Gin and Zilbertronic

this last week i ran the dallas turkey trot (with jeremy in tow, he ran the fun run) and it was the most at ease and comfortable i’ve been in a race, flat out ever.  partly this was the fact that the weather was perfect, and that i was running with 7000 people instead of by myself.  but there was also the change of scenery, the fact that i got to run through and see a large part of a city i’ve never been to (and sorry, dallas, but i’m probably not comin back).  i had my goal and i stuck to it, and so for the first 6 miles i was smiling, looking around at all the buildings, eavesdropping on people’s conversations, admiring the old people that were running the same pace as me.  the first 2 miles were a clusterfuck, as i weaved in and out of people trying to find a lane, and instead finding some dog poo instead, but ah well, shit happens.   it sort of brought me back to what marie said last year, how she felt like she could go anywhere, catch a 5k by chance and just go for it, get up one day in a strange place and see its people, energy, views.  there was this terrific old bridge in dallas and at one point i glanced behind and just said, “wow,” in the middle of a mostly-abandoned city (its 9 am on thanksgiving, you know) hundreds of people were taking over the city! because there are so many people running, the finish times weren’t accurate, so we all had chips on our shoe, and there was no exact way to know when we started.  i had a feeling it was somewhere around 2 minutes, but i was basically running my pace without knowing the start.  the fact that i blindly got my goal by 2 seconds just puts the icing on the cake…

and now enough about me, check out this amazing video, care of alex ross’s blog…

the new yorker food issue – with an article written by absolute favorite food writer in the world, calvin trillin, on texas bbq!   divine goodness and happiness await

the texas monthly rankings that he so exults! two of the top 50 are in houston, burns (of which i’ve heard the legends, a small shack up north of the city that you have to go to only in the morning), and virgie’s (which is on the way to my high school!).  goode co, whose goodness i partake in bi-weekly, is only an honorable mention, which sets the standard for glory pretty high.  read it here

an online playlist i found linked on the grizzly bear blog, which so far i’ve loved, listen away

this amazing picture that bella took.  not only did we discover a weird sound vortex outside the front of the menil, we also found, at exactly the right time, the exact location in houston with two of the most unnatural colors that could possibly exist, neon green (from the richmond gallery, part of the menil collection) and scarily, ghostly purple from the houston sunset.

the true houston

on the recommendation of mr. waters, (whose opinions must be taken seriously on account of his incredible western-shirts and bolo ties) i headed with my friend bella to the texas pow-wow at trader’s village, an enormous flea market/bazaar about 20 minutes outside of downtown houston.  it was a junk-lover’s heaven, although i could have used a few more antiques.  there were a lot of knock-offs, electronics, shirts, and, as part of the pow-wow, a huge native american area where i picked up a cool anklet and some stickers (the lady who sold me the stickers sent me off, “these’ll be great for the little one.”).  bella got a sweet flute that had “musical flute” written on it in case you forgot what it was.  not to be rude, but the place lived up to many stereotypes about texas.  eccentric dress, some not-too-excited looks at an obama t-shirt on sale, terrific accents, fried everything, lots of flags and lots of cowboy hats.  the dance celebration was pretty cool, although it was hard to enjoy as we were trying out how we could successfuly eat a fry-bread taco without making a mess.  answer…we couldn’t…our plate flew away in the tumultuous process and we were left wrapping a quicky oil-ridden napkin around said delicious delicious taco.  my favorite dance was the very slow procession celebrating a 7-year old’s birthday, in which little kids ran up in front of the procession, put some money in a bucket, and shook the birthday boy’s hand, who never stopped dancing.

below you can see some of the dancers on display.  check out the judges in the middle of the circle.

me squinting with the fry bread taco.

a turtle shell attached to a deer leg.  why?  to make a fun maraca, thats why!  there was a lot of death on display at the pow-wow, including a frog skin into which a small wallet pocket had been sewn.  eeek.

In one of my favorite poems “A Step Away from Them”, Frank O’Hara writes that “neon in daylight is a / great pleasure.”  That statement, and the fact that in the next line he mentions both a cheeseburger he has stopped to eat and ruminates on the subconscious of Edwin Denby, always brings a smile to my face.  Part of the reason I was drawn so immediately to O’Hara’s poems is that they embrace a scene of the city as uninhibited activity, and preserve the idea of observation without conventional understanding or emotional attachment.  He’s describing New York, but experience counts more than explanation or evaluation.  Some part of me feels at ease with the thought that there is joy in the mere fact of the multitude, in the unvarnished chaos, in the miscellany of a city moment.  People-watching, day-dreaming, sudden realizations, food – they’re not supposed to define who you are, but they are often how you experience what life is.  I thought of O’Hara while running today, and it was one of the more special runs I’ve had in Houston.  The majority of my running takes place around the Rice loop, or around Memorial Park.  Some people might not understand the attraction to running in circles, but there are some definite perks.  You almost never have to stop for cars, you get a dirt trail rather than pavement, and you see people going the opposite directions twice each lap (which, on a long run, almost makes you temporary companions, partially due to the ability of runners to show a stunning range of expression and sincerity with their bodies and faces).  I’ve run a few times near my house, but there are some major roads beyond the small pretty residential section of Montrose I’m in (about 1/2 mile long and wide), which means a lot of stopping and starting.  Today I left all my running stuff at home (yesterday it was my lunch, the day before my computer….i’m forgetful), which meant that a run at school would entail a trip home, back to school, back home to shower and eat, and back to school to play an opera.  Today was supposed to be an easy run, and this plan just felt too stressful for the occasion.  North of me about one or two miles is the Buffalo Bayou and the Allen Parkway, sort of the equivalent to West River Drive in Philadelphia, but not as user-friendly.  I thought about driving up to the Bayou, where there is a 5 mile loop that goes by downtown Houston.  But there is some part of me that mentally loves to run out the door, to just go.  I bring my running stuff to school so that I can do just that, so that as soon as the torture of renaissance music history I’m forced to take is finished, I can bolt, both figuratively and literally.  So today I ran out of my apartment without my iPod, without an idea of where I was going except north, and suddenly found my easy run was stunningly easy.  Montrose has such an eclectic variety of houses and architecture, dogs and cats were out on people’s yards (a puppy charged me, but I got away), the streets were empty of cars and I could run towards the shade, even traversing some cracks and hills on the sidewalk made the run more adventurous, more exciting.  I stopped and started at the traffic lights, but instead of feeling let down, I just accepted it and felt renewed after each stop.  I passed an antique junk market, a Vietnamese donut shop, Texas Art Supply, the Lovett Inn where I voted yesterday (YES!), but the best part was around I think Dallas Street, where suddenly to the right I noticed how close to downtown I had gotten, the skyline right there.  I was having this great time running, feeling as thought I could continue on and on, and suddenly it dawned on me that I was in the middle of this city. Isn’t this my sort of unspoken dream, to be lost within a city, a part of the multitude but solitary?   I crossed onto the Bayou path a few minutes later, and ran (on hills, I had forgotten how they felt!) towards the city a while, past some sculpture gardens, amidst and at times beneath a noisy highway.  On this post-election day where suddenly a whole lot more seems possible in this world, thoughts came and passed as I ran, day-dreams floated around, recipe ideas were created and discarded, occasional smiles took hold, Puccini melodies were silently whistled, I looked one more time at the skyline before turning to leave, remembered and smiled at O’Hara’s city-sketch, and thought that for today at least, Houston felt just a little more like home.

should be an interesting night, and hopefully, not any longer than necessary.  i thought i’d make good use out of my time and the computer and talk about this tarte:

3 bunches of leeks, 3 eggs, some mushrooms, onions, and garlic.  latter three sauteed til tender, then leeks added with cup of dry white wine, and eggs poured over with a touch of milk in tart pan.  simple and it was good.

and this is a snail that was crawling around outside yesterday between bouts of rain.

if butter was a sinner, a small saucepan simmering on low heat would be its confession booth.  if this doesn’t quite make sense, the butter turns into a clear liquid and an opaque yellowish substance, the impurities if you will, forms a skin on the top that you can skim off with a spoon.  when the remaining liquid is clear, you can add any spice mixture you can think up, and you can make a whole array of tweaked clarified butter.  the result is a flakey, earthy, refined form of butter that rejoices in your mouth for the sins that you have removed.

in this case, i added a clove of diced garlic and a large pinch of herbes de provence.