Leaving New York

DISCOVERY WHILE EATING ALONE

2011-12-31T11:12:00.000-08:00

I love eating alone. Eating with company often distracts you from what you're eating. If the food is okay or bad, that can be a good thing. I'm a critical eater, and try to pay attention to what's on my plate. But when I'm alone, I often make wonderful discoveries. Some of the best meals I've ever eaten have been during solo trips to Europe and South America. I still have vivid memories of dining at Cibreo in Florence. The restaurant was packed, but I had a good table where I could view all the action while still paying attention to the wonderful food being served to me. At Christophe in Buenos Aires, where I've had at least four meals, the quiet atmosphere made me hyper-aware of the good food this excellent restaurant. It's not only in great restaurants that one finds great discoveries. I've recently discovered a great Vietnamese bakery that serves up superb bahn mi sandwiches for a pittance. The rolls, which were baked on the premises, were fabulous--so good that I took home six. Having a yen for corned beef hash one day, I stumbled across Bertie Lou's, a dive in Sellwood, where you'll find just about the best corned beef hash to be served in Portland. I've already raved about the pizza at Gladstone Pizza, a happy discovery alone.

Yesterday was a good example of discovery while eating solo. My lower back has been aching for a week and finally I could stand it no longer. A friend recommended I made an appointment with a chiropractor in SW Portland. It's fairly close to where I live. I purposely left my house early so that I could get in a late lunch before my appointment. Even with a GPS system, traversing the insanely inept streets of Portland is an exercise in frustration. Often you'll encounter street signs turned in the wrong direction, and for what seemed like 20 minutes, I found myself circling through the same maize of streets over and over again. After a torturous detour, I finally found myself looking for some place to eat, only now I had less than 35 minutes to eat and get to my appointment. By happy coincidence, The Buffalo Gap was within a few blocks and I stopped in at this tavern that serves food. I explained my time pressure, and was given a menu with my soda. Within a minute, my order a beef sandwich with a blue cheese spread on toasted sourdough was in the kitchen. My waitress asked me what side I would prefer with my sandwich. Sides are big here and often vary from soup or salad, to french fries, potato salad, tater tots (!) chips, etc. She ticked off the list to me and among the offerings were sweet potato fries, which sounded just perfect to me.

When the waitress arrived with my order, I laughed. It was an absurdly large portion. The sandwich halves were stuffed to over-flowing (I had noticed the same thing at a neighbor's table where they were tucking into huge Reuben sandwiches). But what really caught my eye was a mountain of hot, thin-cut sweet potato fries. Barely had the plate touched the surface of the table before I dove in. The fries were cut in elegantly long and thin pieces. The outside was crisp; the insides were somewhat soft, but it was the salty crunch of these addictive potatoes that kept me snatching them in between bites of my sandwich. I don't mean to imply my sandwich was good--it was. Between two slices of well-toasted sourdough bread, were pink slices of warm roast beef. It was nicely balanced with the soft blue-cheese spread (butter was the other ingredient), and cool crunch was supplied by a mound of shredded lettuce. Good as the sandwich was, it had to take a back seat to the excellence of the sweet potato fries. I couldn't concentrate on the magazine I had been reading. Giving up, I concentrated on those lovely fries, and not one was left on my plate. A really good dill pickle made my lunch complete. I was now ready to face my chiropractor.

I later called a friend to rave about my fries. He knew the restaurant well, because it's been open forever, but he had never tried their sweet potato fries. He hadn't been there in years, but remembered going with his parents. The place has been around forever. So the next time you're in Portland, check out the Buffalo Gap. It's not much to look at, and the decor could use an update. But the food better than your typical tavern fare. Even at 3:00 PM, the place was lively.

The Buffalo Gap
6835 SW Macadam Ave.
Portland, OR 97219
503-246-7111

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS--NOT!

2011-12-26T13:48:00.000-08:00

Triple Chocolate Mousse Cake (includes a layer of white chocolate) for Christmas dinner. Quite easy to make, and only a little time-consuming to assemble, but it's impressive and not too sweet.

I don't make resolutions. Too many good intentions followed by disciplinary lack. Diets don't seem to work for me on schedules such as January 1. I always admired Princess Grace who would go on an austerity kick right after New Year's and stay off booze, and watch her diet like a hawk until Easter. It would kill me trying to emulate her good efforts. Right. I never bought that crap about a tooth fairy either.

It's been a tumultuous year nonetheless, rendering any resolutions hopeless. I started a business that failed within four months. It was an expensive mistake, but it's over and now that I've settled with that thief of a landlord on my lease, I'm left with a gag order that says I can't specifically name him or her publicly and especially not with an expletive attached. Fine. I'll suck it up. I don't like it and I've already been fantasizing about the worst calamities that should befall this sub-human species, which will have to do. Suffice to say, if I ever make noise about launching a business that isn't attached to food, please shoot me. But be warned if you ever want to start a small business. Everyone has their hand out and reaching for your pocket--nobody more so than a landlord. Sign the shortest lease possible--it will be less likely to bite you in the ass in the event your business doesn't survive.

But I did get back to food, and now I'm officially a publisher. I've got a big book project with a large and well-known business that should make a big splash in Portland next fall. But for the time being, I'm waiting to make any specific announcement for later in the year.

Lily waiting expectantly for a piece of cheese.

Over Christmas I played host to Lily, a beige rat, who is the pet of a friend's daughter. I had to keep Bit and Lily separated, so Lily took over the guest room while my roommate is away. In her cage, Lily is curious, loves cheese, celery, and snooping around when I let her out for a few minutes of exercise every day. She is very pretty and it's a kick watching her groom herself (she's very clean).

The business was a huge distraction and now its over, leaving me time to get back to more important things, like finishing the renovation of my basement, which got started and then abandoned when the business came along. Bev, my new roommate wants more privacy, so I've asked for a contractor to estimate the cost of finishing the project. Besides, I cannot sell my house in the future with an unfinished basement. I hope to have it completed by the first week of February.

2012 ought to be a big year with another presidential election. I hope President Obama is re-elected. The spectacle of one Republican presidential wannabe after another falling on his sword before the official campaign season begins has been, well, spectacular. But I really hope voters will signal their disgust at the Republican party by sending a bunch of Senators and Representatives back home to get regular jobs. We need leaders in Washington to restore the economy, create jobs, push the bankers towards real reform, fairly tax the rich who are doing nothing for the economy, and make us competitive again. Wasting our time and resources on the few in power is not where our future should be headed. A party that thinks there are no consequences for not voting for a two month extension on unemployment benefits, is playing with fire and there's an angry American public that is fed up and ready to send these boobs home for good.

I'm looking forward to my forthcoming week-long visit to New York in January. It will give me an opportunity to bring a winter's coat with me, enjoy the cold weather, do a little business and mostly catch up with old friends. So I'm starting my New Year with a full-plate.

Beau's official holiday portrait and then to sleep.

I'm wishing all my friends and loved ones, a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year!

JOHN'S FOURTH CHRISTMAS TREE

2011-12-20T20:57:00.000-08:00

Master Bedroom Tree

Most of us are happy to have one Christmas tree, but not my friend, John. He had four this year, up one from last year. That's four eight foot trees. Lights, ornaments, labor. I previously posted photos of the crystal tree, the wooden ornaments tree, and in the kitchen, a large tree with all kinds of ornaments. The den's tree had two different types of lights and hundreds of wooden shapes from snow flakes to carved soldiers and characters from the Nutcracker. John's been collecting these ornaments for years and he certainly gets teased for this hobby.

On Saturday, I got a chance to catch a photo of the fourth tree which he installed in his beautiful bedroom on the second floor is his house. This tree is full of brass ornaments, including candles with holders. Though the candles are not lit (talk about a fire hazard), the electric lights bounce off the polished brass, giving the tree brilliant illumination.

I spent Friday and Saturday afternoons skewering twelve pounds of large shrimp, roasting a fillet of beef and then making open-faced crostini from it, stuffing two kinds of cheese in celery, piping scallion cream cheese in endive spears and then draping them with smoked salmon. I scooped out cherry tomatoes to be stuffed, and helped John get the food on the table before the bartender and server arrived. I was dead on my feet when I went upstairs to take a shower before the first guests arrived. It was then that I got the photo of the fourth tree.

It was a lovely party with nearly 60 guests arriving. John has been hosting this party for the better part of thirty years, and he thinks a lot about it every year, looking for new recipes, and refining his plans. I was too pooped to photograph the table.

So here is fourth tree and the other three to follow this.

Kitchen/breakfast Room Tree

Living room Tree

Den Tree

CAR MUSIC

2011-12-12T18:54:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I love music inside and out. I think about music often during my day and dream about music all the time. An old song from my youth or a section of a symphony, a piece of jazz by Ella Fitzgerald, or a snippet of something really treacle like "Whispering Hope" in a duet with Jo Stafford and Gordon MacRae (trust me there's a story here and if you listen to the aural pleasures to be gleaned by the teaming of the angelic Stafford and the golden baritone of MacRae, it's not that tacky).

But I got my first car in September. And Mona (the name I gave my car) came equipped with a six-changer CD player. Nirvana for the thousands of CDs that I own. I remember listening to music in cars during my teenage years in California and during those top 40 days, I memorized so many of those songs because, and I didn't understand it until I finally had my own car, you're a captive audience. So I'm like a kid in a candy store. My 20+ CD carrier is constantly being replenished. And it's been a blast.

I've been playing lots of opera. Leontyne Price in her glorious early prime singing MADAMA BUTTERFLY live at the San Francisco Opera in the early 60s, before her Met debut. Has there ever been a more shimmering sound from a classical singer than Leontyne Price? My speakers have been reverberating with the thrillingly intense singing of my buddy Christine Goerke, who sang one of the great test pieces for a dramatic soprano--ELEKTRA--in Madrid for the first time in her relatively young career in October. I've watched the DVD endlessly, but the sheer thrill of hearing her in full throttle on my car speakers as I speed down the highway, is indescribable. She's going to sing this role often in the next few years and it's going to be one of her calling cards.

For pop music I've been awed anew by Barbra Streisand's latest CD--"What Matters Most". I've been listening to Streisand since 1964. "People" is still a test record to compare against other pop singers. Streisand's gorgeous timbre has often thrilled me, appalled me, or left me indifferent--that the risk you run throughout a 50-year career. To be fair, only Sinatra comes close. When you listen to this new CD you are struck by how much youth she's retained in her sound and how relaxed she's become as an interpreter. Streisand is no longer overwrought. Everything is pared down to essentials, and with very little loss or concession to age. Yes, the voice can sometimes sound shredded in exposed loud singing, but her soft singing is diaphanous and agile and there's intent behind every phrase

All my pop friends have been telling me about Adele, so I downloaded her sophomore effort--"21". This is an unquestionably great pop record with one memorable tune after the other from this sensational British talent. The voice is set low in contralto range, with a touch of yodel and smokey jazz and she sings of youthful and painful love. Adele's vulnerability and her brassiness makes you pay attention. "Turning Tables" is my favorite of her songs, but truly this CD is superb. There's a reason it has sold 10 million copies. Lovely artist and long may she continue to grown and give us more memorable music.

And so every day I'm feeding my car CD changer lots of new stuff: Tony Bennet's two albums with the jazz pianist Bill Evans. Jesus those are amazing recordings. Jamie Cullum's "20-Something" CD is such a gas and one of my favorite pop/jazz CDs. He can take a show tune like "I Could Have Danced All Night," or a Cole Porter standard, such as "I Get A Kick Out of You," and newly mint them for today's young audiences. Madeleine Peyroux is another young artist I love. I'm no longer a rock 'n roller, if I ever was one. I do like listening to Dave Matthews, and Blood Swear and Tears (old school).

A Mozart Symphony, a Schubert song, Janet Baker singing anything, Harry Connick, Jr., Ella live in Paris in the early 60s, Bobby Darrin (so cool), John Legend, Etta James, Aretha before she became the Queen of Soul, Harry Nilsson, Kristin Chenoweth, Jo Stafford, Jack Jones, Linda Ronstadt, Pink Martini, Christine Goerke singing Turandot, Ariadne, and Kundry, Keely Smith (the Sinatra CD rocks), Kenny Rankin, Jane Monheit, Joseph Calleja (a Maltese tenor with a fantastic sound), Lucia Popp and Margaret Price (beloved sopranos from the 70s and 80s), Jesse Cook (a fantastic classical and World Music guitarist), Eileen Farrel singing the Blues and Barbara Cook rockin' Broadway's song books, and so many others have been taking pins on my car CD player.

And now I've bought Adele's Albert Hall concert (a.k.a. recital) DVD and CD combo. The CD will be on my change as of tomorrow. And wait...I have a ton of movie soundtracks that need to be getting fresh hearings. It's a good time to be listening to music.

TIME TO PUT OUT THE DECORATIONS!

2011-12-11T12:57:00.000-08:00

The living room Christmas tree full of crystals

Last night I attended the first to two Christmas parties, my friend, John Baker, hosts every year. Part of the fun of going to John's house is to be awed at the perfection and the time he puts into decorating his trees. Yes, I said trees. This year there were four. I'm posting three of them and will finish the job next week at his next party.

One tree is in the living room, and it is a shimmering wonder. My camera won't do it justice. There are hundreds of crystal ornaments from Tiffany's, Steuben, Swarovski, and many others in various shapes from snowflakes to round gumdrops with beveled edges. Some of the crystals are opaque glass and some are colored, but most of them are clear crystal and the effect is dazzling.

John buys all his trees at a farm, prunes them so they can hold lots of lights and ornaments, and it's a week-long effort. The branches are carefully wrapped in lights. He's got their watering down to a science. Some guys have elaborate toy trains with whole towns which they set up every Christmas. John does trees.

John's TV room tree laden with wooden ornaments

The TV room shows off John's huge collection of wooden ornaments, many of them hand-carved. He has even travelled to Germany to buy for his collection.

The breakfast room tree, which is a repository of many different Christmas ornaments John has collected or been given by friends over the years. More details below.

I wish my camera could do justice to the details of these brilliant holiday creations. In the upper center of this picture is the tail end of a large, shiny fish with red and orange.

Here's a large balloon hanging near the bottom of the tree.

Here's a martini glass with an olive, a reminder of boozier days of Christmases past.

Reading a book in a comfy chair, this little guy appeals to the publishing side of me.

Isn't she lovely?--a rhino in a pink tutu.

This very old ornament goes back to John parents. The detail is remarkable and it's holding up very well for its age.

John's buffet table is always beautiful. He trims his chandelier with beautiful hanging ornaments that look like colored icicles. And the colored glass ornaments that show off his food enhance the display.

John knows his way around party food. There are lots of shrimp, a baked spiral ham with rolls, tiny stuffed potatoes, endive spears with smoked salmon and cream cheese, deviled eggs (anchovy this year), various cheeses, tiny stuffed beets, chicken salad finger sandwiches--all of which soak up alcohol beautifully.

While John knows how to prepare really great party food, he doesn't cook for himself during the week, which is a good thing. Because he clears his kitchen counters off and decorates with his various creches and small houses, all festooned with sprays of pine branches recycled from his tree trimmings.

I'll take more pictures next week at his second gathering, including his bedroom tree--a first this year. After that next bash, I expect John will take to his bed and start planning next year's effort.

In closing, I have the nerve to offer you a photo of my tree. It's fake (as if you couldn't guess), comes already adorned with its own lights. I just keep hanging stuff on it till there's no more room. Takes about and hour and a half.

Pathetic, huh? Happy Holidays!

A PARED-DOWN THANKSGIVING

2011-11-27T17:13:00.000-08:00

John Baker presiding over my less-is-more-Thanksgiving table setting.

My smallest Thanksgiving ever--just four of us this year. I normally don't invite large crowds for dinner--six at most, and I always de-bone a turkey, roast it spatchcock-style, that is split up the backbone, pulled off the bone with the breast, wing, drumstick and thighs skin-side-up. It's a good technique I once saw Julia Child do on TV and amazingly, I was able to copy it, and have been doing it ever since. But this year, I wasn't in the mood, so I bought a turkey breast, and took it off the bone and decided to cook it "porchetta-style". The inspiration for it came from the Food52 Cookbook and website, run by Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubs. The recipe they prepared uses a traditional pork shoulder, but I thought the method might work for a turkey breast and it did. Two days before Thanksgiving, I mashed up in a mortar and pestle, peppercorns, fennel and coriander seeds, rosemary, red pepper flakes, garlic, orange zest and coarse salt and turned it into a paste with some olive oil. I then rubbed it all over the the turkey breast and under the skin, placed it in a bag and let it marinate for two days. I tied the roast into a tidy bundle, inserted fresh bay leaves under the strings (the photo you see above), and then covered the meat with slices of pancetta. It roasted low and slow at 325 degrees, for about two hours. It was delicious, sliced so cleanly, and I was left with no bones, and happy eaters.

Turkey breast, "porchetta style" before it's robe of pancetta slices

The rest of the menu was somewhat conventional:

corn chowder

mashed potatoes

turkey gravy

mushroom, leek and sausage stuffing

jellied cranberry-orange relish

Brussels sprouts braised with shallots, white wine and bacon

homemade rolls

lemon tart

I never make soup, but John Baker, one of my guests, suggested it was his favorite soup from a mutual friend of ours, and I made it. The soup was excellent, a rich, if cholesterally nightmarish combination of bacon, corn, potatoes, heavy cream, and whole milk, with a few dashes of hot sauce and a sprinkling of chopped chives. Everything else, dessert excepted, was from my hide-bound list of Thanksgiving favorites. We dispensed with the sweet potatoes and creamed onions (in my case, another rich gratin of leeks, baby white onions, scallions, shallots, and sweet onions). Too heavy.

Pumpkin pie got aced out of it's traditional dessert spot in favor of an easy-peasy lemon tart. Into a cooled, pre-baked tart shell, you add a blender-mixture of Meyer lemons (with their skins but sans seeds), a stick of butter, 1 1/2 cups fine sugar, and four eggs. Into a 350-degree oven this simple dessert goes for a 30-minute baking. The texture of the lemon curd for this tart is gossamer. The taste was out of this world. I didn't miss pumpkin pie at all. This recipe also comes from Food52 and variations of it have been used all over the Napa Valley (where it originated) for years. This one's secret was in using Meyer lemons. Good idea. It also made for a very pretty tart.

Thanksgiving Lemon Tart

Spent most of Friday lying around the house like a lox. Thanksgiving dinner is a marathon no matter if you have four guests or forty. Over the past twenty years, I think I've cooked sixteen of them. Obviously the key to success is to get all the food onto the table hot. I'm rather tired of it, and so I'm announcing next year that I'm available as a guest for Thanksgiving.

John always goes to Zupan's for flowers for my Thanksgiving table. Here's his beautiful

arrangement for this year's dinner.

Saturday I spent most of the day working on my top ten cookbooks of the year for my cookbook blog. Seven of the ten books have been written about, with three more to go. Should have it up and running at stovetopreadings.com by Monday or Tuesday of next week.

At four, I quit my computer. After enduring two rain-soaked days on Wednesday and Thursday, the sun shone brightly on Friday and Saturday It was time to put up the Christmas lights. Last year, Kyle put the lights up. This year, I had to do it myself. I dragged out the lights from the basement, pulled the ladder out of the garage and went to work adding more hooks to the gutter to fasten the lights running along-side of my driveway. It never occurred to me to actually plug the light fixtures to make sure they all worked. I simply added the rain-gutter hooks, and attached the lights, adding another strand for a fuller light effect. I plugged the lights in and only the center strand was working!!! "The hell with it." I just put away the ladder with a sense of self-disgust, and now I have three long strands of lights with only the middle section working. I just went outside to take a photo, and noticed that half of one of the unlit strands was working. Do I know why? Hell no. Next year, I'll invest in those newer LED lights and get rid of these silly icicle lights.

The partially working Christmas lights hanging on the side of the house.

Bit blissing out on his weekly catnip high at his scratching post.

Really trying to keep him fixated on his post and not my couch arms.

WHAT'S NEW, PLENTY I GUESS

2011-11-20T15:59:00.000-08:00

The last roses of the season were these Peace roses, which were growing out of one stem.

For some strange reason, my grape hyacinths got a signal that it was time to come up. Wrong.

Try again next March.

Another late bloomer in my Halloween-October garden, this yellow day lily.

On the phone with my pal Pat the other night, she complained, "you need to do another new blog entry." Sighing, I told her not much is happening at the moment. "Whaddayamean nothing's happening," she replied. "You've got a new roommate and you just redid your landing on the second floor." Well, I guess there are a few new things going on.

Yes, I have a roommate. At 61, I am again, sharing my living space, this time with a 69-year-old grandmother. Her name is Bev and she's very cool. She drives a red Miata convertible (that's how I know she's cool). Bev, a life-long Oregonian, has been living in Hawaii. But her youngest son and his wife, welcomed twin baby boys recently. Both parents have big careers and Bev decided she wanted to be more involved her her grandson's lives. Until the beginning of this month, she's been living with her son and daughter-in-law, but wanted some space of her own. She answered my ad on Craigslist and we struck a deal. The other candidates (including a newcomer to Portland, who was also new to the drag queen scene--I didn't want to discourage her, but I also didn't want a nocturnal creature as a roommate, and trust me, drag queens are nocturnal creatures). Bev has raised three children--two sons and a daughter, sold real estate and taught acting at the college level. She's a liberal Democrat, thank god, and we get along very well. It's cool sharing my house with her. It's an ideal situation--Bev is busy with her grand kids and I'm home working in my upstairs office. So far so good.

Upper landing TV room.

Bev's arrival has caused me to rethink the way the house was set up. I had to move out a lot of things from the guest bedroom, where she's now ensconced until I finish the basement. Once you begin to reorganize, other things suddenly demanded reorganizing as well. My great grandmother's china was in the bedroom, and needed to move. I suddenly saw the need to re-arrange all the china cabinets, which resulted in a far better result. Now I don't need to pull everything out of the way to find something I use only once a year. The next thing you know, there's wholesale changes going on and a few weeks ago, I'm in my flop chair upstairs watching TV when I look around and notice the whole room looks drab. So that got re-arranged, and with different rug and a new pillow in my chair, the place looks completely new. It's now an even cozier space where I can relax, watch TV, read and chill.

There's usually a week in November without rain--and from Wednesday afternoon on, we've had sunny, pleasant weather and I could finally get out into the garden and pull all the annuals and put the vegetable garden to sleep for the winter. Those tomato plants were a twisted maize and needed to go. The umbrella is now in the garage, and I should put the patio table and chairs there too--maybe sometime during this week. I've salvaged two large coleus plants from the front door and an unusally pretty pale green and copper-leafed geranium, which I couldn't allow to freeze. Repotted, it should last the winter and go back into the garden next sprint.

Thanksgiving is coming, and since we're only going to be four for dinner this year, I have a turkey breast, which I'll do a porchetta-style rub on the inside (capers, fennel and coriander seeds, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes), and let marinate for two days in the spare refrigerator in the garage. Then I'll roll it and tie it up and cover it with pancetta and roast it. I'm banishing sweet potatoes and creamed onions. I found a terrific recipe for rolls that don't have to be fussed with--they're even ready to be heated for 10 minutes, so that became a no-brainer. I'll make a simple stuffing of sausage and mushrooms, some mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts with shallots and bacon, a new cranberry sauce--jelled from scratch, and for dessert--so long pumpkin pie--a refreshing lemon tart. I hope not to be staring at a sea of leftovers in my fridge for a week.

It's always difficult to be out and about with Beau and find myself hungry and in the mood to eat. Food carts can be a great way to have a bite to eat and have Beau with me begging at my side, as was the case today. I had gone to buy a new coffee/espresso machine and because it was a beautiful day, brought Beau with me. On my way home, I saw this pod of food carts with a tent and pulled in. Only two of the carts were open on this Sunday afternoon--a cart selling burritos/gyros, which didn't look to promising, and an Italian cart where I eventually indulged in a meatball hero. Yowza, was this a great sandwich. The bread was soft and crusty and came from a local Vietnamese bakery I often shop at for banh mi sandwich rolls. Split, the roll was lined in provolone, and stuffed with three giant meatballs. It was then given a generous splash of red sauce ("my Nanna's special recipe," said the kid behind the counter who comes from Lawrence, Massachusetts, which has a large Italian population in addition to being the hometown of Leonard Bernstein). He then topped this heart-attack-on-a-plate beauty with grated mozzarella. OH-MY-GOD! The meatballs were very tender, the perfect combination of Parmesan, breadcrumbs, garlic, red pepper flakes, oregano, salt and pepper. This $5 feast was eaten in a heated tent with Beau at my side looking more than curiously at my every bite. I happily burped my way home.

Happy Thanksgiving.

OH THE COLORS OF FALL!

2011-10-09T19:10:00.000-07:00

HEAD'S UP: Don't know why these last two posts didn't show up. I know I posted them, but in any event, if they seem dated, they are by a few weeks.

One of my oldest friends (more than thirty five years now) also lives in Portland. Jean-Francois and I have been through quite a lot together and one of the reasons I love the city so much is that I got to reconnect on a regular basis with my old friend. Summer means travel and he and his partner, Jay, just got back from a long and extended stay in France, Italy and Belgium. Jean-Francois retired as head of Portland's French-American school a few years ago, but he keeps busy as a consultant to a number of schools from Italy to Houston and Virginia Beach. I snagged him for a free night at home and we had dinner on Saturday night--I did the cooking. Dinner included a pork loin braised in milk--a recipe I've been doing from Marcella Hazan's THE CLASSIC ITALIAN COOKBOOK for some thirty years now. It's always a a hit. You gently braise a lean loin of pork in whole milk for a few years until its tender. Meanwhile, the milk has reduced to these glorious nut-brown curds in the pan. You skim off the fat, add a tablespoon or so of hot water, reducing the curds and creating a sauce. You then pour it over the sliced meat and serve. It's an amazing dish. I forgot to take to prepare my roasted potatoes, and instead, ran for the freezer and Trader Joe's excellent Tater Tots. I added a big mixed salad, and sauteed zucchini with scallions, red pepper flakes, salt and pepper and showered it with a chiffonade of basil leaves. For dessert we had a gallette of pears with orange zest and vanilla.

My hydrangeas have turned colors. The big, showy round ones are green with a blush of pink and the spear-shaped flowers have taken on a reddish color (they were pure white in July). I wanted to capture their fall beauty and created this nice arrangement for the table.

John Baker brought a selection of cut flowers with gorgeous jewel colors and felt like fall from Zupans, his local high end grocer, which has a fine florist on the premises. The result was to spectacular arrangements that feel like fall.

SAN FRANCISCO/99 PERCENTERS

2011-10-08T15:34:00.000-07:00

Rita and me on the balcony of her apartment in San Francisco with a drop-dead view of the city.

I went to San Francisco last week to attend the reception of my good friend, Terri Stuart, who married her long-time partner, Martin, in August. The reception was held in Napa last Sunday, and it was a great excuse to take a long overdue break, see my hometown and get caught up with friends and family. This was not a trip for restaurant hopping--the four days were stuffed with family and friends.

Lonnie and me on Rita & Riccardo's balcony overlooking San Francisco. Lonnie is my longest friendship.

We bicker and insult each other, as old friends do. Can't imagine life without him.

I arrived three hours later and immediately picked up a rental car and drove to my twin brother's home in Foster City. Keep in mind that I've been driving less than two months, and the pace on California highways is much faster than in Portland. I got there in one piece. Herz gave me a very nice pale blue Nissan Versa, a car I had seriously considered buying. I had a nice visit with my brother Scott and his girlfriend, Bernadette, who cooked a wonderful dinner, before heading into the city for Lonnie's apartment. Lonnie and I have been close friends for forty years. We argue like cats and dogs--maybe that's what happens with old friends. Still, I can't imagine visiting the city and not staying with him. Lonnie lives in the inner-Richmond district right along side Golden Gate Park, which was hosting a huge bluegrass music festival with lots of known and lesser-known musical acts all performing over a three-day event for free. It kept traffic near the park snarled up for the entire weekend. Thank god I had a parking spot because San Francisco is one of the most miserable cities to drive in and parking is an even bigger nightmare.

On Saturday, Lonnie and I had brunch with Rita and Riccardo Fabi, friends from New York. Rita works for Facebook, which is why they are now living in San Francisco. Their very nice apartment is on top of a hill in Noe Valley a block and a half from where I lived during my junior high school days! The one bedroom apartment boasts one of the most gorgeous panoramic views of the city I've ever seen. The photo above cannot capture the dimensional width of this view. This is why people pay high rents, live with the ever-present threat of an earthquake, and abide the cramped space of a small city. The only really tall buildings are downtown in the shopping, financial and South of Market districts. Riccardo has just joined an on-line firm, so the Fabis are living large and happy in this beautiful city.

Saturday night we drove to San Rafael in the heart of Marin for dinner with my baby brother, Kevin and his wife Diane. They are also in good shape, having recently climbed out of a tough economic period. Kevin has been selling industrial tools for over 30 years, and business has been terrible of late. But it has improved, they got a tax windfall and Diane is working steadily, which has taken the pressure off. So it was a relaxed evening we shared at the Seafood Peddler, a large, family style restaurant with okay food. It was the company that was important. While I have had difficult times with my other two brothers, Kevin and I never seem to have any serious issues. Our interests are poles apart--he is an avid fisherman, loves watching TV and never cracks a book. But we've always gotten along just fine.

On Sunday morning on our way to Napa, we stopped in Mill Valley for a visit with Joan and Fritz Hottenstein and their gorgeous daughters, Lily and Quinn. They have been doing a lot of renovating of their 20s-style home, with new a new deck, expansion of a small room downstairs as well as some improvements in their living room (a updated fireplace) and kitchen (a built-in bench and moving some window openings around for safety). Joan and I were colleagues in my last corporate publishing job and she's like a kid sister to me. She's married to a wonderful man and their daughters keep us endlessly amused--particularly Quinn, whom we all liken to a hurricane, so intense is her personality and non-stop energy.

In Napa, Terri, whose husband is German, created an Oktoberfest reception in her brother's back yard. Terri greeted us in a dirndl and we entered into the back yard where tents were set up with tables for guests. There was a small group of musicians playing music. Opera is Terri and Martin's passion, and the Wagner Society was there to perform an amusing musical number in tribute to the couple, manned no less by Marie Plette--a wonderful American soprano, who is a friend of Terri's. There was beer and house-made Pinot Noir and Syrah, from Terri's brother's vineyards. There were four types of beer, and a German style lunch of grilled sausages, braised red cabbages, spaetzel, potato salad, and pickles. Terri and her sisters also baked large sheets of cakes with fruit and almonds. It was a lovely way to celebrate this happy event.

On Monday I enjoyed a leisurely morning, packing for the return trip, and stopping off to have a late lunch with Bernadette before heading to the airport. As with our arrival, weather and air traffic delayed our departure. We reached Portland at about 9:15 PM, and it was raining here (had been since Saturday).

My friend, Sara, hosted Beau over the weekend and brought him up to her mother's country home.

You can see Beau's working on buttering up Sara, who is not at all immune to his charms.

He thinks he is a baby. Below he is posing--the shameless little ham!

I found myself enjoying myself in San Francisco for the first time in a long while. I've visited there regularly over the years, but the city is so changed from my youth. It's far more crowded, expensive, and seems much more like a big Eastern city rather than the West Coast jewel I once thought it to be. Maybe it is because I find myself drawn to the more leisurely and less flashier pace of Portland, which often reminds me of the San Francisco of my youth.

I'll always enjoy spending time with Lonnie and it was fun to work his nerves as I tried to navigate the traffic there.

Pioneer Square on Thursday, October 6 late afternoon in downtown Portland

Portland police keeping order. The march was non-violent and well-organized. There were no arrests.

I'm following the increasing coverage of young protesters in cities all around the country, demonstrating against the greed of the banks, making their voices heard. In Portland's Pioneer Square, an elbow-to-elbow packed crowd (that can hold up to 10,000 people) gathered on Thursday. It was peaceful and well-organized. In New York on Wall Street, the establishment is becoming alarmed. Mayor Bloomberg, who has ruined all the good will he built up during his first two terms in office, has squandered it first with his inept handling of the snow clean-up during last winter's storms. Now he continues his slide over remarks he has made, saying the protesters should be working with corporations to give them the confidence to hire. Absurd. Corporations no longer give a crap about their employees or creating jobs. They exist, according to Bill Clinton, to please their investors and their top management who earn the lion's share of profits, while the workers who keep things humming, are paid far less and given fewer benefits. Mr. Bloomberg, who has made an obscene fortune in business is merely trying to protect his big nest egg. Now Eric Cantor, Majority Leader of the House of Representatives and the #2 ranking Republican there, is calling the protesters "mobs" and in what Jonathan Capeheart of the Washington Post describes as "breathtaking hypocrisy," bemoans the fact that Americans are attacking Americans. Calling legitimate protesters a "mob" is typical Repug-speak. It turns around the original intention on itself, and ends up blaming the victims. Repugs are famous for this tactic. They have effectively demonized unions (who have now thrown their support behind the protesters), teachers, civil servants, municipal workers, and so-called "greedy" retiring baby boomers with the help of the media. But that is now changing. People realize the oligarchic nature of the Republican party. They understand that Republicans want all the wealth. They understand the Republican agenda of destroying America's middle class. This young group of protesters feels they have nothing to lose. They have been told there will be no Social Security for them. They have been told there will be no Medicare. They already know there are no jobs. And they are fed up with the partisan warfare going on in do-nothing-Washington. I'm thrilled they are demanding to be heard and urge everyone to support them. It's time to clean house once and for all.

A particularly eloquent protester with her father.

My fall garden. My cherry tomatoes are ripening as we near the mid-October mark. Rains this week delayed things, but every day I get a bowl-full like this--sweet and tart at the same time.

For the past several weeks, this is my daily haul of cherry tomatoes from my vegetable garden.

My New Guinea Impatience has suffered through a hot August. I didn't realize they don't like a lot of sun, and to fix this, I put the grill right in front of them, blocking the sunlight. It worked like a charm. They have been blooming their heads off for weeks now.

A big shout-out to my favorite diva--Christine Goerke, who is having the triumph of her career in the title role of Richard Strauss' emotionally wrenching and vocally fierce music drama, ELEKTRA. Nearing the peak of her vocal and acting skills, Christine has was it takes to become the greatest dramatic soprano of her generation. In the future are Brunnhilde (especially in Houston where she will be the centerpiece of the company's first staged Ring Cycle), the Dyer's Wife in Strauss's DIE FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN at the Met and other international opera houses, more Elektras, Leonores in FIDELIO, and many other opera house challenges. In a widely circulated syndicated review from the Associated Press, music critic, Mike Silverman was full of effusive praise:

"The Teatro Real of Madrid is offering that opportunity right now with its production of Richard Strauss's one-act tragedy "Elektra," starring the American soprano Christine Goerke in one of the most daunting roles ever written.

Goerke, heard at her third performance of the run on Thursday night, is simply thrilling as the vengeance-obsessed daughter of the slain Agamemnon and his murderous wife, Klytemnestra.

Her supple voice combines a warm, velvety lower and middle register with a shining top that rises easily to high C. Her sound, while not huge, has no difficulty penetrating the 110-piece orchestra - an ensemble so big the theater had to remove the first two rows of seats for this production.

Above all, Goerke brings a vocal bloom to the role that few sopranos today could match. That quality paid off especially in the gorgeous music that follows her recognition of her long-lost brother Orest, a passage she sings with melting tenderness, complete with ravishing, soft high notes.

Her acting, which seemed slightly self-conscious at first, gained strength through the nearly two-hour-long performance until she became completely absorbed in the conflicting emotions of rage, despair and, finally, frenzied jubilation that ends in her death.

Goerke, who is alternating with veteran Elektra Deborah Polaski in the Madrid production that runs through Oct. 15, has been moving gradually into dramatic soprano territory. She has previously sung the lighter role of Elektra's sister, Chrysothemis, in this opera, and has also performed in operas by Mozart, Handel and Gluck.

Of course, it remains to be seen whether she will be able to preserve her freshness after repeated performances, or whether she will develop the worn, strident top one often hears in other Elektras. Much is riding on it, for Goerke has plans to add some other famously difficult roles in coming years, including the Dyer's Wife in Strauss's "Die Frau ohne Schatten" and Bruennhilde in Wagner's "Ring" cycle."

Christine Goerke

MY BUDDY THE OPERA STAR REACHES FOR THE SUMMIT IN STRAUSS' ELEKTRA

2011-09-27T10:22:00.000-07:00

Soprano Christine Goerke has been like a kid sister to me since we met in San Francisco in 1997. Then just out of the Metropolitan Opera's Young Artists' Program, this Long Island-born singer had won praise in Gluck's masterful IPHIGENIE EN TAURIDE. She was singing the first soprano soloist in Mahler's epic Eighth Symphony with the San Francisco Symphony, and her big and warm soprano soared above the combined forces of a huge orchestra, a beefed up chorus, seven other vocal soloists and a huge organ. Afterwards, we cemented our friendship over a glass of champagne. Christine is a very funny lady with a big warm heart. I've since seen her in concert, and in opera houses in London, Turin, Florence, Seattle, Santa Fe, Houston, Philadelphia, New York and at Tanglewood (summer home of the Boston Symphony).

Christine's big sound was always there and it's size is much prized by opera lovers and casting directors. When I first met her, Christine's rep was mostly in the Mozart/Handel operas. One of the biggest successes of her early career was at the New York City Opera where her dazzling comic skills, and flexible voice captivated audience and critics alike. That was also the year she won the Richard Tucker Award with a big cash prize, and gained admittance to a group of American singers of stature such was Renee Fleming, Joyce diDonato, Aprile Millo, Matthew Polenzani, Stephanie Blythe, Patricia Racette, and others. But it was clear from the beginning that her voice was meant for the big Wagner and Strauss roles--Isolde in TRISTAN UND ISOLDE, Brunnhilde in Wagner's RING cycle, Otrud in LOHENGRIN and Kundry in PARSIFAL. She has already sung the last two roles in Houston and Turin, with great success. I saw both performances and she was thrilling.

This Friday, Christine takes on the toughest challenge for the dramatic soprano--the role of ELEKTRA in Richard Strauss' searing drama at the Teatro Real in Madrid this week. Many dramatic sopranos have sung the part--well actually, yelled it, would be a better description. For more than an hour, Elektra is almost always on stage, and has memorable confrontations with her sister Chrysothemis (soprano and a role that Goerke has sung in Japan, Italy and Washington, D.C.), her mother, Klytemnestra and her brother, Orestes. The role is a terrifying exploitation of the soprano voice. Elektra's emotional state is almost always extreme. It requires a massive amount of sound, a wide range (all the way up to a few athletic high Cs), and a soft and emotionally wrenching Recognition scene with her brother, whom she has not seen since they were teenagers. Suddenly after hitting the decibels, Elektra must switch vocal gears and sing softly with with great beauty. There is much angry declamation and the demands on the voice are simply inhuman. Oh did I also mention, she has to dance herself to death at the end of the opera? ELEKTRA is my favorite opera. I've seen the work many, many times and only two were truly satisfying--Birgit Nilsson and the underrated Olivia Stapp. I found her to be a thrilling Chrysothemis and have the CDs to prove it. I'm certain she will be the Elektra of her generation.

Christine tells me she's ready to sing this killer part and can't wait to get out there. She's singing a dress rehearsal today as I write this, and posted several photos of her in costume on Facebook a few days ago. Christine shows her comic side in these photos, looking more like the witch in HANSEL UND GRETEL than ELEKTRA. Keep in mind that Elektra has been banished outside the walls of the palace where her mother rules after she's conspired to have Agamemnon (her husband and Elektra's father) killed. She's living in filth and deprivation, which explains the mud in her hair and the unkempt dress. But Christine a great tragic actress as well, and Madrid is in for a vocal and acting tour de force.

Another Strauss heroine is in Christine's future--the Dyer's Wife in DIE FRAU OHNE SCHATTEN at the Metropolitan Opera, and she is the Houston Grand Opera's Brunnhilde in the company's first staging of Wagner's Ring cycle.

DANCING WITH THE STARS RETURNS--ALL IS WELL IN THE WORLD

2011-09-26T15:19:00.000-07:00

DANCING WITH THE STARS has been my guilty pleasure for many of its twice-yearly 13 installments. I'm not a reality TV person, but this show has always grabbed me, for the cheesy costumes, the good and bad dancing, the whole ballroom circus atmosphere, and its sheer glitz. Since Sarah Palin's daughter upset the format two series ago, the show has settled down and stopped pissing people off with bad stunt casting. Last season was my very favorite. Kirstie Alley injected a lot of heart into the show. You could argue that Chaz Bono is stunt casting, but then you watch him dance, and realize, he is serious. So it is always with anticipation that I look forward to its return. The fall season got off to a fine start with twelve new dancers and me and water-cooler posse will have much to discuss. So far I'm liking actor, David Arquette, Carson Kressley (of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy fame), soccer champ, Hope Solo, actor J.R. Martinez, actress and Kristin Cavallari. Chaz Bono, Chynna Philips, Rob Kardashian, Ricki Lake, and Elisabetta Canalis, all have charming personalties, and might go some way, but none of them displayed the kind of dancing skills one needs to go the distance on this show. NBA champ, Ron Artest was rightfully voted off last week, and I expect Nancy Grace to get the boot this week. She seems uncomfortable and never seems to smile. It is as though she's on guard all the time. I've gone on enough about this.

And if there's a better drama on network TV than THE GOOD WIFE, I've yet to see it. Compellingly plotted, strong scripts, and sharp performances, make this show a must-see of the new TV season.

The tree on the left is a Pluot, and the other is a multi-grafted Pear with five different varieties. Both are dwarf trees, and they are not supposed to grow all that much.

Finally got two fruit trees planted on Saturday--a pear and pluot that I bought early spring before last, have been getting root-bound in pots on my patio. They are in the ground not a moment too soon. The rains returned yesterday and it looks as though we've had the shortest summer in memory. All my cherry tomatoes are ready to ripen and there are dozens and dozens on the cusp of being picked. I'm told the rains will go away by the end of the book, which means, wet, wet, wet for five days in a row.

I'm determined to get my garden prepared for winter, unlike last year, where it snuck up on me. I still have plants to get into the ground, and it's time to get it done. A poorly prepared winter garden means a bigger mess in the spring. I've got more tulip bulbs that need to be planted. All the hostas and much of the green plants will have to be trimmed off, their leaves discarded for the winter. I loved the hot weather an it seems too soon to have it be cold and rainy again.

I think I'm the last person to see BRIDESMAIDS, which is a funny, if tasteless girl buddy movie. It show the women are prepared to go toe-to-toe with men in gross-out situations, though I suspect men have a more natural ability to sink to that level than women do. Still, I thought this was a hilarious movie.

Been cooking at home. My friend John Baker doesn't like to cook, and he insisted on setting up this situation where I cook meals here (usually on Saturdays or Sundays. We also go out a lot, and he insists on picking up the tabs for those nights out. Sunday I found some nice pork cutlets at New Seasons market, and as my herb garden has a large area of sage, I decided to adapt Veal Saltimbocca using the pork cutlets. The inspiration comes from Frank Crispo, owner/chef of his own fabulous Italian restaurant on 14th Street in New York. Frank uses veal, of course in the classic Roman manner, but he cuts the veal from the leg in thicker slices, and I think the dish is better for it. Pork has far more flavor than veal, which requires everything around it for flavor. I didn't bother pounding them, simply affixed sage leaves and prosciutto to each cutlet, dredged them in flour, with salt and pepper, and sauteed them for a few minutes on each side. I deglazed the pan with white wine, added a pat of butter and poured it over the meat. Delicious.

Greek-style lamb burger with tzadziki sauce, and a thick slice of summer tomato. The corn saute has

red pepper, scallions and basil in it.

These days with the cost of lamb and beef through the roof, I indulge in more pork, chicken and fish. Salmon is very abundant here. I bought some ground lamb recently for a Greek-style burger with feta cheese, but even ground lamb is one cent shy of $7 a pound! Ditto ground veal. I don't see much veal in the markets these days. Flank steak is $13 a pound; skirt steak is $12! So I buy beef only on sale. In any event, a solo Saturday dinner included this handsome lamb burger with saute of summer-fresh corn with scallions and basil.

An inspired salad, made at home.

Another good use for pork is this salad of sliced grilled pork tenderloin, potatoes, avocado, cherry tomatoes (from my garden), cucumber and butter lettuce. It's an adaptation of a recipe that had only the pork and potatoes in it with some arugula, and a really bad salad dressing that was too sweet. I jettisoned the bad dressing and used my own mustard vinaigrette. Instead of boiling or steaming the potatoes, I roasted them. Much better. This is a salad for company.

I'm reading Claudia Roden's brand-new THE FOOD OF SPAIN (Ecco), and I think hands down, it is the best cookbook of the year. I love her work, but this book may be the peak of her long and very distinguished career. This is the big over-view of Spanish cooking that we've long been seeking. It doesn't displace THE FOODS & WINES OF SPAIN, Penelope Casas's fine 1982 work, or Anya von Bremzen's more recent THE NEW SPANISH TABLE. This new book is a far bigger work. It too branches all over the country by region. The photographs are beautiful. The history is fascinating and the recipes feature Roden's fine detail and eye.

I don't suppose there will be much competition in the Democratic ranks for the next election. I guess President Obama thinks he can win it. Meanwhile over on the right, I'm beginning to see that the extremism amongst the Repug candidates is telling me that maybe Mitt Romney has a chance--not that I'll vote for him. If President Obama is the party's choice, I'll fall in line, but I'm pretty disappointed in his inability to connect with the middle class that put him in office. And the Repug alternatives are unthinkable. As the country slips further and further into a kind of Third World oligarchy mindset, I'm finding all politicians on both sides of the aisle as unappealing and anger-inducing as they ever were and there's no end to the political insanity that has overtaken us. Obama's inability to execute the vision he promised in the last election just seems a more bitter pill to swallow.

My mother at 80 is finally on the Internet. She has an email account. Never thought I'd see that!

BEEN OUT OF CIRCULATION

2011-09-18T19:38:00.000-07:00

Me getting ready to drive the red car, which is now named Mona, off of the Honda lot.

Mona parked in my driveway

Mona's hatchback attributes

August/September have consumed most of my time away from this blog. I bought a car--a red 2008 Subaru Impreza hatchback which has liberated me from depending on my friends for getting around. I passed my driver's test on August 5th and drove the Ford F-150 truck around for a month. There's a reason my friend Laura referred to the truck as a pig. It was an effort to drive the damn thing. Every turn was physical. Getting it to rev up on the highway was like pushing a rock up a hill. Its responses were always slow. Backing out of my driveway into busy Holgate Blvd. was a nightmare. I wasn't using the truck for work, so I finally decided to trade it in and get a car. It's fast, responsive, pretty to look at, holds lots of stuff, and did I forget to mention is RED! It became a nice diversion from the other reason why I've been so busy. I closed my business on August 31st for lack of business. It was simple as that. I lost my drawers and I'm still negotiating with my landlord who seems to think she's entitled to all five years of rent on the lease. We're still negotiating and hopefully that will be resolved soon. Unsold stock is being sold on consignment by a friendly competitor. I'm selling computers and office equipment and fixtures to pay down on a small loan. I'm glad to get out from under it and get back to my day job full time. Lesson learned--retail is not for me!

With little or no effort I flank the front door with spectacular coleus plants, which show off their

gorgeous flower leaves. They grow like weeds.

My friend Pat Reshen spent the Labor Day weekend, her third annual visit and we had a lot of fun. This was my first year driving, so I was able to pick her up at the airport (and drop her off for the next leg of her journey). We had dinner at one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants (Sunshine Tavern), and grilled steaks out on the patio. Pat watered my garden four days in a row, for which she has my undying gratitude. John Baker took us to see an heirloom Rose garden outside of Portland, which was a prelude to the Swan Island Dahlia Festival in Canby, Oregon. The rose garden was immaculately planted with lush green grass paths to view the many varieties of roses there. They feature a lot of old English style roses and there's a greenhouse to purchase small rosebushes. I have plenty of roses now, so I passed on these plants, preferring to wait and see what might be available at the dahlia festival.

Billed as the Dahlia Capital of America, Swan Island Dahlias comprise forty acres of planted dahlias in full bloom throughout August and September. There are hundreds of varieties on display at the farms cavernous caves where each of the dahlias are displayed to show off each Dahlia. The colors, sizes, shapes, and beauty of these exotic blooms are amazing. Once you've gone through three large rooms of dahlia display arrangements, you can order tubers for planting next spring. I ordered six and could have easily taken on 30 more. Then out into the fields, you're stunned at the sheer size and concentrated planting of row upon row of dahlia, each row marked. Here are just a few of the spectacular blooms on display.

We had a two-week heatwave with temperatures rising to 95 degrees F. While not as bad as New York, particularly this summer, it was steamy here and I resorted to using the central air conditioning--a rare occurrence. Last week we suddenly plunged into gloomy mornings on the cool side and have had virtually no sun all week long. Then yesterday (Saturday) is rained and again rained today. This is rare out here as August and September are usually beautifully sunny and warm. Because the spring came so late and was so wet, summer didn't truly get started until mid-August, and now everyone fears we will be plunged into fall with the rains arriving earlier than usual. Warm weather is predicted next week, but the result is slow gardens. My cherry tomatoes are abundant and green in this third week of September. My pears and plums have been non-existent. The strawberries haven't produced as much of a bumper crop as usual. My blueberries did well. Roses have been blooming, but like last summer, they are not happy,

It's been a month of nice dinners at friend's homes and dining out. Portland is such a big foodie town. I tried Noble Rot, a fine restaurant over on SE Burnside near a cluster of popular Portland restaurants. Located on the fourth floor, Noble Rot offers gorgeous views, a good selection of local wines and an eclectic, if not wholly inspired menu (really--macaroni and cheese?--it's a good version, but upscale dining shouldn't include this comfort food item on the menu). I had fresh fettucine with summer vine-ripened cherry tomatoes, garlic and herbs. Again, delicious, but is this the kind of dish an upscale restaurant wants to build a reputation on? Castagna Cafe, is a cheaper, more casual dining experience from it's ultra sophisticated partner next door. John an I had their well-known 20-minute roast chicken, which was good, but not as good as a proper hour-long roasted chicken.

Suddenly rose has disappeared of the shelves of the city's wine shops! Perhaps it has proven so popular that roses that idled on shelves for months around the calendar year are suddenly out of stock. Rose is a very food-friendly wine. Don't make the mistake of domestic rose. It's almost always too sweet. They lack the complexity or minerally simple qualities of an even modest French version. I'm hoping the shelves won't be too long without my favorite daily quaff.

A lamb burger made for a solo dinner at home on a summer Saturday night with farmer's market tomatoes, feta cheese in the burger, and a saute of fresh white corn, dice red pepper, sliced scallions and basil

Finally took myself off to see THE HELP, and like the book, I enjoyed its emotionally naive story of a young southern woman who comes to help the local maids in her Mississippi town write anonymously about their real feelings toward the women they work for in the pre-civil rights movement south of 1964. Medgar Evers has just been shot dead on his front lawn. The southern ladies who socially dominate the town of Jackson Mississippi are also mostly bullies towards their housekeepers who are also de facto mothers to their children and with whom they have forged a close relationship. They girls grow up, get married and have kids, which they dump into the laps of their housekeepers. The story is simple and emotional. The cast is note perfect with Emma Stone, Viola Davis, Octavia Spencer, Allison Janney, Sissy Spacek and Jessical Chastain anchoring this story superbly. Bryce Dallas Howard as the villainous Hilly has the thankless task of being so vile a personality you virtually hiss each time she comes on screen, which I suppose is a compliment. She is often made to look foolish and still bounces hatefully back after each humiliation. The New York Times was very snotty about the movie, and I suspect were very snotty about the book as well. No matter, readers reacted by sending the book to the top of the bestseller lists where it remains. The movie has done stupendous business since it opened. It's a perfect summer movie and Viola Davis' deeply expressive performance carries it off superbly. Highly recommended.

blueberries harvested from my garden

An excellent summer salad of grilled pork tenderloin, roasted fingerling potatoes, arugula and a mustard vinaigrette

This nectarine/peach tart with its press-in crust, almond extract flavoring and sugar/butter/flour crumble topping takes great advantage of summer fruits. Recipe from Amanda Hesser from her wonderful Food52 blog.

MY FAVORITE PIZZA JOINT OPENS A COOL RETRO LOUNGE NEXT DOOR

2011-08-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

Portland foodies love Ken's Artisanal Pizza and A Pizza Scholls, two outstanding practitioners of the pizza maker's art. But their lack of a reservations policy keeps people waiting forever for a table and then you feel you gotta eat up and get out for the next poor bastard staring daggers at you for dawdling. Bummer. Can you say pizza mouth?

As followers of this blog know, I stumbled across John Mitchell and his remarkable pizza at Glastone Pizza within the first few weeks of my moving into my house. John's pizza has never lacked for admiring reviews, especially on Yelp Portland. But the pizza has also been widely praised in the pages of The Oregonian and other major papers and magazines in this city. The Reed/Creston-Kenilworth neighborhood where Gladstone Pizza can be found is not a hot restaurant destination in SE Portland. But that is slowly changing. Located near the highly busy Cesar Chavez Blvd., one can see the gradual effects of some gentrification. These are sleepy neighborhoods with modest to nice homes "close in." Young families are buying houses and renovation can be seen on every street. This is an area that could see a rise in new businesses to serve these young new households. And Gladstone Pizza has switched it's focus from being a coffee shop by day into a full-time pizza joint. John and his wife, Grace, and I have become friendly. I'm in there all the time, and I have touted the greatness of the pizza to anyone who will listen. He revealed to me that he had the lease on the store right next to the pizza shop. He was thinking of opening a lounge, where people could come and have a quality cocktail and eat pizza too. "Great idea," I said. "Do it, and soon," was my advice.

A detail of the giant mural that dominates a wall of Saint Pizza Lounge.

It took far longer than they anticipated to get Saint Pizza Lounge opened, but open it did today (Wednesday, August 3), and I went to get a gander at the new space. Saint Pizza Lounge is indeed right next door to Gladstone Pizza. It's got a very cool retro vibe with a giant mural dominating one wall line with vintage vinyl banquettes opposite a long and nicely appointed bar with equally vintage black vinyl chairback stools. The big glass windows that flank the entrance door bring in a lot of light. The high ceilings have exposed wood beams and look very industrial. The walls have a fresh coat of a Wedgewood-y dark blue that John's wife Grace, says look nearly purple at nighttime. They have cut a passage door between the more casual pizza parlor and this funky new lounge. There is one large round table that can accommodate six or seven diners that is right in front of one of the windows. From a perch at the bar you can watch diners outside in a few tables around the lounge and restaurant's front doors.

Vintage booths up against the giant mural--perfect for admiring.

Just a few doors down, you'll find a perfectly acceptable tavern selling okay food, beer, cheap wine, and your average bar brands. They can pour a Jameson on the rocks, but ordering a martini or a Mojito, or a perfect Manhattan might not be the best idea. John and Grace have bet on the fact that in addition to wine, a good IPA and some bar shots, the neighborhood would welcome a cocktail lounge with a knowledgeable mixologist. I think they have found one with Steve. As I sat at the bar on this hot evening, enjoying my vodka, cranberry juice and soda high ball, I was happy that Steve didn't try to talk me into overspending on a premium brand vodka, offering the house vodka, a Polish potato vodka that was fine for my mixed drink. There is a fine selection of premium bar brands on view, and Steve will be mixing some wonderful cocktails for customers.

Saint Pizza's wall of premium brand liquors.

I had a small pizza to go with my drink and John's pizza never disappoints. The thin crust has both crunch and chew and full of yeasty goodness. The sauce has personality, a tomatoey zestiness without overwhelming the crust and I like the restrained toss of mozzarella. If you want ooey-gooey, go to Pizza Hut. Mine also had a a shower of chiffonaded basil for added flavor. This is a pizza that stands up to the high reputation of John's more famous competitors. He promises a more expanded menu in the near future--stay tuned.

There was and old bakery on the corner of SE Cesar Chavez Blvd. and Gladstone that has recently been renovated. I think it signaled a sea change for the neighborhood. A young man opened an art studio that also sells clothing and feature musical events in a club setting on the weekends. The middle store remains empty, but the other end shop has a sign that the space has been leased. I'm not sure what will open there. Hasson Realty, one of the dominating real estate firms in town, has taken over the realty shop that was there and a really bad antique/junk store has blessedly closed its doors. I'm sure something more interesting will soon open there. Now John has taken his original coffee shop and kicked it up by dropping the coffee and concentrating on his superb skills as a pizza-maker. With the arrival of the Saint Pizza Lounge, I'm convinced the neighborhood has been repositioned to expand and that will be good for all our property values. Best of all, there's no waiting in line to get a good pizza fix these days. And now cocktails!

John serving one of his great pizzas.

BEAU APPARENTLY ON THE ROAD TO RECOVERY

2011-07-18T14:12:00.000-07:00

Flowering Ornamental Oregano and Cherry Tomatoes Finally Make an Appearance.

Well it appears that Beau may be getting better. He gets regular B-12 shots and a new hypo-allergenic diet of venison and sweet potatoes. The result is he's not longer suffering from chronic diarrhea, at least it's stopped for the time being. I'm thrilled. It only took a year and many trips to the vet. I'm glad I changed vets because the new vet suggested right away that we had to change his diet and start giving him vitamin B-12 shots, just to eliminate a lack of b-12 in his system as a culprit. Apparently it is. I'll have to give him shots once a month for the rest of his life, once the weekly six-week treatment of shots is completed. There's more spring in the old boy's step (he just turned eight). A sickly pet is the worst thing. It just makes you feel so helpless.

He spent Saturday in a few laps, where he likes to be when I have company. His only sin is a summer excess of shedding. Well...that's what vacuums are for.

Between the Republican antics in Washington, the astonishing, but not surprising scandal that is engulfing Rupert Murdoch's media empire, and now the news that Charlie Sheen has landed a new TV sitcom, my last nerve is kaput.

The debt ceiling crisis is Republican obstruction, plain and simple. They are willing to take down the entire US economy down around our ears because they hate the idea of a black man in the White House. Disgusting. It's not about the debt ceiling. They had the ability to stop George Bush's profligate spending and didn't. Two grotesquely expensive and never-ending wars, a misguided drug program, and a too-cozy relationship with Wall Street with whom every politician in Washington, D. C. depends has crippled Republican credibility. If they don't fix this, I'll be staring at a fourth round of Wall Street financial blood-letting and my retirement portfolio can't handle any more setbacks. They are going to be forced to restoring tax cuts for the rich and for corporations. It's the only way out. I hope President Obama holds Republican feet to the fire because they deserve all the bad will they will get if the economy collapses again.

I'm in no mood to defend Rebekah Brooks, the ousted News Corp editor disgraced in the phone-hacking scandal that embroiled Rupert Murdoch's media empire. But there's more than a touch of sexism in the criticism aimed at her. The editorials I read all insinuate that her ambition to climb into the rarefied arena of the rich and powerful has cost her dearly. That's absurd. There are plenty of people who rise from modest beginnings to great wealth and success and don't break the law to do it. The whole political and financial world has looked the other way as Murdoch has pushed the legality envelope in his quest to be master of the media universe. His papers and his TV networks fabricate the truth. He's ownership of so many media properties begs the question of where are the anti-trust protectors out there? With Murdoch, it always seems to be the greasy wheel getting oiled. I'm feeling a lot of Schadenfreude as this story unfolds. Right now it looks like his son and maybe even the Prime Minister of England could be facing the unemployment line. How nice that a few of the powerful of the world are experiencing the pain of not only being out of work, but humiliated in the process. Tsk, tsk!

The world doesn't always play fair. Charlie Sheen is going back to work in a TV series as a star who has a major financial stake in the project--an adaptation of a Jack Nicholson film called Anger Management. So he'll be paid millions to basically play himself. Now there's a show I wont' be watching.

Isn't it amazing the garbage that's out there in the news today!!!???

The rains came back for a few days, making my grass grow and grow. My roses are beset with black spot, which forces me to constantly strip leaves off the bushes. I new lily bloomed yesterday and was greeted with a torrential downpour, lasting much of the morning and into the early afternoon Not even Beau wanted to be in that deluge. It's sunny again on this Monday, but still cool. While the East Coast swelters, it's currently 75 in my back yard, and the inside of my house is a very cool 67.

The lettuce is growing like it is on steroids!

There are tons of blueberries at the farmer's market, and my four bushes are just beginning to ripen, so I'll make blueberry jam this weekend.

I've scheduled my driving test for Friday, August 5th. Wish me luck.

Summer.

COOPER: RIP/A WELCOME NEW NEIGHBORHOOD JOINT/BEAU HEALTH REPORT

2011-07-09T12:51:00.000-07:00

Cooper, creating mischief in a hanging fuchsia

Out on the patio with friends who had come over to help me clean out the basement, my friend Jay noticed a squirrel who seemed to be very still next to the water fountain. I looked over and there was Cooper, eyes opened, breathing heavily and very still. I walked over to him and noticed blood on the leaves where he had just moved. Not knowing what to do, I went and Googled local rescues and found the Autobahn Society, who referred me to a local rescue agency. I got a voicemail announcement, so no medical help was available for Cooper. They recommended that you not attempt to move a wounded wild animal. We left him alone and an hour later I was back out and Cooper was dead. The flies were already hovering. It was so sad. I had the feeling that he had been injured not far from the house and managed to haul himself back home (he lived in the branches of my back yard Cedar tree) where he died. I didn't want to move him just yet and decided to leave him there overnight. Saturday morning, I came out and with shovel lifted his stiff body into a paper shopping bag. I'll bury him in the side yard (dog run) tomorrow.

Cooper has a very pretty squirrel, with an overlay of reddish brown fur over gray. He had very lively eyes, and with me he had become very trusting. I'd often find him standing up begging for a peanut at the back door. He came very close to me to grab a peanut and then dashed off, but only a few feet, to crack open the shell and enjoy the nuts inside. He finish it off, or haul it off to stash away for a time when he needed it. He'd often come back two or three times for his supply. He would often be accompanied by a bunch of crows who also enjoyed peanuts. None of them were as trusting as Cooper. I'd managed to hand him two or three peanuts, but mostly we kept a respectful if curious distance from each other.

Cooper in the midst of peanut butter 'madness'

Cooper often created a mess in my garden. Up on my bedroom balcony, he would rummage in the empty rail planters discharging the dirt in every direction, looking for food. It go so bad that I would have to take a leaf blower up there to blow the debris off of the balcony. He also loved my strawberries, brazenly enjoying a ripe one as he stood outside my kitchen door daring me to scold him. He enjoyed my French radishes this summer, leaving gnawed evidence of his visits on the rooted radishes. But Cooper's favorite treat was an empty peanut butter jar, which I would leave for him. He would manage to squish his body inside of the jar, licking every trace of the peanut butter jar before abandoning it on the patio where he found it. I've posted these photos of him before. He was a lively and endlessly entertaining little chap, and I'll miss him.

The saga of Beau's chronic diarrhea continues. The blood test for pancreatitis came back low to normal, so I took him off the medicine prescribed and was happy to do so. The powdered substance didn't agree with Beau--he didn't like it in his food, though he continued to eat and worse, it produced a bad odor (apparently a common side-effect). But the blood test also revealed that Beau was vitamin B-12 deficient, and as of yesterday, we started him on B-12 shots, which I have to administer every week for the next six, and then maintain them once a month for the rest of his life. He's on a strict hypo-allergenic diet of venison and sweet potatoes in the form of dry food and treats. This should clear up the problem, and if not, he will have to undergo endoscopy. Fingers crossed.

John Baker, who often helps me get Beau to the Vet and chauffeurs me on various car errands around town, was over to the house last night for a glass of wine in the back yard. We often have dinner on Friday nights, and most often we go to Starkey's a casual bar and restaurant serving a gay clientele here in Portland. Gay restaurants have gone the way of the Dodo bird and for good reason. In their heydays of the 60s and 70s, gay restaurants were known for their bad food, tacky, overly-familiar waiters (who were often nasty if you complained about anything), and prima donna chefs, who made your life miserable if you had the nerve to send something back. I'd given up on the genre years ago. Why allow myself to be bullied and snarked at by my own kind? John is a creature of habit--a lovely and loyal friend who would do anything for you. I know he enjoys Starkey's and endures my endless complaints about the place. I'd cheerfully like to march into the kitchen and bitch-slap the chef--an inept monster who needs to be fired. I once sent back a raw portion of prime rib. Two minutes later, out it came, looking slightly gray from a quick rotation through the microwave. I refused it. The waiter had the balls to be incensed. I wasn't stepping down. I refused it again. They also do stupid things like serve a martini in a stainless steel stem glass. Yuck. I stopped going after that for a bit, but John loves the place. So back I went. The waiters are dumb as stones. If you ask for well-done French fries, invariably they emerge from the kitchen undercooked. They simply cannot be trusted to get the order right. But I've now made my peace with the place, which is always packed on Friday nights. I make sure I don't order anything complicated from the woefully dated menu--the simpler the better, which means a burger, or a Cobb salad. I once relented and even tried the pork chops, often an iffy choice, invariably served tough. Not bad. But they throw cheese sauces on everything. I noticed on one visit someone near our table ordered Chicken Cordon Bleu (so 60s!), or at least I thought it was Chicken Cordon Bleu--that gooey mess looked completely unpalatable. The average age of the clientele is about 58. The look of the place and the customers is as embalmed as the menu.

This long preamble is because yesterday was Friday and John and I were going out to dinner. I had seen a nice review for a new, casual dining spot in the neighborhood--The Sunshine Tavern. I called for a table and they have a no-reservations policy. I hate the whole idea of a no-reservations policy. It means the potential to wait for a table. We're both over 60 and we're not willing wait, cooling our jets at a noisy bar waiting for a table. The pleasant guy who answered the phone assured me they could take us in 45 minutes without a wait. So off we went.

My heart sank as we approached The Sunshine Tavern's front door. It's a soaring, modern space of glass and medium colored wood with rustic tables, a lively bar and a shuffleboard on one side and the open kitchen on the other with a few tables out front. It's noisy and it's young. We were easily the oldest diners there. The first words out of my mouth to the guy with whom I had spoke to earlier were, "this is the reason why I hate a no-reservations policy." But he managed to disarm me right away. He said there were a number of tables that had just paid and would be ready soon. He brought us over to the seating area right next to the shuffle board to have a drink and look over the menu while we waited. I appreciated his solution--how rare for a restaurant to have any solution these days to over-crowding. We had barely sat down when he came back to tell us he had our table ready. I liked that even better.

We ordered a familiar bottle of rose while we scanned the menu. There were intriguing things along with some things that seemed just weird. For instance, under appetizers, there is a chicken liver mousse with baguette or pecorino with walnuts and honey. But then there was this weird combination of gravy cheese fries with pork sausage gravy, which sounds like something you might find at a bad roadside diner. A romaine salad with fried capers, Parmesan and garlic vinaigrette or a wedge of iceberg with buttermilk blue cheese, roasted tesa and and seived egg, variations aside, are also standard fare. But the chopped salad with piri-piri peppers, rustica, french fries and salami sounded at first jarred---potatoes with lettuce? The waitress was very enthusiastic about the salad and said it also had a brightness from vinegar that worked with the crunchy/sift potatoes. It suddenly sounded so intriguing that we had to order it.

The salad was amazing--lots of crunch from the lettuces and radicchio and then the fried potatoes with their crunchy exteriors and soft centers were set off by the bright overtones of the vinegar. Further salt was supplied by the slivers of salami and cheese. This was very creative comfort food. John ordered a perfect medium-rare skirt steak, with shallot butter, Worcester sauce and French fries. I had classic fried oysters, with French fries (lots of fries tonight), with a delicious coleslaw with paper-thin slices of red onion, and a delicious house-made tarter sauce (impossible to find these days).

One of the menu items got my attention was fried chicken served with a waffle. I had recently seen the HBO mini-series of MILDRED PIERCE, starring Kate Winslet. Mildred opens a chicken and waffle restaurant. The combination seems odd to me, though it's roots go back to the 19th century America. It seems to me to be a rather heavy dish, but there are several chain restaurants that specialize in fried chicken and waffles, including the singer Gladys Knight

We noticed our neighbors mostly appealing plates--one was a strange-looking Monte Cristo sandwich (never my favorite) with a fried egg on top and she also had those strange gravy cheese fries (I noticed in the Oregonian yesterday that one in four Oregonians is obese). But her friend seemed very enthusiastic about her pizza with mozzarella fior di latte, black oil-cured olives and pepperoni. On the other side, two guys were tucking into a substantial cheese burger on a brioche roll, and a roasted pork belly sandwich with arugula, red onion, chili mayonnaise and fontina (think I'll try that on my next visit).

Dessert was a shared dish of soft-serve honey-vanilla ice cream with a hard crust of salted chocolate. It was outstanding, evoking memories of Mr. Softy ice cream cones from my youth with the adult addition of salt to the crunch of dark chocolate.

I walked into SUNSHINE TAVERN ready to pounce and bounce attitude off of every wall. I still don't like a no-reservation policy. It's too noisy. But the food is delicious and well-priced, the wait-staff is friendly and efficient, and the guy at the door knows how to quickly disarm demanding customers and make them feel welcome.

The owners of this new casual dining spot also own Lincoln, a highly regarded restaurant in North Portland. I haven't been there, but it's often included in round-ups of the city's best restaurants. Co-Owner/chef, Jenn Louis, has created an interesting concept of updated and thoroughly modern as well as familiar foods with big, bold flavors that are very appealing. I'll be back often and must now also check on Lincoln.

MY YARD GOES DISNEY--HG TV AND DISNEY COLLABORATE ON AN AWFUL NEW SERIES

2011-07-05T16:18:00.000-07:00

In one of the worst-timed premiers for a TV show, Disney and HG TV have collaborated on MY YARD GOES DISNEY, which is so bad, so tone-deaf, so wrong in its approach that I can't even watch a complete episode. Here's how HG-TV describes this new entry:

In each episode of My Yard Goes Disney, lucky homeowners get a jaw-dropping makeover inspired

by Disney Parks that's worthy of major family playtime.

At a time when the country is bogged down in the worst recession since the Great Depression of 1929 and with millions out of work, the timing of this show couldn't be worse. Viewers are treated to the spectacle of middle-class families, spending $thousands of dollars to create a Disney-like theme park for their ultra-spoiled children in their back yards. Suddenly large yards of homeowners are invaded by battalions of workers, digging swimming pools, building castles, railroads, and other nonsense, so that their "adorable" kids can experience the Disney profit machine in the comforts of their homes. I sat there slack-jawed at the mind-numbing insensitivity of the concept. What sort of message is Disney and HG TV trying to send here. And people complain about the wretched excess of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills!

I went over the HG website looking in vain for something more substantial here, such as Disney and HG donating services and materials to a worthy family, but no such luck. It's all-out consumerism with a capital C and is obscene. Disney even promotes visits to its theme parks on the HG website page for the show.

I expect a certain amount of programming insanity with programs such as Cupcake Wars and various down-market programming such as cake decorating contests over at the Food Network. HG, which owns the Food Network, has remained above the fray when it comes to tacky programming. But MY YARD GOES DISNEY represents a new low in programming. I'm surprised that either Disney and HG are slumming in this kind of collaborative consumer excess. Shame on both of them.

JULY 4TH BRINGS ON THE SUMMER SEASON AT LAST

2011-07-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

The July 4th weekend was off to an ominous start with the sad news that two friends, ages 49 and 62, lost their jobs recently. I'm mentioning their ages, because as Washington, D.C. dithers over the debit ceiling with Republicans demanding cuts in Social Security and Medicare, it's more than time to mention the dirty little secret that nobody mentions. Once you reach a certain age in the United States of America, corporate America doesn't want you. There's no incentive to keep you there. It is assumed that you will get sicker as you age and therefore cost the company in terms of productivity and insurance premiums--all of it untrue. What is true is that senior corporate workers generally tend to make more money than younger employees, so by ridding themselves of this more expensive workforce, companies save more money.

We also have fewer jobs to go around, and that favors younger workers--and that, I suppose is fine. But what are people expected to do in-between the time they get laid off, and retirement age? I don't hear anything about this in the national conversation. Jobs are scarce and many people of my generation are sinking towards retirement, their next eggs exhausted from having to keep the roofs over their heads until a new job or social security arrives. That means a leaner retirement than previous generations who didn't have to worry about an honorable retirement after a full adult life of employment.

My 49-year-old friend spent approximately eight months searching for a new job and when he got it, found himself in the middle of office politics, not of his making, and was out on the street again after a mere four months. It took six months to get the job he's just be let go from. He's been in the position for approximately two years. My 62-two-year-old friend worked in the fashion business in sales and marketing and found herself "over the hill" in her mid-40s. She got a job working for a magazine and was happy doing that for nine years and then in a budget crunch got let go. It took her eight months to find work, this time at a publishing house. It lasted over six years, until a budget crunch eliminated her position--a mere three and a half years before she is set to retire.

Another girlfriend has been out of work a year and a half now. There are no jobs for this hard-working PR executive who had a very nice career for many years. She still has seven years to go until she can retire and she's terrified she will only have her social security to fall back on when she does retire.

This is not a question of retraining. And a year and a half of unemployment insurance is not going to help. Rather than the cut-cut-cut mantra of the Republican party, Washington would be better advised to sit down with the banking and corporate community and figure out ways to put America back to work. Stepping off my soapbox now.

Rhubarb syrup made from scratch.

I was out in the garden, on my knees planting New Guinea Impatience over the 4th of July weekend. Of course once you start, you notice so many other things demand your attention. I decided to re pot a jade plant that was outgrowing its pot in my bedroom, and then, added newly rooted coleus to my balcony planters.

Summer blew into Portland at last this weekend. Even July 4th was brilliantly sun-shiny with gorgeous clear blue skies and a few lazy clouds. This means one has to tend to the garden with diligence--no slacking off.

The real pain of the summer garden is the watering. How I wish I had a house that had a sprinkler system installed (it's very expensive) and on a timer. My friend, Trish who does have an important garden, has this kind of system, which she treated herself to this year. But I must water on my own. I just gave the grass it's first drink and it heaved an audible sight of relief. Between Beau's daily waterings and the lack of the hose getting anywhere near that small patch (and I do mean patch) in my backyard, it was looking sad. When my brother Scott was here in the early spring, we re-seeded the empty patches, which is like trying to grow hair on a bald man. Rogaine will take you only so far. The spring rains were doing the watering chores and there was some sprouting (like peach fuzz on a bald pate), but it was pathetic. Meanwhile the grass that was there was growing out of control. Beau wouldn't even walk in it because he'd disappear.

About three weeks ago, I made the decision to mow it. But the grass was so high, I feared it would clog the mower. So I took the weed whacker to it and within 30 second the machine turned off by itself, the plastic thingies that "whack" the weeds, twisted on themselves and were snarled up in the mechanism. I had to hired a professional mower!

My friend, Robert came over and gave me a two-hour lesson on how to operate the mower (didn't know how to use it), the weed whacker (there was more string underneath a cap--WHO KNEW?), and the leaf blower (it has a clutch or a choke, or something like that). I shouldn't be allowed to operate heavy machinery.

The week before, we had a farmer's market open on my birthday. Trish and I went to check it out. The vegetable vendor who can be found in her local farmer's market in Hollywood, was there on Sunday. He's got great prices. I found a big bunch of Italian parsley for 50 cent! He was selling gorgeous ruby red rhubarb and I bought two pounds at $1.75 a pound--it's $3-4.00 everywhere else.

Back at home, I opened this gorgeous new cookbook that I'm reviewing called HEARTLAND, and there was a recipe for Rhubarb Syrup. The header on the recipe suggested the syrup was great for pancakes, French toast or waffles, but that didn't interest me at all. What I was interested in was using the syrup as a basis for a Country Girl Cosmo or a Margarita. Since I already had the vodka in the house, I went with the Cosmo. The syrup has beautiful color and was easy to make. I froze half of the syrup for future use, and made the cocktails on Sunday when John came over for dinner. It's a pity they call it a Country Girl Cosmo--makes it sound like such a sissy drink but it is anything but. Yes the ladies will love the color, but it's got a good kick to it. In addition to the rhubarb syrup, it has a tiny trace of orange extract, and lime juice.

Country Girl Cosmos made with Rhubarb Syrup

Beau's diarrhea is back with a vengeance, and frustrated with my vet and angry they couldn't see us last Friday, I found a new vet, which is a bit of a schlep since it's about 20 minutes south of my home, but we may have an answer this week. The vet thinks it might be his pancreas that is giving him troubles. And I may put him on a total hypo-allergenic diet of duck and potatoes or bison and potatoes. Beau woke up from his nap on Wednesday and he could barely walk and was listless all day Thursday. Friday morning, he wouldn't eat and that alarmed me. Because it was the start of a holiday weekend, we couldn't get a vet to see him. The vet bill is its usual horrendously high self. I spent nearly $300 at the vet in March and this new bill was over $400--$274 of it was a blood test to determine if the problem is pancreatic. By Friday night, Beau was out of bed and demanding dinner. It was like nothing had happened to him. Other than the diarrhea, he's been his usual ebullient self.

I brought him with me to Trish and David Hamilton's house for dinner on their lovely terrace. It was a magical night weather-wise, and Trish grilled salmon wit peaches, and served it with a wild rice, fennel and grape salad and a mixed green salad. We finished dinner with a rhubarb crisp, coffee and a delicious bottle of Oregon-grown pinot noir (a lot more drinkable than any California pinot noir I've ever drunk). Beau has little patience for the Hamilton's French Bull Dog, Porter. I love this impish, always-in-trouble two-year-old dog. Beau will start telling Porter off and chest bumping him. I finally put him in my lap where he stayed as long as my thighs held out, before he moved over to Trish's lap.

It is often said that summer doesn't really arrive in Portland until after July 4th. Certainly that was true in 2010 and now this year. We're do for another three days of this glorious sunshine. So let Portland summer #3 commence.

SLEEPING IN SUMMER/SURVIVING ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

2011-06-27T11:26:00.000-07:00

An opulent birthday orchid from my generous friend, John Baker.

The world's longest cold, wet, unlovely spring I think has passed here. We've managed to string a few dry days together. It looked like it wasn't going to happen last week. Wednesday and Thursday were just gray, overcast but rainless. Then the brightness of a summer sun that I associate with Portland burned me awake on Friday. It wasn't a hot day, but the sky was a brilliant blue all day long. There was a breeze and it felt fabulous. For the first time, I slept with my bedroom balcony door open. What a luxury it is to sleep comfortably with a gentle breeze to keep you under a blanket. The windows have been open for several weeks and all that bird chirping won't let me sleep much past 7:30 AM. It will soon become warm and I'll add the ceiling fan to keep me comfortable, but that balcony door will pretty much remain open through September.

Bit & Beau "snoring" the Cherry Duet from Puccini's MADAMA BUTTERFLY, an interesting

and vocally provocative interpretation.

I hung a clothesline between the pillar supports of the balcony, and it's a favorite place to hang sheets to dry when the weather is nice. I remember line-dried sheets as a kid and the smell is just fantastic.

Yesterday (Sunday) I spent my 61st birthday in my garden. I had begun the day with a visit with my buddy, Trish, to the newly opened Woodstock Farmer's Market. Woodstock is the community just southwest of my neighborhood, which is called Reed (after Reed College). Local farmers bring their fruits, vegetables, flowers, plants, local fish, meat, charcuterie, baked goods, etc. The place was lively for it's opening day with free pony rides for the kids, and lots of food stands to feed the hungry. I bought beautiful beets with tops so fresh I can't wait to cook them tonight. One of Trish's favorite farmers from the Hollywood farmer's market has gorgeous produce. I also bought nearly two pounds of rhubarb, which I plan to turn into syrup for drinks and/or breakfast pancakes. Found the recipe in this gorgeous new cookbook called HEARTLAND: The Cookbook by Judith Fertig (Andrews McMeel). This is a book that gathers some of the best recipes from between the coasts that comprise the center of our country. The book is gorgeous with many beautiful photographs and recipes that are contemporary and appealing. The rhubarb cost $1.75 a pound. I can't find it in a supermarket for under $4 a pound--a real bargain. Then I snatched up a generous bunch of Italian flat leaf parsley for 50 cents! Trish bought a flat of the most fragrant strawberries.

Coleus that has been growing in a window in my mud room is being rooted for the balcony

planters just outside my bedroom door.

Back at the house, I mowed the back lawn, pulled a million weeds, and potted a geranium that looked grateful for the attention. Today I'll do some more planting, such as moving an unhappy bay leaf bush, and will find a home for two stunning pots of Calla lilies (one orange, the other purple). Two hours later, I had to run into the shower to prepare for dinner out.

I found this appealingly rustic summer peach cake on Amanda Hesser's Food 52 blog.

I had nectarine. The cake featured both almond and vanilla extracts, buttermilk, almond flour

and nutmeg. Served it for dessert on Saturday and ate it for breakfast on Sunday and this morning.

It was a snap to make. Let me know if you want the recipe.

John Baker arrived for a quick glass of wine, and we were off to Wildwood for dinner. Wildwood, along with the late and lamented Zefiro's and perhaps Paley's Place, were in the early 90s a strong notice to the food world that Seattle wasn't the only restaurant destination in the Pacific Northwest. Wildwood, located in the city's north west section, has an eclectic, low-key Pacific Northwest ambiance about it. You enter a small reception stand and are immediately plunged into a generous-sized bar area. Cocktails are a serious business here with lots of exotic and familiar alcoholic concoctions created daily. The main dining room features lots of medium wood panelling and gray banquettes with lights dropped from the ceiling above tables. The wait-staff here is polite and welcoming (but sometimes a tad condescending--fortunately that was not the cast last night).

Though I have gone to Wildwood for lunch on more than several occasions, this was my first time there for dinner. The food has always been really interesting. They take local ingredients very seriously. there are lots of very appealing items for starters and the main course, but I found myself almost immediately making a decision. I wasn't disappointed.

I chose an amazing lamb shoulder which has been slowly roasted until the meat was falling off the bone.It was then pressed and wrapped into a large and thick round, and sauteed to give it some caramelize its surface. It was finished with a small puddle of bernaise sauce. It came with bacon wrapped artichokes, wild mushroom farro risotto, and sauteed pea vines. An amazing dish. The lamb was unbelievably tender, and didn't taste much of lamb at all (I love the sometimes gamey taste of lamb), but this was just , rich, incredibly tender meat of deep flavor and complexity. Awesome. Arugula salad with sliced baby summer squash, grana padana whipped cream, strawberries, and a thin layer of chocolate on top.

They had about eight rose wines on their summer wine list and we found an amazing French rose for $19!

In all a low-key birthday--just the way I like 'em these days.

Bit looking sleepy and thoroughly comfortable on the back of my couch (you can see Beau's sleeping

form just above him--see the ears?).

COOPER LOVES HIS SKIPPY PEANUT BUTTER

2011-06-05T16:22:00.000-07:00

It's finally hot enough to work in the garden and get things done. We have managed to string together three rain-free days and this morning as I let Beau out of the back yard door, I noticed the peonies have finally opened. They are gorgeous. I went out to get a better look and to take this photo when I noticed the fig tree is finally putting out leaves--they are on the base of the tree, which seems strange. But I had given it up for dead--it's already June 5th and everything else has leafed by now. Since I'm home today, I was saving an empty Skippy peanut butter jar for Cooper, the squirrel I've befriended with peanuts. He's a brazen little guy and was into the inside of the jar in no time at all. He's cutie and lots of fun to watch. I've also got this regular crow who comes in bellowing to make his presence known. He and Cooper argue over the peanuts with Cooper ceding not one inch of space getting to the precious nuts. The crow eventually gets his, but I wonder why he's so intimidated by the squirrel. They put on quite a show together, though the Crow's unmusical squawks are not to my operatic taste. Bit is trapped inside watching these antics with a look that tells me he's dying to get outside and cause some mischief.

Went to a posh party in the chic West Hills last night for John Baker's 65th birthday. The party was being hosted by Peter Sargent, a decorator here. The house is just gorgeous--a 50s day ranch with an enormous living room/dining room with windows overlooking a very formal garden. It was beautiful and hot out so lots of us took our drinks along a deck stretching the entire side of the house. There are about six seating sections with various groups holding forth. It was a decidedly older crowd--40 seemed to be the youngest. God we're all getting old. But everyone was in a good mood. There was a ham with small poppy and sesame seed rolls for mini-sandwiches, crab cakes, skewered beef and chicken satays with peanut dipping sauce, sliced Chinese pork with mustard and sesame seed to dip it into, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, cold shrimp cocktail, cucumber and salmon finger sandwiches, assorted cheeses and mini-cupcakes for those with a sweet tooth. Good groceries. I drank a lot of excellent French rose and worked the room like the good publicist that I am. I found it odd there were no women there (save the bar tender). The older gay crowd seems to segregate their social lives. All of us have women friends (some like me are great buddies with mostly women!), so it was strange to find no girls to mix it up with. Still, it was a nice gathering.

I'm off for my first driving lesson in a truck, since I have to get used to driving the big Ford f150 pick-up that I own. My friend Sara is taking me to an empty parking lot this evening. This will be my fourth lesson. AND NOBODY DIED!

AMERICA--RISE UP AND BITCH SLAP YOUR LEADERS!

2011-06-03T12:37:00.000-07:00

This iris has nothing to do with my rant below, but it sure makes me calm!

Let me begin by saying, I don't care how big it is! Congressman Weiner's "junk" story show us all just how low we've sunk as a nation. I sat slack-jawed watching this non-news event this week on MSNBC and then the little Weiner came on and in all seriousness talked about this SERIOUSLY. Typical poll. He wouldn't say that was his wiener and he wouldn't say it wasn't. Rachel Maddow plowed ahead with her questions, looking only slightly queasy. And today we have stories by the media about the media frenzy this story has created. Are we kidding??? Thank god for Jon Stewart, who did a funny riff on the whole story (Weiner is supposed to be a friend, but Stewart is an equal opportunity satirist and he had a small field day with the whole thing).

Later this week I open The Daily Beast to find a story that wonders if Weiner might be a serious contender for Mayor of New York!!!! Maybe I should be thrilled to have left the Big Apple!

Which brings me to my next political WHO CARES.

In this case, WTFC? Here is every media outlet in the country running after Bimbo Palin's "America" bus tour. She has said nothing of substance (DUH!). Put a microphone in front of her and she's still spouting nothing. She criticizes President Obama and anyone who is keeping score can simply refute all her made-p facts (well...actually they are facts, they are Repug-speak BIG WHITE LIES). But there is the media, shallow as always, chasing after her every utterance. Sarah is just trailing ahead of them, and without any effort whatsoever, she makes them look like the pack of overpaid dummies they are.

Jon Stewart did an insanely funny riff on The Donald taking The Bimbo out to lunch at a tacky chain pizza parlor in New York. I'm sure it's on YouTube. Check it out. Stewart did a hilarious Italian tough guy, shaming Donald for taking Palin out to a crappy chain pizza joint and then made fun of him while he stacked two slices of pizza and ate with a fork! Only in America, folks. MSNBC is wondering if Sarah is going to run at all! It might be just an elaborate ruse to raise her profile for her Fox series. You can't stoop any lower--there's no way to go.

And if my blood pressure wasn't in the stratosphere, there was the sight of all those Repugnicans marching to the White House to demand that the President give up Medicare in exchange for lifting the debt ceiling. The gall of the jackasses is breathtaking. We sit in front our our news shows night after night as we're told that America's corporations are not paying their fair share of taxes, which means, $billions are not being collected by the IRS. The rich are not paying their fair share of taxes. But the value of homeowners homes has plummeted 33% in the past three years. Individuals and corporations can no longer afford to pay the outrageous sums demanded by the greedy and cash-soaked medical insurers. Wake up Repugnicans--America has shut its consumer pocketbook up. You've shipped all the jobs overseas and you continue to squeeze more out of us. So what do you do? You get all drama on us, march on the White House (let's not get into the arrogance of your racism and lack of respect for the President) as though anyone but you is responsible for the disaster and horrific expense of two wars that are inconclusive at best. You are responsible for letting banks and investment houses run amok and ignore regulation. You are responsible for the holes in our borders. You are responsible for the disintegration of our infrastructure, and now you want to take away Medicare?

NOT GOING TO HAPPEN and you will go down in flames, my fellow Repugnicans. You are now going to try to take away our last safety nets--Medicare and Social Security. Time you sent the Tea Party back to their birthing wombs cause you're going to get your asses kicked in the next election if you keep going down this insane path. You can fix the tax situation fare less painlessly. Tax the corporations and be as punitive with them as you are with ordinary tax payers. Restore the cuts you have given the rich. It's an easy fix.

Final weird political mess this week is the news that John Edwards has been indicted for illegally using campaign funds to hide his mistress, Rielle Hunter and their love child and pay her living and medical bills while under deep cover, and then lying about it. Of course, Edwards' lawyer is trying to hang his client's case on a slender thread--that being Senator Edwards wasn't misappropriating or illegally using campaign funds to protect his presidential campaign, he was covering it up to protect his wife from finding out what a sorry ass MF he is. I would say it's technically both and therefore the bastard should go to jail and lose his license to practice law. And what of Miss Hunter herself? Talk about manipulative. She bears some responsibility here, no? And that former aide of his, plea bargaining his way out of this mess by testifying against his boss. He shouldn't have agreed to this elaborate and ultimately uncoverable ruse to begin with. I say lock'em all up together.

And Repugnicans thought Bill Clinton was bad. We've gone way beyond that!

Maybe I should react the same way Shirley Maclaine claims she acts about the outrageous things she encounters in this day and age in newest book: I'M OVER ALL THAT.

Wish I could truly capture this iris' true black velvet purple and periwinkle colors.

It has to be seen to be believed.

On a less serious, but far more relaxing vein, I purchased a new iris at the Beaverton Farmer's Market a few weeks ago. The color of this flower took my breath away. And old-fashioned bearded iris called "World Premier," the top petals are a brilliant periwinkle blue (my camera cannot truly capture the color accurately). The bottom petals are a spectacular black velvet purple. It's a seriously gorgeous flower, and I've been holding off on planting it because of the heavy rains here which are pounding blooming iris all over town. This plant is protected by my balcony. I'll plant it after it has bloomed.

BECOMING A DRIVER CAN NO LONGER BE DELAYED!

2011-05-29T19:13:00.000-07:00

I've spent most of my life avoiding driving. I just wasn't interested. I had a license in California, but I almost never drove. I'm estimating that I've spent less than 30 hours behind a wheel. Living in New York for nearly four decades always kept me thinking, "what do I need a car for." When I left the Manhattan two years ago, the cost of a garage for a car was topping out at more than $600-$1000, depending on the location. That's insane. Parking a car is a guarantee of dings, and a very high possibility of theft. Oh, I wanted to rent a car occasionally for a weekend trip, or when I was on vacation, but in the end, it was easier not to bother with the stress and expense.

Before I got to Portland, I still wasn't thinking I needed to drive here. The city has a very good bus and light rail system, that is until you compare it to New York City's. I still have bitter memories of leaving a friend's house on a typically rainy Portland night (it had taken me an hour to get there via two buses, during torrential rains and a bus system that slowed to a crawl in bad weather)--by car it would have taken six minutes tops. I left my friend's home at 7:15 PM. I had a dinner date at another friend's home--by car a less than fifteen-minute drive. The scheduled buses never arrived. I stood out there for more than 45 minutes under an umbrella as the winds and rain lashed at me from all sides. In desperation, I called my friends to come rescue me. Just before she picked me up, a bus finally lumbered top a stop in front of me. "Where the hell have you been?" I bellowed at the lady bus driver. She said, several drivers had called in sick. In New York that would never happen but I'm in Portland now. Best to ignore the bus system unless it's your only alternative.

Off the DMV I went in search of a license. I took the test study booklet and passed the written test on the first try. The next step was driving lessons. And then I didn't do anything about it. I was still in denial about driving. Maybe I was worried about driving at 60. I have a temper. I'm thinking road rage could be a problem. People do stupid things when they drive, and I hate stupid drivers. I love to drink. I can't drink and drive. This is not fun.

Then Kyle moved last year. He's got a truck. Suddenly it's "driving Miss Daisy" time. Kyle was free to drive me wherever I wanted to go. It was great. He had a big white truck, and I had a drive-on-demand service. It was great until Kyle decided the world was coming to an end and he had to find out how to stop it (another story, but I'm not getting into that now).

So back to DMV my brother (on a visit) took me in the white truck (which I now own). I can't have a truck in my driveway that I can't drive. I got the driver's manual and crammed for the test again, since my learner's permit had expired. A few days later, I went back to the DMV for the written test. I failed! My nerves got the best of me. I took the test again the next day and failed it again. And again the next day. This sucks. I'm a nervous wreck. I can't find a test on the Oregon DMV site that goes beyond ten questions, so I go on-line looking for a sample tests and find this site that features tests in every state--$19.95 per month. I pay the fee and proceed to fail every sample test they give me. The questions were written so poorly that I would make mistakes on questions I knew the answers to. I spent four days getting fewer and fewer questions right and by the time the following Tuesday rolled around, when I would take the test for the fourth time, I was ready to throw in the towel and buy a pair of skates.

The good news is the fourth time was a charm and I got 90% of the questions. Now I have to take lessons. Tomorrow is my first--a three-hour marathon. I'm just warning you. Stay away from the vicinity of SE Portland. I have to learn in a small car, but I have this huge Ford 4 x 4 truck and I have to be able to drive that monster around the city. So my buddy Sara, promises that we'll drive my monster into a parking lot of a Wal-Mart after hours and get used to manoeuvring a tank around.

Wish me a luck...to be continued....

In the meantime, flowers are peaking up in the gloom of this spring, and you all know how much I love to photograph flora.

I always forget what these blooms are called. This impressive bouquet comes from Trader Joe's and cost all of $3.99!

This is a hydrangea I bought from a plant at Easter the first spring I was in Portland. I've moved it several times as the sun tends to fry it. It's found a happy place just outside my kitchen door. It will be gorgeous in a week or so.

This is an English rose with an apricot bloom that I bought at the end of last season. These are just the first blooms. If I cut them, the roses will bloom all summer long. A really beautiful rose.

Peonies just as they are about to bloom. Wait until a week or so. They'll be gorgeous.

The first yellow rose on the trellis,

SEX SCANDALS, GARDENS AND PETS

2011-05-22T15:50:00.000-07:00

Mount Hood: Taken from Mount Tabor Park, which is about two miles from my house on a
rare and beautiful clear Friday afternoon.

Just when we need leadership, ideas, solutions, the world gets sidetracked by a juicy sex scandal. There's been one right after the other particularly since Republicans went after Bill Clinton, who denied he'd ever had sexual relations with that woman. It just seems that the higher they climb, their fall into disgrace is equally spectacular: John Edwards, Elliott Spitzer, the governor of South Carolina (heterosexual), the governor of New Jersey (homosexual), Tiger Woods, and now Arnold Schwarzenegger (with the IMF leader crowding into the field). We have legislators trolling men's rooms for sex and Charlie Sheen with his "Goddesses" joining him for ranting interviews for major TV network news programs. Is it any wonder that people are no longer interested in real news when they can be distracted from their own lives by the colorful sight of a high-profile celebrity or politician caught with their pants down around their ankles?

The revelations that Arnold Schwarzenegger's housekeeper gave birth to a son a week after his wife, Maria Shriver, gave birth to their son seems to be the lowest of the low. Yet I read that when Shriver heard the news she ordered her husband to leave their home. Arnold--being the generous person he isn't, refused, so Shriver moved into a hotel. The housekeeper worked in their home for the entire fourteen years of her son's life. I read that her husband left her upon learning about the baby's real father, which he thought was his. Her life isn't going to change much. She still gets her pension for her years served and I'm sure Arnold has been generous in buying her silence. Shriver and her children will now have to try and get past the betrayal of a husband and father. I feel sorry for the kid of this unlikely union. He's going to bear the brunt of curiosity, jokes, an the public's contempt and he's innocent. Schwarzenegger can merely retreat behind the gates of his estate and the world can go away.

No doubt in the future, there will be lower forms of human behavior, but right now Schwarzenegger has to be inducted into the pond scum hall of fame, where he will be in a category separate from the rest of the mere pond scum.

This spectacular pink dogwood is a very common sight during the spring in Portland. It seems nearly

every house has one along with rhododendrons and Japanese maples.

Frankly I'd rather watch THE GOOD WIFE with its ripped-from-the-headlines revelations rather than read about the reality of our lawmakers sexual shenanigans. We've got two wars, a barely breathing economy, a Middle East powder keg that threatens to explode at any moment, massive unemployment, bankrupt cities and towns, with no fixes on the horizon. Shouldn't we be looking to our politicians to be helping us figure out a way out of our current problems rather than being assaulted by their out-of-control urges? How about new jobs, making corporations and the rich pay their fair share of taxes, regulating Wall St. and the banks (because they refuse to regulate themselves), fix our broken schools, and put us on the road to being whole rather than mire us in their petty partisan politics.

This lavish pink rhododendron always peaks over my backyard fence in the spring.

We now have three Republicans who, thank God, will not be challenging President Obama for the presidency next year: Newt Gingrich, Mike Huckabee, and Donald Trump. Newt pissed off his fellow Republicans by bad-mouthing them (heresy--the party stays on message dontchaknow). Besides, he has debt problems to go along with his reputation for womanizing, even though he is allegedly happily married. Mike Huckabee likes the bucks Fox throws at him, and he's not at all sure he can win against a newly resurgent President Obama. Donald Trump also has a TV show that, in the end, was where he was always going to be. He used the media (stenographers everyone of them who cover Mr. Trump), who should rightly feel like whores. He mounted this absurd "birther' campaign to get attention for his slumping ratings, and in his own delusional way of thinking, bows out of the race convinced he could have been a serious contender (not with three wives, bankruptcies, and I'm sure accounting that could never stand any kind of serious scrutiny). Good riddance to the lot.

Sarah Palin has quietly gone rogue silent on us. Who knows what Romney has up his sleeve. Stay tuned for the next shifting winds of the Repugs.

Al the bulb flowers have done well this season--daffodils, grape hyacinths and now my tulips.

I especially loved this deep purple variety.

My friend and former boss, Arlene, lost her husband, Shep, last weekend after a long illness. Theirs was a long and happy marriage. They were loving, but also boisterously contentious at times. I admired their union--it seemed real to me. I don't think they ever lost that spark that brought them together in the first place. They certainly had challenges. Shep had a business that went bust in the 80s and he re-invented himself as a real estate mogul in East Hampton and did very well. She endured the loss of a beloved sister to cancer at far too young an age. She had a long and successful publishing career full of peaks and valleys. I used to have dinner with them often when I lived in Manhattan, though it had been more than a few years since we had last dined together. They were fun to be with in a restaurant. And they were good hosts. I remember memorable holiday dinners at their home in the Village before they moved to midtown in the 90s. Shep was too ill to join us for lunch just before I left New York and it had been a long time since Arlene and I sat down together, but that lunch (with Belle, another colleague), was just lovely. I hope she gets past this blue period in her life and is soon throwing off her own special vital glow again soon.

But even these lilac and pink "double" tulips were showy and thrived under the tall and very
acidic cedar tree in the front yard.

The peonies, iris, and roses are all about to bloom within the next week or so. If their buds are any indication, this should be some show! My brother, Scott, has left after a month-long visit. Beau, Bit and I are looking forward to a house that is quiet. Hope the weather can hold out. It's probably 80 degrees and dry right now. Must go home and water the yards!

Clearly sage does very well in cool, wet climates. It did moderately well last year for the first time, and I

was surprised that it came back so strong in its second season, but this sage has these purply flower tops

which when they unfurl are actually new leaves. By contrast, none of the other herbs in the

raised vegetable bed has grown so vibrantly as this sage plant has this spring.

I spoke too fast. We're back into the mid-50s with gray skies and chilly temperatures (right now it's in the mid-50s at 3:00 PM on a Sunday). I'm trying to cram for a my written test to get my license, finally. I'm nervous about it. I have failed the written test three times. I've read the DMV manual about 20 times and I'm still freaking out every time I sit in front of the ridiculously intimidating computer. So I put the manual down every 45 minutes or so, clear my head and do something else. But I come back and study more. I have rarely been someone who memorizes lots of facts and figures. I find the process of figuring out how long your license will be suspended if you get slapped with a DUI the first and second time--well daunting. I'm sufficiently intimidated about DUIs not to get one. And in the unlikely event I do, I'm sure someone will tell me what the penalties are. And sometimes the yellow warning signs don't make sense. Just look at the lane reduction sign and you'll understand what I mean.

Bit, relaxing after a session with his new scratching post, which was covered with catnip. He's very stoned in this photograph. Catnip makes cats do amazingly goofy things, which are very amusing to watch.

Beau and Bit continue to maintain 'safe' distance from one another. They get along, but don't seem to trust one another. Last night I managed to get these photos while they were napping on my couch. Beau takes the seat and Bit prefers being higher up on the pillows. Sometimes Bit jumps up on the bed, but moves to the foot of the bed quickly. Most of the time Beau doesn't acknowledge that he's there, but his eyes open and are wary of his presence. Bit doesn't much care for being cooped up in the house. I don't want a cat wandering in the back yard because it is too easy for them to get over the gate and out into the street where he would be very vulnerable to moving cars. Besides, I don't want fleas. But he does love to be outside. Lately, I've let him explore the balcony, but only when I'm out there to keep an eye on him. Cats have been known to fall from balconies, as I chillingly remember in New York when a cat fell from a high balcony and died right in front of me. I've never forgotten that terrible accident.

Humming bird feeders are up and drawing humming birds to my fuchsias with their bright red flowers. And last week I released a bag of lady bugs into the backyard, hopefully to lay their eggs and hatch lots of them to eat aphids and other nasty garden parasites. I had to spray my roses with ginger ale so they would stick to the leaves and also to adhere their wings to their bodies long enough to lay eggs. The next step will be to find a bat house. Bats love to eat insects and are good for a garden.

At 6:00 PM last night, I poured myself a vodka martini, straight up with olives. I rarely drink hard liquor any more, but this was a special occasion. If the world was coming to an end, I wanted my critters close by and indulge with a delicious martini to send myself off into the abyss. Fortunately, the Rapture has been delayed, and because the martini I poured was a generous six ounces, the only doom and gloom I can report is a slight headache when I awoke this morning to find out the world did not end last night. There seems to be remarkably little coverage about it. It's almost as if the media were embarrassed to cover it in the first place and by ignoring it, they were acting as though the issue had never been raised. I suspect the Religious Right will be have some excuse why God chose not to take us out, but hopefully, they will keep their reasons to themselves.

I recently visited the Portland Rhododendron and Crystal Springs Garden, which is very close to my home. Every year the park is opened the public during the spring and summer. It is home to 2,500 varieties of rhododendrons, azaleas, and related plants (lots of hostas). There are waterfalls, lakes with lots of ducks and geese swimming around. They allow you to bring your dog, as long as it is leashed. So Beau had a wonderful time. He was curious and not aggressive about the birds, but they kept honking and hissing at him when he got near them. Beau didn't growl and was most respectful. The garden, which gets its 100% funding for the purchase of plants and maintenance from the public. The $3.00 entrance fee is very inexpensive and you can spend hours climbing all over the paths, or sitting down on a bench to contemplate the beauty of it all.

BIN LADEN IS DEAD! A Shocking Bit of News to Jolt Us on Sunday

2011-05-07T22:23:00.000-07:00

A spectacular Easter Sunday tart with layers if filo dough, mashed potatoes, cheese and cream

and asparagus, from JAMIE AT HOME by Jamie Oliver.

My phone rang at 8:00 PM--a friend from Boston was calling to say the President was due to make a sudden address to the nation in ten minutes. Had no idea what it was about, but said "turn on CNN." It took more than an hour for President Obama to stride down to a lectern in the East Room to announce what we had already heard. The United States was involved in a successful covert action resulting in the death of Osama bin Laden. America's terrorist nemeses was at last dead and his body in U.S. custody. The details will emerge in great clarity in the next few days, but the jubilation was swift and hysterical as thousands gathered outside the White House gates in full partying mode to chant "USA, USA," and sing the Star Spangled Banner. I leave them to their happiness. What I want to know is why Bin Laden has been in relative security in Pakistan for all these years and we haven't been able to get to him.

Now we also have to worry about reprisals from a furious Al Qaeda. Losing Bin Laden will be a huge psychological blow the terrorist groups. It will also be a huge blow to the Republican party. President Obama has pulled off a huge coup, if we believe what we've been told thus far, and I hope it all proves true. Trump and the whole lot of 'em can just shut the hell up and hope for something to break in 2016.

A charming pot of daffodils greets guests at my front door.

I had no idea there were so many different types of daffodils.

In the meantime, the stunning weather demanded more time in the backyard where my brother, Scott and I cleared up flower beds swept the patio, dug up dandelions, and Beau-poop, while Scott mowed and then reseeded the lawn and then went into the garage to reorganize the mess in there--something that I had been loathe to do on my own. We dragged the umbrella out. I hope I don't have to go through any more gardening sprucing up after last winter's long siege. The backyard was a total shambles. I hope to get the tomatoes planted this week.

My neighbor has a wonderful urban micro farm and raises chickens, and cultivates raspberries an garden plants for sale, and makes cement garden tiles and birdbaths. She's selling the property and moving to Panama. It's a lovely property and her chickens are friendly with her cats. Cool. This gorgeous bird lays blue eggs.

Found an amazing dim sum restaurant for lunch when my pals Rod and Trish scooped me up this week for a cheerful repast of shrimp and pork dumplings, and lots of gossip. Must save this restaurant for friends visiting.

The chickens have the entire run of the garden. I have an unused dog run on the side of my house, which would make a great location for a chicken coop. Imagine the eggs! This one's eggs are brown.

I've been so busy with a project that there's been little time for this blog or even my cookbook book blog. I miss the writing. I miss the immersion in cookbooks. I forget about the things I'm doing, such as going to a concert, or having dinner with friends. Sometimes, being too busy at my age, is not necessarily a good thing. Everyone these days is just staying busy rather than slowing down. My garden is demanding attention. My house needs a good cleaning, yet here I am running around like a person with his hair on fire.

IN A TOUGH WEEK A FEW PHOTO OPS MADE ME SMILE

2011-04-16T11:14:00.000-07:00

It's been a very tough week, but who doesn't have them? Not going to post much today, but two things happened yesterday that made me reach for my camera. Cooper, my resident backyard squirrel is a thief of hearts. He does silly tricks in my back yard. I often catch him on my balcony, rooting around planter boxes, probably looking for a place to hide nuts. He plays very aggressive games of tag with his fellow squirrels, but he will boldly, if cautiously take a peanut from my hand. I think he appreciate my leaving spent jars of peanut butter for him. Cooper loves peanut butter as my photos of his inside the jar will attest.

I happened to look outside my dining room window and there was Cooper in the middle of my new hanging fuchsia looking around for something. My camera was close to hand and I grabbed these two quick shots of him before he flew off the pot and onto the support beam and lowered himself to the ground and scurried away.

My friend, Elena Ferretti arrived with her daughter Eliot and Portland friend, Kelly for breakfast yesterday. They brought with them this lovely batch to tulips, which of course, made me think of Easter. They are lovely and our visit was wonderful.

The carpet people arrived and finally fixed my new stair carpet, it it now looks symmetrical.

The final bit of good news was to pick up my taxes. I got a small refund from the IRS, which is being applied to my first quarterly tax. I don't owe any quarterly tax to the state of Oregon until next September. There's some dumb transportation tax, but it was only $279. and the fee for this year's tax preparation was just over one third of what I normally paid in New York City. All in all, a quiet and nice coda to what began as a bit of a nightmare. I thank and love my friends who rallied round offering their support.

A STUBBORN SPRING THAT REFUSES TO ARRIVE

2011-04-11T08:10:00.000-07:00

The Euphorbia have taken over one a small space on the side of my garage. This year's display is spectacular.

One of two Hostas that are shooting up under my big Cedar tree. They look like some sort of bulb plant like a daffodil or tulip and in the photo below, they are slowly unwrapping themselves into beautiful leaves.

If you plant them, they will grow. My first tulips.

A sweet, all-white daffodil. Along with the tulips, the only bright spot in my ugly dog run, which is

getting a face lift this spring.

A pretty Azaelia I just bought and ready for planting.

A newly revived hydrangea. I bought this as a plant last Easter and planted it in a sunny spot last summer. Big mistake. Hydrangeas don't like sun pounding down on them all day long. It will get moved in a few weeks.

My grated pear tree, which has four different kinds of pears. It's just blooming and leaving

right now. We had a last-minute snow storm in the Portland hills last week. It could have killed the possibility

of any fruit this fall. Fortunately, the city was spared a big dip in temperature.

This tiny little Grape Hyacinth is such a pretty color and shape. It multiplies like crazy and is a

wonderful spring flower.

A pretty pink Peonie that is more than three times its original size from last year. Should

produce some gorgeous blooms in another month or so.

These daffodils should open any day now. I ran out of room in the garden last November and

decided to fill an unused planter at the foot of my door walkway.

We're still mired in cold, damp, rainy weather at nearly the halfway mark in April. Friday we were teased with a beautiful, warm, sunny day that lulled us into thinking that a few days of sunshine were at last here. It was not to be. It got cooler and more overcast on Saturday morning as my friend, Trish Hamilton arrived to take me to the Hardy Plant Sale that happens every year at the Portland Exposition Center. We arrived for the show ten minutes before the door opened and there were already long lines snaking through the Exposition lobby. We grabbed a box flat to capture our purchases and at 10:00 AM we filed in to view a huge selection of plants being offered from local Portland-area growers.

I haven't quite been bitten by the garden bug yet. Gardening is a messy, dirty business and my 60-year-old-knees loudly protest whenever I have to put any weight on them, even for a few minutes. Gardening requires vigilance, vision and a capacity for attacking weeds at will. Still I've managed to amass a large variety of flowering shrubs, bushes, and flowering plants, and a few trees in a very short time. My weeping cherry, purchased last season rewarded me with a nice flowering display a week or so ago. My daffodils in the dog run have bloomed, and yesterday, I noticed the tulips I put in last November are just beginning to bloom there was well. The Hostas have thrown up their annual shoots and their tightly-wound leaves are in the process of unfurling. The peonies are shooting up and should bloom at the end of next month (sunshine permitting). The lilac bush is sprouting its leaves. I don't think I'll get blooms this year, as this is the first year since I planted it. The Japanese maples are budding, as are the hydrangeas, and grape Hyacinths. All the rose bushes are ready for blooming, sporting their vibrant red-green leaves and I hope these produce spectacularly this year. I worry because if it continues to be such a soggy spring, they will pout and not produce as well, which was the situation last summer. The white Camellia produced a spectacular display again this year, but I can't wait for my friend Dyanne to visit and help me prune it back into a more manageable shape. It's entirely too big right now, cutting down on the light in the guest bedroom. But the three weeks it is in full bloom just take your breath away.

Back to Saturday's flower sale: I was lusting for a gorgeous white lilac tree, but I'm not sure I have a place for it at the moment. And I'm told it will grow to 30 feet. At about 12-14 feet currently, it was certainly on its way and the price was very tempting. Sanity took over. I settled instead on a Viburnum which will produce large pink flowers very much like a hydrangea. It can take some muted sun, and I've got just the spot for it.

A plant I see in a lot of gardens in Portland is Helleborus, which has a blossom that reminds me of a sturdier clematis. The version I bought is called 'Pink Lady' but it looks more purplish than pink. It too likes shady areas of the garden, so it will go on one side of my fountain, along with a bunch of new Hostas.

These two delicate "lamp shade"-shaped flowers are called Fritillaria. They look like they were designed in the Arts and Crafts era. They are very delicate, pretty bloomers. The next plant is a Cordyline, known as 'Red Sensation'. It too grows in sun and partial shade, so I think it will go on the patio in a pot where it will get just that kind of light.

I had such good luck with a geranium last summer that when I passed this pretty little pot, I couldn't resist. I'll plant it in the same hanging pot I put last year's specimen in and see what happens. You can see on the left inside my vegetable planter box, the bright green shoots of my returning Tarragon. Oregano and Italian parsley along with last year's Sage are planted. Thyme, mint and chives also came back and are thriving in their own pots where they don't amok.

I decided for my hanging tomato planters off my bedroom balcony, I'll plant cherry tomatoes this season. I purchased Sun Gold (yellow) and Baby Girl red cherry tomatoes and they will be planted in a few weeks when I'm sure the cold won't kill them. And finally I found this stunning echeveria with it's light green throat and coral ruffled edge and underleaf. I will keep it as a houseplant indoors until it's warm and then bring it back in next fall.

DORIS DAY'S BIRTHDAY

2011-04-03T22:29:00.000-07:00

Doris Day day didn't step out often into Hollywood events, but when she did--wow. Here she is a the Academy Awards in 1960, dressed to kill.

Depending on your source, today is Doris Day's 86th or 88th birthday. One week after we lost Elizabeth Taylor, here is the perennial, sunshiny Doris--long may she wave. Doris Day was my first movie star crush. I was nine and was taken to see PLEASE DON'T EAT THE DAISIES, with David Niven. Based on Jean Kerr's (the wife of New York Times Drama critic, Walter Kerr), bestseller. it told the story of a young wife and mother who neatly balances the demands of her theater critic husband, and their four rambunctious children as she is finally able to persuade her husband that their future is to leave their New York City apartment for an easier life in the suburbs. I recall the first time I saw this movie and being utterly charmed by Doris Day and her easy rapport on screen with her co-star, David Niven. I loved her fresh scrubbed beauty and easy screen charm. The camera always loved Doris Day.

With Rex Harrison who drove Doris crazy in MIDNIGHT LACE

Her straw-yellow hair, blue eyes and can-do movie persona made her so appealing. Soon afterwards, I saw this very sophisticated movie with Doris called MIDNIGHT LACE. It was a mystery about a rich woman living her British husband played by Rex Harrison in London. Someone was trying to kill Doris. Turns out it was Sexy Rexy as they used to refer to Mr. Harrison, who was after her fortune, but it was fun to watch Myrna Loy and handsome John Gavin who rescued her from the clutches of her murderous husband. Doris got to wear some gorgeous costumes designed by Irene, and suffered magnificently, if a bit too hysterically. That was it. I was a Doris fan for life.

With James Garner, a wonderful co-star in THE THRILL OF IT ALL. They had chemistry on screen.

In the 60s it was THE THRILL OF IT ALL with James Garner. Doris played a housewife married to a doctor. The doctor's rich client, owns a soap fortune. And Doris' natural approach to using the soap in her daughter's bath charms the crusty old chairman who makes Doris a star through a series of commercials. Doris and Garner had chemistry. The movie had a wonderful script and a terrific cast. It would be another few years before I saw the film again, and it held up. It still holds up.

PILLOW TALK, the first of three very successful movies Doris made with her good friend, Rock Hudson and the only movie for which she was nominated for an Academy Award

Cary Grant with Doris in THAT TOUCH OF MINK--not a great movie, but one elevated by the stars enormous personalities and charisma.

When I was fourteen, I saw PILLOW TALK for the first time and from then on I was a Doris fanatic. Her chemistry with Rock Hudson coupled with a wonderful script made the film a huge hit and justifiably so. They recreated the magic more intensely with their next vehicle, LOVER COME BACK. These romantic comedies stand out as the very best of the their era. They can be viewed over and over again with pleasure.

As Calamity Jane, the first movie that elevated Doris into an A-list movie star where she would

remain for the rest of her career.

Years later as an adult, I got the full measure of Doris's amazing talents. CALAMITY JANE is a charming movie musical, and Doris' wonderful singing and tomboyish acting was very endearing. Her performances in THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, and especially LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME, reveal an actress who has more depth than she was often given credit for. There's an imposing physicality to her portrait of Ruth Etting matching the blazing intensity of James Cagney's tough and insecure would-be Svengali. It's Doris' best film performance.

Doris with James Cagney in LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME--certainly Doris' very best dramatic role

The mid-to late 60s saw the diminuation of quality in her films. Doris' marriage to her producer/husband, Marty Melcher resulted in some strange choices. As she moved into her middle forties, the films became predictable. The "virgin" tag that stuck to her image began to strangle her film persona. Then when Melcher died unexpectedly, it was further revealed that their lawyer had boldly stolen her fortune. It was the first in a series of shocking revelations of marriages in Hollywood between female stars who had been fooled by their less talented husbands and been bankrupted in the process: Debbe Reynolds, Esther Williams, Rosemary Clooney, Doris and other stars of that era had put their faith and success in the hands of husbands who robbed them blind at the time when they should have been riding into the sunsets of their careers, fortunes in tact. But it was not to be. Day was a widow in her late 40s and broke. Worse, her husband and lawyer had committed her to a TV series for CBS. Doris's son, Terry Melcher (a record producer), took control of his mother's affairs and while Doris toiled on her eventual hit TV series, which paid her bills and restored a measure of her fortune, her son pursued a lawsuit against the unscrupulous lawyer. They won in one of the biggest victories ever recorded by a star who had been duped by her management. She settled with the lawyer's insurance company and retired to Carmel, Califorrnia where she pursued her real love--animal rights activism, and opened a hotel.

With Stephen Boyd in JUMBO, one of my favorite Doris Day movies--not a classic, but one where singing, personality, and sheer star power count for a lot.

Doris Day remains one of the premier box officer stars of all time. She enjoyed one of the most successful recording careers which lasted from the early 40s to the late 60s. Her impeccable vocals made her one of Columbia's biggest stars before the arrival of Barbra Streisand and rock and roll changed pop music forever.

I found Doris's polished vocals to be just a bit too surface for my taste, especially as her brand of big-band vocalism wanted. She wasn't a searching musical performer in an era when Frank Sinatra's and Judy Garland's confessional performing where they wore their hearts on their sleeves. Doris's recordings are on the same level as the woman who inspired her to become a singer following an car accident that ended her dancing career: Ella Fitzgerald. While young Doris recovered, she found inspiration to become a singer via the recordings of Ella, becoming first a band singer and then one of the most popular recording stars spanning two decades from the mid-40s to the mid-60s. The voice is lovely, the musicianship sure. But like many band singes, hers was an instrumental approach and she rarely dug below the surface of a song.

Like another popular, squeaky clean movie star of the next generation, Julie Andrews, Doris Day had one of the greatest bodies of a movie star ever. Don't believe me? Look at her in the black gown she wears in THAT TOUCH OF MINK. As Cary Grant starts to kiss her shoulders, the script calls for him to extol the beauty of her shoulders. There's blond, virginal Doris looking absolutely sexy in that figure hugging gown, her broad shoulders and beautiful decolletage a feast for discerning eyes. Her figure is a wonder in the buckskin outfit she wears as she sings "Secret Love." in CALAMITY JANE. And she wears her stunning working girl wardrobe to superb effect in PILLOW TALK and LOVER COME BACK TO ME. Doris was a dish, and like Julie Andrews, often hid her assets under a mountain of costumes. If Doris were walking the red carpet at today's Golden Globes or Oscar ceremonies, she would put most of her contemporaries to shame.

Doris' last film--WITH SIX YOU GET EGG ROLL with Brian Keith. Worth a look with an excellent comic cast, a good script and delightful performances. Out of step with the political winds of the times. but Doris still delivers the magic.

Today Doris has survived her husbands, her son (Terri Melcher died of cancer a few years ago), and devotes her time to animal rights. Her's is a dignified retirement where she doesn't seek the public's approval and keeps pretty much to herself.

Doris Day is an increasingly dim reminder of a once fabulous career that ended nearly forty years ago. She is a beloved movie icon with a body of work that many of today's actresses would kill to own and she did it by sheer dint of talent with little press to add spice or tabloid credibility. She was famous for not drinking and having a soda fountain in her living room. Maybe Sandra Bullock enjoys some of the affection that Doris Day's fans once lavished on her, or Diane Lane. In any event, she remains one of the bright movie spots of my youth. Doris Day's career spanned World War II, the Cold War, McCarthyism, the Kennedys, rock and roll, the Hippie era, and the studio system. She was a sunny, delightfully innocent presence in movie theaters, and her popularity rivaled John Wayne's in the public's affection. She never won an Academy Award, and certainly CALAMITY JANE, THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME, PILLOW TALK, LOVER COME BACK and THE THRILL OF IT ALL were worthy of a win.

Like Audrey Hepburn, Cary Grant, Steve McQueen, Natlie Wood, Julie Andrews, Shirley Maclaine, Barbara Streisand, Sean Connery, Sandra Dee, and Sophia Loren, Doris Day was a fixture of my youth, a movie star who was always a pleasure to watch, even when the vehicles were less than her talent was due.

Happy Birthday, Doris.

ELIZABETH TAYLOR IS GONE

2011-03-27T14:16:00.000-07:00

I was surprised by my reaction to the news that Elizabeth Taylor had died. I was deeply sad to hear it. Elizabeth Taylor was the very first movie star I was ever aware of, and she has been a constant in my life for all of my life. At the supermarket checkout, she was a constant, her image flying at me in one unflattering photograph after another--most recently in a wheel chair and cannula in her nose, looking aged and frail. In this age of round-the-clock celebrity TV, magazines, newspapers and Internet, Liz retained her ability to fascinate long after her peers had faded into retirement and the grave. As all the obits said, 50 films, seven husbands, hundreds of carats of diamonds, the condemnation of the Vatican, and billions of spilled words all seem to sum up a long and well-lived life. She was never my favorite movie star, and I managed to miss most of her great film work from the 50s until I was in my twenties, yet whenever Elizabeth Taylor crossed my radar, I almost always stopped to pay attention. Does any star have that effect on me now? Absolutely not.

Drug stores in the late 50s and 60s had big magazine stands. The movie mags dominated with their own section and you couldn't miss them. I first became aware of Elizabeth Taylor during her marriage to Eddie Fisher. I vaguely knew she had lost her previous husband (Mike Todd) in a plane crash. I also was aware that Fisher was a constant comfort to her in the aftermath of Todd's death, to the point where Elizabeth and Eddie became an item, igniting a scandal over his leaving his marriage to Debbie Reynolds to marry Elizabeth. I was fascinated over the loud disapproval of Elizabeth when only a few months before, there was this tremendous outpouring of sympathy for the widow. How did I know this at ten or eleven? My step-aunt, only a few years older than me, had movie magazines and we briefly lived with her, my grandfather and her mother when we first moved to California in the early 60s. In those pre-Internet days, there was little to distract a young kid other than playing outdoors. There was this gorgeous creature with a fascinating scar on her throat (the result of an emergency tracheotomy) staring from the covers of these publications. I started to read and became even more fascinated. This interest would go last for the next 50 years.

When I was twelve or thirteen years old and living in San Francisco, the News-Call Bulletin, a now defunct tabloid much like New York's Daily News, always had screaming headlines, and other than than the death of Marilyn Monroe, and JFK's assassination, no story had more impact on that newspapers front page than the love affair of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. There affair, which would end their marriages to others, blossomed during the filming of CLEOPATRA. For a time I sold newspapers in my neighborhood, and I never missed the photos of Liz and Dick on a pleasure boat in the Mediterranean nuzzling in their swimsuits, sunglasses firmly in place, or walking in ancient Roman neighborhoods, hand-in-hand. Elizabeth was still married to Eddie Fisher. You never saw a photo of them walking together as you did with Liz and Dick. Eddie was always five paces behind the star, his humiliated, hangdog expression visibly spelled out so clearly. The movie magazines sided with Debbie Reynolds, a popular studio contract star, but lacking the kind of megawatt fascination and box office of Elizabeth Taylor. We now know Debbie and Eddie's marriage was already kaput, but at the time, it looked as though Liz had heartlessly taken Eddie away from Debbie. This instant sympathy for poor Debbie, ignited her box-office appeal, and she would remain a top MGM star for nearly a decade following her divorce from Eddie.

As Elizabeth and Richard played out their romance and eventual marriage, the headlines still blazed. They trashed hotel suites long before the juvenile antics of Johhny Depp or Charlie Sheen. Richard bought Liz jaw-droppingly huge gems like the Krupp diamond, which managed to enhance her already stunning decolletage. They drew huge crowds to New York's theater district every night while Burton was starring in Hamlet on Broadway. People thronged to the theater in the hopes they night see Elizabeth with Richard. They were fixtures on the international Jet Set circuit, partying with Frank Sinatra and Princess Grace. Meanwhile they made movies, drank to excess--their antics and activities somehow enhancing our hum-drum lives. Nothing about them was to trivial to write about, including England laws impounding Elizabeth's dogs from entering the country. Liz's solution was to hire a yacht to house her precious pets offshore. Such were the perks of stardom.

When the Burton's tumultuous union floundered, it seem to signal a long slide. Had they peaked in our fascination? Certainly Burton's star had waned. And while Elizabeth's ballooning weight and less-than-stellar movie choice had dimmed her box office luster, she continued to fascinate. In the late 70s, I got pretty close to her one night in New York at a very flashy opening of a ballet adaptation of THE MERRY WIDOW starring the great British ballerina, Dame Margot Fonteyn

You sensed that as she aged, Liz wasn't always having a good time. When the Elizabeth and Richard agreed to star in a Broadway revival of PRIVATE LIVES, the reviews were pretty vicious, but you knew this wasn't a good idea in the first place. The years in Washington as the wife of Senator John Warner didn't look particularly happy for her either. Elizabeth Taylor seemed constrained and Washington packed more bullshit than Hollywood ever would. Besides as a bonafide Hollywood heavyweight, Liz was used to speaking her mind and Washington wasn't the place for her brand of spirited frankness and bawdy humor.

Once she left Washington, Elizabeth Taylor seemed to have a rebirth. She emerged newly slim and as glamorous as ever in her early-to-mid 50s, her black hair edged with white tips, which only accented her gorgeous eyes. A little discreet plastic surgery had her looking sensational and the paparazzi followed her everywhere, this time canoodling with Malcom Forbes. Elizabeth Taylor seemed reborn. And then Rock Hudson, her good friend and former co-star, died of AIDS. Taylor who had enjoyed close and intimate friendships with Hollywood's gay stars, Montgomery Clift and Roddy McDowall, finally found a second act which would perfectly suit her generosity and star power. Before taking up the cause of conquering AIDS, the disease was thought of as a deadly, highly contagious "gay" disease. Elizabeth Taylor give the disease a human dimension. Her righteous anger at the politics and prejudice coupled with her fame galvanized the public, and she was able to make people look beyond the rumors and ignorance surrounding AIDS, raising millions for a cure. It was a graceful way to engage her energies. Elizabeth would never have made a career in TV (can you imagine her starring as Cagney or Lacey?). She wouldn't find success as an aging character actress, and she lacked the stamina and acting chops for a stage career.

Liz threw herself into becoming the face of AIDS. She launched a perfume line, which helped maintain her lavish lifestyle, and wrote a coffee table book about her fabulous jewelry collection. She managed to get married one more time, and her close friendship with Michael Jackson continued to provide her public with fascination, as did her bad health. Even as she succumbed to deteriorating heart disease, we were not treated to a bedside deathwatch. Unlike Zsa-Zsa Gabor (the quintessential personality who was famous merely for being famous), who seemed to issue press releases on an hourly basis from her hospital bed with the grim news of leg amputations, etc., Elizabeth Taylor slipped away with her dignity intact.

The first Elizabeth Taylor movie I ever saw was WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF? I was sixteen and it shocked me. There was a tremendous amount of publicity surrounding the making of the movie and after it opened. I recall big spreads in Look and Life magazines. I was too young to appreciate its very adult themes. But I was far more interested in Richard Burton's performance than I was of Elizbeth's. It seemed to be very one note. And whenever her voice rose, it lacked dimension. As a friend later put it, Mike Nichols got a very good performance out of her, but imagine what it might have been in the hands of a great actress. Elizabeth Taylor's voice never worked for me, and it kept me from enjoying many of her performances. I liked her work a lot in CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF and GIANT. Good as her work is in A PLACE IN THE SUN, Shelley Winters is the performance you remember. My favorite movie of hers is Franco Zeffirelli's sumptuous THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. Taylor made few comedies, but she had a flair for the genre. The VIPs was laughable and both Maggie Smith and Margaret Rutherford steal the movie from Elizabeth and Richard. He's better than she is. The scenes with Louis Jordan are embarrassingly comedic in their silliness.

I missed many of her movies of the 60s: THE SAND PIPER, THE COMEDIANS, BOOM!, HAMMERSMITH IS OUT, X Y AND ZEE, ASH WEDNESDAY, THE ONLY GAME IN TOWN. I did seem REFLECTIONS IN A GOLDEN EYE, a movie that made no impact on me whatsoever. I do remember her hilariously funny, late-in-the-day turn in THE MIRROR CRACK'D ("Wrinkle, wrinkle, go away," her character said to her mirror. 'Reappear on Doris Day," she finished with mock maliciousness that was truly hilarious). I preferred the more natural charms of Audrey Hepburn, Sophia Loren and Doris Day. Still, there were those gorgeous eyes, the pale skin and all that dark hair to make you overlook her less than brilliant acting. She was a mesmerizing screen presence.

It's been fourteen years since the death of Princess Diana, and while many famous people have died in the intervening years, including Michael Jackson, I think it's a pretty safe bet that Elizabeth Taylor's passing, while not as shocking, registers just as hugely with the public.

Throughout her life, Elizabeth Taylor never seemed to lose her hold on our imaginations. Even in the midst of one of the most polarizing love affairs of all time, Elizabeth Taylor provided fascination. All of her great contemporaries are gone, save Sophia Loren and Doris Day (two stars who has managed to keep the affection of their large fan bases). Few of the stories I've read since she died, mention that she was made a Dame of the British Empire by Queen Elizabeth II. But we know Elizabeth Taylor was one of the great Dames of modern times. She will be missed.

CREDIT REPORT CRISIS/FIRST SIGNS OF SPRING

2011-03-19T15:35:00.000-07:00

I know my friends in New York will be highly unimpressed, but we had a snow storm a few weeks ago. Maybe we got two inches. But it was fun and it didn't last too long. Rain had it washed away within a few hours and it got sunny again. These photos were taken at around 7:30 AM.

The New York State Department of Taxes broadsided me a few weeks ago. Why? New York State put a lien on my credit report, saying I owed them more than $1500 in tax. They are liars. I paid a lot of tax on the sale of my New York apartment, and when I filed my 2009 taxes, I wrote them a check for more than $21,000. Two months later, they notified me that I was more than $1,500 short of the tax due. After conferring with my accountant, we found the error and I paid both the state of New York and the Federal government more than $3,000 in additional tax. In other words, I paid the tax New York State asked me to. I didn't contest. I didn't argue. I figure, you owe the tax--pay the tax. I have the cancelled checks to prove I paid the tax--last June.

Fast forward to February, 2010--approximately six months later--my banker calls me and says there is a tax lien for the entire $1,500 + on my credit report. I checked my records and found the cancelled check. I called New York State Department of Tax where I was rudely accused of ignoring their notices, which I truly never received. The lady on the phone indignantly insisted I was wrong. "How much more do I owe?" Her reply stunned me: $20.48! "If that is all I owe, why was the entire $1,500 listed on the credit report lien." "We always list the original amount," was her obnoxious reply. So I lost nearly $12,000 in loans from my bank due to the lying incompetence and mean-spirited attitude of the New York State tax department. It cost me another $40 more to settle the $20.45 owed plus the cost of a money order and overnight delivery so I could get a quick letter of satisfaction that I had paid this in full for the underwriters of the bank.

Once I calmed down and really looked at the situation I called the NY State Tax thugs back. "You never sent me any notice for the additional $20.48 and I think you owe me a better explanation for attacking my credit report," I accused. The pinhead told me it was my fault for being late on the tax in the first place. Nearly 40 years as a resident in New York and these bullies are treating me like a tax-dodger. It is infuriating. I demanded to speak to his boss. She was as unwilling and as unmoving as her predecessor. I frustration, I accused her of killing me and said, I'm going to kill myself. She actually took me seriously! "Mr. Mowery, please tell me you're not thinking of killing yourself over this!" "What would you suggest? I've entered Kafkaland, and you're not making one bit of sense," I replied adding a bit more drama than the situation warranted. Somehow these theatrics turned her back into a sympathetic human being. We went over the file again and she finally admitted, "I see there was a sincere attempt to pay the tax, so I'm going to try to see if I can get this dismissed from your credit report, but it will take about 30 to 60 days." My banker told me I would have to start a long letter campaign to get this off my credit report and it could take years.

The irony here is this incident got me worried about my Federal Tax return. At the same time I received the notice from NY state, I called the IRS and explained the situation to them. Two minutes later he said, there was no further monies due the IRS from 2009. But he also stated, if there were late charges, or any other question of your owing the IRS, we would notify you many, many times before attaching a lien to your credit report.

I'll give the state of New York 60 days and revisit the situation. I've already drafted a letter with copies to the head of NY state's tax department, the governor, the attorney general, the Congressman of my old district, and both state senators as well as the Albany bureau chief of The New York Times. If I have to embarrass the state of New York, I'm prepared to do so. The bums.

The red rose bush, trimmed and ready for it's first blooms (sometime in June).

Tarragon, which is just coming up now. While the basil, parsley, mint and oregano didn't survive the winter, the tarragon, chives, thyme, rosemary and sage did.

New chives

Daffodils just blooming.

The pear tree with a few blooms and the euphorbia with their sci-fi light green flowered tops.

The white camellia, which is just starting to bloom. All my neighbor's camellias are either red or pink or

variegated between red and white. But I think the pure white camellia makes for a spectacular showing.

I hope my friend Dyanne will be able to give me ideas on what shape to trim it back when she visits this

summer. This shrub is really out of control.

Hydrangea, trimmed of its old dead blooms.

Weeping Snow Fountain Cherry just blooming.

We've had some fierce rains these past couple of weeks, and finally, though rain has been forecast, it's been sunny and breezy here Portland. The bulbs I planted last year are finally sprouting and I have a few daffodils. My Weeping Snow Fountain Cherry tree is just blooming now, as is the grafted pear tree that I bought last summer. If all goes well, it will produce five different types of pears. I'm still trying to decide if it will go into the front yard this summer when I restore the front yard into a garden (it is now an alternative driveway). The white camellia is just blooming and they are gorgeous (though my mother is always telling me how much of a mess they make as they shed their blooms. Camellia blossoms disappear awfully fast when they drop to the ground). The tulips and iris I planted last fall (and one iris that is still in the pot) are all sending up news leaves. The lilac is leafing and so is the mystery shrub next to it. The lilies and grape hyacinths are also shooting up. All three hydrangeas have lots of new green leaves, which prompted me to prune the old dead blooms off of them. I'm about to begin looking for hearty hanging plants to hang outside my dining room. I'm getting sick of seeing last year's dead plants staring at me. I miss the spectacular yellow variegated coleus from last year, which I brought in. While the other coleus plants have survived, that one, alas, is down to two cuttings which I saved for rooting which they are now doing in my kitchen window. I'd hate to lose that beautiful plant.

I finally bought a Kindle, and I'm waiting for it to arrive. I have a few books I'd love to begin reading and can't wait to start downloading them.

The news from Japan and Libya is very scary right now and I'm hoping the U.S. won't get sucked into a long and involving military action there, though it seems that lots of people, including Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, are wanting for the U.S. to become involved. I think Europe has far more at stake there and the United States shouldn't be leading the charge in every conflict. Besides, at a time when Congress is slashing budgets does it make sense to increase the one budget that desperately needs to be pruned: defense. Some bonehead on CNN said a recent poll suggest that 46% of Americans would be in favor of us engaging in a military intervention in Libya. Some Americans have no sense of how seriously bad our economy is, and engaging in another armed conflict is only going to make it worse.

I'm not sure Japan has asked for the world's help in getting their nuclear reactors under control. But they should. I'm very concerned their government hasn't been more forthcoming about how serious the danger a nuclear meltdown is in those four reactors in NW Japan.

Time to get back to preparing my tax returns. Ugh.

I found this green glass head, which I'm using to hold my old fur hat, which my friend Jon gave me for Christmas years ago. I'll never wear it out here, because even in the cold of New York City winters, it makes my head boil with heat. But it's lots of fun to have this glass head to hold and and prevent it from permanently creasing the fur.

BACK IN THE USA: Re-Entry

2011-02-19T10:48:00.000-08:00

Beau resting in his daybed atop the new shag rug.

It's not enough to post four entries from Europe in six days. No, my fans are demanding new adventures, or at least new posts. Well since I got back, life is a tad dull. Except there are new developments in this ever-developing life of mine. First...

Beau was his usual low-key self when I arrived home. Kyle had taken very good care of him, as usual, but it always takes Beau a day or two to return to his usual lively self after I've been away. I slept the sleep of the dead and still managed to wake up at 5:30 the next morning. I didn't bother to fight it. Up at once, I was ready to face all the responsibilities that had been put on hold for about seven days.

I'm starting a retail business-a medical supply store, and Kyle will be managing it (he had previously done this when he lived in Tucson). There was a lease to approve before signing, insurance for the business to arrange, and other matters. I've got several publishing projects underway, and a never-ending renovation in my basement to get back on schedule. Despite the fact that I had taken my laptop to Italy with me, there was a mountain of e-mail to deal with. And lots of news from Mubarek's resignation as President of Egypt, and the Republicans latest and predictable attempts to get rid of Planned Parenthood, abortion, NPR, PBS and any other progressive government program that they deem a waste of tax-payer dollars to Elizabeth Taylor's latest medical emergency (meanwhile, Zsa-Zsa Gabor keeps going on and on and on!).

Upon my return home, I discovered my bank (Chase) has turned down my loan request to help me fund the business. I'm done with Chase. They were appalling about my mortgage, insisting they needed more time to close after I had given them 60 days. They also couldn't find the deed to my apartment in New York, threatening my closing there. The high-handed way I was treated by my own bank was appalling. They have every damn dime I own. Yet they feel no reason to do anything for me. Oh sure, I can get a secured loan. Hell, I don't need my bank for that! We went to BankAmerica and they scoffed they didn't loan money to start-ups. The nerve! American taxpayers gave them a bailout--it's the bank's fault that we're in the financial bind to begin with. The idiot at the bank had the nerve to reply, "yes, and we paid them back with 5% interest! "And we're all damn grateful for your effort," I replied with as much withering scorn as I could muster as I left this pinhead's office. At USBank they found a way to loan me some of the money and were creative enough to help me secure the rest of the financing I needed to get this business launched. Time to tell Chase to take a hike and move my money elsewhere.

But first New York State has a lien on my credit report. I paid NYS a boat load of money in taxes on the sale of my New York apartment. Ditto the federal government. Not complaining. I did well on the sale. An accounting oversight on my part, which I didn't tell my accountant about had both federal and state coming after me for an addition $3K. I realized my mistake and paid the bills asap. What I didn't realize is that my accountant gave me the new payments and the state was underpaid by $20. They never sent me a bill. But they put the entire $1500+ lien on my credit report. Let me tell you, it ought to be as difficult for anyone to attack your credit report as it is for you to repel their absurd attacks. That $20 underpayment cost me $40 in a post office money order and priority overnight mail. Is it any wonder why everyone is angry at government. There are deadbeats not paying their taxes. Not me. Pay the tax. Life is just easier. But they won't take a credit card payment, and it will take weeks to get this mess off my credit report. MEMO TO TAX PEOPLE EVERYWHERE: YOU SUCK!

As if I don't have enough going on in my life, I also decided I had to change the carpet in my bedroom. The carpet that was here when I moved in just didn't work for me. And it looked depressingly old and it had to go. Up at 5:30 am this morning to empty the bedroom so that the carpet installers could come in and do their thing. The new carpet is a low pile shag. I'll call the color dark cremini mushroo. The choice surprised me. I never thought I'd ever pick shag (so 60s). I had a teenage memory of a blue cotton shag carpet my mother bought for the "dorm" room at the top of the house that I shared with my brothers. That damned carpet shed blue on everything. I went to high school for three years looking a creepy color of blue. Fed up, my brothers and I took it up and threw it out of the window into the back yard. Nasty.

I saw my first Metropolitan Opera HD broadcast in a movie theater last week. John Adams' NIXON IN CHINA. It was a fascinating work with a story that played fast and loose with the real facts. The best characters in the opera were Pat Nixon, Chairman Mao's insane wife, and Chou En Lai. Henry Kissinger was reduced to a ridiculous sex fiend, which really didn't bother me. I always thought his reputation was woefully undeserved. Mao himself is reduced to a a nearly senile and somewhat enigmatic character. Forget about the millions who were killed during the years of his domination of China. I loved the second act best. Adams' music is very appealing. Only the third act disappoints, but that's the libretto and Peter Sellar's absurdist direction. To see this newer high-definition technology puts the audience right in the center of the action, which makes the experience of viewing often thrilling.

The floating floor will minimize any damage in case of future leaks. The open-framed view on the upper right is the door to the bathroom.

The framed closet. Now I have to find a door!

Finally, we're making progress with the basement. Leaks have been sealed. The walls have been framed, insulated, and dry-walled. Mudding is nearly complete and then the finish before painting. there's even a closet framed now. The floor is about two-thirds completed. The bathroom will come next. The whole thing could be done by April. Progress!

ARRIVEDERCI TURIN

2011-02-07T09:45:00.000-08:00

Christine Goerke, as Kundry in Richard Wagner's epic PARSIFAL

How sad...the week has flown by and I'm on my way home at the crack of dawn. Thank god I don't have to fly Alitalia and will connect through Paris and my Delta flight home via Air France.

I attended the final performance of a new production of Wagner's PARSIFAL starring my good buddy, Christine Goerke, as Kundry. Surrounded by an outstanding cast of fine singers, a good orchestra, and outstanding chorus, and a pretty good production, Christine has a fabulous success in this her second Wagner opera. The audience gave her an overwhelming ovation at the end of the second act curtain call and again at the opera's end. Bertrand de Billy, was the fine conductor.

Christopher Ventris (Parsifal) with Talia Or (right) a Flower Maiden and her husband, Judd Perry, who played a serving man to the Knights of the Grail

Mark S. Doss (Klingsor) with his adorable wife, Dawn.

Christine and her Amfortas, Jochen Schmeckenbeche cutting up.

I was honored to meet most of the cast and enjoyed lunch and dinners with several of them and now have made friends with Christopher Ventris (Parsifal) and Jochen Schmeckenbeche (Amfortas). I also enjoyed several leisurely lunches with Laurie Feldman, an opera director who is based here in Turin. Laurie often directs at the Metropolitan Opera and other operas houses.

This is a view from the stage into the Teatro Regio di Torino. It is a very modern opera house, built

in the 1970s to replace the orginal that had burned in a fire. The new theatre seats only 1600 or so.

The previous theater seated 3400.

Last night most of the cast assembled for a final dinner celebration. I was pleased to be asked to join them. It was wonderful to see how this cast has bonded as a team. Clearly they have great affection for Christine, and it was fun to watch the teasing and laughter as they recalled the many moments, high and low they've experienced these past six weeks of rehearsals and performances.

Christine had woken up this morning with the onset of a cold, and was really panicky that she wouldn't be able to sing well. Fortunately she was able to rise to the occasion, but by the time she had finished her pasta, she was ready to go home, and we reluctantly said goodnight.

The adrenaline of a great performance was still with me, and I read until about midnight and then slept in until 8:30 this morning. Out for an early breakfast, I was back to get most of my packing done an meet Christine and Laurie for lunch near the Royal Palace. Ristorante Taverna Fiorentina is a very pretty dining room with yellow walls, splashed with red, white trim, and elegant white trim. For a change, the lighting was natural and not glaring with electricity. We were offered a large corner table. Laurie knew at once she was having the raw artichoke salad, and that seemed a good idea for me as well. The finely shredded artichokes were adorned with thin slices of Parmesan cheese and given a splash of olive oil. All that was needed was salt and cracked pepper. The musky flavor of the artichokes tasted of the earth. Pure spring. I had a pasta dish called Malfogliata, or flat and irregular shaped pieces of pasta, cooked and then sauced with wild boar sauce. This was a rich and aromatic dish, it's Florentine roots, appropriate to the restaurant's name. Laurie had grilled beef while Christine chose a braise of beef with polenta. A carafe of the house Barbera and a bottle of sparkling water made the lunch truly wonderful.

Christine outside the Basilica Consolata

The main altar of the Basilica Consolata

Afterward Christine wanted to show me the Basilica Consolata, a large and beautifully appointed church not to far away. It sits on a tiny square and once again, what looks to be small from the outside is huge inside with soaring high walls, an ornately gilded dome with windows to let in light, masses of various types of marble everywhere and many small side chapels, including one below street level. Clearly this church has wealthy parishoners who keep this place in very good shape. I admired just about every nook and cranny from its simply carved wooden doors to the ornate altar and the elegant pews. Even the paintings were relatively subdued.

We did some shopping along the via Garibaldi, a pedestrian shopping area with no cars, strolling slowly, and stopping to sit on a bench and basque in the mild weather. Despite the fact that Turin is surrounded by the Italian Alps, the city has enjoyed more than a week of balmy and sunny weather, and I have been walking around in the afternoon with only a sweater on. It's funny to watch the Turinese in their fur coats, and hats and scarves and gloves, acting like it's freezing outside. They should only be in New York this winter. I'm sure it climbed to 60 today and not for the first time this week.

I'll have a final dinner with Christine tonight, and come back for the final packing and into bed early. Claudio, the owner of the hotel, will take me to the airport at 5:30 AM for my flight!

It's been a wonderful trip, but it's time to come home. Can't wait to see Beau and Bit (Kyle's cat), and find out what's happening at home.

POST LUGGAGE TRAUMA ALLOWS ME TO REALLY SEE TURIN

2011-02-06T00:12:00.000-08:00

Warning: Photos took forever to upload over here and my computer act very slowly and strangely. Spell-check on my blog highlights every word here, so is useless. Forgive any mistakes and thanks.

Apple fritters from Stefanone

Now that the luggage drama is over, I can hopefully settle down and get a better look at the city. I started this morning by going to my local cafe for a caffe latte, which they do differently than I've seen before. I was presented with a glass of hot, foamy milk with a tiny pitcher with a shot of espresso, which you pour into the milk. My eye caught a scrumptuous looking croissant with chocolate strips baked into its puffy top. It was filled with a hazelnut crema--utterly obscene and completely irresistible. One outside, I headed for the inside of the two churches flanking one end of the Piazza San Carlo with my camera. Chiesa San Carlo and Chiesa Santa Christina don't look anything alike despite the fact they are side-by-side. Churches are always worth a look in Italy, mostly because they are fanciful, or opulent, or scary in their projection depending on your spiritual persuasion. Their soaring spaces, generous use of marble, elaborate carving and competitively decorated side chapels are hardly tasteful, but that's the beauty of these amazing structures. Some have scary depictions of the Virgin swords plunged into her heart, such as the below. Even crumbling churches in Italy inspire awe.

Circling over to the other side of the piazza I found Paissa, a store selling fancy packaged foods, wines, champagnes and spirits since 1884. Everything is beautifully packaged and displayed and the staff is friendly and eager to please. Around the corner, I was back on via Maria Vittoria, and stopped into Stefanone, an elegant small shop specializing in take-out foods. I was able to talk to the chef, asking if I could take photos of the enticing foods on display. We talked amiably as he described to me all the wonderful things the shop sells, such as

A chocolate croissant filled with hazelnut pastry cream.

I'm not Catholic and can't even begin to explain this.

Some of the amazing foods found at Paissa

Chocolate confections at Paissa

The inner historical center of Turin has many of these retail arcades with soaring open areas completely enclosed and easy for shoppers to avoid the possibility of bad weather.

Christine invited me to lunch with her Parsifal, tenor Christopher Ventris, and Laurie Feldman, an American opera director who makes her home in Turin. We ate at a restaurant specializing in deep fried foods, such as calamari, shrimp, zucchini blossoms, artichokes, etc. You place your order and then eat your meal on benches with wire cones to hold the containers of cooked food. They also sell beverages to go with your meal. It was an unusual and tasty lunch. Afterwards, we decided to take in the sights at the Egyptian museum--the largest collection of Egyptian art and mummies outside of Cairo. I found the museum a mixed bag of the bizarre--they have at least ten mummies, a mummy head, and they are just plain weird. I don't get the mummy thing other than the odd fascination of seeing a completely dead but remarkably well preserved corpse with skin that is leathery and just plain strange. The sarcophagus boxes held limited fascination, their heiroglyphics didn't capture my fancy, and the artifacts are just okay to these eyes. The culture of the Pharoahs does little for me, and mostly I found the museum to be disappointingly musty. Christine however, loved all the sandals!

We had a 8:00 dinner. Just down the street from her apartment is Trattoria La via del Sale, a place I had turned down the night before because it wasn't too busy. I'm glad Christine suggested it, because our dinner there was not only delicious but fun. She had invited another cast member to join us, and the baritone singing Amfortas in PARSIFAL, turned out to be a smart, funny, insightful dinner companion. His name is Jochen Schmeckenbecher. I had heard him in Philadelphia when Christine was singing Rosalinde in DIE FLEDERMAUS. He is a very busy and in-demand German baritone--a fine singer and a good actor. We hit it off, and had a fun evening eating good food (a delicious potato and anchovy salad with a parsley pesto for a first course, followed by gnocchi with cheese and cream, and then a rich braise of beef in red wine and lemon sorbetto for dessert). Christine and I polished off a carafe of Barolo and I got lured into a grappa with Jochen (which I paid for with a nice hangover the next day).

Those are the Italian Alps that you see in the far background--an amazing sight on the city's horizon!

Saturday morning, I slept until nine--finally the jet lag is over. After a leisurely morning, I met Christine at her apartment. We were to meet Laurie plus Mark S. Doss, a baritone also singing in this Parsifal, and his lovely wife, Dawn, for lunch. We meat at Dual--a very contemporary restaurant near the opera house. Christine recommended the pizza, and in my case it was a red onion and gorgonzola pizza. It was fantastic.

After lunch we were to meet Laurie's husband, who is masterminding a big installation at the Palazzo Madama of a recreation of the first Italian Senate of 1871. This was the famous senate created during the unification of Italy. Giuseppe Verdi, the grand master of Italian opera was a member of that first senate. We arrived at the Palazzo Madama, an imposing building on the same square as the Royal Place, home of the House of Savoy Kings and Queens of Italy. Palazzo Madama is was created as a retreat for the dowager queens of Savoy. by the Queen of Savoy. The installation, which opens in March is well underway with scaffolding supporting the recreation of the original senate hall. The opera house's principal set designer is in charge of the physical recreation, while Laurie's husband is producing the event. It was thrilling to see this production in its early state. It looked like the creation of an opera house production and these pictures show just where the project stands at this point.

Installation of the recreation of the first Italian Senate room during the unification of Italy in 1871.

Prior to this we were taken to the palazzo's tower where we enjoyed thrilling views of the city surrounded by the majestic Italian Alps. The city is in a low valley surrounded on three sides by these huge mountain peaks.

We later toured the museum, which houses a superb collection of art dating back to Renaissance Italy in the 14th century. The museum was opened four years ago, and is quite beautiful. They've restored the palace to it's original beauty, with new fabrics that recreate the orginals, restored ceiling paintings, and gilt plastering, and wall paint. The museum's collection encompasses a vast array of paintings, sculpture, furniture, and household items such as silver and glass ware, a child's wagon, and other treasures. The top foor houses a stunning collection of pottery and porcelain objects, table settings, candelabra and other impressive decorative objects. It was a very worthwhile visit and we later enjoyed a bicerin, a delicious drink of espresso chocolate and whipped cream after our tour. This was a big highlight of my visit to Turin.

This room is filled with these beautiful vitrines showing off the House of Savoy's bountiful collection of porcelain, pottery, silver and glass. This "table top" comes from all over Italy with one display case filled with objects from Vienna. You could set a proper table for a year and not use all of this stuff.

A generous cup of bicerin, a locally created drink that combines chocolate, coffee and whipped cream.

We enjoyed our bicerins in the palace's former vegetable "cellar" which is now a storing place for some of the palace's massive silver collection.

The facade of the Palazzo Madama

This afternoon I'll see the final performance of this run of PARSIFAL and join the cast for a party at a local restaurant to celebrate the completion of a successful run.

I can't believe tomorrow is my last day in Turin already! Because of the difficulties getting to Turin, I had to sacrifice my plans to see Genoa. But I'd love to come back here.

TURIN; Day Three with the Diva

2011-02-03T23:14:00.000-08:00

My adorable diva, Christine Goerke, who is killing them at the Teatro Reggio Torino, with an opulently sung and vividly acted Kundry in Wagner's final opera, PARSIFAL. I have travelled widely to hear her perform in San Francisco, Seattle, at Tanglewood, Covent Garden in London, the Maggio Musicale in Florence, Santa Fe and of course, the Metropolitan Opera. In my not-so-humble opinion, Christine is one of the most significant dramatic sopranos of her generation. Her Wagner and Strauss heroines will take her all over the world. I'm happy to follow and be swept away by her gorgeous voice, riveting dramatic presence, and charmingly goofy sense of humor.

When I bought my house in Portland, I ordered things from many national retailers with websites and the first thing I noticed was that with each purchase, came this needy survey, asking me if I was happy with the service, the items I purchased and the prompt delivery of such items, among other things. This struck me as annoying. If I was unhappy with a purchase, I would certainly let them know, but to beg for a compliment seemed the height of corporate PR hubris. Don't they realize that if a customer is truly unhappy, they will make their unhappiness known to them. Why do they need to take our money, but also be praised for giving us the service we pay for. Seems very dumb to me. All that "we're here to serve you," nonsense is pure hooey. Today in my e-mail arrived a survey from Delta Airlines, apologizing to me for the "inconveniences" I suffered as a result of their incompetency. Would I mind answering a few questions as to my satisfaction, or lack thereof, with the service I had received? NOT AT ALL. They asked me the airport where the problem started, was I satisfied or unsatisfied with the gate manager there, etc. Best of all there was a box for me to add any "extra" comments that might clarify matters for them in the future. To say that I retrofitted them with a new corporate asshole in appropriately florid Gregory-style, is to put it mildly or bluntly, take your pick. I challenged them to get the missing piece of luggage to me at my hotel before I returned to the states, and suggested they fire their ferociously mean gate manager, who verbally abused staff, which I thought was the reason my luggage got detained in the first place. I also promised to follow up with more "suggestions" on how they might make me whole in the future. I MEAN, REALLY!!!!

Two Pugliese farmers showing off their impressively large cabbages! (I'm not going there!)

Today, Christine Goerke, my hugely gifted soprano friend, and the reason I'm in Turin, took pity on me and on the day of a performance, insisted on taking me clothes shopping. We found a few sweaters, some underwear and socks at Rinascente, a trendy department store here. She then decided to walk me over to see the city's largest open-air market, and it was a revelation. Rome may have the Campo dei Fiori; Florence, the Mercato Centrale; Barcelona the Bouqueria; and Nice, a spectacular open-air market, but none of them boast such a comprehensive and large a market that is both open-air, and in a series of buildings all spread out over a two or three block area. I bought white socks and some t-shirts, a kilo of these adorable tiny oranges, and a jar of chestnut honey from the local vendors. There were fruit and vegetable stands, cheese vendors, purveyors of salumeria, fish mongers, meat sellers (macelleria), bakers, stalls selling artisanal pastas, fresh and dried, dry goods sellers of kitchen, linen and various household products, and clothing, shoes and other leather goods, furniture, second hand fur coats, and all manner of of goods. It was as colorful as it was vast, and we enjoyed an hour or walking up and down aisles, in and out of buildings. I happily snapped photos, including two humorous vendors of enormous cabbages. I shot one photo of the two men picked up one huge specimen and posed holding this green beast while they smiled for the pazzo American taking all these photos!

A fine selection of olives.

Rabbits and chickens and squabs, oh my!

Parma ham (prosciutto), and salamis and wedges of Parmesano-Reggiano. Such indulgence!

Miles and miles of verdure!

Pasta Fresca!

The diva looking for oranges.

Pork--the other white meat!

From the local forno--breads, pizza, rolls, focaccia

We stopped at a favorite bakery of Christine's where we ate tiny circles of just fried mini-doughnuts sprinkled with sugar. They were just made and still warm and each one was two bites. Heavenly. I bought a small, flat, oval loaf of olive bread that was indescribably tender (and ideal for breakfast as I write this). I brought the rest of it back to my room to snack on with the oranges. Christine had to be at the theater by 4:00 PM to get into make-up and costumes and warm up in preparation for this Wagnerian marathon which lasts five hours (Wagner's operas are as windy as a Eugene O'Neill plays). So we opted for an early lunch at a local place she was fond of and enjoyed a delicious plate of pasta (agnolotti for her; penne pomodoro for me; very thin slices of roast pork for both of us with side of cavalofiori (green cauliflower). Like many Italian restaurants that are family run, there is a tendency to overcook vegetables and this was no exception. Still this three-course gem was 8.50 euros each. And I had a little half-jug of red wine.

We never have winter markets like this in Portland or New York

Anchovies and jarred tuna packed in olive oil.

The variety of freshness of vegetables and fruits available to Italians is amazing.

So many cheeses, so little time!

Christine dropped me off at my corner, and I returned to the hotel for an eagerly anticipated nap. It was a kind of self-indulgent afternoon. Before the nap, I walked around the neighborhood a bit more. I needed a nail clipper, and started to look for a suitcase that seems obvious I will need. I stopped at the corner coffee bar and had a "shakerato," a wonderful cool glass of espresso mixed with a little simple syrup (cooked water and sugar), then poured over ice and shaken until foamy and light and poured into a stem glass. This elegant drink came with four tiny butter cookies, and I sat there reading my book until my yawning sent me back to the hotel for that self-promised nap.

Two hours later, I woke up, and got dressed and as out the door to search for dinner. Without my guidebooks and research done before leaving Portland, I had to now rely on instinct for dinner. Tonight the search made for a long walk. I had seen a tiny little trattoria about four blocks from the hotel and decided that where I would go. But it was closed--apparently it only serves coffee and lunch. Moving on, I found an attractive spot a few blocks away and after reading the menu, walked in. The hostess was a bit tart, saying she could seat me, but I had to be gone in 45 minutes or suggesting that I come back an hour later because they were all booked. There was something condescending in her manner, and I declined. I walked over towards the opera house, and nothing appealed. Doubling back, I ended up back in my piazza! It was now 9:00 PM, and I was beginning to regret passing on that previous 9:00 offer. In finally found a tiny spot in a side-street and sat down. Another overly brightly lit space (Italians don't seem to be romantic about atmosphere in their restaurants--they are truly able to see the food on their plates--even in very contemporary settings. The menu was fairly broad, with many pastas and main courses to choose. I took a carafe of the house red wine and nibbled on some grissini while I figured out my dinner: agnolotti with a meat sauce to start, and then a grilled paillard of chicken with rocket and lemon, and a green salad. The meat-filled pasta was an indulgence sauced with a meat ragu, Parmesan and black pepper. Then the chicken. Chicken always tastes superior in Europe to me. The thinly pounded and grilled chicken breast is a modest main course. It came covered with fresh rocket (baby arugula) and needed only a fresh squeeze of lemon juice and black pepper to bring out its simple flavors. I decided to eat the salad on the same plate as my chicken, and the combination of slightly bitter escarole, more arugula, and raddichio with oil and vinegar was enhanced by the lemon and chicken jus left on my plate. Okay, the pasta was rich, but I had been good in my choice of the chicken and salad. I should have left well enough alone, but my waitress suggested panna cotta for dessert. My resistence crumbled. A minute later, she set before me a mound of panna cotta covered with a caramel sauce much like creme caramel--an unusual flourish to this essentially simple dessert. I make panna cotta all the time at home, but this was something very special. Of course the cream they use is superior to the pasteurized thin dairy we get at home. This panna cotta had a dense richness that was pleasant and not at all heavy. Cooked cream indeed. The four course meal with wine and tip came to 30 euros.

Again, I woke up at 5:30 and could not fall back to sleep. Up 20 minutes later I was at the computer downloading photographs for this installment, eating oranges and olive bread. It's now 7:30 and I'm off in search of some coffee. I plan on a visit to the Egyptian museum today. I'm told this is the largest collection of Egyptology outside of Cairo. Ironic to be looking at this stuff today when Egypt is in such turmoil. Christine is planning a dinner adventure for this evening. Haven't heard back from Delta yet. No surprise there!

I would like to come back and see this charming piazza lit up at night with all these lights!

TURIN: Day Two and a Half

2011-02-03T13:56:00.000-08:00

The Albergo San Carlo entrance in the heart of Turin's second largest piazaa. Don't let the imposing facade fool you. It is barely a three star hotel.

Two cathedrals anchor one end of the Piazza San Carlo

My hotel is on the right side of this arcaded facade of the Piazza San Carlo

A wide view of the Piazza San Carlo

By the time I got to the hotel in Turin, it was 6:30 PM, nearly seven hours past my original arrival time. My travel karma seems to be terrible these days. In more than 45 years of air travel, I’ve never lost a bag. I’ve heard horror stories from friends about this happening, but the worst suitcase issue was a late arriving bag, which was resolved in a few hours. This time I think the bag is gone forever, and I have to buy clothing and a new suitcase while I’m here.

My hotel, the Alburgo San Carlo is located right in the heart of Turin’s historical center, in a large and imposing piazza, brilliantly lit at night. It’s on the fourth four of a square of identical multi-story eighteenth century multi-purpose buildings that combine a large square of arcaded restaurants, coffee bars (very popular here), and retail shops on the main level with offices, hotels, and other businesses. It’s a modest three-star hotel with few amenities, but it’s spotless. My room is typical of the type. It’s fairly large, with a big double-window that opens into the courtyard side of the building. A massive, handsome antique armoire dominates one wall with an old fashioned walnut and antiqued brass embroidered twin beds and matching night stands with marble tops, a tiny desk and a wood and upholstered arm-chair in one corner and a small mini-fridge to complete the décor. There’s wifi here, but I have to go to the lobby to use it!

The owner, who also lives here with his family (an adorable little boy, and a teenage son) has been most helpful in getting me settled, not an easy task with an exhausted hotel guest without luggage, lacking sleep, and new to a strange town. In the midst of trying to send my friend Christine, a note telling her I was here, I had a honking nose-bleed! I was terrified of bleeding over the last of my existing clothing. The quick thinking of the owning saved me (there was a funny and touching moment, when his youngest son handed me his used tissue!). He sent he to a local grocery store where I could stock up on the missing toiletries and some water. And then he sent me to a local trattoria for a restorative Italian dinner.

Da Mauro, is a pleasantly old-fashioned, family-run restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. It’ one of those sprawling, overly-bright restaurants, with all three large dining rooms busy and bustling with weeknight diners (always a good sign). The large menu offered familiar dishes from all over the country’s cuilinary map. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since ten this morning, and I quickly stumbled my way through the menu with my inept command of Italian with a pretty and efficient young waitress, who quickly figured out my requests with humor and warmth. I would start with a dish of gnocchi Valdostano, braised rabbit and a mixed salad and a half battle of Barolo. The restaurant was filled with locals, businessmen, couples, and a few lone diners such as myself. I brought along Ken Follett’s latest novel (more about that later) to keep me entertained and settled in anticipating a good dinner. I wasn’t disappointed. The gnocchi were tender and perfectly cooked and the sauced with rich heavy cream, Parmesan, thin strips of ham and freshly ground black pepper. It was a lovely beginning, a nose-thumbing indulgence that made me laugh as I contemplated at least three days of being without my cholesterol medications, now lost with that missing suitcase!). Next came a generous portion of tender, braised rabbit. I still don’t understand Americans squeemishness about this wonderful meat. Its mild taste is certainly reminiscent of chicken and it’s one of those lean meats you would think fat-obsessesed Americans would take to their hearts. But no—visions of Thumper and Bugs Bunny keep intruding. Their loss I’m afraid. This dish was tasted of onion, carrot and celery and bay leaf. It was served by itself on a plate (I rejected the roasted potatoes after the gnocchi), and it was just what the doctor ordered. A mixed salad followed with escarole, Roma tomatoes, shredded carrot and thinly sliced fennel, all dressed with carafes of olive oil and happily, red wine vinegar (instead of the wearily familiar and, to those who know me well, unpleasantly sweet and pungent balsamic vinegar (which I prefer cooked in sauces, rather than raw on salads). The food, wine, finished with an aromatic espresso restored my good mood. It was a terrifically restorative meal for about $42. I headed out the door promising to return before my trip was over.

Walking back to the hotel I noted many of the usual retails giants you fine in every city. Hermes, Prada, Max Mara, Calvin Klein, Stuart Weitzman (yes, Maryann, you can buy his shoes here too). The old buildings are imposing. I made a mental note to visit two churches, one truly massive, the next day. I’ll go to see the Shroud of Turin and stop by the Egyptian museum as well.

Back in the hotel, I found Christine has received my email, but I was really only interested in collapsing into bed. Not even Ken Follet could keep me awake. I said a mental prayer for the return of my suitcase, and with the lights out, fell immediately and gratefully to sleep.

Ken Follett has often been a comfort to me in a crisis. I was privileged to work with this talented and prolific popular writer through six of his novels beginning with his magnificent Pillars of the Earth. I remember riding home on a Greyhound bus after a visit for my mother’s 70^th birthday in the wake of 9/11. The only thing that made that 19-hour ordeal bearable was the entertaining distraction of reading Code to Zero. I bought his latest, Fall of Giants last fall, read about 100 pages, and because of work and a hectic holiday season, put it down. This trip offered the ideal time to finish this huge novel (nearly 1000 pages) and so far it’s been a grandly entertaining read. The first in a projected three-volume work set against the epic events of the 20^th century, Follett ambitiously recreates the lives of several American and European families caught up the tumultuous months leading up to the onset of the First World War. In short order, I’m about a third of the way through the book, and expect to be finished before I fly home. But its hefty weight has led me to the decision to buy a Kindle when I return home!

CHICKEN WINGS, ITALY AND THE PRESIDENT'S STATE OF THE UNION

2011-01-29T16:44:00.000-08:00

Tailored Laurel Hedges

My heather has been obscured by Kyle's truck and my driveway is a wind-tunnel that gets clogged with leaves from everyone else's yard surrounding my house. Here it looks relatively clean.

This rosemary was a small pot last summer. It weathers our wet winters very well here.

On the landing at the top of my stairs, the smells from my kitchen are at their most intense. If I were to sell my house, I'd bake a loaf of bread and a batch of cookies just before an open house. I would have multiple offers on the first day. That is how intense the aroma can be and it is at its most intense when I'm cooking something Spanish or Indian. On Thursday night, I made Susan Loomis' Curried Chicken Wings. I found this wonderful recipe in her memoir, Cooking at Home on the Rue Tatin (Wm. Morrow), and a simpler recipe cannot be imagined. For four servings, you place four pounds of chicken wings on a single layer on a baking sheet (lined with foil and then misted with cooking spray). Season the wings with salt on both sides. In another bowl, you'll need one cup of full-fat plan yogurt, 2 tablespoons curry powder (she recommends Madras, which is my preferred mixture), and a good pinch of hot paprika. You pour the mixture over the wings and with your hands make sure they wings are entirely coated. Then bake them in a 375 degree oven for 50-60 minutes. Loomis recipe calls for a hotter oven (475 degrees F), but it always burns the wings and I've turned the heat way down. Maybe it is because I use Greek Yogurt. In any event, the wings turn a heavenly shade of yellow/brown, and are intoxicatingly aromatic with the curry spice. I serve them with tater tots from Trader Joe's and a big green salad. I never have leftovers, but the smell of the curry is in my house for at least a day afterwards, and as reported, most intense at the top of the stairs.

Lots of chores were on my list of things to get accomplished this weekend in preparation for my trip to Turin this coming Tuesday. It's been three years since my last visit to Italy, and I'm very excited to hear my buddy Christine Goerke, who is in the midst of a five-performance run singing the leading soprano role of Kundry in Wagner's PARSIFAL. It will also be my first trip to Turin and I'm going to spend a day in Genoa too. So my plate was full: a haircut, to the bank for Euros, shopping for groceries, drugstore for travel needs, and back in time for the gardening service to trim my enormous laurel hedges, which have grown more than two feet in the fourteen months since their last trim. I've been putting out things to take with me for a week. I'm determined to bring one small rolling bag and a backpack and that's it.

I really liked the President's State of the Union speech, which may not have pleased the pundits (head's up ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere--it wasn't written for you), but it think it went a long way towards telling Americans that we need to get back to innovating, educating, and investing in our future. Not that Republicans would have it that way. They are too busy being disrespectful as they attempt to repeal every Obama initiative coming out of the White House. I didn't realize afterwards that CNN was the only network that ran Michelle Bachmann's insane response to the State of the Union. With her graphs and her mashed truths, she looked more zombie-like than she did the night she won her election. If that's the future of America, INCLUDE ME OUT. I've had a belly-full of mouthy know-it-alls like the Tea Party and their Republican counterparts. I'm just happy that the insanity at the heart of the Tea Party message will give the Republicans major headaches. They deserve it.

Saw Secretariat, the Disney biopic about this amazing Triple Crown winning thoroughbred--the last horse to win it nearly forty years ago. It's a thrilling movie with a sensational cast, headed by the emotionally compelling Diane Lane, one of the most underrated actresses in films today. James Cromwell, John Malkovich, Scott Glenn and others all contribute to this emotionally satisfying movie. Old fashioned--yes, but this was a horse to root for and a story worth telling. It's a far better movie than Seabiscuit.

Will write more from the road. Planning on taking lots of pictures to download this trip.