The Cheese Stringery

Some Fall Cooking Adventures

2011-12-22T15:13:00.001-08:00

I've been on the Best Books of 2011

2011-12-20T10:06:00.001-08:00

Firstly,

Gina Myers listed Diary of When Being With Friends Feels Like Watching TV as one of her best books of 2011.

And Joshua Ware was lovely enough to list Laked, Fielded, Blanked by Brooklyn Copeland, just out from my very own alice blue books.

And then Nathan Logan listed Your Trouble is Ballooning as one of his best books of 2011, alongside A Minetta Gould's Arousing Notoriety and Brooklyn Copeland's Laked, Fielded, Blanked.

It's an honor and a privilege and a whole lotta flattery. Thank you all!

Fish & Chips Tour: Pike Street Fish Fry

2011-12-19T14:55:00.001-08:00

Since this F&C tour's inception, no other place has been recommended to me more frequently than the Pike Street Fish Fry. For that reason alone, I was excited. But I was blessed enough to have some quality company with me.

This gave me the opportunity to try the many and varied kinds of fried fish options available. We tried the cod, catfish, and salmon. They were out of the halibut (for which I've been told I needs must return) and I half wish we'd tried the oysters (because oysters are freaking awesome).

Let me just say this: Hands down the best Fish & Chips so far. And what's more? It wasn't the catfish, which was good but the fishy flavor overpowered the batter. It wasn't the salmon, because the post-battering, the whole experience was just a bit rich. It was, to my surprise, the less adventurous cod. But the fish was fresh. The batter was fried to a perfect, goldeny crisp that left a slightly oily residue on your fingers, even as it burned a little (fresh from the fryer). The batter was also lightly seasoned. Something so simple, and yet it made for absolute deliciousness--that slight touch of salt.

Their fries are also hand cut and fried. Real, mother bleeping french fries. Just as hot and fresh as the fish.

And what's more! You have a bunch of sauces to choose from. We got the lemon aioli, traditional tartar, and curry ketchep. I must say that the plain ol tartar was my favorite, chalk full of fresh dill and thus, bright tasting. But the lemon aioli was certainly a close second, I think made with lemon zest.

What I will say I was sad about: the fish wasn't served with a lemon.

It seems kinda gripey, I know, but I'm much more likely to eat my fish with just a touch of fresh lemon than, say, vinegar.

Still, if that's the biggest complaint... I don't know... I just didn't have many complaints.

And who knows, maybe the halibut is better. I know I'll be back.

From what I've heard, pretty much the only places I really, really need to check out are Sunfish in West Seattle, the Red Mill Totem House in Ballard (who kept the original Totem House fish & chips on lock), and I think Anthony's Home Port & Ray's Boathouse.

Not a big list. But one I look forward to immensely.

ps, (I have one from Old Town Alehouse to post too. It was up there on my favorite overall experience...that is until I had Pike Street)

pps, I'm ditching the old format. It's easier for me to write about food without those kinds of restrictions.

Fish & Chips Tour: Pacific Inn

2011-11-23T12:27:00.001-08:00

Pacific Inn is another place that claims to have the *best* Fish & Chips. I had heard of the pub from a friend who used to live here. That and the chef from a bar I used to frequent also happened to do some cooking here also.

It's been a long time since I ate there. The picture has been sitting on my camera for so long. I just don't feel confident enough to elucidate its various factors, but I remember liking it. Though it certainly wasn't mind blowing enough to make the top of my list. Kind of boring fries as I recall, and nothing special tartar, but I remember the fish & batter being better.

Still, enjoy the picture. Mmmm. Fish & Chips.

Sweet Potato Crisp

2011-11-14T10:49:00.001-08:00

So I was on the bus and suddenly inspired. I have to say that I love bus travel for this exact reason. A lot of my best ideas have happened between two places. A lot of my favorite recipes I've designed out of thin air. Sweet Potato Crisp was one of these. It turned out delightful. Sweet, but not so sweet as a double-chocolate tort. And wonderful for the holiday season.

Candied Sweet Potatoes:

1/3 c butter, chilled, cubed

¼ c brown sugar

3-4 medium sweet potatoes, washed, chilled, cubed

Crisp:

½ c rolled oats

¼ c butter, chilled, cubed

¼ c brown sugar

¼ c crushed pecans

Preheat the oven to 375. Place sweet potatoes in pie plate or casserole dish. Sprinkle with brown sugar and butter. Cook in oven for approximately 35 minutes or until the sweet potatoes are carmelized. While the sweet potatoes are cooking, combine the crisp ingredients in a bowl and fork together until evenly combined. When the sweet potatoes have candied, spread the crisp topping over the top and cook for approximately 10 more minutes or until the butter has melted and the oats have become golden and crisp.

I also suggest getting a thing of local whipping cream and whipping up some whipped cream. Don't add sugar, however. It's all the better without.

(Sorry for forgetting a picture. I'll add one later as I plan to make it again for Thanksgiving.)

Fish & Chips Tour: The Sloop

2011-10-24T11:36:00.001-07:00

Fish: It's been so long since I've gone. I have to say that, so far, of the sort of standard Fish & Chips recipe, this is my favorite so far. It was light and easy.

Batter: Again, traditional Fish & Chips. But definitely the best so far. Crispy and not too greasy. A fairly light batter. I have no doubt that this is fish from a bag, but I feel like I must still take into account the preparation, and the Sloop, in all of its divey glory, still did it better than plenty of other places.

Fries: I was at the Sloop with a friend. He was certain that the fries were from a bag, but they seasoned them at the pub. I disagreed. That they were most certainly entirely delivered, and they just dumped them in the fryer. We asked our bartender/server, and he was on my side. And you know what? I didn't mind. They were pretty tasty. And asking for anything more at The Sloop, a sailing bar that prides itself on not being pretentious, well then you're asking too much.

Tartar: This was the most dill pickley tartar I think I've ever had. My companion said: "Oh! I might like it then."

and Slaw (if available): It was ok. Not overdressed. Not particularly stunning either.

**

The food at the Sloop is all under $8 or something. Priced ridiculously low. And even given that, I think this was one of my most enjoyable Fish & Chips experiences. The company was good, first of all, and we were watching awesome football. Ok. Maybe not totally awesome football because I watched the Seahawks lose. Again. But still, for the price, I'd totally get their F&C again, which I probably wouldn't say about most of the other places on the tour to-date. Sloop wasn't my favorite, but it was a plenty enjoyable experience for some basic, no nonsense, Fish & Chips.

Fish & Chips Tour: Pies & Pints

2011-10-18T19:23:00.001-07:00

Fish: Eh. I mean, it wasn't gross or uber-fishy or clearly old. But it wasn't exactly spectacular either.

Batter: Double eh with a touch of too greasy.

Fries: I started going to P&P for their sweet potato fries, but let me tell you, their standard fries are kinda gross. Straight from a bag, potato mush in the center, and blah blah blah. What a waste.

Tartar: I tried it. I remember thinking that it wasn't terrible. But I don't remember finding it particularly memorable.

and Slaw (if available): I actually liked their slaw. It was alright. But maybe that was only in comparison to the rest of it.

**

I guess you could say that I found it altogether unmemorable. But oh well, it is all about the Pies & Pints at Pies & Pints. Their savory pies are soooo good.

Fish & Chips: The Loft

2011-10-07T16:44:00.001-07:00

I've been busy, but not forgetting my mission to find the Best Fish & Chips in Seattle. Not that long ago I met my friend at The Loft, in Ballard, to watch the BSU/Nevada game. I decided to try the Fish & Chips.

Fish: When it came out, quickly, steaming, a bit glistening, looking crispy and light, I was pretty goddamned excited. I can't lie about that. I mean look at it. It looks glorious, right? Unfortunately, the fish just kind of disappeared inside the batter. It's not that it was bad, just that it wasn't great.

Batter: Like I said, it looks glorious. Unfortunately, it turned out not quite how it looks. Rather than light, heavy and greasy. Rather than crisp, soggy. And what's more, the batter was just kind of bland.

Fries: Let me say one thing to start this off: Beer Batter. Whaaaa??? Yeah, that's right. They beer batter their french fries. And that was a damned fine idea. It offered the fries that little something extra, something subtle, a kick. I would totally go back for the fries.

Tartar: I remember saying, "Hm. Pickles." Which I kind of like in a tartar sauce. But I wouldn't say it was outstanding. I'm pretty sure it's like any other tartar you could get at the store. Maybe a high-end store-bought tartar sauce.

and Slaw (if available): I think I liked their slaw better than any yet. It was light, not sopping, and let the cabbage flavor come through over its dressing. I say: Huzzah!

I have avoided going to The Loft since my first experience, when I walked in on Football Sunday and found HORDES of people. And not just people, those douchey frat boy types that I hate watching football with. In one instant, I thought I had the place figured out. However, coming back at brunch time, for college football, I thought my mind had been changed. (That was, until the WAZZU game started and brought in the exact kind of riffraff I was trying to avoid).

My point being, I probably wouldn't come back for the Fish. I probably wouldn't come back for the ambiance. I might come back for the french fries and their somewhat killer happy hour.

2011-09-29T07:31:00.001-07:00

How can one convey the depths of the secret magic of fat red radishes? ~ Helene Cixous, The Book of Promethea

2011-09-27T06:45:00.001-07:00

In the market, things to eat are so alive, so meaningful, so eloquent and young, that one starts loving the things one will end up devouring.

~Helen Cixous, The Book of Promothea

2011-09-19T15:28:00.001-07:00

"The wordplay, even letterplay, of "someone's anemone" is part of a complex score that spans the entire chapbook."

Read Gregg Murray's complete review of Brooklyn Copeland's "Laked, Fielded, Blanked" here: http://coldfrontmag.com/reviews/chap-nook-5-lerner-copeland-goetz

The chapbook is, of course, available at alice blue books.

much love, my people

Women's Quarterly Conversation

2011-09-12T15:13:00.001-07:00

They interview me here.

Fish & Chips, Elysian Brewery

2011-08-23T15:36:00.001-07:00

After an awesome weekend of backpacking, hiking, camping, lake swimming, and general woodsyness, down to the plethora of bugbites, my friends and I treated ourselves to an awesome viewing of the new Conan the Barbarian, wherein Jason Mamoa proves he is a foxier version of Brendan Fraser, and then headed to Elysian Brewery, where we had hoped to try their Rhubarbarella Beer. I have a love of rhubarb. Unfortunately, the Tangletown Elysian didn't have the Rhubabarella. (Headed to the Capitol Hill Elysian on Friday, which according to the website, is stocking the Rhubarb Brew... so hopefully I'll get to try it then).

Anyway... the point of this little tale (besides rubbing in how awesome my life is), is that the Elysian Brewery was a recommended stop on my Seattle Fish & Chips Tour. Unfortunately, I forgot to snag a pic. Still, here are the stats:

Fish: It was a little heavier than I would like, and very mild flavored. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't particularly striking either.

Batter: Golden, crispy, not too greasy, but bland. I mean, I tried this fish in waves. There was an initial bite, which left little to be desired. Again, not to say it was unpleasant, it just wasn't particularly desirous. So then I squeezed the lemon, which did little to persuade me. So then I tried it with the vinegar, and still nothing. The tartar (which I will get to in a moment) was the saving grace. Ultimately, it was just like the fish needed some seasoning. or, it's the perfect pallat for a tartar lover.

Fries: So. Good. These are like the "joe" style fry, again, or as my friends' called them: steak fries. I wouldn't call them the traditional steak fry since they were more wedge shaped than what I would consider a steak fry. But these were flavorful, not too greasy, crispy on the outside with light potato-y goodness on the inside. I think these fries with the Hale's fish would make the ultimate fish & chips. Maybe they should work together?

Tartar: Ok, so I will admit that I am not the biggest tartar fan. In fact, pretty much the only time I dig into tartar sauce is with the Fish & Chips, but in that instance, I love tartar sauce. Elysian's tartar sauce, however, was delicious on it's own merits. I wouldn't say it was particularly dill-y, no strong lemon or vinegar flavors, but it was creamy and it was not bland at all. The flavors all subtly combined--some dill, some lemon & vinegar, but perfectly blended.

and Slaw (if available): No slaw offered.

Perhaps one day I'll go back and take a picture. But honestly, their pulled pork sandwich with horseradish slaw looked more inspiring.

On a more exciting note, the beers that I had while there (despite missing the Rhubarbarella), were awesome. I had the Idiot Sauvin, made from New Zealand Nelson Sauvin Hopps. It was nice, citrusy, fragrant. And then I had the Jasmine IPA, which had a light floral taste, but not too strong. Good for me because floral flavors can often overpower for me.

Altogether a productive adventure.

Brunch, Fish & Chips, & a trip to the Zoo

2011-08-09T21:54:00.000-07:00

Last week was something of a wild time. I had just finished the Seattle Century, and then all of the sudden a friend of mine was visiting from Missouri. Friends in town, especially friends who have never been to Seattle, means less cooking and more experiencing Seattle from a foodie perspective. I happen to love that perspective, even if it gets kind of expensive. Still, it starts with brunch.

When thinking of my brunch options, tons of places came to mind, but I wanted my friend to have her choice. I suggested some of my favorites: Cafe Presse (for the croque madame), Cafe Flora, Toulouse Petit, the Hi-Life. I sent her to their websites, to their menus. In the end, she chose Toulouse Petit, and who was I to argue? It was a weekday and their menu is half-off for weekday brunch. She got the salmon & asparagus omelett with gruyere.

I got the Duck & Pistachio Benedict:

It's even better than it looks, I'll tell you. The duck wasn't greasy, but was light, spicy, rich. The holindaise sauce was awesome. The potatoes crisp on the outside, and light and fluffy on the inside--their spice nicely balanced. I've been there before, a couple times. I've always done the Pork Cheek Confit (which is excellent). This was too. The Omelett, which I got to try, was also fantastic. I think I'll have to keep expanding on my Toulouse tasting.

It was a bit heavy, so we walked about 15 miles through downtown Seattle, to Pike Place Market, and then along Elliot Bay, the SAM's Sculpture Garden. We didn't want anything too snappy for dinner that day, but she did want Fish & Chips before she left. So I took her to Hale's Ales where I think, so far, live Seattle's Best Fish & Chips.

Parmesan & Panko Crusted Rock Fish with Seasoned Potatos. Also witness the Hale's Amber Cream Ale, and the Snoqualmie Stout Cream Ale.

The beers weren't as good as I had hoped, but they were alright.

I have to say that these Fish & Chips were much better than the Fish & Chips at the Lockspot Cafe, which were named the Best Fish & Chips in Seattle. Lockspot had good fish, no doubt. But the breading was falvorless and a little mushy, the fries were nothing special, and the tartar sauce was actually so boring I wouldn't eat it. It did nothing for the fish.

This little experiment has inspired me to commence a Fish & Chips of Seattle Tour with the flavor, freshness, and consistency of the following items taken into consideration: Fish, Batter, Fries, Tartar, and Slaw (if available).

For Hale's:

Fish--it was light, but not bland, and sort of fell apart and melted in your mouth. Outstanding.

Batter-- excellent flavor from the parmesan & panko crust, but it didn't stick to the fish as much as I would have liked letting the fish sort of fall apart on the plate. But totally worth it for the taste. You didn't need, or really even want, to tamper it with tartar or vinegar. Nice with a touch of lemon.

Fries--I'm not going to lie, these aren't mindblowing. The seasoning is good, but not great. They are more like Joes than fries.

Tartar--Really good, sweet and tart dill flavor.

Slaw--Not mindblowing, but ignorable.

Ultimately, I think it's worth it just for the fish.

PS, we earned the Fish & Chips with another long day of walking, this time around the zoo. See the adorable Sloth Bear:

Seattle Century--Or One Life Goal Down. Snap!

2011-08-09T21:51:00.000-07:00

I meant to write about the Seattle Century. Among the many life goals I made after graduating with my MFA, a long bike ride was one. I had originally planned to do the 200 mile Seattle to Portland, but it stupidly sold out. So, after some research, I found the Seattle Century--100 miles circumnavigating the city of Seattle, completely catered. Um...sign me up! I said. And then I signed me up.

Training was a bit of a maelstrom. As often happens to me, it seemed as though the universe was conspiring against me. My bike broke down on two long rides. I got really sick for about 1.5 weeks right before the actual ride, thereby not getting a chance to do the 75 mile ride I was suppsoed to do. On ride day, I was super nervous. I felt unprepared. And looking around the site, I felt like my equipment was all wrong. I did not have a 3000 bike, clip pedals, and I was rocking full saddle bags instead of a tiny underseat pouch.

But, you know, you do what you do. And the first 50 miles flew by--I mean, literally. 3.5 hours of rolling hills and beautiful vistas. Every 12 miles, a rest stop with PB&J and water refills and fruit. A total cinch! Plus, the 50 mile marker ended at a rest stop with fresh, local pie, next to a big open farm of baby Alpacas! The picture didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped...but it was hard to get a good pic with the sun and the giant distance I had to cover. Still. Baby Alpacas!

Unfortunately, the first 50 was the easy 50. Rolling hills be damned. At least the weather was still cool, and the hills were rolling instead of vertical.

After pie, shit got real.

You ride, unprotected from the blazing sun, on windy roads through horse, cow, and goat fields. Pretty? Yes. But man was it hot. And immediately after that, you start your first real hill. The introduction isn't too bad, but it does take you to decision time. Do you go straight and do 85 miles? Or do you turn left for the 15 mile loop to Snoqualmie Falls. I have to say, I considered taking the easy route, but thankfully I was riding with a nice guy who basically told me to buck up. And I'm glad I did. It was pretty easy at first, slight downhill most of the way until you hit the monster climb up to Snoqualmie Falls. It brought me a lot of joy to know that my first time to the falls I rode my bike:

Twin Peaks, yo!

But the hill climb tanked my legs. I stopped, drank water, stretched lightly. But after a short, but fun downhill, I still had that slight incline back to the fork in the road. And, what's worse, the hill that follows. I had to stop to stretch before I got to the fork in the road. And then I turned left, my legs like weighted hams below me trying to pedal. And this is where the biggest hill in the whole ride happens. I can't say I mastered this climb. I did crest it, eventually. And I did it faster than the people I started it with. But I had to stop a few times to drink water and stretch. There was one point where I considered crying it hurt so much. But I didn't. I didn't walk up any of it. I didn't give up. I got to the top and made it to the next rest stop where I took a long, long break. I stopped for about 30 minutes, drinking lots and lots of water, stretching, eating, stretching, water, etc. And after that I felt great. After that I finished strong. The last 25 miles were almost easier than the first 50. Partly because a lot of it was downhill, and then a lot of it was flat.

The moment of pride came at the last rest stop, where they had refreshing strawberry shortcake. I engaged in some rest stop chatter with two people who I had basically kept pace with the whole day (I saw them at most of the rest stops). And they couldn't believe how fast I was having never done a ride like this before, and in converse! Apparently they saw me ahead of them in the front 50 and were trying to catch up but just couldn't. And I finished strong and then I drank some beer, and then I went home and passed out on my couch. A total success.

Next challenge? Fiddle lessons. I got the violin and the bow sitting next to me as we speak.

a review of my book, yo

2011-08-08T11:08:00.001-07:00

Patick James Dunagen was kind enough to review my book Your Trouble is Ballooning (see: split chap with Arousing Notoriety by A. Minetta Gould).

"Nelson's half, in turn, folds and unfolds language in a long poem-series of eight numbered sections of four parts each, testing reasoned argument against colloquial play..."

You can read the full review HERE.

Libations at the Fir, and the Most Awesome, Cheap, Homegrown Mac you Ever Saw...

2011-07-26T13:59:00.001-07:00

A quick snapshot of the delicious smoothie, previously mentioned:

This sunday, to celebrate Sarah's completion of the GRE, and my 75 miles on the bike (over 2 days), we went to the Noble Fir to drink our favorite dry cider, the Julien, and devour some small plates. Pictured here, from left: Seasalt & Honey Cheddar, St Andre Triple Cream, Marinated Artichokes, Lentil-Sage Field Roast, & Duck Pate.

Not kidding when we say it's our favorite cider. For three people, we left with two growlers full, and then a growler of one of my favorite beers (Russian River's Damnation):

And finally, the best Mac I've ever had, let alone made:

If you want to try it at home (and I think you do):

Boiled the shells in salted water until done, and put pan baking pan. Toss with olive oil.

In a saucepan, heat olive oil. Put diced onions and minced garlic into the pan and soften. Toss in sliced mushrooms til they soften. Add broccoli florets and cook briefly, until al dente. Then add sliced prociutto.

For the kicker, you add chevre into the saucepan. Stir, on heat, until the chevre melts into a cream concoction, coating the veggeis. Pour the whole filling over the noodles. Mix it in with the noodles so the filling and noodles have even dispersal. Then top with shredded Rosemary & Olive Oil Asiago (or some other such cheese). Bake in oven at 350 for approximately 10 minutes. (I used this time to do the dishes, of which there were very few. )

After it's done baking, scoop some onto a plate, and sprinkle a little cracked black pepper.

This meal, meant to simultaneously fuel me up the week before the century, and be super cheap after spending too much money at The Noble Fir, ended up being not only the best Mac N Cheese that I've ever made, but that I've ever had. On top of it all, it cost $18 to make for about 6 servings. $3/meal=awesome.

As-Promised-Ribs

2011-07-25T10:34:00.001-07:00

Nothing says Summer, for me, quite like ribs. And, well, since we haven't had much of a summer (for which I'm not complaining anymore...and I wish a good, healthy, cool rainstorm all through the East & Midwest)... well, grilling is as close as I'm like to get.

I should mention, here, that I have never been one to grill. I've eaten what others have grilled, but my experience is super-limited.

Anyway, I subscribe to this pork blog because pig is awesome and they had this recipe that sounded amazing. So when my friend Sarah tells me that she's craving ribs, I think to myself "self... it's time to make some ribs."

Starting with their recipe, I did some modifications.

Instead of spare ribs, I got a rack of regular old pork ribs. I smothere the ribs with my own dry rub was an ad-hoc but spicy concoction. I used Cayenne, Chili Powder, Seasalt and Fresh Ground Black Pepper. It was pretty heavy on the Cayenne & Chili Powder and it had some serious kick when I licked it off my finger.

I let the ribs sit in the fridge for a bit longer than a day, letting all the dry rub flavors really dig their talons into the meat.

For the most part, I followed the bbq sauce recipe to a T... 1 c. Ketchup, some maple syrup, I used a red chili pepper hot sauce--but I threw in a bit more than was suggested. Maybe 1 or 2 tbsp... and I put in a whole tsp of the cayenne. I also skipped the smoke flavoring because I don't much care for smoke flavored things (with the exception of smoked salmon and smoked trout...and the naturally occuring smoky flavor from charcoal grilling).

For the cooking, I skipped the suggested baking time. (Mostly because I thought the ribs were only cooked in the oven and I really wanted mine grilled.) I put them on the grill without any bbq sauce for a while, with the lid on, letting them cook pretty slowly, further fementing those dry rubs flavors. then I put the bbq sauce on and let them cook a bit more quickly.

They turned out delicious. Tender, juicy, spicy. I wouldn't change a thing.

Eating With Friends

2011-07-22T07:03:00.001-07:00

Most weeks, at least once a week (usually Thursdays), I go over to a friend's house to eat, drink, and watch something--usually ridiculous. We started with Riff Trax. And then when Game of Thrones happened, we watched that. Now we've moved onto Rome.

When Game of Thrones started, we started making food from the Game of Thrones blog. With Rome, we have been eating and drinking Italian. But this week we decided to skip the theme since one of our peeps was out of town. I've been wanting to try something I got from Bread and Jam for Frances with some slight modifications. Here is her version.

Now here's mine:

Endives with Egg Salad & Smoked Trout

Endives, leaved

3 Eggs, hard-boiled, chopped
Mayo (I used homemade-- 2 egg yolks, 3/4 cup veg oil, 1/5 tbsp apple cider vinegar)
Fresh Dill, chopped
Cucumber, diced
Tomato, chopped
Onion, diced
Sea Salt
Pepper

1 Can Smoked Trout

Combine all of the middle ingredients to make the Egg Salad.

Scoop Egg Salad into the Endives. Cover with chunks of smoked trout.

Devour. Bliss.

Then play Rock Band.

The Foods of Summer

2011-07-21T09:19:00.000-07:00

I have to admit that I haven't had the most exciting diet this summer, if you can even call these rainy days a summer.

Anyway, with the Seattle Century around the corner, I've been focusing my diet on things rich in protein, lean, etc. So I've been eating a lot of smoothies for dinner. I have to say that I have mastered the smoothie (finally). First, you put the ice in (I use about 6-8 cubes) and crush. Then I had 1/4 cup juice and blend. Then 1/4 cup greek yogurt and 1-2 spoonfulls of peanut butter. Then half a frozen banana and some frozen berries. You can use any fruit you like a smoothie flavored after. I like blackberry. It's sort of like a peanut butter and jelly smoothie. Delish!

But I haven't been eating smoothies every day and despite the crappy weather, the Ballard Market has managed to provide me with greens and radishes and beats and other delightful things. And Seafood Fest gave me a whole salmon at $2/pound. Ridiculous pricing. I wish I had gotten pictures of the whole deboning process (which I mangled). But all of these things together have given me some super fresh dinners.

After deboning the salmon, I marinated it in a dressing made with lime juice, vinegar, olive oil, thyme, salt & pepper. I cooked at low heat in the oven. The fish turned out super tender but I kind of overdid it with the lime. Still, doesn't it look pretty? The medjool dates were a wonderful addition. But I kind of think they always are.

The salmon being too tart ended up being kind of glorious because I turned some of the salmon into magnificent salmon salad sandwiches. I used a small amount of tartar in place of mayo, and then diced up radishes, carrots, cucumbers, onions and tomatoes, and threw in a pinch of my mom's zuchini relish. It was pretty much in my top 5 sandwiches of all time. And I wish I had a picture of that too.

A couple weeks ago, I house/dog sat for my parents. With the Century coming up, I didn't want to give up a weekend training ride so I brought my bike down with me. I sought out a ride with at least one big hill that would be about 40-45 miles. It turned out to be the most beautiful ride I have yet to do. The weather cooperated. And it was so smooth on a beautiful bike path, I rode through farm land, prairie, and right up the base of Mount Rainier. Almost the whole ride, I could see it shiny in the distance.

Then I got to feast off of strawberries from my mom's garden and a veggie pasta tossed lightly with olive oil, salt and pepper.

It was simple, light, and totally rejuvenating after a long ride.

While I've been having my usual egg on toast for breakfast, and most often a smoothie for dinner of late, I have still be trying to cook something big each week to take for lunch. This week it was fried rice. I had one of those days where it just sounded so damned good. And I almost never cook rice (usually subbing quinoa for any situation where it would be appropriate). But I really wanted rice.

I started with jasmine rice (which I had to go out and buy since I don't keep it on hand). I put two cups in my steamer and let it go. Then let it sit for two nights. When the rice was ready, I pulled out my big frying pan (because I haven't yet bought a stinking wok) and put some olive oil in at medium heat and let it warm up. Then I tossed a diced walla walla onion and a mashed and chopped giant clove of garlic in the pan. I let them brown and soften slowly. Then I tossed in some diced mixed peppers (some red, yellow, and orange). I don't like it when my peppers get all mushy so I didn't leave them in too long. Then I doused them in hot chili sauce and soy sauce. I wanted to make sure there was a nice flavorful sauce. Here I added some baked tofu. I made sure they were nicely coated and warm and then, finally, tossed in the rice. I mixed and mixed until my arms were sore. That was a lot of rice. I mixed until the rice was fully coated and warm. Then I added peas and mixed. Then, I made a hole in the rice, dropped in an egg, and mixed until it was mixed and cooked.

It's maybe not the best fried rice I've ever made. Mostly because I really didn't care for the Trader Joes Baked Tofu. I really wanted the protein but I've picked around it and it's still pretty damned good.

I've also had a few failed attempts at homemade mayo. It turned out like mayo, but I haven't gotten the vinegar ratio like I like it. And I also made meringue because you only use the yolks when you make mayo, so you have to do something with the whites. What better than meringue, eh? Soon I might try my hand at marshmallow though.

Up next, and soon, tales of pork ribs on the barbie. Yum!

Oooh. Updates and stuff...

2011-06-27T10:36:00.001-07:00

I wrote an essay about Ofelia Hunt's Today & Tomorrow. It's called "Robots, the Scientific Method, and Dying."

You can read it here: Lit Pub.

I also read an excerpt from Stacy Doris' new book, The Cake Part, available from Publication Studio. She's an amazing poet. Also check out her other books, like Paramour and Conference. Her new book, The Cake Part, is available from Publication Studio.

You can see some other totally awesome people read excerpts from the book as well.

LAKED, FIELDED, BLANKED

2011-06-06T19:29:00.001-07:00

L A K E D, F I E L D E D, B L A N K E D by Brooklyn Copeland

You can get a copy of your very own right here: alice blue books

While you are there, check out Issue 14.

The Weekend Update

2011-05-16T14:15:00.001-07:00

This weekend I went to Portland and sat outside in 70 degree sunshine, eating and drinking on patios with friends. It was glorious.

But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to tell you that those spring rolls were awesome. You know, the ones I was talking about a couple weeks ago.

Shred (probably easiest in the food processor):

1 Beet
1 Sweet Potato
1 Yam

Chop: cucumbers, basil, fennel

Sprouts

stuff into rice paper and roll.

For the chili lime sauce: mix juice of fresh lime, bit o sriracha (to taste), bit o sugar (to taste)

I didn't use any vinegar in that chili lime sauce, but I would mos def put some seasoned rice vinegar in there to make it a bit more dressing like.

Still, they were fresh and delicious. Perfect for the oncoming warmer weather.

Death Becomes Us

2011-05-02T11:11:00.001-07:00

Last night I met some people at the Puerto Rican by my house. I had spent part of the afternoon creating a birthday card for a friend, a hot pink cut-out of a panda pasted on card stock. It turned out beautifully. I wrote "Happy Birthday" around the pink panda and a personal note inside. I tucked it in my little purse and headed to the restaurant to eat fried catfish and drink mojitos for my friend's brithday, and then proceed to a local pub for a rocking Open Mic night.

At one point, after eating the divine pez gato, I got up to go to the bathroom...which was just past the bar. Returning, twin flat screens divulged the news: Osama Bin Laden is dead. I return to the table, before sitting, and announce it to the table. "So... Osama Bin Laden is dead."

Everyone pulls out their smart phones-- I Phones, Androids, etc. "But it hasn't come up on my breaking news alert. Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just saw Obama talking about it."

We discuss this matter briefly. People keep asking me if I'm sure. Finally, the breaking news alerts beep on their phones. Oh wow.

We are walking to the pub. There are singer-songwriters showcasing their wares. There are photos of Osama on the tv, Obama speaking. It's on closed captioning. Everyone else is talking about everything else.

Then we all see the footage of people celebrating at the capitol. Celebrating at Ground Zero-- all alight. It's like Mardi Gras. It's horrifying to witness. Hundreds of Thousands of people drinking vodka, miller high life, totally wasted...beads and cheering. How garish. How disturbing.

We talk about this briefly, too.

I can't stop turning around to watch the news. I feel bad for not feeling celebratory. It's my friend's birthday. He has gotten older. He exists, and I'm glad of that.

But I leave, early. I go home and read the news. I wake up and stream the news. I am in shock. I see facebook. Some people are celebrating a death. Some people are questioning this type of celebration.

I see these missives:

"Even in victory there is no beauty, and who boasts of victory is one who delights in slaughter. Who delights in slaughter will not succeed in unifying nations." -Lao Tzu

"I have told my sons that they are not under any circumstances to take part in massacres, and that the news of massacres of enemies is not to fill them with satisfaction or glee." - Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-5

After witnessing so much joy in slaughter after Bin Laden's death, I was glad to see some people echo my own concerns. I take no delight in another man's death, no matter the atrocities he committed.

I'm not sure if the right decision, when faced with the realities of the world, is to go home and face them alone, in your living room, reading the news. Or to stay out, with friends, and drink and celebrate what is good in life. Friends, music, life. But for now, I'm reading the news. Writing this post. And looking forward to my evening, where I'll sit with a friend, drink tea, and laugh.

Food, Bikes, Bliss

2011-04-25T09:30:00.000-07:00

It's the last day of Passover for Reform, so I had the blessed opportunity of sleeping in and leisurely sitting in my living room with a cup of coffee. Soon I'll head to the gym and then I think I'll spend the rest of the day at home reading. It's raining and a perfect day for such things. Plus I haven't been home much and Frankie has been clearly annoyed by that fact.

But it's been good, this moving and etcetera.

I travelled. I read poems in faraway cities. Like Tucson, with Noah Eli Gordon and Sommer Browning. I forgot to get a picture of that particular crowd. But I did get a picture of me and my friend Marybeth at all the various amazingnesses that we saw.

Like Marybeth rocking out to Kansas:

And raptors at the Desert Museum:

And then I read in Portland. They were all so lovely. I wanted to take them all home with me and feed them pot roast or something.

And finally, the fine folks in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, those Slash Pine magicians who made put my poems in such a beautiful casement and then invited me down into their southern hospitality just to listen to me read some poems:

Look at all of their glorious, smiling faces. They were so kind. And there were so many of them! And I was so nervous and had to speak into a microphone behind a podium that was almost as tall as I was. In fact, if you counted the microphone, it was as tall as I was.

But I survived and then got to chill and listen to everybody else amaze and wow with their awesome languages.

Now I'm back in Seattle and back for a good long while. No more mini reading tours for me for a while. Since being back, I've been hitting ye old gym hardcore. Got to train for my forthcoming giant bike ride. No longer Seattle to Portland, thanks to its selling out. Now the Seattle Century. 100 miles around the city-- 100 miles of rolling hills and probably leg, and wrist, and neck misery. But that happy kind.

I've been working hard on the bike, outside of the gym as well. Thanks to my gym's spin class I felt ready to tackle some long bike rides. One week, 25 miles. The next week, 45 miles. My legs are sore, but that 45 mile ride was worth it. It was sunny and clear blue skies with the lake on our right the whole way up.

Here's the view at Matthew's Beach:

I have, however, been going out to eat too much so cooking has been less and less. I've done a few things... developed a cayenne honey glaze, which was amazing on beef and broccoli. And even more exciting was my finally, finally breaking out my cast iron dutch oven.

I've been thinking about it for a while, and the sunny weather this Saturday made me realize I was running out of dutch oven weather. I mean, who wants to turn on the oven for hours in the middle of summer in an apartment with no air conditioning, right?

But the weather cooled as early as Sunday, yesterday, and so I took the opportunity, after work, to do a test run of a dish I've been thinking of.

I bought two free-range chicken breasts and a yam and a can of light coconut milk. After seasoning the cast iron, I dumped the coconut milk in the pan with some sesame oil, white vinegar, a scoop of massaman curry paste, and fish sauce. (I meant to include some soy sauce... but didn't realize that I was out... so it just wasn't available.) I whisked that into an even consistency. I placed the whole breasts into the mixture then peeled and cubed the yam and put it around the chicken. I put the lid on, and stuck it in the oven at 200F for about 3.5 hours.

What came out was delicious:

I fully intend to do this again in two weeks when I go down to Portland. I'm going to make some changes though. A tiny bit of brown sugar and definitely some soy sauce...both to bring out the richness of the massaman. I think the vinegar (a snap judgement made from my experiences with pulled pork) was a definite must... but maybe I didn't need the sesame oil. I'm worried it made the consistency too greasy. Then, I think I'll separate the chicken and yams, puree the yam mixture, and recombine. It'll be amazing served over jasmine or sticky rice. Which makes me really wish I had a sticky rice basket. Maybe I'll purchase one of those soon.

I'm also slowly designing my perfect spring rolls, which I imagine I'll serve with this dish. It'll definitely include fresh thai basil... and i think shredded beets, carrots, sweet potatoes, and maybe sprouts. Not bean sprouts, but maybe alfalfa or something. I'm not sure yet. And maybe some unripe papaya... hm...

damn

2011-04-20T09:25:00.001-07:00

...the new issue of H_ngm_n is effing awesome.

Check it here: h_ngm_n12

(linked to a spectacular poem by Amorak Huey, who I had never read before)

Gina Myers said some nice things.

2011-04-11T09:08:00.001-07:00

You can read it here.

thanks Gina!

NaPoWriMo 2011

2011-04-05T14:01:00.001-07:00

It's that time. It's been going.

I have been going. And going. Thank you Slash Pine Festival for letting me read. For introducing me to new people who also happen to write poems. For your book table where I spent more than I made. And thanks, also, to If Not For Kidnap, in Portland, and its beautiful hosts for hosting me, and The Tumblers and their guitars, and the people from Boise who skyped in. Reading there was a great joy.

Now it's April. And if I see that it's "the cruelest month" in one more blog...gah...

Anyway... I've written a poem a day for the month of April for the last 3 years and this year I am doing it again. Sort of.

I'm writing fragments. Everyday. Sometimes just one. Sometimes multiple. In a notebook.

Usually, I do NaPoWriMo publicly. On this blog.

Usually, I write poems, whole.

Now, fragments. I think it's a product of the way I'm existing in time.

And that time is spent always going from one place to another.

My space is in motion.

***

I am also preparing to prepare for STP-- otherwise known as Seattle to Portland-- a long, long bike ride. Or, at least, that's a long bike ride for me. Now I'm preparing to regularly bike 2 hrs a day. And then even longer bike rides on the weekend. I'm most definitely not in shape for this.

Most definitely not.

But I'm looking forward to that shapeliness.

linktastic

2011-03-14T15:56:00.001-07:00

A few updates to my literary career:

Both Your Trouble is Ballooning, and Diary of When Being With Friends Feels Like Watching TV are in print and available for purchase. Which is rad.

Brooklyn Copeland was kind enough to publish a poem of mine in her beautiful, hand-made lit chap Taiga which is available for purchase here. And you can read a short interview with me here. (And see a giant picture of my face.)

Also, I was interviewed for the poetry podcast "The Moe Green Discussion" and you can listen to it here. Or you can get it off itunes.

And finally, a selection from my sequence "Dutch Baby Combo" is being featured on No Tell Motel this week and I am super excited about it.

poets should read this short story

2011-03-09T10:24:00.001-08:00

from "The First Sally (A) OR Trurl's Electronic Bard"
by Stanislaw Lem

"Trurl had once had the misfortune to build an enormous calculating machine that was capable of only one operation, namely the addition of two and two, and that it did incorrectly. As is related earlier in this volume, the machine also proved to be extremely stubborn, and the quarrel that ensued between it and its creator almost cost the latter his life. From that time on Klapaucius teased Trurl unmercifully, making comments at every opportunity, until Trurl decided to silence him once and for all by building a machine that could write poetry. First Trurl collected eight hundred and twenty tons of books on cybernetics and twelve thousand tons of the finest poetry, then sat down to read it all. Whenever he felt he just couldn't take another chart or equation, he would switch over to verse, and vice versa. After a while it became clear to him that the construction of the machine itself was child's play in comparison with the writing of the program. The program found in the head of an average poet, after all, was written by the poet's civilization, and that civilization was in turn programmed by the civilization that preceded it, and so on to the very Dawn of Time, when those bits of information that concerned the poet-to-be were still swirling about in the primordial chaos of the cosmic deep. Hence in order to program a poetry machine, one would first have to repeat the entire Universe from the beginning—or at least a good piece of it."

...

"During the next two weeks Trurl fed general instructions into his future electropoet, then set up all the necessary logic circuits, emotive elements, semantic centers. He was about to invite Klapaucius to attend a trial run, but thought better of it and started the machine himself. It immediately proceeded to deliver a lecture on the grinding of crystallo-graphical surfaces as an introduction to the study of sub-molecular magnetic anomalies. Trurl bypassed half the logic circuits and made the emotive more electromotive; the machine sobbed, went into hysterics, then finally said, blubbering terribly, what a cruel, cruel world this was. Trurl intensified the semantic fields and attached a strength of character component; the machine informed him that from now on he would carry out its every wish and to begin with add six floors to the nine it already had, so it could better meditate upon the meaning of existence. Trurl installed a philosophical throttle instead; the machine fell silent and sulked. Only after endless pleading and cajoling was he able to get it to recite something: "I had a little froggy." That appeared to exhaust its repertoire. Trurl adjusted, modulated, expostulated, disconnected, ran checks, reconnected, reset, did everything he could think of, and the machine presented him with a poem that made him thank heaven Klapaucius wasn't there to laugh—imagine, simulating the whole Universe from scratch, not to mention Civilization in every particular, and to end up with such dreadful doggerel! Trurl put in six cliche filters, but they snapped like matches; he had to make them out of pure corundum steel. This seemed to work, so he jacked the semanticity up all the way, plugged in an alternating rhyme generator—which nearly ruined everything, since the machine resolved to become a missionary among destitute tribes on far-flung planets. But at the very last minute, just as he was ready to give up and take a hammer to it, Trurl was struck by an inspiration; tossing out all the logic circuits, he replaced them with self-regulating egocentripetal narcissistors. The machine simpered a little, whimpered a little, laughed bitterly, complained of an awful pain on its third floor, said that in general it was fed up, through, life was beautiful but men were such beasts and how sorry they'd all be when it was dead and gone. Then it asked for pen and paper."

... and so it continues.

alice blue

2011-02-17T16:17:00.001-08:00

I S S U E T H I R T E E N

P O E T R Y

jennifer stockdale
thomas patrick levy
ruth williams
dana guthrie martin
trey jordan harris
jenn marie nunes
daniela olszewska
nate slawson
russell jaffe

P R O S E

katie jean shinkle
sam martone
karin gottshall
michael k meyers
jenniey tallman
nate liederbach
reynard seifert

if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it...

2011-02-07T16:13:00.001-08:00

I want to talk about this female publishing conversation, rampaging rampaging all over the internet over and over again.

See... I'm torn. And I think nobody has it quite right.

I agree that it sucks. The numbers are clear. More men are published. Not because there are more men writers. But they are.

But I think it's also possible that a lot of editors are simply choosing the work that they prefer.

However, how did they decide what they prefer?

Who decided what qualifies as "good?"

It's hard to deny that the standards for "quality" were decided by a patriarchy.

To deny that is to be kind of ignorant.

Does being a "good writer" by society standards mean writing "like a man"? And what does that mean?

I can't deny that I've noticed that, while not across the board, men and women write differently.

I don't necessarily know how to define that relationship.

I can't deny that I think it's rare for a man to write a certain kind of "pretty" poem. I would call them girl poems.

I am not saying that guys cannot or do not write pretty poems. They do. Often.

I think of my friend who got her MFA in Fiction. She frequently complained about the workshop. Her teachers were men. She was often the only female in the room. Occasionally one of two females in the room. She wrote in vignettes. They talked about "traditional narrative structure--introduction, complications, climax, denoument" and "craft" as though a story told in vignettes could not be crafted. They had a framework they were working from, a tradition, a set of hard and fast rules about what makes a story a "good" story. She talked about the female narrative structure-- like the female orgasm-- in waves.

I wrote a paper about a female writer line... in terms of Alice Notley, HD, Plath. We have a history too. It's often told in relational terms. (Notley in terms of Berrigan, HD in terms of Pound or Eliot or Freud, Plath in terms of Hughes). Female writers have patrons.

Yet I've been published. And most of my favorite living writers are women. And I know this to be true of many people. Man and woman alike.

As an editor, with another female editor, I find myself in constant battle. Forced to think about balance when we are making final decisions. Yet, I've rarely had to work to hard to come to a gender evenness in the poetry we publish. It's not always perfect, but it's usually quite balanced.

In prose, we have to work harder. Literally soliciting women writers we like because we can't find a piece by a woman in our submissions that we like. (What is the definition of "good" again... who defined what it means to be "good")

We get less prose submissions by women as well. That's simply a fact.

My fellow editor often complains that I ask her to try to find at least some female writing we would want to publish. "Do I have to?" she sighs. "Why do I have to?"

I feel like, as a feminist, we have to try to publish women. But also, it feels weirdly wrong to seek women out.

I don't even know how to begin making sure LBGTQ or various ethnic groups. I could be making the whitest magazine in the world and not even know it.

Perhaps editors should start asking for headshots with their submissions.

I'm going to start publishing only beautiful people. (What is beautiful? Is that what I see in magazines? Who "determined" beauty?)

I was talking to a few girlfriends the other day... we all agreed that Crispin Glover is among our favorite celebrity crushes. I remember him in that Charlie's Angels remake described as the "creepy thin man" or something like that.

Did you know that, etymologically, author stems from "to father."

I always wish I was the kind of person who automatically called somebody's partner their "partner"... but I usually call them husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend first... and then think, in my head, that I should have said partner. It is work, conscious work, for me to make that distinction.

But really, what I want, is a partner. Not a boyfriend. Not a husband. A partner.

What I really want from a piece of writing is a rising moment. Under my skin. In my organs. Something I can feel. Something that makes me breathe, or stop breathing. Something that makes me wait or stop or not be able to wait or stop. It should change me.

I want that from a partner too.

That's if it's great. Most things are probably just sort of good, or competent, and sometimes just plain good.

What makes a thing good?

I know it's not the gender/race/sexual preference of the one writing it.

But I know that still matters too.

If only because our gender/race/sexual preference changes the way we view the world.

Some of that, probably, has to do with language.

I think of my friend Kim Philley's article in the New York Times about love. She is an american white girl who got an MFA. Her boyfriend was a Nigerian professional soccer player. Language defined their relationship.

Do you speak differently to the different people you speak to? I do.

I read an article recently that said you can tell if the person you are talking to is sexually interested in you because they start to match their speech patterns and language choices.

My favorite poet of all time is a gay man. Does that make me better somehow? Does it matter that he's also white?

I know these are complicated issues.

I like to read delirious hem. I like them better for having also done delirious lapel.

Perhaps all the publishers in all the world should read everything without any indication on the piece who wrote it. Every editor should have 3 filters before the piece gets to them.

Or perhaps they should just be thoughtful. Or at least ask the question.

But people keep asking the question and it hasn't changed. This whole conversation happened already with Spahr and Young's "Number Trouble"-- and all the conversations that happened then. VIDA is doing the same thing. The numbers aren't really changing.

But it's true... I don't feel like I've struggled much as a writer due to being a woman.

Is it wrong to admit that I'm tired of poems about being a mom?

I might change my mind with the right poem.

Then again, I don't want to be a mom at all.

Does that make it different?

I have to admit that I think the most important thing as an editor is to publish the work that you like.

I just don't think it means that the other stuff doesn't matter. Meaning: who you choose to publish. That says something about a journal. (Or magazine, or whathave you.)

I want to be the kind of person who thinks about it. Not as a way of deciding what goes into an issue, but after the issue is decided. What is it that brought these authors to me? What is it that brought these pieces out from the slush pile and into my journal? What made them "good"?

Do I like writing by women? By men? By a wide swath of the human population? Do I like writing in a variety of styles?

I think I do.

I read every issue I publish after it's out in the world. I try to see if my view of these pieces change. If I still love them like I did in my inbox. What does the rest of the world see?

There is a definite vision for alice blue, I think. A single issue seems to exude a "style"... like smelling eucalyptus if you walk near it's tree. But if you read it from Issue 1 I think it moves. I hope it's open, and opens--

2011-02-03T09:33:00.001-08:00

"How does one hate a country, or love one? Tibe talks about it; I lack the trick of it. I know people, I know towns, farms, hills and rivers and rocks, I know how the sun at sunset in autumn falls on the side of a certain plowland in the hills; but what is the sense of giving boundary to all that, of giving it a name and ceasing to love where the name ceases to apply? What is love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing. Is it simply self-love? That's a good thing, but one mustn't make a virtue of it, or a profession... Insofar as I love life, I love the hills of the Domain of Estre, but that sort of love does not have a boundary-line of hate. And beyond that, I am ignorant, I hope." The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K Le Guin

Notes on a 2011 Existence

2011-01-05T10:35:00.001-08:00

It takes two buses to get to work in the morning. From my sleeply little neighborhood, I go to UW where I pick up my next bus. The people who ride this particular bus are traveling to Woodinville, right in the neighborhood of all those software moguls (ie, Microsoft). I get off well before that. My bus driver, however, cracks me up. Most days he’s rather quiet but sometimes he ends up chatting with a fellow passenger. One morning, I heard him discussing language paradigms. This morning, he waxed philosophical about “intention” because a college aged girl had gotten on the bus, and then it turned out her bus pass was expired. Her words “Yes, but I’m going to get a new sticker once I get on campus.” (We were, by the way, leaving campus.) The Bus Driver: “Well, ok. But you don’t have it yet. You must pay the fare.” The girl: “But I’m going to go get it now. It will cover this entire quarter, including today.” The Bus Driver: “But I don’t know that you will. See. I don’t know what your intentions are.”

It went this way for several minutes. Then the bus driver went on to lecture on knowledge… what he’s learned and knows after he attended “the You of Double You” (which nobody says… it’s “YouDub”). Turns out, the man studied linguistics. While he was a metro bus driver. And now he is still a metro bus driver. Who, in his lecture on knowledge, basically said that people who don’t believe in the bible have no way of having more knowledge because their understanding of knowledge is based on the finite measure of man. He believes in the bible so his ability to reach knowledge is limitless. He forgot about creativity. Man’s shape as god. To create. To imagine. To seek what is outside the bounds of quantitative measure.

Oh well. He’s smart. And fun to listen to. That’s real bus entertainment right there.

…

I also like that, by taking my bike on the bus in to work, I can then ride home. That makes 1 hour of reading in the morning and 40 minutes of aerobic exercise in the afternoon. My commute is totally useable time.

…

Last night, I started two books. The first was Moby Dick, which I have probably started 80 times. But, I think it will stick this time. I made it preface + three chapters in (this was right before bed) and realized, maybe for the first time, how absolutely beautifully written it was. I read the first chapter wanting nothing other than to excerpt these exquisite passages. I’m excited to get home and read some more before bed.

The second book I started was Time of Sky & Castles in Air by Ayane Kawata (trans by Sawako Nakayasu). These poems are beautiful. And they remind me of Lorine Niedecker in certain ways. The first book is slim, tiny poems, highly imagistic. The second is a bit more surreal, as they were written from dreams. And a bit more lush than Niedecker. But I skipped ahead to a note about the author, and even in life she was a bit Niedecker-esque. Avoiding the sort of standard poetic culture.

…

I’m also working on the next alice blue chapbook. The art book is in works… fabric, poems screen printed… stitched into a poem. One of them will be a quilt.

…

I’ve been working on this long poem. Well. I’ve been working on these long poems. When I was 20 years old and at Evergreen and for this one class we had to do a “project” I made it my goal to write “the long poem.” I didn’t really succeed. I wrote a “sequence” instead. And suddenly, last summer, I could do it. The first is now out from Slash Pine Press as a chapbook. Or, it will be in the next week or so. There have been 3 or 4 more since then. They are maybe too grandiose but they feel so right now. So of the moment. So what I need to be working on.

…

Then there is cooking. Which I love. But right now it seems more like I love the “idea” of cooking than the actual act. Mostly because of time. I am never home. Or, hardly ever home. So tonight I’m going to an expensive restaurant (How to Cook a Wolf) because I still love to eat an nice meal.

And apparently, Maya Angelou wrote a cookbook. Maybe I should write a cookbook. Bringing your comfort food and asian cuisine together in one delicious dish.

I went to dinner at a friend’s house this week. Her and her husband made this phenomenal soft taco bar where everything was done from scratch. I watched them make corn tortillas and wondered why I had never made tortillas from scratch. It’s wildly simple. And makes every other tortilla I have ever made seem somewhat criminal.

…

I haven’t made any New Year’s Resolutions. I’d like to not be hung over every time I go out with friends. And I’d like to get back into riding my bike all the time, even though it’s harder to motivate myself when it’s cold out and the bus is so convenient. And I’d probably like to write more than I do, read more than I have been doing, grow some kind of plant. None of that will probably happen. And partially because, as it is right now, life is pretty goddamn good.

Ok. Here’s a New Year’s Resolution: I want to make chevre, mascarpone, and ricotta from scratch.

Happy New Year!

Languaging the World

2010-12-15T11:27:00.001-08:00

Since I work in a Jewish Religious School, I spend a lot of time with Hebrew speaking people. In fact, the Hebrew teachers are a mixture of UW students, old Israeli immigrants, and local professionals. All of them speak at least English and Hebrew, and many of them speak at least another language.

One of the teacher is a 19 year old UW student. She was born in Russia and Russian is her first language. But she also speaks perfect English, with no trace of an accent. And she also speaks Hebrew. And she can speak a small spattering of Spanish. At 19.

Last night, to celebrate the end of the semester, I went to a local pub. I sat sandwiched in the middle of 7 or so Hebrew teachers discussing Judaism, teaching at the Hebrew school, Jewish dating sites, Hebrew itself, occasionally speaking in Hebrew, at one point speaking in Spanish.

These were mostly conversations I was not a part of, though it was fascinating to listen to.

I was thinking about poetry. It’s another language. I speak this language. I used to speak Spanish, not very well, and I can still read with pretty solid comprehension and can usually understand someone speaking to me. I learned a little Greek and then I started muddling the Greek and the Spanish and now I don’t speak either and I can’t even remember the Greek alphabet. (Though I can still order a coffee or glass of wine, ask where the bathroom is, and tell someone that I am going for a walk by the sea. So… you know… the important thing. Or at least, these were the important things when I was there.) I have these languages in me now, a little bit, the trace of them. But Poetry I speak. I speak it well. I understand it. I can teach it like these Hebrew teachers are teaching all the little Jewish kids how to read the Torah.

Then I was thinking about something we talked about in grad school… Language is the medium through which we experience the world. I can’t remember who coined this idea… but it struck me, sitting at this table, that they are experiencing this world through this holy language (we’re talking Biblical Hebrew, here, not conversational Hebrew). Their experience of the world, then, is mediated by this language, and thus by their faith. What’s interesting about it is not how important their faith is to their lives, but how language makes that primary in their very use of it.

I don’t speak Hebrew. But I speak poetry. Poetry is the language through with my experience of the world is mediated. Does this make poetry my faith? How does this change the way I experience the world?

It’s not something I really ever thought about. Even as we discussed it in classes. But it certainly does. A friend once told me I was the most freakishly observant person he ever met. I watch people and the world. Lots of people do, maybe. But the smallest things. Is that my language, Poetry, mediating the world. A scrolling commentary, like the opening text of a movie on the screen, telling me what the world is like, each image, how I translate them into language.

Food That Tastes Better When You don't Make It Yourself

2010-12-07T19:16:00.001-08:00

Being in grad school is this strangely insular experience. You show up not knowing anybody, weirdly nervous but also weirdly chosen. And then you spend the next 1-4 years with basically the same isolated group of people, talking about the same things, going to the same bars, having the same brunches and dinners and whether you actually like the people or not it doesn’t matter. There’s a closeness just by pure proximity and amount of time spent together.

When you graduate and leave, it’s strange not to have that anymore. You may have friends, but certainly not that close group of people you may or may not like but spend copious amounts of time together. And so you lose that “world.”

As a result, you get out in the world, land in whatever city you land in, and realize that all of your inside jokes fall flat. Other people don’t get “the knock,” say or the conversation about “first-name-last-name” people. You mention these things and people look baffled and ask and you explain and it still isn’t quite funny for them. It isn’t the same at all.

I miss “knocking” with friends. Occasionally I knock anyway, but it’s like this tiny part of my world that made life more fun has just dissipated.

Tonight, at work, I got into a conversation with one of my bosses. She was telling me about “food-that-tastes-better-when-you-don’t-make-it-yourself” and I said “hm”… not because I didn’t get it but because I was so pleased that this was something that exists. Like “first-name-last-name-people” which I then told her about. And she got it too.

So now I’m trying to think of food that tastes better when you don’t make it yourself.

Cheeseburger

French Fries

This is all I’ve come up with.

She listed:

Coffee

Oatmeal

Stirfry (I make a pretty slammin stirfry so I can’t get on board here)

Holidays are here and I, of course, am thinking a lot about food. For my work holiday party (a synagogue, mind you) I’m making little massaman curry sweet potato pies. I’ve decided to cook them in cupcake tins so everyone can get their own.

I’m also venturing to the sunterland to cook a big dinner for friends. Pumpkin bisque (cooked in the pumpkin), Roast Duck, Spinach Salad, and the pies d’ resistance: blackberry pie with walnut meringue and a whiskey butter crust.

I am so excited I can barely contain myself. Seriously.

Happy Eating!

Cheese, Limes, and Other Cooking Adventures

2010-11-16T15:44:00.001-08:00

You may have noticed that the name of this blog is The Cheese Stringery. This is no accident. While I originally intended this blog to be a poetry focused blog (and still deals in poetry from time to time)… one of my first loves in life, especially in a gastronomic capacity, was cheese. In fact, my love is so great that, despite an dairy sensitivity, I can’t bring myself to give it up. Sure, occasionally I just focus on goat cheese thereby avoiding the lactose issue, but sometimes goat cheese just won’t satisfy. Probably because, as much as I love a good chevre or feta, and sometimes a goat cheddar will suffice, nothing really compares to a really good, really true cheddar. An aficionado of cheese, I tend to buy some every week. Sometimes I get in a rut and just buy chevre for a while or just buy feta, and occasionally I feel sassy and buy a few new cheeses in tasting size just to see what I have been missing.

Most recently, I was at my local market and there were a couple cheese tasting stations and one was for Coastal Cheddar (imported from ye old Britain). As you know, since I just told you, I love cheddar. But this Coastal Cheddar was like cheddar at its most refined, most pure, most perfect. While still maintaining hard cheese integrity, it is soft. White and a little creamy. And most importantly, sharp. This cheese is really sharp. Delightfully, beautifully sharp. Since having discovered this (rather pricey) cheddar, I have tried multiple similar looking but cheaper incarnations that never quite hold up.

So there you have it… the perfect cheese. Coastal Cheddar. $6 for a tiny tiny little piece. And totally worth it.

Seemingly unrelated… I have been sick. I don’t get sick very often and when I do it typically passes. This, however, took weeks to build. I felt tired and sometimes headachey, but had few other symptoms. Then there was frequent sneezing. Then there was a day of pure nausea. That passed and I felt better a day later. But a week later, yesterday, I woke with a sore throat that felt like someone had taken a razor to my throat and serrated the edges. I could feel it in my ears. And I was stuffy and felt sort of stoned and my eyes burned. A big old mess.

Always one to try the natural cures first, I made myself two hot toddies. This is a remedy I’ve used for many years and have typically found it to fix everything in one night. Jack Daniels. Honey. Lemon. Hot water. I made myself two. While sipping this delicious nectar my throat cooled. I drank lots of water. Spent the whole day on the couch working my way through the delightfully bad tv show Prison Break on Netflix Watch Instantly. (One of the most brilliant inventions for those who are stuck at home, sick in bed.)

But these things are not the point. The point is, discovered something about lemons and limes that I am sure you have known for a long time and wonder why nobody had pointed out to me. That if you roll it on the counter with the palm of your hand, you release the juices.

Yeah. You knew that already, right? Well I didn’t. Deal with it. Life changer. And also… made a way, way better Hot Toddy. So that, for the briefest of moments, my throat felt better.

However, now I am out of whiskey and have lost my voice (but it doesn’t hurt right now!)… so I sound like Betty Boop (or so I was told).

Among other food news, I got a new selection of recipes. As you may or may not already know or have divined, I work in a synagogue. That means that I spend 40 hours a week surrounded by Jews, who I love, and their endless runway of food. Baked goods are always prevalent, but there is also a cooking class on Sundays that bring in more real food food. As such, I got a pile of Jewish recipes. I decided to try something simple, something not cooking, the Israeli salad. I did this mostly because, when having drinks with one of our oh-so-lovely Hebrew teachers, he raved and raved about the Israeli salad and how he missed the food in Israel.

I have never been to Israel, but after listening to him talk about it, I kind of miss the food in Israel too.

Either way, the salad is simple. Cucumber, scallions, red pepper, tomato, parsley diced over a bed of lettuce (your choice, I presume) with a lemon/olive oil/salt & pepper dressing. (Yet another opportunity to roll yr lemons!)

It’s simple, certainly. But refreshing and delicious. I think the magic would be increased during the summer, because it’s so refreshing. And I also thought, for me, cilantro or basil would probably be preferable to parsley. I also thought a bit of lime along with yr lemon would be a nice touch. And maybe some garbanzo beans for substance.

Ok… so I am a modifier. I modify all of my recipes. All the same, delish!

Happy eating!

Your Trouble is Ballooning

2010-11-11T15:01:00.001-08:00

Something cool!

Your Trouble is Ballooning by Amber Nelson

38 pages
80 pages
6 x 7.5"
Split side with A. Minetta Gould
cover art by Kelly Packer
Official release date 01/11/2011
preorder in mid December

Advance praise from Stacy Doris, author of Knot:
Amber Nelson works in the tension between meaning and making.: a music of shifts and sleights. Intention is not imposed but what emerges, not the isolate personal "I" but the pulse of American culture and history. "In the correspondence of assassination/ In the simmer green floor that jettisons" –- please read!

About the book and its author:
Your Trouble is Ballooning is comprised of eight sections of dense and lovely mysteries. Nelson is the co-founder and editor for alice blue. She has recent work published in H_ngm_n, Coconut, and Columbia Poetry Review. Another chapbook, Diary of When Being With Friends Feels Like Watching TV, will be available from Slash Pine Press.

The Truth Is...

2010-10-25T12:18:00.001-07:00

…whenever I see people eating a frozen TV Dinner I get a little depressed.

…yet I occasionally crave one of those highly processed frozen burritos for reasons I just don’t understand. It’s a craving I pretty much never indulge. Mostly because I think it would depress me the same way that other people’s TV Dinners do.

Text Score, attempt two: PERCUSSION

2010-10-13T11:03:00.001-07:00

Arrive with a stack of books and pages and scatter them on the table. Pick one off the table. Open it. Flip through the pages. Read a word aloud. Read a sentence. Read words as notes. Flip more pages. Read a paragraph. Now read the punctuation. Read the punctuation out loud. Whatever that means. Use your breath. Use whatever means necessary.

Text Score, attempt one: TALKING

2010-10-12T17:17:00.001-07:00

Place a walkie talkie on the table next to you. Look at it. Do not look at anyone else's walkie talkie. Turn it on and consider what turning it on means. Turn it off when you are ready. Turn it on again, when you are ready. When you are ready, set it to a station that feels like the right station for you to communicate. Consider your fingers. Finger the walkie talkie button. Hold the walkie talkie until you feel compelled to speak. Speak. Words. Hum. Listen to others speaking. Consider the person who speaks to you. Answer their sound with a sound. Click your fingernails on the table. Answer their noise with a noise, or, sound to call a sound. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat until you are finished. Leave the walkie talkie on. When you are ready, hold the button and listen to the white noise. Let go. Silence.

Really Cooking

2010-10-12T16:31:00.001-07:00

(Pictured above: Roasted vegetables (yam, onion, mushroom, mixed fingerling potatoes) with carmelized fig)

It’s nice to know that I can recreate most meals that I experience in a restaurant. The carmelized fig, above, was inspired by a meal had at the Dahlia Lounge—one of local restauranteur Tom Douglas’s restaurants.

Living in Seattle has been so wonderful. Living in Ballard, blocks away from some fabulous bars, restaurants, a movie theater, Cupcake Royale, The Ballard Locks, and Golden Gardens (the beach, baby!)… Then just a bus away from pretty much anything else.

So, take this weekend, for example.

Thursday night, went to a friend’s house to watch All About My Mother on his projector.

I don’t work Fridays so I went to see this Merce Cunningham dance performance. It was phenomenal. They had a live John Cage music performance that they danced to. I rushed home to try to get some chores done (dishes, cooking, laundry). But didn’t. Got home later than expected and then met a friend for some jazz at this club only blocks from my place. Then we went on the prowl for French fries, which we acquired here. Their fries had green flecks like my favorite Boise establishment. What a treat!

Saturday I fit in the previously needed to do list. Went to the grocery store, made some individual pot pies using this awesome cookbook I have full of recipes from Seattle chefs. Then joined my friend Dana to see Eye Music, a local experimental band, in preparation for a poetry project we will be embarking upon.

Sunday, I went to work. While the morning had been rather rainy, the day turned out rather nicely so I rode along the wonderous Burke-Gilman trail to arrive safely at my homestead. I hadn’t had much opportunity to watch football this year, and the few bars that I had attempted hadn’t really satisfied. I decided to try a new one: The Viking, only blocks from my house. The atmosphere was right, and the prices, up until people started showing up. Clientele was something of a turnoff. When that place didn’t work out, I crossed the street to the Copper Gate and discovered a ship shaped bar, walls plastered with Pin Ups and vintage vibrators, and a Sunday night Burlesque show. Not to mention a stunning menu written partially in Swedish with some amazing looking dishes. I can’t wait to eat there.

Finally we have to thank Monday Night Football and Senior Andrew for letting me know that good bars with good prices and a not totally unsettling client base does exist. The Waterwheel Lounge. They have hand cut French fries. They have two different kinds of bbq sauce and one of the best Pulled Pork Sandwiches I have ever tasted. And they have happy hour until 7pm with $2 well drinks and $3 micro brews. They also have a Wednesday night trivia AND Karaoke on Fridays AND Saturdays. I don’t think they could have built a better bar for me. Yes. It’s love.

I hope you enjoyed this magical link festival. I know I enjoyed getting us here.

Curried Mushroom, Broccolli, and Onion over mashed Root Veggies

2010-09-03T13:12:00.000-07:00

I tend to be the kind of cook, often, who throws things in the pan, crock pot, bowl, what have you. I love cookbooks, don’t get me wrong. And I love trying new dishes. But I often think of the recipe as a launching point for future experiments. I suppose there is probably something in my DNA that tells me not to follow instructions or something. I look at the recipe, think about what they did, the flavor profile, what it would be like. And then I imagine it’s possible futures. Or I go to the famer’s market and decide what inspiration I get by the vegetables I see. Their particular gleam that week. How they shout at me. What sounds good. What am I craving?

My most recent dish was inspired by my trip to Pies and Pints, a local pub that serves savory pies and, well, pints. Duh. But also some pretty magnificent sweet potato fries. I was with a friend and we were both discussing how the sweet potato is simply underutilized in most cuisine. He explained to me how he used it to make a cream sauce alternative. (He can’t have dairy.) So when I was headed out to make my big dish for the week, I knew I wanted to use a sweet potato. But I was also craving something with a southeast asian flavor.

O how I love to blend comfort food with asian flavors!

So I bought some mushrooms, broccoli, and onion to put in a curry. I had planned to make a coconut red curry, but I was wrong about what I had in the kitchen back home. I had to invent on the fly. I didn’t write anything down. I have a general memory of sautéing garlic before tossing in the broccoli. Everything else came from my parent’s spice cabinet. Dry yellow curry, ginger. I used tamari. A dash of brown sugar. Tossed in some chopped red bell pepper at the end so that it would end a bit al dente (mushy red pepper just gets gross after a time).For the root vegetables (sweet pototo, Yukon gold, red potatoes, and some parsnip), I simply boiled and mashed them with real butter and some milk. When I tossed the sautted veggies over the root veggies all the curry juice melted into the mashed veggies spreading the flavor around. The flavor was nice, not spicy, but a nice curry flavor. If I didn’t again, I’d throw in some cayenne for kick. I just love mushroom and broccoli together because they both take in flavor so well, both still retaining a sort of earthy undertone.

I took the before picture, but forgot to take the after picture. Oh well…

It was part of the inspiration for the quiche I also made. Mushroom, onion, and swiss. Usually I use strong cheese in my quiche, feta or chevre or even cheddar. But I must say the swiss cheese is so nice next to the strong onion and mild mushroom flavors. Meant to take a photo, but forgot.

Here, also, are my friends visiting from Boise at the aforementioned Pies and Pints.

And here is the giant Guiness Cake that we shared.

Happy eating!

Like, woah...

2010-08-24T09:14:00.001-07:00

2010 Open Reading Winners & Finalists

We’re thrilled to announce that we have chosen Amber Nelson and Harold Abramowitz for publication in the upcoming year. Nelson’s Diary of When Being With Friends Feels Like Watching TV and Aramowitz’s A House on a Hill will appear in late 2010 or early 2011 much to our delight.

We’d also like to congratulate our finalists whose work we read with great excitement and debate:

The Hawk You See May Be Your Own by Temple Cone
A Practical Guide to Contemporary Economics by Joshua Ware
Late Sermons of the Ego by Ricardo Alberto Maldonado
Grimm Realities by Ellen LaFleche
Midnight’s Marsupium by Michael Leong
Folding In by Renee Emerson
(aviary) by Genevieve Kaplan
A Portable Model of How Memory Works by Joseph Mains
Seven Pictures by Ben Berman
Heaven as Nothing but Distance by Joshua Robbins
Sham City by Evan Harrison
:Odyssey & Oracle:by Jenn McCreary

Thanks to everyone who submitted a manuscript for consideration. Without the range of wonderful work to choose from, there would be no press and no one to wow our socks off. The following titles are the finalist manuscripts. Unfortunately, we had to pass on many good manuscripts. But please, as always, consider sending a new or revised manuscript during our next reading period in 2011.

Best,

Slash Pine Editors

Pictures of Meals I've Made

2010-08-23T09:29:00.000-07:00

Eggplant

2010-08-19T12:13:00.001-07:00

I keep trying. Mostly, I think, because I find them aesthetically pleasing. Their purple bulbous body, their plasticine skin. And I continue to order them in restaraunts—eggplant sandwiches, stuffed parmesean, etc. Most recently I bought some from the Puyallup farmer’s market. They were shiny and new, one had a nose growing from its side. Organic… except the farm was too small to carry such a label. Spray Free eggplants. I had decided I was going to make stuffed eggplants. So I bought some. I bought squash, and fresh fleshy juicy red seasonal tomatoes. I went home and scooped the innards of all my vegetables… sautéed garlic and onions. Included all of these vegetables and spices. The filling was masterful. I then filled my eggplants and covered them with olive oil and put them in the oven to bake. When they were cooked through, gave them a healthy dose of mozzarella to top ‘em off. Baked some more.

I tried. I really did. But the eggplant… just doesn’t taste good. Honestly, I don’t understand the appeal. And I feel guilty. I dumped the eggplant. Saved the insides as a healthy veggie marinara, and served them with whole wheat noodles sautéed in ever more garlic and olive oil.

I’ve decided to give it one more go. If you have an eggplant recipe that you think will blow my mind, please feel free to post it or email it or link it. Otherwise, I think I’m off the market for that big purple vegetable.

Cradle to Cradle to Cradle

2010-08-11T10:22:00.001-07:00

Right now I’m reading a book called Cradle to Cradle. The general premise is that right now, from an environmental and ecological perspective, our goals are only to be less bad and that’s no good. We aren’t considering natural design. With a focus on efficiency, we’re creating single-minded solutions for one time problems. Treating the symptoms rather than the cure. They claim our problems are not a problem of excesses, but a problem of design.

This book is sort of changing the way I think about environmentalism. A process, I suppose, that has been going on for the last couple of years, most especially in the last few months as I’ve been reading more and more about agricultural practices, ecology, food, the planet, etc. What I like about these guys (though I do still have some reservations) is that, unlike Wendell Berry and Barbara Kingsolver (both who I enjoyed) they lack some sort of sentimental naivete. And unlike Pollan, they lack the sort of pragmatic pessimism. In this book lies a pure and complete awareness of the problems, down to what sorts of off gasses and toxins exist in our clothing, our books, the pages, and a genuine seeking and call to seek out a different way of considering the issue. Going all the way back. They make their book an example of their intention. Created on polymers designed to be recycled, so that when the book is recycled, it can actually be “upcycled” so as not to lose its structural integrity/quality, or to release more toxins into the air (and thus our lungs, etc). They give examples of all the ways things we do to be ‘less bad’ may actually be just as bad. Toxins that are released when recycling. The way “energy efficient” buildings are often hazardous to a person’s health, or downright depressing/stifling.

But a lot of this is stuff I already thought about. What’s changing, sort of, is that they are proponents of excess. Using an example of a cherry tree, who produces more blossoms than it needs to reproduce, but none of these blossoms are wasted. They feed their local ecology: birds, insects, the soil. So they say industrial design should be: rather than over produce by including unnecessary filler which turns to ‘waste’ (that goes away but not really away, instead to a toxic landfill, or seeping into the soil, or what have you), we design industry like the cherry tree… overflow that feeds the local environment rather than poisons.

When I summarize it, it doesn’t seem all that ground breaking really. It seems obvious. But it’s not. My favorite example so far (I’m only half through), is the examples of roofing. Right now they absorb and reproduce and overheat within their community (black soaking in heat and then re-emitting it). But they aren’t particularly effective from a heating/cooling energy standpoint. Cradle to Cradle suggests using a soil/plant life roof. Like grasses. These would naturally help maintain a home temperature that was cooler during the summer, and warmer during the winter. They would also help with water run off and produce a natural ecology for wildlife (birds, squirrels, insects, etc). Plus… pretty! Of course, other countries do this sort of thing already, they tell us. This sort of design exists all over Europe (and probably Africa and South America and hell… even probably Canada.).

The problem comes when these guys present it as if people won’t have to give anything up. But people won’t see it this way. Here in America, people don’t want to give up anything—including what they “want.” And rarely do I see people consider their neighbors (human or non human) in these situations. Take, for example, my parents. They are getting to re-pave their driveway. Why? Because a weed broke through the pavement, cracking it about 20 feet in any given direction. Right in the middle of their driveway, a giant weed. I took a picture. It’s rather pretty—what nature can do. Remarkable to see it fight back.

But according to Cradle to Cradle that weed fighting through the concrete is just a sign of unintelligent design. And a lack of imagination on the part of the designers. And I am tending to agree.

an international district

2010-08-06T15:10:00.001-07:00

There was a time when I was considered an honorary asian. A lot of factors came together to allow this hallowed claim, but most of them are gone now. But whether I have such an elevated position, one thing remains true: I love the cuisine. Since I’ve been back I haven’t had sushi (a shame), but I have had curries, pho, and most recently I’ve discovered that the bus drops me off right next to Uwajimaya, the city block asian market, with about half an hour to spare before I take the train the rest of the way home. That much time, daily, in an asian store is one of the most simultaneously awesome and detrimental experiences of my young life. The problem isn’t so much the market as it is the food court. I mean, we’re talking about a tiny strip mall with an asian deli (including whole, cooked, duck), a Korean BBQ joint, a little Vietnamese place with really awesome Pho, a place exclusively for cream puffs, and a little bakery with these amazing chestnut cakes. I’m trying really, really hard not to eat these things every day, despite my ravenous end of the working day state. Instead, I peruse the shelves for fresh produce (delicious mangoes, rainier cherries, red and black plums). But one thing I have allowed myself, guilt free, is Kimchi. Oh god… kimchi. Who knew that sauerkraut, which I find almost completely intolerable, could be so delicious when prepared with in the Korean style. Good lord, talk about an understanding of eating. (I guess I feel the same way about horseradish and the Japanese version of horseradish: wasabi.) So this week I had Kimchi and rice. Oh lordy how I missed it.

Upcoming culinary goals in the international district: dim sum and hom bao. I don’t know when I’ll gobble them up, but I promise I will.

At some point I’ll include the requested photographic evidence of my culinary adventures. But not until my own computer is hooked up to the internet instead of using my parents or my office computer.

Certain Requests I'm Happy to Oblige

2010-07-21T12:56:00.001-07:00

So in a recent email from a friend she suggested I start a food blog, and since I have no interest in adding yet another blog to my list of blogs to update, and this blog is handily named after one of my favorite food stuffs (cheese… oh god cheese…) I thought I might start writing dedicated food posts here.

It’s an interesting time in my life to be writing about food. I’ve moved out of my own place and am crashing at my parents house, leaving me in this weird limbo. There’s a fridge full of food I didn’t purchase, and most likely wouldn’t purchase, in the house. As well as cupboards full of canned soup, easy mac, pudding cups, canned peas and corn and beans. During a time when I’m trying to save money, reserve resources, it’s tempting to simply subsist off these things. There’s also the inherent problem that after a year or so of eating almost entirely whole meals I cooked myself, using whole ingredients, my stomach wasn’t liking the preservatives so much. Still… I get home around 7pm or so, after leaving at 630 am, with dinner on the stove and the weird gurgling sounds my stomach is making from hunger, and I tend to give in. These meals, though, also tend to be different for me. Unlike the largely vegetable based meals I’m used to, these are meals centered around a meat of some kind (last night, pork in some sort of packaged orange sauce) and then a carbohydrate. My mom makes a lot of bread (one thing I won’t complain about… fresh made bread).

Needless to say, I was getting a bit veggie deficient. Thankfully, the Puyallup farmer’s market is just incredible. The weather hasn’t been great so there hasn’t been a lot of options. But what has been available has tended towards spray free (non-organic certified, but still organic…) or certified organic. The quality of the veggies has also been superb. And the prices… man. They make Boise look like anal rape. My favorite? The $1 bag of mixed greens (and it isn’t a light bag, either), and the $4 free range organic eggs in that beautiful assortment of browns and greens. But there have been other delights: fresh rhubarb (I made a fresh strawberry rhubarb pie using strawberries from my mom’s garden and rhubarb from the market); Mexican zuchini; carrots in oranges, whites, purples; basil (Italian, thai, and purple), rosemary, thyme plants for my own herb garden; fresh raspberries, blueberries, blackberries; rainier cherries! (which we eat by the bagful at my house).

So, Saturday trips to the market have allowed me the supplies to cook the kinds of foods I enjoy. And, as in grad school, limited time has left me cooking a big batch of something on Saturday or Sunday, and eating it throughout the week. I’ve made a carrot top soup, letting me utilize both the carrots and their tops. I made fresh pizza—where I infused olive oil with fresh garlic for the sauce, then sliced tomatoes, mushroom, red pepper, spinach, onion, and an asiago/parmesean cheese blend. Most recently, however, I made veggie burritos where I sautéed fresh garlic, onions, red peppers, zuchinni, mushrooms, potatoes. Then cayenne pepper, paprika, cumin and finally tossed in some quinoa & chili sauce. Then I made an apricot (fresh from the market) salsa using tomato, avocado, onion, fresh cilantro, garlic, and jalapeno. (Salt to taste!) Fill in a tortilla with some sharp cheddar and bake. Delish!

This weekend I’m hoping to make a pot pie. I have a good pie crust recipe and after a recent trip to Pies & Pints, a burning desire to recreate their own recipe. I think I tasted a lot of thyme and rosemary and black pepper. And they used what seemed like extra buttery mashed potatoes instead of a creamy soup base.

Of course, cooking and eating isn’t everything. I’ve managed to discover a couple fantastic cookbooks: Local Flavors (tipped off by Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal Vegetable Miracle), and then this organic whole foods cookbook I found in a Value Village for $0.50. A total steal.

But most recently, on the book front, I finished a collection of Wendell Berry essays called Art of the Commonplace. In this, Berry discusses food from an agrarian point of view—and through this shows how eating, human health, animal health, and earth health are interconnected and completely reliant on each other to happen. A lot of it is sort of no duh—mono cultures are bad. Animals bred in captivity, knee deep in their own “waste,” thus suffering immune issues, which lead to our own immune issues, which also make of everything we use a product, and a byproduct. And also forces agriculture into a reliance on fossil fuels for disposal and transportation, and importing fertilizer (that they’re disposing of by the ton from their cows and chickens and pigs and goats, etc). When, animals ranging free in pasture will naturally fertilize the soil and so on. Berry, he pretty much got agriculture. But a bit pushy on the god stuff. Still, I’m glad I read it.

Next, I’m bringing so many of my loves together with Eco Language Reader (I’m ignoring all the parenthesis because I can’t remember where they go and I’m too lazy to look them up). Edited by Brenda Ijima, this book supposedly discusses ecology, and language, proving once again that everything is connected. Ecology, language, food, you, me, etc. I’m totally stoked. Taking a break with Berrigan first though. About halfway through the Collected. Just finished the collaboration with Anne Waldman—stunning.

Happy eating!

PoetLife

2010-07-20T16:19:00.001-07:00

Some poets can't go a day without writing, and a week is monstrous. These poets tend to be monstrous themselves, when not writing.

I am not one of these writers.About twice a year I go weeks, perhaps even a month or two, without producing a single thing. Maybe even not writing. The thing is... I just get tapped, mentally drained, nothing left to give. I call it recuperation. Writing is mentally and emotionally exhaustive... at least for me. After the end of a period of mass production (because normally when I'm writing I write a lot), there's just not a lot left in me for much of anything. Like, really. Anything. Usually I sit around watching spectacularly bad tv, which I enjoy immensely. Usually I don't read. Usually when I finally have the energy to read again, it indicated writing was around the corner.

But then there was grad school... 2 years of wild productivity, reading, writing, everything. And then a thesis. 2.5 years passed and January rolled around and I could write no more. And I didn't write anything more. Except a quickie chapbook in March. A one off. And then NapoWrimo... which was really just an exercise in futility. Realistically, I say I havent' been writing since January. That's going on 7 months. Above and beyond my usual points of recuperation. And I was starting to feel bad, like I might never get it back.

But I've been reading, for pleasure, for a while now. And recently dipped my toes back in to reading poetry. And I wrote something today.Whether it's good or worth bothering with doesn't matter. It was the impulse to write and I took it. And it's possible it might stick this time. And it's possible it might not.

A sample:

"The ache of corn starch.
Dreaming of clean lines—I enter the breach and
reconceive the whole. The whole thing is burning down.
Everyone is burning down.

But your wilderness.

It keeps growing."

True Blood, True Love

2010-07-19T10:55:00.001-07:00

Living with my parents like I’m in high school has a few advantages. They have a hot tub, which has been magical for my brand new bum knee. The fridge is always full (if not with the sorts of things I would normally fill it with) and I don’t have to fill it. But mostly, the best part, is HBO. I don’t actually use this all that often. In fact, I’m pretty much only using it Sunday nights for True Blood. I love this fucking show. It’s not particularly dealing with the “big issues,” or really anything that actually matters – the characters are by and large totally ridiculous. This is a show entirely about escapism, which makes sense for something based on a series of trade paperback romance novels. However, the best part of the show is exactly how ridiculous it is. Characters like Lafayette, who are loud and hilarious and brash, and like Eric’s little blonde bombshell lesbian minion. They are the joy of this show that the relationship between Sookie Stackhouse & Bill Compton is incapable of being. And this season, the absurdity goes pro with a whole new series of characters living just one state over. These Mississippi vamps are all kinds of glorious. The gay Vampire King and his Vampire Boy—with their human cruelty free blood courses—(“this one fed on nothing but oranges for weeks… notice the citrusy notes on the finish”…). But my favorite, my absolute favorite, is the psycho Franklin Mott who wants to turn Tara into his vampire bride. He’s totally co-dependent. Totally wacked out. And makes me laugh so hard I’d spit. He’s played by James Frain, the brit you’ll recognize and have no idea where from (because as I discovered when I looked him up on imdb… he hasn’t been in many big movies).

I do have one issue, for which I may be in the minority. The sex scenes. There’s so many, and they rarely do anything to advance character or plot (with the exception of Jason Stackhouse in season 1) and then when they do, they tend to be ridiculously unpleasant to watch (thinking specifically of the sex tape in season 1 and the most recent hate sex with a head twist in season 3).

I’m willing to put this aside, however, ‘cause season 3 is kicking major ass. Season 2 was a little dull, for me, compared to season 1. The maenad lady didn’t really do it for me. But season 3, so far, is way, way, way making up for it.

Notes from the Coast, another installment

2010-07-17T11:57:00.001-07:00

I have officially started my new job. Last Wednesday. That makes a week and a half in the new job and I must say the honeymoon period is in effect. I can't imagine that this will last. But so far, I just feel totally lucky. Like it's too good to be true. Every day, it seems, a new perk comes around.And really? An employer that actually believes that the employee's happiness is important?

There are downsides. Everyone is suffering there, even though they all smile and laugh. Breast cancer. Heart attack. Daughter with Hodgkins. Daughter with severe anxiety, hair pulling disorder, and immune deficiency. But they do sort of restore my faith in people. For them to continue to be so generous and kind, despite the different parts of their own lives that are falling apart. It's been a long time since I've seen that sort of kindness, selflessness, en masse. Certainly I've known individuals with the capacity, but... you know...

I'm also shopping for a place of my own, now. The plan stands that I hope to be living in Seattle proper (rather than with my parents) by September. Living with my parents makes me feel like a child. And the 4 hours of commuting a day is pretty exhausting. And I'm not spending enough time with my uber needy cat. And my social life isn't quite what I'd like it to be... though I am managing to do stuff, see people (... I actually went to see a jam band last night... I didn't know it was going to be a jam band... it was one of those friends of a friends of a friends were in the band things... just wow...) The commute does have the advantage of giving me time to read. I've even been reading some poems. John Beer's The Wasteland and Other Poems is absolutely gorgeous. And I think I shall write a review of Maged Zaher's Self Portrait of the Artist as an Engineer... also very, very good.

Today I went to the farmer's market. Mixed carrots. A mexican squash. Apricots. Eggs. Baby greens. I'm thinking veggie burritos with an apricot salsa. Now I'm sitting in a local coffee shop that does all local, homemade fair. I have coffee and berry cobbler. Life is pretty damn good.

Next I'm supposed to see my brother's new house today. He's supposed to give me an armoire. Oh life...

Homecoming: How to Wear Pretty Dresses

2010-06-26T18:16:00.001-07:00

It's pretty incredible to know the exact moment of change. Up until Wednesday, I was still in Boise, even though I was living back in my parent's guest bedroom (what used to be my brother's room), and commuting back and forth to Seattle, working at the top of the Columbia Tower Club, with the most expansive view of the Seattle area from the top floor of the tallest building in the city, etc. But, as changes tend toward, I was still mostly sad. Still reminiscing. And with the tragedy after tragedy (getting hit by a truck, fraudulent charges on my bank account, wrestling with student loan lenders, my supposed to be full time job turning out to be spectacularly part time, and so on and so on and so on) that befell me from day 3 of my return on through most of my first month back, I was feeling very few of the blessings I expected upon my return. And rather helpless. It took time to see many of my friends, and I still haven't seen a lot of them. When I wasn't commuting, working, bathing, or eating, I was trapped in the second story of my parent's house because my cat couldn't come downstairs and she was struggling with the transition herself. I hadn't heard from almost any of my friends back in Boise. I curled up in the fetal position. I cried. I watched Buffy. Again.

On the plus side, the part-time hours I was working gave me an excuse, nay! required that I dress to the 9s every day. And trust me, you never saw someone look so good. Getting hit by a truck resulted in painkillers so I spent a lot of the first month just plain high. And I did get a lot of reading done. And finished the next alice blue art book.

But Wednesday, sigh, everything changed. Everything became real and good even though the changes were gradual and slow. I managed to find a new job about a week prior to this Wednesday, a really fantastic job. A better than my failed full time job job with amazing people doing something good for way better money. A boon! And I got to see many of my friends, my amazing friends who took care of me and reminded me of a big reason why I was coming back. And I also managed to take a few days for myself, even, to just relax and process and detense the muscles all over my body. But sitting on the bus on the way to my new job, not a first day, just a day to fill out paperwork, with the sun (finally) shining, passing by old and familiar neighborhoods and businesses, listening to the crazy people jabber and watch the cute college boys boarding and unboarding, with my ipod on low, I realized i was smiling. And that I finally felt like I was home. I went on to buy a new bike. To have lunch in a cafe in columbia city with a grapefruit mimosa. Things were falling into palce. And it was this day that I realized that I was finally home. The change happened. Internally. I was happy.

So now it should be all good things (or at least mostly, with a dealable amount of bad). I'm starting to look for a place so I can actually move to the city (no more long, long commute). And after I move to the city I'll start volunteering at Bike Works, and/or maybe a hospital. I've been reading essays by Wendell Berry. And I bought a new batch of plants: thai basil, thyme, italian basil, rosemary. I'm cooking. I made a carrot top soup with orange and white carrots. Asparagus with a lemon shallot sauce. Tomorrow I'm making pulled pork with a cilantro lime coleslaw, mixed greens with walnuts & balsamic, and a strawberry rhubarb pie. I'm looking at a chilled melon soup with thai basil and I had an accidental date. Less than a month back, and I'm dating. Take that Boise.

But still, people are missed. And the co-op, of all things, sorely missed.

But mostly, I'm just looking forward to my 4th of July trip to Portland. My new bike, and hopefully my leg being able enough to handle riding it, and hopefully lengthy bikerides quite soon. And my new job, which promises ridiculous amounts of vacation, and the ability to support myself, my press, my life, and let me just destress for a bit.

Pictures to follow. When I get my computer hooked up to the internet. Which just doesn't seem to be happening at all. Oh well. It's also kind of nice to not be chained to facebook, gchat, or checking my email every 5 minutes.

much love, mes cheris de nombreux!

the last of the mozart for now

2010-05-04T11:01:00.001-07:00

Mass in D Minor Requiem -] Mouth Parts [:

Enter in March

vague heather burning heat
with a red seed.
Vogue physician heather clicks red with you.

Medical estimates redden you.

Until her heart in the room
sings pastoral.
Country song singing.

What is left. Leaves.

Leaves her heart, contralto.

And fire baritones
to inflame the throat
about longitude.

The pulse is the Bible.

We spin the dream, is to weave
on the ladder to heaven, saying "Please—
on the death dream, the grinder of weaving
learning colors and patterns of heaven in the "Please—
so the dream died, sander of textiles.
Color and style of learning the heaven of please.

And continued in their eyes
Such as voice,
trolled silt.
Marsh Mama
controlled chords.

Oh, God
They said things.

Or here

Or here

late, but the last NapoWrimo Poem: a Translation of the Clarinet Concerto I: Allegro

2010-05-02T13:38:00.000-07:00

Concerto for clarinet than I am. by me.
Rapidly Close

You influence and drip irrigation
This sing sing
Repeat until very
This song
Repeat until
affect your veins and Irrigation

He saw in this quick tip
Twitter ink that whispers tendrils
Saw this Quick Tip
Twitter ink whispers
Quick advice see
Whisper not ink

Sewing happiness in the wind and the field
This hill the field so that the sweep
Heaven on the invasion invasion
Away like a happy
sewing and wind energy

This section of the mountain, so scanning
Invasion Invasion of Paradise
Away, as happy
Happy sewing and wind
Part of the mountain, so Scan
Invasion invasion of Eden
Besides joy

Fire

O sing! O Love!

O sing! About Love!
O song! Information for love!

How I am one of the elevators
How to remove night as well

Or a storm in the room with the world's water
Flooding from all the sordid
Clement weather

Or the room with the water crisis in the world
Flooding from all the dirty
Clement weather
Although the room with the water crisis in the world
Floods and all uncleanness

Time Fever
Swells
Fever
Volume

Heat
Band

Down to a low note
Below the lower note
Among lower

So slow
For a pause
Remember
So slowly

For particulate
Remember
Particles
Remember
You. It.

Such as the fingers in the ears
On the cheeks
Of passing
If your fingers to your ears
Cheek
Point

If your fingers in your ears
Cheeks
Point
Transportation

And take up arms and raising his eyes towards the top of each one is locked dripping a little corner of life in which each river inflation
And to take up arms, lifting her eyes in every corner of the small, locked drop of life, where the loss of the hand, eyes in every corner of a small imprisonment

To pay, for the treatment and payment, which quickly
Paying for treatment and payment, as soon

Sewing the world spinning to a new day
May the world into a new day
May the new day

Poem29

2010-04-29T11:49:00.001-07:00

A translation of THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO

Even in the briefing slide
the trap door

slot of the abyss

The rate of decline
a sigh attempt

O sigh attempt

These weapons are your dancing

The arms dance - General
Arms
stroke width

The buzz in this bang
buzz the water

O light in the window

Which means that singing

And then destroy all the Strikers
Skin on the wings to sing on the sidelines of each feed legs waging war against the story
The skin on wings of song to the coast of all the legs feed the story of the war against

story against

history against
trend
to the Wick
the light of the wick

Margin and war, and the skin the skin of the feet in the building for our bodies in the light our body with respect to the extension of emergency so that we only feel the lightning is moving we do not flash the moment in the narrowest of winter as the call to unite

Poem28

2010-04-28T11:21:00.001-07:00

...and possible 28, 29, 30. Was all productive this morning. (When I plan to go the gym, is this my brain's way of thwarting me? This compulsion to actually write poems for the first time in a while...) Let's see what happens tomorrow, eh?

The Marriage of Figaro—Overture

So bounding in the slippage

& the abyss trap door, tripping

makes the rise so so

makes the fall so so

O sigh, O try

this dance yr arms

my arms

swing wide

O joy

& bang this buzz into

O light in the window

is what it means to sing

then crash from each lash

lashing onto wings onto singing each fringe forages our legs waging war against the floors

against the floors

stepping forward

toward this light wick

bounding again, rising, rising

the fringe, the war, the floors lashing the feet the light to our bodies in such urgent sprawl that we feel only the moving feel only the lightning in the darkest winter like starnight inviting unites

Clarinet Concerto—I. Allegro

O sway in and drip

this lilting lilting

so too repeating and

felt into this quick tip

of ink trills that tendrils whispers

sew happiness in the wind & field

this fielding hill so sweep

the day sweep sky sweep

away like happy having

warm

O sing! O love!

how the morning lifts sun

if luck

or storm the world the room with water

flooding out each stinking

weather clement

time in fever—

swells

down into a low note

so slow

for pause

to remember

soft

like fingers in ears

on cheeks

the smear

of passing

and the lift of arms the lift of eyes the upwards momen of each single dripping bit of life that corners into each river swell

to push, to cure & push, in such a fast

sew the spinning world to a new day

Requiem in D Minor—Introitus: Requiem Aeternam

Enter opaque march in deep

burning—heats the heather

with seeding red.

Until her heart is in the room

singing pastoral.

What leaving feels. What leaving leaves

her heart sonorous—

A fire that baritones

a kindling of larynx.

And the pulse is biblical.

And we spin the dream, weave it

a ladder heavenward, saying "please—

And they keep their eyes

like their voices

in the chords.

O god—

they say.

O lord—

Poem27

2010-04-27T20:25:00.001-07:00

I have no energy for Poem 27. How is that in the beginning it was exciting and new and the poems were terrible but they happened and now neither is true.

Try this ride along the highway
in turn stasis ate the bank
and flow tings the pave I meant
to wide sail eat cherries sea,
each wary see these breezy
yesses. Say yes. Seance.
Save us.

The wheels will wile us
into heaven. Your will wilts
wildly in two havens.

Poem26

2010-04-26T16:20:00.001-07:00

At Home

the city clicks
allegro

the pavement grit
in draining grates

in the rain
and winding

the buses call
out to the Sound

from the hills

Poem25

2010-04-25T20:36:00.001-07:00

listen to
the quiet

trickle of
daylight

into night's
empty room

Poem24

2010-04-25T09:33:00.001-07:00

Something in the water
like a flower
will devour

water

flower

~Lorine Niedecker

your hunger
is impeccable,

a tidy couplet:

leaf motes
eating the sky

Poem23

2010-04-25T09:27:00.001-07:00

for Frankie

It's 10:25 am
so she bares her belly
to rising light.

Earlier she chased
false red light
& bound thread.

She needled
the various upholstery
thoughtlessly.

But she can be O
so calm
under slim beams of sun.

Poem22

2010-04-23T13:15:00.001-07:00

These guts are rust-
ridden & ladeled
on the table
for display. Touch

the small intestine.
Then taste your fingers.

Broken & metalled

to steel against
the coming, the burning
the fallout.

Poem21

2010-04-21T11:58:00.000-07:00

the goose is loose in streets inching tide
quiet feathers proving sweet in cinching tide

one striated as a pale bell elide
a round sound deflates the inching tide

this day a dusk a stretch of song in wide
tucked in the chest a blood knot inching tide

do not sing don't sing do not sing inside
the sea's asleep lulled inching tide

Poem20

2010-04-21T07:02:00.001-07:00

after ee cummings

eye care re: your artist knees
my art) iamb inert with outlets (a knee ware
eye go hugo, mightier; any twats sever stone
bio lonely meteor dyeing my doll wing)
high for-
nicate (for your army benefit, mice wheat) i want
narwhals (for butte in fully Ozarks my whirled, might rue)
antics sewer watt advert a new ooh nasa weighs men tan
dot heather ascent willow ways seeing as you

heresy deep set secrete no bodies’ knots
(heiress the rue tough the rue tanned thrum atop the bud
ant dusk eye tusk eye sophistry gall lead lie; wit chug rows
hire than the sole can hope or mind can hide)
and thistles the one dearth at ski peony these tar saps art

Poem19

2010-04-19T14:21:00.001-07:00

Poem called everybody loves a narcissist
(from a line by Stephen Rodeffer)

Oh look at me! Aren't I glorious
for you to behold. My hair
as sweet as bouganvilla. Eyes
like stars in the crease of night.
Skin as soft as rose petals,
blushing just the same.

Love me. Don't you love me?
Please, love me.

Poem18

2010-04-18T20:27:00.001-07:00

we heft our sails
their pearls
unfurl
like fingers from fists

remember how to breathe
in quiet

Poem 17

2010-04-17T21:18:00.001-07:00

let's ready the fragments
the grit & soot & filament

i took because i'm a taker
it was red & fibrous

you aren't a giver, not giving
your pulp in your palm

we string the stringy bits
like thread to make a sandwich

lick our gums, lick all the guns
each pistol, crumbling paper

poem16

2010-04-17T09:14:00.001-07:00

from a line by niedecker// in the dandelion heat/ in the wood panelling/ under the silver rafters/ between the blades of grass/ on the smoking pavement// turn, turn a longing for / turn longing in/ longing into/ meaning prepositions

----------
Sent from the Verizon network using Mobile Email

Poem 15

2010-04-15T17:39:00.001-07:00

for Lisa Robertson

How does greatness happen?

Lis: Her
Lis: a circular enclosure with earthen wall.
Lis: Law.
Lisa: god is an oath, a vow

Rob: to steal from
Rob: juice from a fruit
obe: a village
robe: a long garment, to clothe, a room for apparel
ert: to incite, urge, encourage
son: a male child
son: a slow cuban dance
son: to conceive
sun: the brightest of the heavenly bodies
sun: to warm
sun: gives life
robertson: son of robert, bright and famous
robert: also robin, to steal from the rich, to give to the poor

Her
god is a vow
bright, she shes,
she clothes urgency,
she conceives our village, her
vow is our village,
her bright warm earth
her law.
Poor, she gives us
her heavenly body.

She asks:
What shall I do with my senses?

We answer.
We listen.

Entry #15

2010-04-15T11:50:00.001-07:00

Jenny's Lunch Line.

Oh god I forgot how enjoyable they could be.

Sundance here we come!

2010-04-15T10:14:00.001-07:00

I am a broke writer. Help send this animated film of my poems, Regular People, to festivals. Even a dollar helps. There are prizes if you can give more. Go here: http://regularpeoplefilm.blogspot.com/p/help.html

Poem 14

2010-04-15T08:51:00.001-07:00

To know the secret. To ring the bell.

Seek clay, words

To act as god

Unearth what they form

As discovery

As a root

The natural world is this bell

A path to god

Cast and pray

Sometimes we know things unknowing. By hand. Wet silt informing each line. That we slip on. Slip into.

Then fire and ice burning in other's doubt. And if it doesn't ring. Sing out of the heavens.

A hole opens. How we've carved ourselves. We lie there. In the openings.

Poem 13

2010-04-15T08:31:00.001-07:00

W--

In my dream
your book
had a picture of Hello Kitty
on the cover.

I wanted to tell you
"Hello Kitty, your pink
makes me think
of benadryl."

But your stories
are nothing to sneeze at.

2010-04-14T21:38:00.001-07:00

I'm behind. Three poems tomorrow.

Poem9 and Poem 10 and Poem11 and Poem12

2010-04-12T09:12:00.001-07:00

"Skeptically Smiling" by Paul Klee

come to pieces
your face
is my face
is shattered

"Fox Games" by Sandy Skoglund

Be my red death
red room
our violence is gray
& loving

without sustenance

"M.F. in her Striped and Beaded Sleepy Jacket" by Lisa Yuskavage

Your shotgun's
loaded
to erect the world

"Max, Raven, and Scissors" by Pia Stadtbaumer

we could be violent
in our youth
certain kinds of omens
sharp or black

let me hold your other hand
for light

Poem8

2010-04-12T09:08:00.001-07:00

A vibrant lie hangs bright between two days. nights red in petaled death. If I could choose. If I could burn a message on your flesh. We might know each other. Instead I straddle a calcified bone that belongs to who I don't remember.

Fwd: poem7

2010-04-12T09:07:00.001-07:00

blur as trees pine / needles in the skin of fog / each puncture an opening as tender as a lung / breathe the daylight in & breathe / each painful breath for fear of crows / falling into an icy / dying without you there / to know him

Fwd: poem6

2010-04-12T09:06:00.001-07:00

snow flies like stars / at glass / kiss kiss on a slip and slide / no daring bright / all forward night

Poem5, I think they're getting worse...

2010-04-05T14:55:00.001-07:00

A life burns through a fire of enlightenment: the red ocher on canvas designing a desert. Its truth, the oil we spread on each of our bodies, each of our objects, coloring the world over.

Beauty doesn't answer. Beauty is the motes of dust we often miss unless the light shines through the window at just the right angle, highlighting each floating speck like tufts of dandelion in summer.

But we hardly know them. Like the lines in our own hands. how we forget and are so often surprised that they are there.

Poem4

2010-04-04T15:59:00.001-07:00

Where We Sleep is an Arpeggio

A treble
cleft.

Three pieces:
of erotic longing

to be at once

a chord
bound.

Poem3

2010-04-03T12:30:00.001-07:00

Beginning with lines from Oppen:

The heart uselessly opens
To 3 words, which is too little

you hold my hand
i love your palmistry

a red pulse does not mean
but vessels carry

feelings empty of nerves
their vibrating skin their seeds

the atriums full of pain
the hallways open for living

our scalpels sharpen
we are late

Poem2

2010-04-02T14:17:00.001-07:00

Roman Warm Period--Pumakale

walk hot up
to blind & salty pools

to summer ponds
algae slicked columns

slip inside
the greening

to swim against
a history

Where We Sleep is an Arpeggio

and each dreams

a note broken

from its narrative.

And so it Begins, Poem1

2010-04-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

The prompt: Title your poem, “Self-Portrait with ___________” and start writing from there.

Self-Portrait with Paper Flowers

a black rib, ribbed to cradle
each blossom

red crinkle
yellow husk

these ribs hold words in my chest
& paper clipped against my bones

a language meant for calling out
to the world how big

our hearts are

Late on the Parade

2010-03-18T09:46:00.000-07:00

I'm a little late to have discovered this, but one of the nicest things occurs over at HTML Giant (or rather occurred in January and I missed it). Thanks Mike Young! You are a gem.

Also meant to update this a while ago, but life, you know...

Went to the hot springs last weekend with a cadre of poet-types. It was so nice. Hot, hot puddles & a cool breeze, blue skies. This after the best gyro I've had in the states. Still can't find one that's anything like what I had in Greece (It'd be so nice to discover a gyro place that put french fries in their gyro.)

Either way, these things make the list of Boise good times.

Entry 13: Gyros from Bosnian Express.
Entry 14: Hot springs.

Sometimes, life can be so good.

Mama Said

2010-03-09T15:20:00.000-08:00

& so I believed her. She was an honest lady. I'd say it's a case of the Mondays, but baby it's Tuesday & I can't get it together.

Thankfully, I got 40 minutes left on the clock, every intention of stopping off at the Boise Co-op (ENTRY #12), to pick up New Belgium's TRIPPEL (the beer which I have recently become obsessed with). It's not a cheap beer, but I drink slow at home & it is delish...

Then I'm going to make this thing I've been thinking about all morning. Battered & pan fried sweet potatoes, with sweet chili sauce.

And then to read. And read. And read. For not my thesis (as I have successfully defended) but for my classes (which have fallen a bit by the wayside due to thesis... & mental exhaustion).

Thank god for good food & good beer.

2010-03-07T20:14:00.001-08:00

ENTRY #11: Croquetas at Guernika. Yum. So yum.

Some Quick Press:

2010-03-04T11:35:00.000-08:00

So, Lucas Farrell, of alice blue numero 9, & alice blue books (see The Blue-Collar Sun) was selected for inclusion in

Dzanc Books Best of the Web!

Yay. Congratulations Lucas!

2010-02-25T15:04:00.000-08:00

I went for a walk to put some time between the long stretches of misery & the other long stretches of misery in working an 8 hour shift and landed myself in Boise's Rose Garden, in Julia Davis Park, and it brought me to more lovelies to add to my "I'M GONNA MISS YOU BOISE" list...

ENTRY 9: The Rose Garden-- even fascinating in winter when there are no petals, just twiggy frames. And the sculpture of the old lady giving the little girl an apple-- both of them in bonnets. And the sculpture garden on the other side.

ENTRY 10: The geese that live in Julia Davis Park year round. It's totally weird to see geese traipsing about in the snow, but they do, they do, they do.

Birthday Festivities

2010-02-11T15:15:00.000-08:00

The day of, sure, I had work, then teaching, then a meeting for my thesis, then class. But Friday, it will be epic. Bowling, Thai Food, & Karaoke.

Which brings me to Entry #7: Crickets Karaoke night... even though I haven't been there in several months.

Entry #8: How almost nothing is more than 15 minutes away by bicycle.

...

*Sidenote: Things to look foward to on a return to Washington here. I'm kinda geekin' out about it.

More Strings, Binding

2010-02-09T11:13:00.000-08:00

Entry#3: Cheap Movie Tuesday (where I most recently saw MEN WHO STARE AT GOATS for $2)
Entry#4: Harry's (aka Hyde Park Pub, aka Football Sunday, aka ESPN Classic=Creative Breaking championships from 1978-- or some other era where the mullet was popular in martial arts competitions)

Entry#5: Friends. This should go without saying. But, then I realized maybe I just sound like a dick. Hell, even coming in at #5 makes me sorta seem like a dick.

Entry#6: Riding my bike on flat land. (I will still ride my bike when I move back... but all those hills...eegads!)

Things You Realize When--

2010-02-04T12:46:00.000-08:00

I just got back from the BAM (Boise Art Museum), where I sometimes take breaks from work. Sitting in a dim log cabin all day often leads to headaches or boredom, so I'll walk across the street & take in some art, & on days like this, sunshine.

But it got me thinking. It hasn't been all bad here, which I already knew but hadn't fully realized. I'm going to miss it, working across the street from the museum. Being able to take 20 minutes out of my work day to go to the museum.

It inspired me to start a list. Things I'm going to miss about Boise.

Entry#1: Working across the street from the art museum.

Entry#2: Blue skies & hard air. It's true, here & now I miss Seattle gray & rain, & that soft wet smell. But, I'm sure there will be days in Seattle when I miss Boise's blue skies.

Things That Happen Internally When You Are Nearing Graduation

2010-02-03T11:53:00.000-08:00

It's true. I have several months before I graduate. But, still. I'm strangely unmotivated to do work of any kind, be it classwork, or teaching, or my job.

I probably shouldn't say that but it's true. Right now, I can see in a not too blurry distance, a version of my future & it's very little involved with what is going on in my life right now.

The things I want to do, instead of anything involved with school, includes:

1) reading for pleasure
2) eating &/or cooking
3) going to see movies in the theater
or
4) watching movies at home
5) play board games with friends
6) dance!
7) make lists on blogger
8) ride my bike
9) or go to yoga
10)play with my cat frankie
11) write poems
12) travel (where are the funds!?!)
13) etc

And because I'm procrastination girl today: AMBER

Vampire Diaries

2010-01-27T08:58:00.000-08:00

In my netflix, yesterday, I received the film Thirst, a Korean vampire flick from director Chan-Wook Park-- the man who brought us the Vengeance Trilogy (see Oldboy, his most famous, but also Lady Vengeance & Sympathy for Mr. Revenge).

Oldboy is probably the film most notorious for freaking me the fuck out. It was brilliant. Beautifully directed. Incredible performances. Poignant storyline. You know... the kind of film that actually makes you question certain values, or consider where they may be problematized.

So yesterday, I probably should have focused my energies on doing the dishes, or reading student poems, or even reading for my own classes... but I couldn't muster the mental energy after 8 hours in an office answering phones & writing emails. Especially since I had to leave in 2 hours for a blues dancing class. So, I decided to dig my heels in a freaky vampire world...

People who know me may know that I love movies, good or bad, & so watch a lot of them. But, honestly, it had been a while since I'd watched a movie that, from the first hint of song, delicate flutes over a black screen, the first frame of a white wall, its door, the shadow of a barren tree silhouetted, I knew was going to be stunning.

And the movie did not disappoint. The only downfall is the gross-out factor. I don't scare, but I "ew"-- and spewing bloody vomit over & over does leave it's mark. Perfect for the film, & I wish it wouldn't bug me as much as it does, alas...

When the movie was over I went to a blues dancing class. Think Dirty Dancing-- meaning hip to hip with strangers. Some people were fine, with others, less comfortable. Especially when 20 something boys, with a fine layer of sweat, emanating a sweet-rancid stench, start talking about how it's so hard to meet single ladies in Boise. Gag me. Just don't put your slimy mitts on my bra strap again.

***

In other news, I made a randy ginger fried rice last night. It was slammin'...

I've also read the following:

Gilian Conoley, PROFANE HALO
Travis Nichols, IOWA
Shannon Compton, FOR GIRLS & OTHERS

***

But I'm still, as yet, uncompelled to write anything.

But C. McCallister Williams' chap, WILLIAM SHATNER, is in progress. And it's going to be beautiful.

And then there was the Real, Real

2010-01-21T08:50:00.000-08:00

So break is officially over, and there is one day left in the first week of classes. This week has been fairly easy... for me. Though come Monday I anticipate a completely different energy to commence.

I'd like to say that my time in Boise has been productive, but it hasn't really. I haven't written a poem (barring some work on a tiny poem from paintings project... but does it really count when they are 3-5 lines, maybe 15 syllables all said and done?) in two months. Seriously.

And I only just last week started reading again. I guess that was sort of productive.

Books I've read include:

AR Ammons, GARBAGE
Sawaka Nakayasou, TEXTURE NOTES
GC Waldrep, ARCHICEMBALO
Rene Char trans. Gustaf Sobin, THE BRITTLE AGE and RETURNING UPLAND
Heather Christle, THE DIFFICULT FARM
John Godfrey, CITY OF CORNERS

...and I'm currently reading:

Stacy Doris, CONFERENCE

What's been especially lovely about this new reading period is that I've actually enjoyed every single book. I'd recommend any and all. Though, I'm most in love with Doris at the moment. Maybe because I'm reading her at the moment. Or maybe because, somehow, she manages to make language playful & purposeful & it does something. It moves me, even when she's at her strangest.

Two favorite moments, which are not wildly strange, but are incredible:

"In loving what I can't touch, I die."

&

"Because so much of existence is correspondence, I
wonder is flight a form of correspondence?"

***

It's probably good I've managed to get some reading done before the semester seriously commences as, once it does, I imagine my "reading for me" time will come to a close. Hopefully I can get this last book finished before I have to give up the goods.

Because, along with school, I have SLOPE-- which is coming along. I have received some wonderful things. I continue to pester others to send work. Life continues to go on. The sun shines today, with promises of rain on the weather channels. Sushi tonight. And a free show. And then time on the sofa with a cat & a book.

alice blue 10 is now available!

2010-01-19T10:32:00.000-08:00

featuring work by the glorious:

ofelia hunt
andrew borgstrom
matt bell
matthew simmons
kathy fish
sasha fletcher
p.h. madore
jon swan
joseph young
kimberly ruth
michael sikkema
jack boettcher
mara vahratian
nicole pollentier
jr walsh
theodore worozbyt
maged zaher
j.p. burnside
jordan stempleman
olivia cronk
matt morris
gareth lee
julia cohen
a.k. scipioni
thomas cook - tyler dorholt
jac jemc
marcia arrieta
john chávez
&
chris theim

Slow, I know...

2010-01-13T11:52:00.000-08:00

So, I meant to post this way earlier, but, you know. Life etc.

alice blue has released their very first book: THE BLUE-COLLAR SUN by Lucas Farrell.

You can purchase them here: ALICE BLUE BOOKS. It's good. And I'm not just saying that because I published it.

Also, keep a look out for other new & exciting things from alice blue. Like our next issue, a special double-issue, in honor of it being our 10th.

Also, look for the corresponding alice blue blog, where us editors will take on reviewing the fine folk out there creating such marvellous, wonderful text.

Also, a real blog post forthcoming.

yrs,
a

2009-12-11T07:17:00.001-08:00

Stuff That's Good and Happens to Me

2009-11-30T09:53:00.000-08:00

My chapbook launched at H_ngm_n. You can read it here: THIS RIDE IS IN DOUBLE EXPOSURE

Yay!

Book Building & Other Tools

2009-10-30T12:16:00.000-07:00

So, I've been involved with the online poetry community since about 2005 when alice blue first launched. Weird to think it's really only been 4-5 years. And also weird to think it's already been 4-5 years. And as one who spend a lot of time online, reading lots of poetry blogs, reading lots of online journals, and reading a lot in print too, and being a subscriber of several small/micro presses-- I've seen a lot in the DIY world. In small presses doing small chapbook and journal print runs. I am the proud owner of a fairly sizable handmade chapbook collection which I have garnered from bookstores and writers and the presses themselves.

But I have not, as yet, participated. Or, not made my own. We at alice blue have always planned to have a print element but it always seemed like something we put off and put off and put off-- you know, life happens. Other things got in the way. We didn't have the money. The list of excuses can be quite grandiose.

This summer, I don't know what clicked. I was tired of waiting. I decided I just wanted to do it and screw all else. So I solicited some people, read through a series of really fabulous manuscripts, and picked two for a couple small chapbook runs. 100 chapbooks, 10 art books. All handmade.

And man. It's a mind-boggling lot of work. Ultimately, to me? It's worth it to take the time to make the book a piece worth keeping, something of as much value as what takes place on the inside. I got two of my friends (one with art book making experience, one with letterpress & papermaking skills who is getting ready to attend art school) on board. Hand made paper covers for the 100 print run. Letterpress on the cover. They will be archival. Printed on 30% cotton paper. A vellum inner sheet before the title. Hand sewn. To be uncompromising means everything takes too fucking long and everything runs late. It means it's labor intensive. It means hours in art supply and hardware and office supply stores looking at two different types of paper, both white, and deciding on which one is more appropriate.

It makes me all the more appreciate of the people who run micro presses. These labors of love. These things that are paid for out of pocket, not because you have any expectation of financial reward, but because you think the work itself is worth the time, money and attention. I could have paid for a new HD tv and digital cable? But no. I have stupid bunny ears and a converter that don't actually work. And a lot of time and money invested and nothing yet put together or assembled. But this weekend, the paper should be done. And the printing should be done next week. And then it's just a matter of having a wacky, wild sewing party to get those things together.

The art book is a bit slower. But man-oh-man is it going to be worth it. You'll just have to wait and see.

Either way, every time I see one new facet of this come together, the waiting and the work just seems more worthwhile.

Woo.

The Cheese Stringery

Some Fall Cooking Adventures

I've been on the Best Books of 2011

Fish & Chips Tour: Pike Street Fish Fry

Fish & Chips Tour: Pacific Inn

Sweet Potato Crisp

Fish & Chips Tour: The Sloop

Fish & Chips Tour: Pies & Pints

Fish & Chips: The Loft

"The wordplay, even letterplay, of "someone's anemone" is part of a complex score that spans the entire chapbook." Read Gregg Murray's complete review of Brooklyn Copeland's "Laked, Fielded, Blanked" here: http://coldfrontmag.com/reviews/chap-nook-5-lerner-copeland-goetz

Women's Quarterly Conversation

Fish & Chips, Elysian Brewery

Brunch, Fish & Chips, & a trip to the Zoo

Seattle Century--Or One Life Goal Down. Snap!

a review of my book, yo

Libations at the Fir, and the Most Awesome, Cheap, Homegrown Mac you Ever Saw...

As-Promised-Ribs

Eating With Friends

The Foods of Summer

Oooh. Updates and stuff...

LAKED, FIELDED, BLANKED

The Weekend Update

Death Becomes Us

Food, Bikes, Bliss

damn

Gina Myers said some nice things.

NaPoWriMo 2011

linktastic

poets should read this short story

alice blue

if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it...

Notes on a 2011 Existence

Languaging the World

Food That Tastes Better When You don't Make It Yourself

Cheese, Limes, and Other Cooking Adventures

Your Trouble is Ballooning

Your Trouble is Ballooning by Amber Nelson

The Truth Is...

Text Score, attempt two: PERCUSSION

Text Score, attempt one: TALKING

Really Cooking

Curried Mushroom, Broccolli, and Onion over mashed Root Veggies

Like, woah...

2010 Open Reading Winners & Finalists

Pictures of Meals I've Made

Eggplant

Cradle to Cradle to Cradle

an international district

Certain Requests I'm Happy to Oblige

PoetLife

True Blood, True Love

Notes from the Coast, another installment

Homecoming: How to Wear Pretty Dresses

the last of the mozart for now

late, but the last NapoWrimo Poem: a Translation of the Clarinet Concerto I: Allegro

Poem29

Poem28

Poem27

Poem26

Poem25

Poem24

Poem23

Poem22

Poem21

Poem20

Poem19

Poem18

Poem 17

poem16

Poem 15

Entry #15

Sundance here we come!

I am a broke writer. Help send this animated film of my poems, Regular People, to festivals. Even a dollar helps. There are prizes if you can give more. Go here: http://regularpeoplefilm.blogspot.com/p/help.html

Poem 14

Poem 13

Poem9 and Poem 10 and Poem11 and Poem12

Poem8

Fwd: poem7

Fwd: poem6

Poem5, I think they're getting worse...

"The wordplay, even letterplay, of "someone's anemone" is part of a complex score that spans the entire chapbook."

Read Gregg Murray's complete review of Brooklyn Copeland's "Laked, Fielded, Blanked" here: http://coldfrontmag.com/reviews/chap-nook-5-lerner-copeland-goetz