this morning's dark yard. tiny yellow leaves
flutter and drift. like snow. a steel sky.
black wool hangs over downtown's silver buildings.
wind whips. from 70 to 40
in less than an hour. now into 30s.
the last day. bourbon soaked egg
nog on desk in plastic bowl. plastic
ladel and paper cups. workplace holiday party. get buzzed. listen
how the children have a lot of reasons and really
who cares? papers stacked
in corner of office must mean someone is
smart. more egg nog. some crackers.
cheese. now
put self into car.
drive to the cure.
a mixed tape from 1987. it's B-sides.
that song: "man inside my mouth." suddenly high school
and your room in the dark. lying on the floor. wanting to
die. so badly. your plans to run away. how long ago that was. how
important.
how the grey
sky now matches your hair. turn right
into it. a nearly-frozen 35
by midnight.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Friday, November 24, 2006
how are you enjoying the demolition?
The noise of the deconstruction crew tearing down the Westheimer Square apartments has been going since 6a.m. I hear this crashing, slamming, splintering, dragging, motor gunning, and "I'm in reverse" beeping every morning but, usually, by the time I am showered and out the door, I forget all about it. To be home on a day off and have it as a constant sound track is nerve-jangling. Believe it.
Yesterday, when the streets of Montrose were eerily and beautifully deserted, I surveyed the damage. Almost half of the complex is gone, and the other half torn open, waiting for a giant claw to smash it to pieces. Rooms ripped in half. A bathroom with the floor torn out, but the toilet, looking a bit embarrassed, still standing. The wood, metal, plastic, and tile remains of what people called their homes have been neatly pushed into giant piles.
A couple of days ago, as I was walking back from the grocery store, I bumped into our next door neighbor (to the west of us). This is the neighbor who lives right next to the fence that divides the old complex from our dead end street. He and his partner live upstairs in a 1920-era brick duplex, and they run some kind of interior design business downstairs. They also have a gross little ratty-looking grey dog that shits all over our front yard (and they never pick it up) and yelps at the demolition noise. Their house is lovely, I think, but I also think all the 1920s-era buildings on this block are lovely, including the white brick one across the street that resembles a sad face with a black eye.
But I'm getting away from the point, which is this: When I saw the neighbor I asked, "How are you enjoying the demolition?", thinking we'd share some common annoyance about the noise, dirt, and loss of local architecture and community. But his reply was, "I cannot begin to tell you how happy that noise makes me. I'll take it any day over the cha cha music!" Cha cha music? O, of course, you racist white homo, the tejano music that residents of the complex played out of their station wagons in the evening. The music I enjoyed listening to because it went well with the sound of the church bells in the evening, and the smell of coffee that wafted over from Deidrich's coffee shop (now closed). That music.
This guy bothers me for many reasons. Last week, when Hank and I were outside thinking about doing something to cover the cement grates that lead to the crawl space under the apartment, he came over and chatted with us about the building. When we said we wished the landlord would do something about the crawl space, he said something like, "It would be even better if he just tore the whole thing down and built something new," and then he laughed and touched his moustache, nodding as if we were we all in agreement about that.
But I was stunned by this ugly comment. It made me feel bad.
It wasn't until later that night that I mustered up the courage to even tell Hank that the neighbor's words hurt me, and Hank agreed that it was a nasty thing to say. Why? Because it means that he doesn't like what he lives next to. And Hank and I do like living here, even though there are many, many problems that come with the place. It's a class thing: He's a property owner who couldn't be happier that they are about to put up what he called "very high end" condos -- four stories that will tower over our duplex, blocking out some sky. I dread this intrusion because it means that more suburbanites will move into the city, thinking it both "cool" and, now that they have four floors separating themselves from the horrible, horrible street, "safe" to live in Montrose. This guy has dollar signs in his eyes because it means, for him, lots of new business.
(I do enjoy the fussy design queens that work for our neighbor. They come in the morning, dressed in khakis and crisply ironed shirts, and smoke cigarettes out back while gossiping about their friends. They are very sweet to me, waving hello and mugging, as if caught doing something wicked, and then laughing, asking me how everything is going. A couple of them hold their hands limp at the wrist as they move about up and down the driveway. I always appreciate a queer who embodies a stereotype.)
In any case, have you realized that it has been a full year since I helped Cosmo come forth from his mother's womb? It's true. Cosmo is one year old, and Hank and I are about to walk up Hazard for the open house birthday party. Watching him spiral out of his mother and into the hands of the midwife was, perhaps, the most astonishing thing I have ever seen.
Yesterday, when the streets of Montrose were eerily and beautifully deserted, I surveyed the damage. Almost half of the complex is gone, and the other half torn open, waiting for a giant claw to smash it to pieces. Rooms ripped in half. A bathroom with the floor torn out, but the toilet, looking a bit embarrassed, still standing. The wood, metal, plastic, and tile remains of what people called their homes have been neatly pushed into giant piles.
A couple of days ago, as I was walking back from the grocery store, I bumped into our next door neighbor (to the west of us). This is the neighbor who lives right next to the fence that divides the old complex from our dead end street. He and his partner live upstairs in a 1920-era brick duplex, and they run some kind of interior design business downstairs. They also have a gross little ratty-looking grey dog that shits all over our front yard (and they never pick it up) and yelps at the demolition noise. Their house is lovely, I think, but I also think all the 1920s-era buildings on this block are lovely, including the white brick one across the street that resembles a sad face with a black eye.
But I'm getting away from the point, which is this: When I saw the neighbor I asked, "How are you enjoying the demolition?", thinking we'd share some common annoyance about the noise, dirt, and loss of local architecture and community. But his reply was, "I cannot begin to tell you how happy that noise makes me. I'll take it any day over the cha cha music!" Cha cha music? O, of course, you racist white homo, the tejano music that residents of the complex played out of their station wagons in the evening. The music I enjoyed listening to because it went well with the sound of the church bells in the evening, and the smell of coffee that wafted over from Deidrich's coffee shop (now closed). That music.
This guy bothers me for many reasons. Last week, when Hank and I were outside thinking about doing something to cover the cement grates that lead to the crawl space under the apartment, he came over and chatted with us about the building. When we said we wished the landlord would do something about the crawl space, he said something like, "It would be even better if he just tore the whole thing down and built something new," and then he laughed and touched his moustache, nodding as if we were we all in agreement about that.
But I was stunned by this ugly comment. It made me feel bad.
It wasn't until later that night that I mustered up the courage to even tell Hank that the neighbor's words hurt me, and Hank agreed that it was a nasty thing to say. Why? Because it means that he doesn't like what he lives next to. And Hank and I do like living here, even though there are many, many problems that come with the place. It's a class thing: He's a property owner who couldn't be happier that they are about to put up what he called "very high end" condos -- four stories that will tower over our duplex, blocking out some sky. I dread this intrusion because it means that more suburbanites will move into the city, thinking it both "cool" and, now that they have four floors separating themselves from the horrible, horrible street, "safe" to live in Montrose. This guy has dollar signs in his eyes because it means, for him, lots of new business.
(I do enjoy the fussy design queens that work for our neighbor. They come in the morning, dressed in khakis and crisply ironed shirts, and smoke cigarettes out back while gossiping about their friends. They are very sweet to me, waving hello and mugging, as if caught doing something wicked, and then laughing, asking me how everything is going. A couple of them hold their hands limp at the wrist as they move about up and down the driveway. I always appreciate a queer who embodies a stereotype.)
In any case, have you realized that it has been a full year since I helped Cosmo come forth from his mother's womb? It's true. Cosmo is one year old, and Hank and I are about to walk up Hazard for the open house birthday party. Watching him spiral out of his mother and into the hands of the midwife was, perhaps, the most astonishing thing I have ever seen.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
justice for janitors (houston)
For those of you not in Houston, you can follow the incredible demonstrations and protests in which activist workers from Houston and around the nation are participating regarding just wages and health care for janitors at http://justiceforjanitors.blogspot.com/. You'll be able to see HPD at its, um, finest.
interesting ingredients (for J.P.)
This is right from the internet, with behavioral recipes added in by me. Recipes for tofurkey, stuffing, and your choice of mushroom gravy or/and mushroom sauce, both of which are delicious. Left over tofurkey, if there is any, is really good sliced up and put on sandwiches with romain or green leaf lettuce and sliced heirloom tomatoes (if you can find and afford them).
Music
Depends on if you cook in the evening or in the morning. In the evening, listen to the righteous stylings of Erykah Badu or the deep roots of Burning Spear. Enjoy a glass of wine or two as you listen. If you cook in the morning, and you've had your coffee, measure, mix, mash, and stir to the beats of the M.I.A. or Handsome Boy Modelling School. Sing out loud and in your head. Defintely dance around the kitchen, occasionally grabbing the dishrag as your dancing partner.
Etiquette
Wash all the dirty dishes you find in the sink before you begin. Check to see if there are any forgotten pots or pans on the stove that also need washing. Might as well sweep, too. Naked cooking is interesting, but you should probably wear clothes. Barefoot is okay, but I always wear socks, no shoes. Try to avoid the phone when it rings, but do answer knocks at the door, and invite whoever has dropped by to come on in. Offer wine or coffee. Only curse when you cut yourself with a knife, accidentally forget something, or realize you used the tablespoon when you really needed the teaspoon. If you have to engage your OCD tendencies by counting every single chop, slice, or mince, go ahead and do it, but don't feel weird about it later.
Food
Tofurkey with Stuffing
Turkey:
5 pounds of firm tofu (use the TastyTofu extra firm from the Fiesta -- it's the best)
1 pound of tofu for the "drumsticks" (optional -- I never do this.)
Stuffing:
2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
1 large onion, chopped fine
1 and 1/3 cup celery, diced (about 4 stalks)
1 cup mushrooms, finely chopped
3 to 4 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup sage (may use 1/8)
2 teaspoons marjoram
2 teaspoons thyme
1 teaspoon winter or summer savory
salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon rosemary
2 teaspoons celery seed
1/4 cup soy sauce or tamari
3 cups toasted or stale bread, cubed and herbed (original recipe calls for Pepperidge Farms, but I improvise. You can also search around for other stuffing recipes on-line if this one seems boring, however this turns out great.)
Basting mixture:
1/2 cup toasted sesame oil
1/4 to 1/3 cup soy sauce or tamari
2 tablespoons miso
2 tablespoons orange juice
1 teaspoon vegan mustard of choice
improvise with anything else you think tastes good
Directions:
Mash tofu or mix well with hands. Be sure that all of the lumps are out. Line a 12" colander with wet cheesecloth over lapping the sides. Add the mashed tofu to the cloth covered colander, press down and cover with the overlapping sides. Place the whole thing in a large bowl. Cover the cheesecloth with a plate that fits inside the colander and place a 5 pound weight on the plate. Refrigerate and let sit for 2 to 3 hours.
When time is up, start the stuffing. Saute' the onions, celery and mushrooms in the 2 tablesoons sesame oil. When soft, add the garlic and all the rest of the stuffing ingredients, except stuffing, mixing well. Stir and cook for 5 minutes. Add herb stuffing and mix well.
Remove tofu from fridge and take off weight, plate and top of cheesecloth. Hollow out tofu to within 1 inch of the sides and bottom, placing the tofu in a bowl. Place the stuffing inside the shell and pack in firmly. Cover with the remaining tofu and pat down firmly. Turn stuffed tofu onto a greased baking sheet, flat side down. Gently press on sides of "turkey" to achieve a more oval shape. If desired at this point, you may mold "drumsticks" out of one pound of tofu, and place on each side of the "turkey".
Mix up the basting mixture and baste tofu "turkey" with half of it. Cover the "turkey" with foil, and bake at 400 degrees for about 1 hour.
Remove foil, baste with all the remaining mixture except a few tablespoons and return to oven for 1 hour more, or until the "turkey" is golden. Remove from oven and use rest of basting mix. Using at least 2 large spatulars, move to a large plate. Serve with the gravy of your choice, if you wish, and cranberry sauce.
NOTE: I always grow increasingly alarmed as the tofurkey roasts because the sesame oil cooks really fast and the drizzle run-off is prone to burning on the baking sheet. I worry and worry that it means that the tofurkey is burning, but it never does. Keep an eye on it. I've never seen anyone else write or complain or worry about this on-line, so it might just be me or my oven.
Mushroom Gravy
Ingredients:
1/2 cup dried mushrooms, chopped into small pieces
1 cup strong veggie broth
1 small onion, diced
2 Tbs. flour
1 1/2 Tbs. margarine
Directions:
Hydrate your chopped mushrooms with about 1/2 cup boiling water. Cover and let sit for 10 minutes.
Melt margarine in a small-medium saucepan over medium heat. Sauté the onion lightly. Don't brown too much. Add the flour, and stir constantly with a wooden spoon until frothy. Do not let it burn! Add the mushrooms and their liquid and your vegetable broth. Cook over medium heat to a boil, stirring constantly. After it comes to a boil, turn the heat down a bit and let thicken.
Serves: 6
Preparation time: 10-15
Mushroom Sauce
Ingredients:
finely diced onion
clove minced garlic
sliced or chopped mushrooms [any kind you like]
water
arrowroot, kudzu, or cornstarch [dissolved in a little cold water]
shoyu, tamari, or soy sauce
salt and pepper
thyme
vegan white wine or sherry
fresh chopped parsley
Directions:
This recipe is all to taste, and you can make as much or as little as you want, but here's the basic procedure. also, I've made it very simply before, with no wine, thyme, parsley, etc. So if you don't like something, or know of something you'd like better, experiment! In the parentheses are approximate amounts that I used.
Sauté the onion (~2 tbsp) and garlic (1 clove) in olive oil (~1 tbsp) until soft. Add mushrooms (~1/2 cup?) and let it cook until they get "watery". then add water (~1 cup), wine (just a splash for some flavor) and shoyu (to taste). Let this simmer and reduce for a bit, then add the arrowroot slurry (you'll have to experiment with the thickener, depends which one you use and what consistency you like) and thyme (to taste). Simmer/adjust thickener to get desired consistency. at the end add salt and pepper to taste, and sprinkle with parsley (optional).
This is good on just about any ol' thing. Mashed potatoes, rice and tempeh, tofu, lentil loaves... go wild! It's very nice made with crimini or some other heartier mushroom, but also delicious with plain ol' white button mushrooms.
Preparation time: 15-20 minutes
Clean up
If you live alone, you should probably clean everything up right away. That way you don't have to look at it all later and wish that you had a roommate or live-in maid. If you live with another person, you have a couple of options: 1) Leave everything for the other person to clean. This follows the logic that you have labored to cook, so the other person, naturally, must do the dirty work. Plus, you are tired of the kitchen and the other person is not. Drawbacks: The other person might not get around to it for a while, and you might be tempted to go ahead and do it yourself, later. 2) Do it right away by yourself, but make a big deal out of it. Drawbacks: The other person might call you a martyr. 3) Share the clean up with the other person. Drawbacks: If you are a control freak, you might start thinking the person is not washing dishes the right way and this might make you really cranky.
Now you are ready for Thanksgiving.
Music
Depends on if you cook in the evening or in the morning. In the evening, listen to the righteous stylings of Erykah Badu or the deep roots of Burning Spear. Enjoy a glass of wine or two as you listen. If you cook in the morning, and you've had your coffee, measure, mix, mash, and stir to the beats of the M.I.A. or Handsome Boy Modelling School. Sing out loud and in your head. Defintely dance around the kitchen, occasionally grabbing the dishrag as your dancing partner.
Etiquette
Wash all the dirty dishes you find in the sink before you begin. Check to see if there are any forgotten pots or pans on the stove that also need washing. Might as well sweep, too. Naked cooking is interesting, but you should probably wear clothes. Barefoot is okay, but I always wear socks, no shoes. Try to avoid the phone when it rings, but do answer knocks at the door, and invite whoever has dropped by to come on in. Offer wine or coffee. Only curse when you cut yourself with a knife, accidentally forget something, or realize you used the tablespoon when you really needed the teaspoon. If you have to engage your OCD tendencies by counting every single chop, slice, or mince, go ahead and do it, but don't feel weird about it later.
Food
Tofurkey with Stuffing
Turkey:
5 pounds of firm tofu (use the TastyTofu extra firm from the Fiesta -- it's the best)
1 pound of tofu for the "drumsticks" (optional -- I never do this.)
Stuffing:
2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
1 large onion, chopped fine
1 and 1/3 cup celery, diced (about 4 stalks)
1 cup mushrooms, finely chopped
3 to 4 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup sage (may use 1/8)
2 teaspoons marjoram
2 teaspoons thyme
1 teaspoon winter or summer savory
salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon rosemary
2 teaspoons celery seed
1/4 cup soy sauce or tamari
3 cups toasted or stale bread, cubed and herbed (original recipe calls for Pepperidge Farms, but I improvise. You can also search around for other stuffing recipes on-line if this one seems boring, however this turns out great.)
Basting mixture:
1/2 cup toasted sesame oil
1/4 to 1/3 cup soy sauce or tamari
2 tablespoons miso
2 tablespoons orange juice
1 teaspoon vegan mustard of choice
improvise with anything else you think tastes good
Directions:
Mash tofu or mix well with hands. Be sure that all of the lumps are out. Line a 12" colander with wet cheesecloth over lapping the sides. Add the mashed tofu to the cloth covered colander, press down and cover with the overlapping sides. Place the whole thing in a large bowl. Cover the cheesecloth with a plate that fits inside the colander and place a 5 pound weight on the plate. Refrigerate and let sit for 2 to 3 hours.
When time is up, start the stuffing. Saute' the onions, celery and mushrooms in the 2 tablesoons sesame oil. When soft, add the garlic and all the rest of the stuffing ingredients, except stuffing, mixing well. Stir and cook for 5 minutes. Add herb stuffing and mix well.
Remove tofu from fridge and take off weight, plate and top of cheesecloth. Hollow out tofu to within 1 inch of the sides and bottom, placing the tofu in a bowl. Place the stuffing inside the shell and pack in firmly. Cover with the remaining tofu and pat down firmly. Turn stuffed tofu onto a greased baking sheet, flat side down. Gently press on sides of "turkey" to achieve a more oval shape. If desired at this point, you may mold "drumsticks" out of one pound of tofu, and place on each side of the "turkey".
Mix up the basting mixture and baste tofu "turkey" with half of it. Cover the "turkey" with foil, and bake at 400 degrees for about 1 hour.
Remove foil, baste with all the remaining mixture except a few tablespoons and return to oven for 1 hour more, or until the "turkey" is golden. Remove from oven and use rest of basting mix. Using at least 2 large spatulars, move to a large plate. Serve with the gravy of your choice, if you wish, and cranberry sauce.
NOTE: I always grow increasingly alarmed as the tofurkey roasts because the sesame oil cooks really fast and the drizzle run-off is prone to burning on the baking sheet. I worry and worry that it means that the tofurkey is burning, but it never does. Keep an eye on it. I've never seen anyone else write or complain or worry about this on-line, so it might just be me or my oven.
Mushroom Gravy
Ingredients:
1/2 cup dried mushrooms, chopped into small pieces
1 cup strong veggie broth
1 small onion, diced
2 Tbs. flour
1 1/2 Tbs. margarine
Directions:
Hydrate your chopped mushrooms with about 1/2 cup boiling water. Cover and let sit for 10 minutes.
Melt margarine in a small-medium saucepan over medium heat. Sauté the onion lightly. Don't brown too much. Add the flour, and stir constantly with a wooden spoon until frothy. Do not let it burn! Add the mushrooms and their liquid and your vegetable broth. Cook over medium heat to a boil, stirring constantly. After it comes to a boil, turn the heat down a bit and let thicken.
Serves: 6
Preparation time: 10-15
Mushroom Sauce
Ingredients:
finely diced onion
clove minced garlic
sliced or chopped mushrooms [any kind you like]
water
arrowroot, kudzu, or cornstarch [dissolved in a little cold water]
shoyu, tamari, or soy sauce
salt and pepper
thyme
vegan white wine or sherry
fresh chopped parsley
Directions:
This recipe is all to taste, and you can make as much or as little as you want, but here's the basic procedure. also, I've made it very simply before, with no wine, thyme, parsley, etc. So if you don't like something, or know of something you'd like better, experiment! In the parentheses are approximate amounts that I used.
Sauté the onion (~2 tbsp) and garlic (1 clove) in olive oil (~1 tbsp) until soft. Add mushrooms (~1/2 cup?) and let it cook until they get "watery". then add water (~1 cup), wine (just a splash for some flavor) and shoyu (to taste). Let this simmer and reduce for a bit, then add the arrowroot slurry (you'll have to experiment with the thickener, depends which one you use and what consistency you like) and thyme (to taste). Simmer/adjust thickener to get desired consistency. at the end add salt and pepper to taste, and sprinkle with parsley (optional).
This is good on just about any ol' thing. Mashed potatoes, rice and tempeh, tofu, lentil loaves... go wild! It's very nice made with crimini or some other heartier mushroom, but also delicious with plain ol' white button mushrooms.
Preparation time: 15-20 minutes
Clean up
If you live alone, you should probably clean everything up right away. That way you don't have to look at it all later and wish that you had a roommate or live-in maid. If you live with another person, you have a couple of options: 1) Leave everything for the other person to clean. This follows the logic that you have labored to cook, so the other person, naturally, must do the dirty work. Plus, you are tired of the kitchen and the other person is not. Drawbacks: The other person might not get around to it for a while, and you might be tempted to go ahead and do it yourself, later. 2) Do it right away by yourself, but make a big deal out of it. Drawbacks: The other person might call you a martyr. 3) Share the clean up with the other person. Drawbacks: If you are a control freak, you might start thinking the person is not washing dishes the right way and this might make you really cranky.
Now you are ready for Thanksgiving.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
when the toaster says "ding!" (and i've suddenly written about being a vegetarian)
This morning I have decided that, if I were not an academic, I would have to be a grill cook. It gives me immense satisfaction to a have a spinach and cheddar omelette slowly cooking on one burner, stewed tomatoes on another, soy patties frying on a third, coffee percolating, and some bread toasting all at the same time and when the toaster says "ding!" the whole meal is ready at once and dished out on heavy blue fiesta ware plates. Mm.
That said, I was thinking, as I was unwrapping the above-mentioned "soy patties" (which are really called "veggie sausage"), about fake meats, especially since Thanksgiving is coming up and, also, because I recently rehearsed the fake meats conversation I have about every year or so with a friend who is not a vegetarian. It's one of those things about which, when i first became a vegetarian (fifteen years ago, now), I was confused. If I have decided not to eat meat, then why would I want seitan-shaped and flavored "ham"? Why the "no-chik" chicken tenders? I don't want to think "Wow -- it tastes *just like* real ham/steak/turkey/duck" when I am eating. The whole point is that I *don't* want to taste any of those things.
You know how it happened, right? I was having really awful, recurring dreams about dead animals. Scary. Violent. Bloody and full of gristle. The nightmares stayed with me during my waking hours, and I realized one evening, while eating cheese steaks with my meat-loving family, that I was really not supposed to be eating animals. I remember trying to just get through the meal, make it through without reacting so I could think about it later. I was not able to do it, and I quietly announced that what we were doing seemed wrong to me and maybe we should talk about it. It felt weird, but correct, and I never looked back. Thankfully, I knew vegetarians and vegans who let me in on the secrets of cooking, protein sources, etc., and who also clued me in to the fascinating politics of meat-consumption, which really helped me see the decision I made (which was not, at first, political as much as it was deeply psychological) with new eyes. (It was harder for some members of my family to understand my vegetarianism than it was for them to understand the gay thing or the literary and cultural critic thing or the anarcho-socialist thing. Although, if you were my therapist, you might point out that they're not all that different.)
For a long, long, long time, I've been enjoying lots of legumes, tofu, nuts, cheeses, etc. And every once in a while, I will eat a veggie burger or garden burger. I don't think of a veggie burger as food that tastes just like a hamburger -- clearly, for anyone who has eaten both, there is a difference. But every once in a while, I get bored. And I want something different. And I pass the weird aisle at the Fiesta where there are boxes and boxes of all different kinds of MorningStar Farms fake meats and I think, "I don't want fake chicken or a no-meat corn dog or a veggie salisbury steak, but hey! What about this fakin' bacon? I could eat that." or "Hm -- I am so tired of my avocado and sprout sandwiches. What if I got these tofu pups? These not-dogs? That might make it so that I am not ravenous an hour after I eat." But I want to stress that, while I enjoy these foods, they don't taste like what they resemble, and I don't relish their flavor because I am wishing that it was really an animal's innards that I am eating. It's more that, after fifteen years of strict vegetarianism in the dead cow capital of the U.S., and being friends with many, many, many "vegetarians" who tell me how guilty they feel because they gorged on parts of a dead bird that was probably raised in its own filth trapped in a cage in a factory farm, I'm going to go ahead and put the soyrizo in my basket and crumble it into my chili.
I know, that sounds mean, but I rarely -- if ever -- sound off about such things. You could come over wearing your fur coat, take me to a French restaurant and order the fois gras and I wouldn't say a word. This is because I don't think that guilt should inform food or clothing choices. That can be really damaging (ask me sometime about an animal rights activist with an eating disorder I knew who had a poster of a vivsectioned monkey on her refrigerator and nothing but bottles of water inside -- true story!). Also, notice I am not a vegan. And I often buy my vegetables from the Randall's grocery store close by (which I do not like) that sells me ginger from China, not locally grown organic stuff from the community. I'm not pure (although I am obsessed with the concept, and wrote many chapters of my dissertation about it), but there are weeks that go by where I realize I have been eating vegan, and being conscious about that is important to me. I would rather not smoke corpoprate cigarettes [or any tobacco, for that matter], but I do that, too -- talk about dangerous and bad for you . . . These are things that, if they are going to change, it's not going to happen because someone has made me feel bad. You see what I'm getting at?
That said, if it's in demand, I'll go ahead and make another tofurkey this year -- from scratch. Since Hank and I have moved in together, I've made a couple of them based on a recipe I got from David E. (true veggie-friend who has a tattooed cow on his back -- ask him if you can see it next time you run into him). It's really easy and a lot of fun, and it makes me smile when it comes out just right.
That said, I was thinking, as I was unwrapping the above-mentioned "soy patties" (which are really called "veggie sausage"), about fake meats, especially since Thanksgiving is coming up and, also, because I recently rehearsed the fake meats conversation I have about every year or so with a friend who is not a vegetarian. It's one of those things about which, when i first became a vegetarian (fifteen years ago, now), I was confused. If I have decided not to eat meat, then why would I want seitan-shaped and flavored "ham"? Why the "no-chik" chicken tenders? I don't want to think "Wow -- it tastes *just like* real ham/steak/turkey/duck" when I am eating. The whole point is that I *don't* want to taste any of those things.
You know how it happened, right? I was having really awful, recurring dreams about dead animals. Scary. Violent. Bloody and full of gristle. The nightmares stayed with me during my waking hours, and I realized one evening, while eating cheese steaks with my meat-loving family, that I was really not supposed to be eating animals. I remember trying to just get through the meal, make it through without reacting so I could think about it later. I was not able to do it, and I quietly announced that what we were doing seemed wrong to me and maybe we should talk about it. It felt weird, but correct, and I never looked back. Thankfully, I knew vegetarians and vegans who let me in on the secrets of cooking, protein sources, etc., and who also clued me in to the fascinating politics of meat-consumption, which really helped me see the decision I made (which was not, at first, political as much as it was deeply psychological) with new eyes. (It was harder for some members of my family to understand my vegetarianism than it was for them to understand the gay thing or the literary and cultural critic thing or the anarcho-socialist thing. Although, if you were my therapist, you might point out that they're not all that different.)
For a long, long, long time, I've been enjoying lots of legumes, tofu, nuts, cheeses, etc. And every once in a while, I will eat a veggie burger or garden burger. I don't think of a veggie burger as food that tastes just like a hamburger -- clearly, for anyone who has eaten both, there is a difference. But every once in a while, I get bored. And I want something different. And I pass the weird aisle at the Fiesta where there are boxes and boxes of all different kinds of MorningStar Farms fake meats and I think, "I don't want fake chicken or a no-meat corn dog or a veggie salisbury steak, but hey! What about this fakin' bacon? I could eat that." or "Hm -- I am so tired of my avocado and sprout sandwiches. What if I got these tofu pups? These not-dogs? That might make it so that I am not ravenous an hour after I eat." But I want to stress that, while I enjoy these foods, they don't taste like what they resemble, and I don't relish their flavor because I am wishing that it was really an animal's innards that I am eating. It's more that, after fifteen years of strict vegetarianism in the dead cow capital of the U.S., and being friends with many, many, many "vegetarians" who tell me how guilty they feel because they gorged on parts of a dead bird that was probably raised in its own filth trapped in a cage in a factory farm, I'm going to go ahead and put the soyrizo in my basket and crumble it into my chili.
I know, that sounds mean, but I rarely -- if ever -- sound off about such things. You could come over wearing your fur coat, take me to a French restaurant and order the fois gras and I wouldn't say a word. This is because I don't think that guilt should inform food or clothing choices. That can be really damaging (ask me sometime about an animal rights activist with an eating disorder I knew who had a poster of a vivsectioned monkey on her refrigerator and nothing but bottles of water inside -- true story!). Also, notice I am not a vegan. And I often buy my vegetables from the Randall's grocery store close by (which I do not like) that sells me ginger from China, not locally grown organic stuff from the community. I'm not pure (although I am obsessed with the concept, and wrote many chapters of my dissertation about it), but there are weeks that go by where I realize I have been eating vegan, and being conscious about that is important to me. I would rather not smoke corpoprate cigarettes [or any tobacco, for that matter], but I do that, too -- talk about dangerous and bad for you . . . These are things that, if they are going to change, it's not going to happen because someone has made me feel bad. You see what I'm getting at?
That said, if it's in demand, I'll go ahead and make another tofurkey this year -- from scratch. Since Hank and I have moved in together, I've made a couple of them based on a recipe I got from David E. (true veggie-friend who has a tattooed cow on his back -- ask him if you can see it next time you run into him). It's really easy and a lot of fun, and it makes me smile when it comes out just right.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
how to spend election day
Forget to tell students to remember to vote. Receive phone call from discourse-obsessed partner reminding you that there will be hours of radio and television to monitor this evening, and that Todd is coming over to listen and watch. Have disheartening discussions with left-wing colleagues about the future of the nation. Ignore Libertarians who hang out and table on bridge near workplace. Notice how many Kinky posters are up on co-workers' doors. Wonder if your precinct's polling station has moved since last year. Look forward to the walk over to the beautiful school. Think about all of the walks you took to cast your ballot over the years. Remember 2000 when you stayed up all night drinking white wine hoping that, for once, the person you voted for would win and how, when he lost, you yelled (rather dramatically [and perhaps a little drunkenly]) the word "NO!!" long and loud at the top of your lungs out the front door and into the wee hours of the Montrose morning. Shudder over all that's happened since then. See a W'04 sticker on an SUV on Allen Parkway and wonder if the driver feels stupid for having it. Consider that this might be what people think about your own SUV=WWIII sticker. Arrive home early to your partner who has realized that he is still registered to vote in the Heights. Give the key to the SUV=WWIII vehicle to partner so he can go vote. Find the mail amazingly free of political flyers or envelopes. Realize you haven't paid Green Mountain in two months. Wander over to the polling place, carefully avoiding those canvassing. Feel self conscious about how you walk. Open the door and see no one waiting in line. Recognize your neighbor, the old woman across the street, who checks your voter's registration card (secretly be pleased that you don't use your, um, driver's license). Remember that she didn't recognize you last year, either. Vote. Come home and snooze for about a half hour. Awaken to your partner cooking tacos. Pay attention to the voice that says you do not want another bean-filled meal. Cook spaghetti and a small salad. Enjoy it. Receive a phone call from your older sister, on her way home from voting in the hills of New Jersey. Discuss politics briefly before inquiring about your nieces and nephew. Laugh about your nephew's reticence, how he only points to communicate. Tell your sister how much you love her. Hang up and wait for the polls to come in. Pop a bottle of wine, as per tradition.
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