy-brains didn't register the split arrow), but that poster is education enough not to screw up.If you've made the effort to go out and vote, surely you're invested enough in the process to make the even smaller effort to read the instructions. I don't think the blame can be laid on the Westminster or Scottish Parliaments (maybe apart from the decision to have both local and Holyrood elections on the same day). More and earlier voter education? Maybe not. A redesign of the ballot sheets? Ach, I hope they're going to have a good look at the spoiled ballots and work out what went wrong or there's no point in suffrage and we'll have to start testing voters for mental competency before elections.** Ha.

*I would be interested to learn how many of those were true protest votes or if anyone scribbled stuff like "anyone but labour" or crap like that. Don't waste your vote, dammit. At least vote for some small crappy party if you don't like the major ones.

**Disclaimer. Joking, OK? Not proposing this or calling the electorate stupid. Maybe a little bit lazy or dozy or confused, but not stupid. I pretty much agree with what was said here.

Mair on the sorry tale. I like this interpretation :

Electoral systems suffer the same problems as bad software - they are dominated by geeks with no understanding that users have to be able to understand the system you are designing and bolt on a shoddy interface as an afterthought - and by marketing departments/politicians who have a very different agenda from the rest of the industry and force bad design decisions from the word go. (via)

The revelation that the Scotland Office were advised not to hold both elections on the same day is no surprise to me. A department controlled by a party that started its first few years in government spinning and managing the media will take any little advantage they can get to stay in power. Another example of disgusting NuLab behaviour.

(Needs), Wants and Desires

Ach, I have to contend with so many other folks' wants and desires everyday, but no one ever asks what I want. Well, right now, if anyone is paying any attention (hint, hint, P; if you don't listen over brekkie, at least read the blog) I am deeply in love with this glorious type-set map of London (via). If they cannot/will not ship the US, perhaps my ever-loving bro will send it to me via Parcelforce (hint, hint, bro; if you don't reply to my emails, at least read the stupid food blog).

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

The Sith Lord does not entertain interruptions (via, which was via).

Dogs for all

I can sympathise. It is inevitable when you meet a dog that suits you that you will end up adopting it.

Apaprently, I walk too fast and it's bad for me. Since Singapore tops the table, that's not entirely surprising.

Cream and bastards rise

Going through my RSS feeds in Thunderbird, I realised I read NOTHING in 2006. Yes, the whole of 2006. Not only did I read no blogs, I also read no books*. That may have been the first time in my life I didn't read voraciously, constantly, indiscriminately. What should I do about the RSS feeds? Mark them all read so I can clear up the folder in what is also my main email software? Or laboriously go through the several thousands?

At any rate, I've started reading other blogs again. Starting with the ones that I read before I started my own. Which is how I came to be watching this awesome piece of lib dubbing, and craving me some of that music too. A search on iTunes proved unfruitful, and although myspace hosts a streaming version of Flagpole Sitta, it's not downloadable. What to do without resorting to naughty illegal downloads or warming up the planet by having Amazon deliver it in a huge box? Last resort, the official website for Harvey Danger, where I don't find the song, but instead end up bittorrenting their latest album little by little. For free. Clever ploy. I'm enjoying it, and probably will buy a hard copy.

Clever ploy.

*Soon to be rectified. My dad gave me The Language of God for Christmas, but I haven't gotten round to getting it off the shelf yet. And I bought two Ray Bradbury books at the LA Book Fest today.

A bit annoyed; lost the post because one of the sites I was trying to buy stuff from decided to crash my Firefox. It's one of those damn sites that seems to close after midnight for maintenance or something. Perhaps I should take the hint and stop buying stuff from them.

Why on earth would anyone object to Where's Waldo (Wally)?, number 88 on the American Library Association's list of 100 most-challenged books (via). It's not exactly controversial, is it? It's a picture book, for crying out loud. And one with rather tame images at that. (Unless there's a Playboy version I've not seen.)

Update: Ah, I understand now. There really is a "Playboy" version. I think I even have the edition in storage at home...

An interesting analysis of the original cause of the Darfur war/conflict/genocide. An excerpt:

More recent computer modelling has suggested that rain patterns over Africa are influenced rather by ocean temperatures, and those in turn reflect global warming, and the rise of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. In other words, droughts in Africa may be caused less by its hapless inhabitants and more by oversize cars and cheap flights in Europe and the US.

See, Arnie; all the more reason to get rid of your Humvees.

The Californian State vs The EPA

So, the Governator may sue the EPA over their slowness in allowing California to pass a vehicle emissions law. While I applaud this state's attempts at tackling climate change, I still find it a little ironic that Schwarzenegger is still driving his damn Humvees.

Extracted from the article:
Teased by conference host Michael Milken about his gas-guzzling Hummers, which emit high levels of greenhouse gases, Schwarzenegger said he was having both retrofitted to run on cleaner, renewable fuels.*
But he said making people feel guilty about what they drive was not the answer, and insisted that energy issues and environmental concerns can be addressed with new technology.
"Women who have children like SUVs. We should let them keep their big SUVs and change the technology."

Something is better than nothing. But I think his point about not making people feel guilty about their lifestyle choices is dangerous in the long run. I can plainly see he's trying to please two diverse camps here: the environmentalists and the rich middle-to-upper class (which are sometimes one and the same thing here). Sure, a rich state looking to cut greenhouse gases can push the development of new technology, which benefits us in some ways. But will this be affordable to all? I doubt it. Not in the short term anyway. It also side-steps the issue of simply making those minor changes to the things you do, and how you do them. In particular, his example of the women with children who like SUVs, aside from the patronising tone, is wrong on other fronts. The fact that the SUVs are big means it takes more energy to drive them forward and more materials (often petrochemical in nature) to manufacture. Whatever new technology is used in terms of propulsion or fueling, the fact remains that these vehicles will always require more energy to propel. How about changing the minds and aspirations of people instead? How about setting an example and getting rid of the Humvees altogether to be the role model for a successful have-it-all-but-can-give-it-up-for-the-sake-of-the-planet American instead? (And recycle them responsibly too; maybe the Army could use a donation of what was once theirs.)

*He may be referring to ethanol as the renewable fuel, but even that is fraught with environmental issues. Will you devote the entire surface area of the country to growing corn to fuel the cars?

Frrrog! This* is SO wrong (via).

*You may not want to click on this if you're a die-hard vegetarian/vegan. Or like frogs.

Do you want to be the Great Grand Overlord of the British Isles?

Feeling bad. Not giving dog enough attention, not taking good care of P, not calling home enough, not IMing the bro for months, not sorting out the BnB website problem, not writing enough manuscripts for the lab, not producing enough data for the great and glorious leader, not doing my part for the environment by incapacitating every Humvee in sight (and that's plenty round here), using too many plastic bags to pick up doggy poo, not keeping abreast of current affairs, not giving our governors hell over climate change and their bloody stupid self-defeating "war on terror", and worst of all, not following the run-up to the upcoming SCOTTISH ELECTIONS.

One small thought on it though: Gordon Brown¹ must be pissing his pants. If the Nationalists get their way (unlikely for the foreseeable future, but I'm no Sybill Trelawney), Westminster would have to reciprocate by kicking out the Scots. That would damn well screw his chances of being Great Grand Overlord of the British Isles, wouldn't it? Unless he wanted to be English.

¹Am currently fascinated with this Where's Gordon? map.

So, the kryptonite story is old hat now. But the article made me wonder why the makers of Superman Returns used "sodium lithium boron silicate hydroxide" as the chemical formula for kryptonite when we already have an element named krypton (Kr), which they could easily have faked a compound name with. They missed a trick there. (Unless there's some kosher DC Comic reason for it.)

Pizza Pie

I was going to discuss the merits of different pizza styles and toppings, but I got side-tracked by the discovery that in Iran, pizzas are now known as elastic loaves (via).

So, instead of yet another dull "I made this, then ate it" post, we'll keep it to just the photo of my very-elastic loaf today:

Oh yeah, the beer was decent. A not-too-sweet pale ale with a hint of bitterness in the aftertaste. Slightly malty, slight hoppy. From the cutely named Otter Creek brewery.

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

I suffered in Nintendo Hell as a child, and never felt much satisfaction from playing that stupid Super Mario Brothers platform level game. So this amused me no end (via). Caution: plenty of swearing.

Ospreys don't like to be cuckolded.

Humans are quite vicious as a species, but at least two-timed men don't practice infanticide. Or so I hope...

Old people rock!

Rocking grannies and gramps! An excellent cover of The Who's "My Generation". Check out The Zimmers, and watch for their single coming out in late May.

And remind yourself of the craziness of The Who here.

amuse bouche

This novel form of webvertising amused me for a few minutes (via buyo). Then I realised I really like her sense of humour, and I might even buy the book or see her when she comes to the Hammer. This stuff really works, huh. I wonder if I could try it on reviewers of my manuscripts...

green chana/chickpeas/garbanzo beans

I can't be much of an Asian. I've never had green chickpeas (garbanzo to the Merkins). But I bought them from Trader Joe's anyway. They've sat in the freezer for the last month. The green peas, broad beans (fava beans to the Merkins) and pre-shelled edamame have all been scoffed, leaving behind these green versions of my favourite pulse/legume. Chana masala, made with the more usual yellow version of chickpeas, is a favourite standby in our kitchen. Whipped up with tinned chickpeas, tinned tomatoes and whatever Asian spices I have in the cupboard, every chana masala is an adventure in itself. Especially when I get the chillies out (poor P... his poorly tummy can't take the heat).

So it was with a certain amount of suspicion that I opened the bag of frozen greenies today. We haven't had much luck with American frozen pulses. The broad beans are already too far gone for our preference of firmness. Which means we've been substituting it with edamame, which retains its bite a little better, for our other standby: beans and bacon. Anyhoo, a interweb search pulls up a rather tasty looking recipe for harbhara chaat. Seeing the chickpeas in a cone of newspaper reminded me of my childhood, buying kacang puteh from the little cart outside the cinema. We'd get to choose one cone each. My mother always went for the chickpeas, my father for the cashews, my brother for the sugar-coated peanuts. I *always* wavered between the fried lentils and the boiled chickpeas. Somehow, even though the chickpeas were the "healthier" option, I usually chose them.

Back to those greenies. They were a little over-cooked. I swear I only allowed them to warm up in boiling water for 2 minutes. Still. Beats soaking dried beans overnight and boiling for an hour. Not having the best stocked kitchen around, I substituted the onions with shallots and the green chilli with red jalapeno. Amazingly, there was a very old and wrinkled mango and lemon in the fruit drawer, so in they went. As for the spices, I'd be mortified if I didn't at least have cumin, coriander and ginger, so it wasn't too difficult to cobble together some chaat masala, after this recipe. Of course, without the powdered dried mango, it won't be the same.

Served with our current pseudo-Asian rice fave, fake biryani, consisting of whatever long-grain rice we have (usually Thai, but sometimes basmati), cardamom, random nuts (pumpkin seeds at the moment) and cranberries. (Yes, cranberries. Not a fan of sultanas, me. So I can't even make fake British-Asian biryani.) Don't knock it till you try it: sweet/sour dried fruit in rice works. Ask the Persians, inventors of polo, which inspired biryani, which inspired this:

I love pretending I can cook. And at times like these, when everything comes together even though nothing is authentic, I really feel like I can tackle anything. (Don't mention the pizza...)

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

Spag-balls and chips

Eh. Remember that post about the four staple meals in Britain? No? Never mind. Suffice to say, I made my annual allowance of spag bol today. Only it wasn't spag bol out of a Dolmio jar (let alone Loyd Grossman's). While looking for inspiration to cook the only mince I dare buy at Ralph's: ground buffalo, I came across this recipe for buffalo meatballs, which sounded far to easy to pass up. Plus, I was getting sick of buffalo burgers, buffalo black bean stir fry, buffalo burgers... And I was making cookies and onigiri at the same time, so something that was quick and could sit on the stove while I baked and shaped and walked the dog (re: the dog; just the walking, thanks. didn't cook her). And as the final nail in the coffin, the string of comments on my crappy pizza photo, which made me crave spaghetti.

The only thing I changed was the concentrated tomato soup, of which I'm not a fan. On the other hand, I love having tinned tommies in the store cupboard for my puttanesca fix. So, a tin of blitzed plum tomatoes went into making the sauce instead. If I wasn't quite so busy with other things, I might have added some 'erbs or accoutrements like capers. Oh there we go with the puttanesca again... Oh, and I added some paprika too. I'm currently having a love affair with my tin of Spanish paprika. Some nearly went into the cookie dough mixing bowl by mistake. Now, that would have been an interesting choc chip cookie indeed.

The cookies were something of an impulse bake. Was decanting a new bag of flour I lugged home on the bus (not a trivial undertaking with laptop in hand and other important groceries like milk to carry too), and drawn in by the "Extraordinary Chocolate Chip Cookies" recipe on the back of the packet. I like back-of-packet recipes. They're usually piss easy for idiots like me. But this particular recipe must have been developed for industry or a very big, multi-child family. It called for 4 cups of flour, 1 1/2 cups of butter, 2 1/2 cups of sugar (half white and half brown), 2 eggs, 2 tsp baking soda and a 24oz bag of choc chips (or 4 cups). FOUR CUPS OF CHOCOLATE CHIPS?!? P would accuse me of trying to induce a clogged artery so he could be replaced by an upgrade. Even when the recipe was halved, we still had difficulty finding enough containers for the surfeit of cookies.

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

We've been wincing in Downtown Los Angeles.

Despair, death and destruction at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. We've been listening to Wagner and spying on friends.

We've been out and about with the doggy in Santa Monica.

It's not Easter without chocolate

Not a personal subscriber to the Christian concept of Easter. Full of admiration for those who can give up chocolate for Lent. So, have joined them in a day of gorging on chocolate for no other reason than my love for it. Happy Chocolate Sunday!

Hey you guys!

P doesn't remember ever watching The Electric Company, whereas I watched it religiously as a child. It was on par with Sesame Street as far as I was concerned, just sans muppets and not so babyish. I don't know what made me seek it out tonight. I started singing the "C is for Cookie" song by Cookie Monster on Sesame Street, then HAD to show P the original on youtube. From there, it morphed into a search for The Electric Company sketches. And it finally dawned on me that all those years ago, I watched Morgan Freeman deadpan his way through a kids' show and never realised it. Sure I recognised Bill Cosby; he had The Cosby Show which we also watched religiously as a family. But Morgan Freeman never twigged my not-very-alert actor-radar. I want to watch them all again, but somehow, I fear I may be disappointed. What strikes one as a child as the very pinnacle of broadcasting output may seem a little condescending and overly simple now. I might purchase an episode or two from iTunes, or a DVD, or just spend the rest of the night on youtube...

Amendement: After dithering about I finally acquired a YouTube account just so I could bring you this:

Muffin madness

Multiple copies of the LA Times were strewn across our apartment floors for a couple of weeks. Perhaps it's not in good taste to explain why in a food post. At any rate, the food section has provided some inspiration for baking the last few weeks. I've not had an upside-down cake for ages; not since childhood days of being allowed to make pineapple upside-down cake unsupervised. So it was with great glee that I made a lemon upside-down cake a few weekends ago for my BBQ. It allowed me to get all sorts of things going on the grill and make a cake at the same time. Recipes should always be this easy. Unfortunately, no photos were taken. A usual. You must think I fake these posts... I was going to link to the LA Times recipe, but found it's a pay-per-view article. Well, sod that. I'm not going to reproduce it here, because I've no doubt there's some copyright law on that. So, there goes my stupid plan of using this blog as my recipe archive.

To make up for a lazy Sunday of frozen waffles and blueberries, I got up early to make muffins on Wednesday. (If it was a lazy Sunday, does that make this a working Wednesday?) The recipe, again, was courtesy of the LA Times, so no link. It called for Meyer lemons, but we're swimming in mandarins at the moment, so mandarins it was. I like recipes that don't faff about too much during the prep stage. This one required the citrus to be roughly chopped, then food-processed, which wasn't overly complicated for early morning. The rest of the muffin recipe was the usual simple stir-wet-into-dry-but-not-too-much. I don't think I'll use this recipe again. It called for 1/2 cup of butter, which, compared to that epicurious recipe from before, is 1/2 a cup of butter too much. (Maybe the banana in the previous recipe added enough moisture and good fat to hold the whole thing together.) But I like the idea of using my spare citrus in this manner. Perhaps I could bastardise the two recipes and come up with something edible, yet P-heart-friendly. More experimentation beckons.

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

Knicker change

Fooling around with the template. Can't get head around new codes or even where to cut and paste the old link log. Feel stupid. Nothing new then.

One thing the fancy archive links have flagged up is the shocking lack of posts in 2006. Peak blogging occurred in August with a grand total of 8 posts. The decline in posting coincided with a decline in joie de vivre, precipitated by work-related issues. I didn't even have the energy to post about our very lovely vacations in the South-West with our families because I paid very dearly for them. Fortunately, things have changed. A slight change. Like changing your pants. You still wear them, but with the change comes a certain freshness.

Frozen Brekkie

Best not ask what time I woke up today. I don't even know that. Been living without a clock since moving in. And my last functional watch died last summer. And my mobile phone has done a strange disappearing act every weekend ever since I was phoned on the morning of my last birthday (a Sunday that time) about the location of a chemical in my lab.

Sundays have never been good days for me. I feel as if I should be doing a million and one things, but my body refuses to budge out of the nest I've made in my bed. On rare occasions, I get up early enough to have what is commonly known as breakfast. Sometimes I even bake something for brekkie.

Not today. Courtesy of some clever forward planning by P, we had store-bought blueberry waffles with frozen blueberries on the side. They weren't "leggo of my eggo", but close. There's something about plastic, pre-fabricated waffles that appeal to me, along with equally hydrocarbon-chain-polymer-like hash browns. I prefer the "real thing", but on some occasions, when one has woken up far closer to lunchtime than decent folk should, plastic tastes just fine.

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

Griffith Park

The dog watched horses over there.

Crouch scores a hat-trick against Arsenal? Now, that's an April Fools' joke..

Overheard today: "There are far too many socialists in this lab celebrating this César Chavez holiday." Said, I think, in response to half the workplace not turning up for work today. One hopes it was a bit tongue-in-cheek...

What's with all that cricket; is this still a food blog?

I wouldn't trust Lloyd Grossman as far as I could chuck him, but I guess he merely adds his face to some the apparently ubiquitous sauce bottles that have sparked some lively debate about the cooking habits of the British. OK, I exaggerate. That sparked an article on the four staple meals the British public resorts to by Zoe Williams, whose witty writing we enjoy in our household.

Now under the impression that my little household must also be stuck in the same rut, I felt quite determined to log our weekly diet. Like the state of Schrodinger's cat, the very act of observing one's diet can change one's eating habits. Under normal circumstances, that is. Like all serendipitous findings in the laboratory, our unique circumstances of not having much control over what time we get home, and hence when we eat our single cooked meal of the day, allowed me to log our weeks eating blind since I completely forgot that was what I was going to do anyway. (And you naive folk out there really think I know what's going on when I'm doing my experiments... I ALWAYS do them blind.)

So for what it's worth, and to qualify this as a sometime-food blog, in all its ugliness, this is what D+P ate this week for dinner (breakfast is almost always cereal unless I've baked bread, and lunch is always something leftover or from the canteen or me starving hoping to get finished earlier and thus eat a nicer dinner. ha!):

Sunday: BBQ (friends invited over to christen the pit's new home). Prawns smoked on cedar planks, garnished with garlic and lime. Grilled aubergines: large globes sliced and grilled, then layered up again with mozarella inbetween and oven-baked; chinese eggplant and mediterranean aubergine just plain grilled. Swordfish and mahi-mahi marinated in soya sauce and ginger, cubed and skewered up with a cherry tomatoes and lime slices. Fillet of wild-caught salmon smoked on an alder plank with lemon juice, lemon thyme (from garden) and salt and pepper. Couscous. Sour mango salad (Corrine Trang recipe).

Monday: Bad start to week. D in lab waiting for a 10pm experiment. Leftover breaded chicken from canteen lunch. Yoghurt. Mango juice. P, on the other hand, conveniently FORGOT to pack BBQ leftovers for lunch, and hence dined like a f-ing king while I starved in the lab. Dagnabit.

Tuesday: More BBQ leftovers. And lots of green salad. Dang, I should BBQ more often. Cook for an army, eat for three days...

Wednesday: Chicken wings baked in five spice powder. Steamed broccoli with oyster sauce. Steamed Thai rice.

Thursday: Roasted beef ribs in a pseudo-Galbi sauce. You know, the roasted beef ribs was another serendipitous finding. We left the ribs covered in foil in the oven at 300degF (dammit, I'm even using degF without thinking now; I'm screwed for returning to metric EU), went for a walk with the dog, stayed out longer than we planned (1.5h), and found the ribs cooked to tender perfection. Normally, I guess we'd have them bloodier, but the slow cook helped the tougher fatty and tendonous bits breakdown somewhat.

Friday: Thai takeaway. And no, I'm not proud of this one. In fact, we both acknowledged that we could have easily cooked something from the store cupboard even though the fridge was more or less empty and we left the lab after 9pm. In fact, we could even have had some of the frozen psuedo-siew mai (Japanese style with edamame), or thawed out some squid to fry in Szechuan pepper, or just had couscous and olives. But no, we thought we were desperate enough for takeaway. We didn't even enjoy it. Dog's tummy was bad all week, and cleaning up indoor **** really puts one off a curry. Dangitalltoheck.

Saturday: Post-ballet dinner at En Sushi on Santa Monica Blvd + Barry. Sushi (traditional): hamachi (yellowtail), raw scallops, octopus, snow crab. Agedashi tofu. Veggie tempura. Spinach+enoki cold appetizer. We'd driven all the way back from the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion along Olympic in hope that we'd see some all-night Korean BBQ restau with lights blazing and a neon "Open" sign. Which we did. Only to find after parking that they were closed. Even Zankou Chicken on Sepulveda was closed. But En Sushi's kitchen doesn't shut till "late" on Saturdays. 11.30pm on this particular Saturday. It's one of these places we've avoided because it looks too trendy for us. The cheap and cheerful yakitori place half a block down is more our style when eating out in our neighbourhood. Or when we're feeling fancy, SaSaYa, the small-dish (can't remember the Japanese name) is our fave. It's not to knock En Sushi really. The food was great, the service ever so accommodating despite the late hour. It's the fact that every time I've crossed Barry, either to get to the DVD store or the other less trendy restaus, I very nearly get run over by some fancy SUV or noisy sports car leaving the valet parking for En Sushi. I have little charity for such folk, and avoid their company as much as possible. Which has till now deprived us of the very competent sushi chef at En.

Sunday: Dinner at the ex-neighbours' in thanks for looking after their dog while they were away. Some fabby Indian cooking. Rice+cardamon+sultanas. Chickpeas+spinach. Aloo ghobi. Eggplant curry. And some lovely double-fried sweets from the Sweet Shop (name?) on Pico + Fairfax.

So. In a blind study of the eating habits of some ex-UK inhabitants, we find no evidence for any spag bol (we probably eat that once or twice a year), tikka masala (D is not keen on sweet curries, Brummie or otherwise), chilli con carne (put off that during undergrad years; now have irrational hate of kidney beans) or bangers and mash (have to admit to eating that monthly in Edinburgh thanks to the venison and boar stalls at the fortnightly Farmers' Market in the West End). I think our rut comes more from not trying many new recipes or styles, rather than having staple set meals. Our cultural influences, while many, have grown stale. Sadly, without my library of cookbooks and their ideas or not reading the broadsheets' lifestyle sections or not having the time to browse Flickr quite so much, we've lost the will to try out more complicated dishes or experiment with the ones we know and love.

So, in the spirit Schrody's cat, or rather, in tribute to the spirit of Schrody's cat, we will attempt to change the diet by the very act of observation, thus leading to experimentation.

Joffrey @DCP

We've been to the ballet.

Dichotomy of Japan

Compare and contrast

Japan apology for blossom error

Japan reiterates sex slave stance

I like aspects of the Japanese culture and race; there is much to be admired about the way the Japanese people can be focused, the manner in which they preserve their cultural heritage, and have pride in their nation. But sometimes, I wonder if the outward politeness masks a deep arrogance and feeling of superiority over their Asian neighbours. The sterotyped image I have of the average Japanese person is typified in the first story: absolute apology for any minor error. But the second issue reminds us that WWII was really not so long ago, and that there still exists tension between the nations that the militant Japan of old sought to dominate and this allegedly new generation of Japanese. My parents were born shortly after the war, leaving me two generations from the Japanese occupation of SE Asia. I have no bone to pick with the Japan of now, but if they persist in trying to rewrite the events of 60 years ago, perhaps we should start noting signs of increasing nationalism instead of worrying so much about some Bush administration-invented axis of evil.

Go on, you Patricks

It's been a mixed day for the Irish, hasn't it? 4 points off a 6-Nations victory (merde!). Denied yet again, as far as I can tell... But they're celebrating in Jamaica now. What an upset that was. Good on Ireland, but what on earth happened to the batting order of Pakistan? I feel for them. Their reception at home will not be good. But these things happen in ODI. What an interesting World Cup this could end up being.

house demolition

WTH? I thought I'd just modify a few cosmetic things on my blog and Blogger made me choose a new template. Oh hell. Does this mean another week of working out how to change things to how I like it? Dammitalltoheck. I guess things have changed since I last did any blogging. Darn dotcoms and their love-in takeovers. Dammitalltoheck.

Ms Lazy-pants here will be leaving this place looking like crap until she finishes her own version of March Madness. But she musn't complain. That new "labels" function looks like fun... Even a little... WordPress?

the world is going to hell in a handbasket

What is the world coming to? Global warming, illegal wars, economic and polar icecap meltdown, road rage, the 405, and to top it all, Blue Peter fakes a phone-in! We're doomed, I tell you. Doomed!!!

what world cup?

As far as most sporting games are concerned, I tend to lend my support to my adopted home of Scotland, even though they suck at football, cricket, rugby... You name it, they suck at it. On the world stage, when Scotland don't qualify for whatever World Cup is on that year, I generally cheer on all the other British and Irish teams. So, that will be England and Ireland for the footie, and Wales for the cricket. Ha. Not being a true Scot, I don't have an automatic, born-with hate of the Sassenachs. And they're usually entertaining enough to warrant my interest anyway.

So, it's with no compunction whatsoever that when the Ashes are played, unlike the Scottish tabloids, I give my misplaced yet wholehearted support to the underdogs: the English. And like every other cricket fan who is not pro-Aussie, I suffer. Mind you, the suffering is less great when you can't even watch the damn tests. A number on a website is a lot easier to quickly erase from your memory.

It gets complicated when both teams end up in the same championship. But they tend to be separated into different groups. And Scotland sucking at everything means the teams usually don't meet (apart from the odd game or so... but it's been a couple of decades. at least). So this time round, I was trying to work out how or when the Auld Enemies would pit bowlers and batsmen against each other.

Then this happens. If you're 203 short in an ODI, even if you are playing possibly the best side of the tournament, maybe it's time to start saying things like "It's the taking part that matters" or "At least our fielders can catch the ruddy ball". But I'm proud of Scotland. They took on a giant and didn't flinch. (OK, they might have. I dunno. I don't get to watch any cricket in this god-forsaken country! Not even the ruddy highlights!!) From the blow-by-blow account, courtesy of the Beeb, it looks like underdogs made a valiant attempt to limit the run rate, but were out-classed. And in typical Scotland fashion (at least in rugby.nobody mention the 6-nations please. it hurts), gave too much at the beginning and suffered at the very end.

It may make more sense for someone from the Asia-Pacific region to cheer on the best of the local talent, especially when one can choose from giants like the All Blacks or even the Aussies. But once you've lived and supported in Scotland, it seems so traitorous to go glory-seeking in Australasia. Here's to many more decades of cheering wildly whenever Scotland score a collective century.

Kirin

We adopted a dog.

Banana and blueberry muffins

I'm always envious of those Martha Stewart types who seem to have it all together. You know, nice home, nice garden, nice kids, good food on the table, nice table settings. And I've always suspected that while Martha Stewart herself has a huge operational team to make that happen for her, there really exist real women and men out there who live the life she has trademarked. Such people can get up in the morning, put the coffee on, make the bed, groom themselves, get breakfast ready, get the kids ready, yadda-yadda-ya... And that's just within one hour in the morning.

On the best of mornings (and only weekend ones at that), I just about manage to get out of bed some time after 1000h, stumble to the shower, waste copious amounts of water to get my eyes open, and demand breakfast very loudly until P gets up and makes it. But today, for some odd and unknown reason, I made muffins. Banana and blueberry ones at that. I've never made muffins. Not successfully anyway. I can make the most intricate of damn sachertortes, but hand me a muffin tin and crap comes out. Figuratively. Please, what do you think I am? Cack-handed?

Recipe courtesy of Epicurious.com. Not having a Martha Stewart team of organised people to ensure all reagents were in place prior to baking, I was about 2 bananas short of a full cup and completely lacking oat bran. But I had frozen blueberries. That counts for something. Substituting oat bran with some weird New-Age seven-grain hot breakfast mix seemed to work, with the pleasant side-effect of crunchy, nutty bits without the sat fats of nuts. But substituting a shortfall of bananas with milk, vanilla and maple syrup results in an overly moist muffin lacking structure.

No matter. P liked it. While not a success, it wasn't a complete failure.

Eww. I've just looked at this post on Firefox and my muffins look like crap. They looked OK on iPhoto and Safari. What's up with that?

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

:():

Sweep those ashes away. It was all over after the first test, wasn't it? Some would say it was all over before it even began with a dismal English summer, injuries and coaching changes. I'll never know; didn't even get to see any highlights in the boondocks. Oh well. Time to shore up the defences for the upcoming 6 Nations. We'll no doubt be watching Scotland get trashed in a pro-England pub yet again. I tell you, it's worse than living in England.

The 1.5 year wait is over... In 14 hours.

akatsuki crawls from under the very big rock she's hiding under in anticipation of... The Ashes!

I know it's not very Scottish and all, but I can't help backing England when it comes to the Ashes. They've been the underdogs for a long time, but I guess you could say the same for the Aussies. Come to think of it, in a competition between two countries, they both get to be the underdogs every so often. Ach well. Who cares? (Besides, when all Scottish cricket will aspire to is the occasional inclusion into the World Cup and Div2 county cricket, one's kind of lacking of a local team to support. Though you can't say I didn't fully back the Saltires while in Embra; I at least peeped over the wall on my way home if the games lasted long enough. And even paid for entry to quite a number of weekend matches. And watched all too many drunken brawls in the process. Scottish football is a little more civilised. They at least wait till you're *outside* the grounds to throw glass bottles at you.)

14 hours to go. I cannae wait! I even got broadband in my apartment so I could get at TMS on the internet. Shame there's absolutely no way to watch highlights apart from the 30 seconds that Sky Sports occasionally lets us have during the weekend round-up on Focks Sport Sucker Channel. (Although I must say AZN, the Asian-American channel, had a decent 30 min program at the weekend during the India-England series this summer. Here's hoping they're interested in the very non-Asian Ashes as well. But who knows. Monty is quite the looker.)

And akatsuki crawls back to being the over-worked, under-paid, under-appreciated scientist lab dogsbody that she has grown accustomed to being. Food blogging? What food blog? I don't even eat anymore. Let alone bake, cook or blog...

Washoku

Feeling the heat in LA, both weather- and work-wise. Going through a depressive slump as a result. What's a girl to do to combat the resulting insomnia when crosswords aren't doing the trick? Buy some new cookbooks, that's what!

After a particularly cruddy day at work (and I mean this in the literal sense; omg i'm never going to do anyone a favour again), the satisfaction from opening the Amazon box sitting on my desk was close to that gained from tearing off the wrapping of an anticipated Christmas present. For within the box were two impulse purchases: Harumi's Japanese Cooking and Washoku- recipes from the Japanese Home Kitchen.

I spent 20 minutes waiting for my agar to set salivating over the photo and recipe for Buckwheat Noodle Roll, an insane-looking maki sans rice, but made with buckwheat soba. That's definitely one to try one of these weekends.

Happy now...

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

Madeleines

Ce soir j'attends Madeleine.

J'aime des madeleines. And they're surprisingly easy to make. I simply followed the straight-forward recipe from Epicurious.com with a few modifications. Self-raising flour instead of all-purpose flour plus baking powder due to an unfortunate invasion of weevils in our store cupboard. And vanilla extract in place of the much better vanilla pod. (Sacrilege, I hear you murmur...)

I must say the use of a silicone madeleine tray probably made things easier. I didn't have to butter multiple moulds, nor worry about things sticking. The madeleines popped out easily. And there was only one disastrous batch of darker-than-necessary cakes. (still edible, just not very pretty.)

But critically, they passed the taste test of our French neighbours.

Technorati tag: madeleines..

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

Sushi Sasabune

Omakase. Trust your Itamae. With instructions courtesy of our friendly and efficient wait staff. (No dipping! Dipping allowed.)

Technorati tags: Sushi Sasabune.

Cross posted on akatsukieats.

darn it

Looks like I won't be swaying to the sound of Keane next month.

Bummer.

Battera sushi

After a half-hearted attempt to enjoy some jazz on Thursday, we gave up and went for more palatable sushi instead at Sushi Isshin (Lindbrook and Tiverton, Westwood). We've had all sorts of food at Isshin: bento for lunch, tempura, california-style rolls (like black dragon and caterpillar), chirashisushi, noodles. But we've never been on a Thursday, when the chefs make battera sushi!

Apparently, this is how sushi was for hundreds of years, before the advent of nigiri sushi (see here). The combo of pickled veg and fish was refreshingly different from nigiri sushi. And considerably easier to eat too, without the dilemma of whether to stuff ones mouth or bite the massive sushi in half. Much easier than determining if a ball has been tampered with when it starts to reverse-swing.

[and so we segue into cricket]

All too convenient for England, me thinks. What with the slim chance of catching up at all, let alone hanging in there long enough for a draw, this hulabaloo might be the way out of straight-out defeat.

An evening in Venice

Straying a little further than usual, we spent a few twilight hours out west on Venice Beach last weekend. (And, yes. It took me a whole week to get round to writing this.) Someone had the rather nifty idea that we should try out Jin Patisserie on Abbott Kinney Blvd. While living out there last year, I walked past it SO many times, but never felt the inclination to go in alone. On the other hand, I went into the Taco shop and coffee place on California many times. Some places don't look so inviting when you're on your tod.

Anyhoo, we arrived to find a hen party in full swing. Or at least it looked like a hen party. It could have been a baby shower too. I'm not very good at identifying occasions of all-female parties, never having been to any. Besides, we got there too late too sip some tea with cake, and had to make do with takeaway. All the cakes had pretty names, but I can only remember the Louvre, helped by its pyrimidal shape.

The cakes were absolutely fabulous, when we got round to eating them at midnight. What was meant to be mousse was. What was meant to be cake was light and spongy. What was meant to be stodgy and chocolatey also lived up to expectations. I'm sure our enjoyment of these delectables would have been enhanced in the calm garden/patio of the patisserie. The chef-owner must be living a dream come true: which food-loving little girl has never dreamed of owning a bakery or patisserie? Mine kind of died when science beckoned and I realised that one had to have the skill of decorating as well as baking. No matter. I can now spend my hard-earned money on such luxuries without the slaving away by a hot oven all morning bit.

We also went to Wabi-Sabi. But felt kind of out-of-place there. It was packed full of the typical beautiful characters of Venice. And while the menu looked interesting, something was lacking in us that day. It's like being back at school again. Sunday nights are always marred by the prospect of work on a Monday. I enjoyed the lychee martini though:

Russia comes to the Hollywood Bowl

Courtesy of a German conductor.

This weekend has been Tchaikovsky-tastic at the Hollywood Bowl: two nights of the Russe with fireworks. The evening started rousingly with T's Cossack dance: your steroetypical populist folksy tune made classical. It set the scene for a evening of entertaining cheesiness. Now, don't get me wrong. I lurve Tchaikovsky, and for all the same reasons that most people do: his music is very emotional and involving. But because of that, his music has been used in all too many soppy, tear-jerking, sentimental (you get the picture) movies and soap operas. The second piece of the night was his Piano Concerto No.1, which is beautiful. No doubt everyone knows the opening bars (or if you didn't know it was Tchaikovsky, you'd still recognise the melody). And I will forever more associate with a Japanese tear-fest of a drama about a talented young woman and her struggle to become a concert pianist.

The interval was a necessary break from the emotion welling within. OK, I just needed more alcohol*.

Which brings us to the even more spectacular second half, with T's Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overemotion. Yes, one can have a little bit too much Tchaikovsky. Again, nothing wrong with the composition nor the orchestra. In fact, the Bowl's changing lighting scheme came into its own with this piece, turning a dangerous red for the fight, pink for their love, and blue in tragedy. Maybe I just wasn't in the appropriate romantic mood to truly appreciate the Fantasy overture. I was somewhat more concerned about P's chilly hands (poor circulation, poor dear) than in just holding them. And I have to confess to having favourites when it comes to Russian composers of a certain period. Prokofiev, too, scored the Romeo and Juliet tragedy. And that has been my favourite since my cranky adolescent years, being just a little less sentimental. (Oh, who am I kidding. I love Tchaikovsky's too. I think I was just tired.)

The 1812 overture, like the R+J F.O., is overemotional and overly testosterone-inducing. But what a crowd-pleaser it is! All the more when fireworks are timed perfectly to replace the cannons. Bringing on the red and gold-clad USC Trojan marching band was another perfectly cheesy, over-production, populist move that just fit the evening perfectly. I was thoroughly entertained despite my jaded-ness. After all the years of staid concert-going, being quiet and appreciative, trying not to fidget too much lest the neighbours shush me, last night's concert was quite liberating. I felt able to throw off the cynical overcoat and wow at the Russian rooftop that appeared over the roof of the Bowl, and clap and cheer for every firework.

While this can never replace the true satisfaction of watching the final fireworks of the Edinburgh festival, the Hollywood Bowl certainly puts on a damn good show in spectacular surroundings. Even the moon obliged and loomed large and low for the R+J F.O. It's not the best venue for delicate chamber music. It's not the best acoustically for rock/pop concerts. But it's perfect for Hollywood style grandness.

*For drinkipoos that night: a Merlot and some Polygamy Porter** from the Wasatch Brewery, both 100% from Utah. Of the two alkys, the porter was far superior (the less said about the wine the better). After initial laughs and nudges from my fellow Tchaikovskites, it was generally agreed that Wasatch produces a fine porter indeed. Unfortunately, one can't get beer shipped just now. Which is why I'm going to Utah again in a few weeks.

**Why have just one! is their slogan.

Palms Thai

Pad See Ew must be the Thai equivalent of Char Kway Teow (a dish truly deserving of captalisation).

And not having been back to S'pore for nigh-on a decade, this is the closest I've had to the magical fatty friedness that is CKT. Unfortunately, the use of broccoli and chicken makes it far too healthy to qualify as CKT. For that, one probably needs full-fat pork lard, cholesterol-laden prawns.

It was Ticketmaster what did us a favour. Their sometimes ridiculous "convenience" charges (ok for a couple of tickets, but not for ten!) forced us to the Hollywood Bowl's box office last Saturday. By public transportation, no less. It's one thing to take the Hollywood Bowl Park and Ride shuttle for a hour to get to the Bowl for a concert. It's quite another to trek out with the Metro bus system for the same amount of time. For one, you could get quite unlucky and get on a smelly one. Which always seems to happen to me whenever we have to venture further east than Westwood. So, a three hour round-trip requires maximisation of our time. While we had some hope of taking in a hike in the Hollywood Hills, it transpired that getting to somewhere fairly pleasant is not exactly easy once you're actually at the bottom of the hills.

No matter. We have more than one interest. And having been told about Thai Town, we were determined to get some Thai food after. Barcelona FC's visit to the nearby Hollywood and Highland mall nearly side-tracked us until we realised how long we'd have to wait to catch a glimpse of the second-highest paid (but best bang-for-buck) team in Spain. And the new Beard Papa made a stab at stopping us in our tracks too. A cool cream-filled chocolate eclair definitely makes pushing through the tourist-throng outside Mann's Chinese Theatre a little more bearable. By the time my lips were licked clean, P had gotten bored of looking at long-dead people's footprints. And off we set on our hunt for Thai cuisine. Helped by the Zagat guide.

Wee side note: does anyone else find the Zagat restau guide somewhat awkward when looking for food within a neighbourhood? Yes, they have a section at the back with lists of restaus by LA areas. But it's terribly difficult to wield the book, flip to the relevant page, check the darn address on a map balanced precariously between other hand and lap, give up cos it's not bus-able or walkable (in the heat, anyway), and whittle out the non-Thai places.

No matter. We found one within a 30 min walk. Palms Thai on Hollywood and Bronson is a somewhat canteeny looking place with an allegedly resident Elvis. But I guess an hour before real dinnertime starts isn't the best time to catch him. No maatter. That isn't why we went. We were after the exotics. Well, as exotic as it gets in LA anyway. Palms has a Wild Things menu, which includes raw shrimp, deer and frog legs. I think the only thing on that menu I'd find just beyond my ability is the raw shrimp. That's just asking for food poisoning, I reckon. In my prejudiced way.

But it was the leg of a frog that I managed to convince P to try. (Quail and deer are somewhat tame when one's had game all one's life.) The frog meat was a little tougher than I had hoped it would be. There's nothing quite like frog legs, French-style: all tender but with a garlicky kick. And I thought it'd be even better in a spicy sauce. Alas. I think our frog legs came out of a freezer drawer. And perhaps had been there a while too. I guess not enough people take advantage of the Wild Things menu to make getting in fresh frog legs economically viable. A shame.

Otherwise, we had pretty good service for off-peak. It wasn't overly attentive, and our bill (check, D! always ask for the check. no wonder no one understands you...) got a wee bit lost on its way to us. But that's kinda understandable when the entire wait staff is having their pre-game dinner. (Which looked soooo good.) It's also a little difficult to judge a restaurant's atmosphere at 5pm. The only other folk in were mainly small families with kiddies, and the odd tourist-looking couples (like us). Apart from the pad see ew, I enjoyed their coconut juice, which was really coconut water (the stuff wot will splash out if you're not careful when cracking the but) with floating chunks of coconut flesh. While not having to scrape crazily to get the sweet juicy flesh can be good, having it all in a glass can be somewhat.... mundane.

I think I'd go back again. But without the expectation of the exotic. (Goddamit. It's kinda hard to find exotic when you've grown up with the very cuisine Johhny Foreigner thinks of as exotic.) Maybe as pre-concert fodder for the nearby Henry Ford Theatre. (Did I mention I have tickets for the Clap Your Hands and Say Yeah concert? Yes, I do. Not that I was familiar with their music before coming over.) I guess my search for spectacular Thai food in LA will just have to continue. But next time, I'll leave the Zagat behind, and take some Santos™ with me.

Technorati tags: Palms Thai, thai food.

Hammer for Free

Not so much one that bangs nails into walls, but one called the Armand Hammer Museum in LA. (Not the Arm and Hammer, as misunderstood by a friend. In-joke for those who live in the States.) The museum has had a summer of free-ness. Free rock, free exhibitions, and now, free jazz.

We had a pretty swinging evening of jazz and blues with Pyeng Threadgill and her band. Despite the uncomfortable seats and overly hard acoustics, her music moved my toes and swayed my hips. If I could dance at all, I would have.

The Hammer's website describes her as having the "voice of a jazz diva" with "indie-pop songwrit[ing]" credentials. Not possessing the vocabulary of the music-connoisseurs, I'd have to agree. It's not very often that I hear new vocal jazz that I want to listen to again and again. And her voice has that envious fullness/richness. It brings to mind a cup of perfect Italian espresso, accompanied with a pastille of dark, rich chocolate. Her song Ambrosia evokes aural memories of a young Ella Fitzgerald (listen here). Sweet and sultry at the same time.

Dancing till Dusk

We've been away. And now we're back to the crazy heat of LA. It had been impossible to do anything in the daytime for at least a fortnight until it finally cooled off last weekend.

Which meant the weather was finally to my taste, and we could hit the beach. Manhattan Beach for a change. Lunch at Captain Kidd on Hermosa Beach was pretty good and not too expensive for fresh and varied seafood. The oysters were pretty good value at $1/shell. (That's in comparison to a pound a shell in Scotland.) And I got my bodyboard out for the first time this year. Wiped out on my first outing, and have a massive bruise to show for it. (exacerbated by volleyball afterwards. take my word for it: it's not fun to bruise a bruise.) Otherwise, a fun day oot.

Sunday was meant to be a chill-out day, but we had to work. :( We were rewarded in the evening when an otherwise ordinary trip to the supermarket ended in several hours of dancing ancestral worship that is the Obon festival on La Grange in Sawtelle. We had some pretty tasty Japanese fast food: beef teriyaki, char siew udon and shaved ice with red beans (kintoki). But we mainly had our sights set on having an imagawayaki to finish off the day. Blueberry flavour to boot. Not one I've ever had before. Alas, it was not meant to be. Having waited to digest our meal, we joined the super-long queue, only to be told 20 minutes later that they could only make one more batch of imagawayaki, and everyone in front of us had asked for the final 28 cakes.

We were, understandably, inconsolable. And spent the rest of the night throwing metal rings at money in a pit. (Some funky ring-throw booth.) I came pretty close to winning a $20 note. Close, but not close enough. But even a win would not have made up for the loss of the blueberry imagawayaki.

Oh yeah. And there was a lot of taiko-led dancing on the street outside. Some of it with fans and all.

A review

Furry lobster attacks tree
Originally uploaded by framboise.

Of events in the rather dullllife of D and P.

Backtracking from the weekend just past.

Sunday, 2nd of July, was spent in a leisurely fashion, starting with a large cappucino and pain au chocolat (for D) and almond croissant (for P) at Amandine Patisserie on Wilshire (cross street Bundy*). During breakfast (wot? no photos? yeah, no photos), we had a scholarly discussion of the pros and cons of supermarkets vs corner shops, and how Edinburgh was going downhill with the muscling out of the once ubiquitous corner shop by "metro" outlets of large supermarket chains. Yes, even after a year in LA. Pathetic, isn't it? It was, however, sparked off by a simple suggestion that we swing by Ralph's on the way home to get some bog roll. And somehow turned into this huge, 30 min long rant about how Ralphs was like Safeway (our old local supermarket), which was absolute shit for fresh produce (their steaks leak water), but critical for daily necessities like toilet roll.

A pathetic Sunday morning in the supermarket was saved by the brainwave that we should escape the heatwave by visiting a museum. After the fiasco of the last attempt to visit an LA museum, we settled on a fairly local one: the Armand Hammer museum in Westwood. They're currently exhibiting works of the Société Anonyme, a disparate collection of 1920s-40s artists, some with intentional Dadaist streaks, and others with pretention so pure that you could only view them as Dadaists. No matter. I likey. And I laughed. Unfortunately, eveyone else in the gallery seemed quite serious, which made me feel somewhat disrespectful. [mini rant] Honestly, when did art become something one had to take seriously? Sure, if you're a student or an enthusiast, you could/should view it with a critical eye. But who decided that the atmosphere in galleries and museums should be quite so sombre? Yeesh. Loosen up. [rant ends] That said, the Hammer is a nice wee museum, and being free all summer, it's the perfect place to escape the LA heat and learn a thing or two. Or laugh inappropriately. Or take photos of their soothing monster bamboo:

Saturday, 1st of July, was the day I finally met Santos/chotda, of green bananas fame and made the aquaintance of Sarah from who writes of her delicious life. This also being the day of the game-I-still-cannot-talk-about-rationally, we made plans to watch the game-I-wish-never-happened in an Ingerland pub way off in the Valley. Stepping into the Fox and Hound on that fateful day was like visiting an English pub giving away beer for free. In fact, it was so full that we had to split up. So I can't even give a mouthful-by-mouthful account of shared food/drink. And I still can't talk about that game. But Santos can, and with a sense of humour I don't possess early in the morning or when Ingerland loses (again).... (btw, that was not horror from sartorial comments, more from the abject patheticness of Ingerland at fitba. omg, i *still* can't talk about it.)

Further plans to meet up for a trendy evening of watching Dr. Strangelove on the side of Douglas Fairbank's tomb came to naught. Mainly cos we were late. When the website says "doors open at 7.30pm" in LA, one should be there at 7.30pm, not nearly 9pm. Or one will come face to face with security refusing to let anyone in unless they're on a guest list. Even if you dared to tell them that P tackled the monstrous watermelon specially for the picnic. (Not that we did; security in LA probably comes with guns...) No worries. D had a plan to salvage the crazy bus ride from West LA: soon dubu at BCD Tofu House! So, a 5 min walk, 10 min wait, 5 min bus ride, and a 20 min walk later, we arrive at Wilshire and Normandie to find... that BCD Tofu House, the always-open, 24 hour, round-the-clock home of emergency soon dubu of Koreatown, was shut. For renovations. We were a 1 min wait from tears. Then D, master of all failed ventures, queen of bad luck, bane of P's life, spots a light in the distance. Long story short: found a Korean BBQ place still open. The Safety Zone (no idea why they're called that, other than the fact that they were our safety blanky that night) is a pretty spartan, patio-style, cheap and cheerful place. And it's open till late. (At least till 11pm, as far as we could tell.) It's not as swanky as Chosun Galbee, but service was fast. P allowed me a couple of minutes to grab this shot before diving tongue-first into the standard-order Korean side dishes:

The week before the relatively eventful weekend was as dull as ditchwater. If you thought your life was dull, you should come and live mine.

Sunday, 25th of June, flew by without either P or I leaving the apartment. You will find out why below. If you cared.

Saturday, 24th of June,: the day the Scots beat the hell out of the English at the Battle of Bannockburn in the year no-one-knows-and-no-one-cares. Also, the day perspiration flowed freely and D's chin-zit grew to magnificent proportions.

Yeah, a couple of idiots thought it would be a good idea to invite both their labs to a BBQ. The preparations started on Monday, and carried on right to the end of the Argentina vs Mexico game. Even into penalties. Significant amounts of meat were marinated and grilled. Including the flesh on my arm. Stupendous amounts of vegetables were cut/julienned/sliced/pickled/dressed/boiled/grilled/macerated/steeped. And for all that effort: no bloody photos! After the last time it happened, I swore to have an "official" photographer. And what did I do this time? Forget to take any bloomin' photos, that's what.

No matter. I must learn to accept that any future efforts for BBQs will just have to remain undocumented. You've either experienced one of our slapdash, uncoordinated BBQs, or you very fortunately haven't. As day turned into night, and folk (other than my lab) started trickling home, our final two guests arrived to save us from yet another evening alone with my lab (wot have no other social life to leave for, like us). Round two, dinner began. Quite luckily, an attempt at glutinous rice had failed for the BBQ. Five hours of constantly resetting the rice cooker later, our guests, not knowing any better, tucked in quite happily. And the camera finally made an appearance when the evening descended into whisky. Best part of the day: I finally learned what the weird 2nd-last icon on my new camera is for: indoor shots! I'd been using the "incandescent" setting with poor results. Two tired drunkards, glad most guests left well-fed:

Friday, 23rd of July, right up to 4am: D and P are super grouchy and still marinading meat.

*note that I have finally realised, after one whole year, that this is critical when mentioning street names in LA. especially when wilshire stretches from the pacific to smoggy downtown LA. and maybe even beyond. i just haven't gone that far yet.