GC and I have a new hobby. You may remember that we tend to be a little obsessive about our new hobbies. We’re not dabblers; we’re full-immersion hobbyists.
This time? Indian cooking.
It all started when Hella Stella said something on her Facebook status about making curried chick peas.
I like curry and I like chick peas and I like Hella Stella, and the next thing you know I was making her recipe. It was delicious. So then I asked her for an Indian cookbook recommendation, and she suggested 660 Curries. I ordered it from Amazon, and two days later I had it – all 900 pages of it – in my eager little hands.
That was two or three days ago. Since then we’ve made six recipes – ghee, cashew chicken, curried chick peas and potatoes, garam masala, toasted coriander and cumin seeds blend, and roti bread. We’ve also made two trips to the Indian grocer at Somerset and Bronson, where we’ve purchased all kinds of exotic Indian things like black salt and mango powder and dried pomegranate seeds. We even bought a new pan, for making flatbread.
We consulted with the Indian grocer about various ingredients, and he was helpful even though he seemed a little skeptical that the two of us could actually manage to cook Indian food.
“Do you have a pan for cooking the roti?” he asked.
“What kind of pan would that be?” I asked.
“Come,” he said, “I’ll show you.”
And he started leading us to the pan section. GC whispered to me “Whatever he shows us, just say ‘Oh yeah, we already have one of those.'”
So he shows us this heavy, shiny, slightly concave disk with a handle.
“Oh yeah,” I said, “We already – ”
“We’ll take it,” said GC.
(I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned, but GC is a bit of a kitchen gadget freak. He loves kitchen stuff, and he has lots of it. If he sees something good that he doesn’t yet have, he is almost powerless to resist, despite his best intentions and despite his whispered admonitions to others.)
Anyway. Indian cooking. It’s a lot of work. Many of the recipes list other recipes among their ingredients. So you find yourself making garam masala, for example, because it’s an ingredient in the cashew chicken.
But it’s worth it, just for the aromas alone. Sometimes I go into the kitchen and unscrew the the garam masala jar and inhale deeply. It smells that good.
So far the results have been pretty good. I loved the cashew chicken. The only thing that didn’t really work was the ghee. But I think that’s because the recipe cautioned about not letting it get too hot. Not letting it boil. I watched a youtube video with a fat, half-naked dude making a big batch of ghee, and he had it at a rolling boil.
In other news, we went skiing at Mer Bleue yesterday, for two hours along a treacherously icy trail. I was soooo glad to get to the end. As soon as we stopped, my temperature started plunging. By the time we got home, it was 34.7 (94.5 F). I took a hot bath, but instead of the bath making me hot, I made it cold. Like I was a giant ice cube. So then I bundled up in my flannel sheep pajamas and a down vest and big fat socks, and started cooking Indian food on all four burners. That warmed me up.
Posted by zoom! on January 24, 2010, at 10:55 am |
This is what democracy looks like
I have to admit, I was worried. What if Stephen Harper was right? What if Canadians really didn’t care?
I’ve been to poorly attended demonstrations before, and they can leave you feeling a little deflated. And this one? This one was so important, not just for democracy in Canada but also because it was a test of whether activism on the Internet means anything at all. I don’t think anybody knew for sure before yesterday.
So when GC and I emerged from Metcalfe Street onto Wellington, and saw the throngs of people streaming onto Parliament Hill, I felt a combination of relief, joy and hope.
It turned out to be a great rally. There were some interesting speakers (I especially liked the passionate 17-year-old documentary film-maker who told Stephen Harper that if he didn’t want to lead, he should get out of the way, because there is so much critical work to be done, particularly on the environment, and no time to waste). There were some funny signs (“I prorogued the dishes to be here. Now get back to work.”). There was top-notch music (The Raging Grannies, and Trevor Strong from the Arrogant Worms, among others). There were puppets and flags and sunshine.
But mostly it just felt good to witness such a strong display of activism among Canadian youth, and to be in the company of so many people who care about democracy, the environment, and Canada. It was a surprisingly non-partisan event, which I liked. Democracy belongs to the people – all the people.
Like Coyote said, it wasn’t perfect, but the imperfections made it all the more authentic. This was youth-led grass-roots activism at its very best. Thanks to everyone who had a part in organizing it, and to every single person who showed up and got counted, including local bloggers Dr. Dawg, Nat, Finola, Milan, Ottawa Rambler, and Coyote.
Here’s my video of Trevor Strong singing his new anti-prorogue song, followed by Canada’s hilarious unofficial national anthem, We Are the Beaver. I thought I had split the video into two separate videos, but evidently not. If you just want to see the Beaver song, fast forward to about the 2 minute and 45 second mark. That song totally cracks me up.
Posted by zoom! on January 23, 2010, at 10:25 am |
The Shady Lady Brothel has hired its first male prostitute, and he starts work today.
Markus prefers the title ‘gigolo’, or ‘surrogate lover’, to prostitute (or prostidude, a term newly coined by the media).
His new bosses won’t let him do any more media interviews, not since he told Details Magazine that his role in the sex business was “just the same” as civil rights icon Rosa Parks refusing to move to the back of the bus.
I find the story interesting because it’s such an amusing mix of progressive and regressive attitudes. Take this line for example:
“All this gay homophobia in this country is horrible,” Davis [the brothel owner] said. “Everybody’s so damn scared two men might have sex – it’s happening every day in Las Vegas. Not going to happen here, but that’s all the big fear, is gay people.”
[emphasis mine]
In case you’re wondering, $300 will buy you an hour with Markus. For $2,000 you can spend the night with him. (The Shady Lake claims its rates are targeted at the average working man.)
At 1:00 pm tomorrow (Saturday), there will be protests in 50+ locations across Canada. Ottawa’s rally will be on Parliament Hill at 1:00. The times and locations of all the rallies are listed on the No Prorogue site.
The purpose of these protests is to send a clear message to the Prime Minister that we are opposed to him shutting down Parliament for months at a time for the purpose of circumventing democracy. This is the second time he’s done it in just over a year. Last time it was to avoid a vote of non-confidence. This time it’s to avoid answering questions and turning over evidence about our government’s knowledge of the torture of Afghan detainees.
As of this writing, 209,860 people have joined the Facebook group Canadians Against Proroguing Parliament. The Prime Minister believes Canadians are too apathetic to do anything more than that.
I would strongly urge every single Canadian who cares about this country and how it’s run to make a point of going to their local rally tomorrow. The Prime Minister is counting on you to stay home. Democracy is counting on you to show up.
A clone would have come in handy last night. I could have gone to the Hartman Piano meeting at City Hall, and the clone could have gone to my creative writing class, both of which started at 7:00. But there was no clone and I had to choose. I went to the class, since there are only five classes in the course and I didn’t feel I could miss one.
I was happy to hear about all the people who went to the meeting to show their support for the piano. I heard the turnout was great. The Centretown Citizens Community Association passed a motion in support of the piano. The Citizen today is reporting that Hartman’s has agreed to meet with representatives of the piano group, which is excellent news. I’m feeling optimistic that some kind of mutually agreeable solution is just around the corner.
I read an excerpt from a book last night, in writing class, which was so quirky and charming I wanted to go buy the book immediately. It’s called The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss. But I’m already reading too many books at once, and making very little headway on any of them as a result. I’m currently reading The Lovely Bones (meh), The Globalisation of Addiction (so far so good), Galore (not sure), and the Book Thief (two thumbs up). I’m having the same problem with my knitting – I’m knitting two different socks and a lace shawl, and not making any noticeable progress on any of them.
I’m working this week on a contract. But even when I’m not working, it’s abundantly clear to me that there simply aren’t enough hours in the day. I used to blame it on the job, but I realize now it wasn’t the job’s fault. It’s a design flaw. Whoever designed the 24-hour day made a serious miscalculation. Each day should be at least 32 hours long.
At any rate. Back to The History of Love. This old man – Leo Gursky – lives in fear of dying alone and invisible. He spends his days making scenes in public, so that he’ll be noticed. Upon his death, he’d rather be remembered as peculiar, or repugnant even, than not be remembered at all. Here’s an excerpt:
“I’ll go into the Athlete’s Fooot and say What do you have in sneakers? The clerk will look me over like the poor schmuck that I am and direct me over to the one pair of Rockports they carry, something in spanking white. Nah, I’ll say, I have those already, and then I’ll make my way over to the Reeboks, and pick out something that doesn’t even resemble a shoe, a waterproof bootie, maybe, and ask for it in size 9. The kid will look again, more carefully. He’ll look at me long and hard. Size 9, I’ll repeat while I clutch the webbed shoe. He’ll shake his head and go to the back for them, and by the time he returns I’m peeling off my socks. I’ll roll my pant legs up and look down at those decrepit things, my feet, and an awkward minute will pass until it becomes clear that I’m waiting for him to slip the booties onto them. I never actually buy. All I want is not to die on a day when I went unseen.”
Posted by zoom! on January 18, 2010, at 10:11 am |
The Hartman's Piano (Photo: Charlie Feldman)
It used to be that when you walked into the Hartman’s grocery store at the corner of Bank & Somerset, the first thing you’d see was the cozy seating area arranged around the piano.
The Hartman’s Piano was a free, accessible community instrument. Usually someone would be playing it, very often an accomplished musician who couldn’t afford a piano of his or her own. The music was lovely. I blogged about it once myself (The Happiest Woman at the Grocery Store).
The Hartman’s Piano disappeared on January 5th, along with the cozy seating area. Overnight, without warning, a floral department sprung up in its place.
Now, instead of the strains of piano music welcoming you to Hartman’s and setting the mood for your visit, there’s a machine welcoming you to Hartman’s in its cold computerized voice.
Nobody knows why the piano disappeared, because Hartman’s has so far refused to answer questions or return phone calls about it. Not from individuals, nor from the media. I can only guess it was a business decision. Free accessible music doesn’t generate profits the way floral departments do. But then why did Hartman’s have the piano in the first place? What motivated them, years ago, to do something so community-minded with a small section of their store? And why have they changed their minds now?
There’s something sad about the way we lose our sense of community, bit by bit. Meaningful little things that we care about just disappear overnight and get replaced by meaningless things that are better for someone else’s bottom line. Each time, we feel a pang of loss, but we accept it because what can we do? Each time we tell ourselves it’s just one little thing we’re losing.
Maybe it IS just a piano. But a lot of us loved the Hartman’s Piano and the people who played it. And we loved the whole idea of walking into the grocery store and seeing a little old lady dancing to the music while doing her grocery shopping. And maybe, cumulatively, all these little things we’re losing add up to our sense of community, our sense of belonging, our sense of being more than just consumers.
Maybe Hartman’s didn’t realize before what an important contribution they were making to the community with that piano. I hope that the groundswell of community reaction will help them understand and appreciate it, and they will find it in their hearts to change their minds and bring the piano back.
There are several things you can do to help. Join the Facebook group, Bring Back the Hartman’s Piano. Phone Hartman’s manager Robert St-Amour (613-234-8692 ext 145) and tell him you want the piano back. Sign the online petition (you don’t have to pay anything, just skip through that donation screen). Most importantly, come to the Centretown Citizens Community Association meeting tomorrow (Tuesday) at 7:00 pm (Honeywell Room, City Hall, 110 Laurier Avenue West). CCCA will pass a motion supporting the return of the piano and community space. There will be media there, and hopefully Councilor Diane Holmes as well. A strong show of support from the community will speak volumes.
As Jenn Farr says, “This is not world peace. It’s a piano. We can get it back.”
GC and I went to an event on Saturday for the documentary-in-the-making, Poor No More. Basically it was a chili lunch in a church basement with Mary Walsh (creator of This Hour Has 22 Minutes), followed by a march to Parliament Hill and some coordinated chanting for the movie cameras.
While we were sitting in the basement eating chili and people-watching, GC nudged me and said “Does that woman over there look familiar?”
We then both remembered her naked for a few seconds.
“How many women in this room,” I asked, “Have you seen naked?”
GC surveyed the room and counted on his fingers.
“Two,” he announced.
I won that contest, because there was a woman there whom I recognized as a legally-blind exotic dancer at the Alex Hotel circa 1978, during its brief and unsuccessful attempt to turn itself into a strip joint.
Mary Walsh had us both beat though, because she’s been photographed with 50 naked Newfoundlanders.
Posted by zoom! on January 16, 2010, at 10:00 am |
GC and The Dog and I went away for a few days, to GC’s family’s cottage up in the Laurentians.
We went cross country skiing for an hour and a half on Thursday. Since this was hilly terrain, there were a lot more ups and downs than I’m used to. Which meant it was a lot more exercise. I’m acutely aware of my butt and groin muscles today. But the downhill parts were a lot of fun and I only fell down once.
When it was all over we went back to the cottage for a sauna and a whirlpool and a glass of wine, and GC started a fire in the fireplace.
We bought one of those packaged logs because they’re easy. You just set the wrapper on fire, and presto, you’ve got a nicely burning log that will burn for three and a half hours.
Which is what it did. Only GC thought the fire was too good. Too flamey. Too big. He began to worry it was going to somehow escape from the cast-iron glass-doored fireplace and burn the house down. He found the fire extinguisher and read the instructions. He went outside and looked at the chimney. He went upstairs and felt the walls. He wondered aloud if there was a fire department out there in the boonies.
Meanwhile, I sat contentedly in the glow of the fire, knitting a sock.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I assured him.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Because if there was something to worry about, I’d be worried about it,” I said.
This might sound like circular reasoning, but it’s true. I’m pretty paranoid when it comes to fire. More so than most people.
When I was six years old, I used to get up before anybody else every morning, and I would go into the living room and bounce on the couch. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. (I have no idea why I did that, but it was my very first addiction.) Anyway, one morning I was bouncing on the couch and I saw my mother’s cigarettes and lighter sitting on the coffee table, and I decided to light some paper. I imagined that the edges would glow prettily, like a lit cigarette.
So I was surprised and horrified when the paper caught fire and the flames grew bigger and I had to drop it. I dropped it on a sweater my mother had been knitting. The flames kept growing and the fire kept spreading, eating everything in its path. I panicked. I was afraid to wake my mother, so I woke my big sister instead. She was seven years old. She woke my mother and my mother put the fire out – I believe she threw a bunch of stuff down the incinerator chute, which was right beside our apartment door.
My mother punished me by burning my thumb with the lighter. It wasn’t really the burn that seared itself into my memory, but the abject terror of anticipation. As she pulled my thumb toward the flame, I imagined my thumb catching on fire just like the piece of paper had, and the fire spreading and consuming me until I was completely engulfed in flames, at which point I would shrivel up, turn black and die. Which of course isn’t what happened at all, but you can see how I might have thought so.
I learned a lot about fire that day; I acquired a healthy respect and a permanent fear of it. If there’s a fire to be worried about, I’m the first to worry about it. (In fact, at one point I did live in the country in a house with a wood stove, and I called the fire department one night because the fire was too big. And another time I called the fire department because I was melting cheese on toast in the oven and the toast caught fire. And another time I called the fire department because I thought I smelled gas, but it was just my dog. Better safe than sorry, I say.)
Anyway, the fire went out after three and a half hours, and GC breathed a sigh of relief and put the fire extinguisher away. It might be awhile before he builds another one.
Good news – the BC Court of Appeals ruled against the federal government in favour of Insite’s constitutional right to exist. Not only that, but the Court of Appeals also tackled the jurisdictional issue, and determined that Insite is a provincial matter, not a federal one.
There’s still a possibility that the feds will appeal this decision to the Supreme Court of Canada, but hopefully they will just back off and leave Insite alone so it can focus on its work of providing health care to drug addicts rather than on its constitutional validity.
Cathy Crowe is running for Member of Provincial Parliament in the Toronto Centre by-election, where the incumbent, George Smitherman, is stepping down to run for Mayor of Toronto.
This was the first piece of political news in a long time to give my heart a hopeful little leap.
Here’s what Naomi Klein says about her candidacy: “Cathy Crowe is the compassionate heart of this city. That someone of such stunning integrity would run for political office is something close to a miracle.â€
Cathy Crowe is a street nurse who delivers health care to street people, on the streets of Toronto. She goes to them, wherever they might be, carrying her nursing supplies in a backpack. (Her backpack, incidentally, was part of the History of Nursing exhibition at the Museum of Civilization.) She’s a passionate anti-poverty activist and an expert on homelessness. She wrote an excellent book – Dying for a Home – along with 10 or so homeless people. She’s a compassionate caregiver who is well-versed in policy and tough-minded about politics. She says you can’t do the work she does and not care about root causes and how the system works. You can’t do it and not become an activist.
I met her – and interviewed her – a few years ago, and wrote a magazine article about her. She wowed me. If I lived in Toronto, I’d volunteer to work on her campaign.
In other news, today’s the day that Vancouver’s safe injection site, Insite, finds out whether it will be permitted to continue its work. The BC Court of Appeal will deliver its ruling on the Constitutional legality of Insite around 9:15 a.m. BC time.
A bit of history, from Insite’s press release yesterday:
In a May 2008 ruling, by Justice Ian Pitfield of the B.C. Supreme Court,
sections of the country’s drug laws were struck down as
unconstitutional, enabling Insite to keep its doors open. The ruling
indicated that closing a health care service that can prevent death and
the transmission of infectious disease goes against the right to life
and security that are outlined in the Charter.
This ruling was appealed by the Federal Government of Canada.
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