Roast chicken

Flickr

Mmmmmm. That was some good chicken! I started here, and made the Lemon Chicken with Garlic version. We didn’t mess around with making sauce from the pan drippings; an ill-considered decision to bung portobello mushrooms into the pan too early resulted in fragrant, flavorful charcoal in the bottom of the roasting pan.

However, the chicken turned out to be delicious and juicy, with crispy skin and tons of herby flavor goodness.

In addition to which, we made yummy latkes!! MMMMMMMMMMM!!

We pretty much followed the recipe for Shirley Edelman’s Latkes to the letter:

Shirley Edelman’s Latkes

5 large potatoes, peeled
1 large onion
2 eggs
1/4 to 1/3 cup matzo meal
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1 tsp baking powder
vegetable oil for frying

Grate potatoes and onion. Traditionalists insist on grating by hand, noting that a little skin and blood gives latkes their unique flavor. Pragmatists—including the septuagenarian author of this recipe—have converted to using the shredder blade on a food processor. Add eggs and mix well. Add matzo meal, salt, pepper, and baking powder, and mix well. (There can be no certainty on the appropriate amount of matzo meal: every potato, every onion, and every egg is different. Cooking, like constitutional law, is a messy business.) Heat oil—again, judgment and experience must substitute for black-letter rules on amounts—in a frying pan. Add the potato mixture approximately one tablespoon at a time. Cook pancakes until golden brown; turn and cook until other side is golden.

Makes 30-40 latkes, enough for 2-10 people. Serve with applesauce, sour cream, or plain.

Based on a little post-latke research, we ended up using the right amount of oil, around half an inch. Next time it would be good to have an even bigger skillet (we have a pretty big one as it is, but could have used more room).

The roast garlic got squeezed out onto the plate with the sour cream and cinnamon applesauce and by default sort of accidentally on purpose got smooshed up with the latkes. Unexpectedly scrummy and delicious! MMMMMMM!

Oh, yes. We’ll make latkes again. Most definitely.

And roast chicken again, too. Maybe next time, we’ll do something with the pan drippings.

Via: Flickr Title: Roast chicken By: GinnyRED57
Originally uploaded: 31 Dec ’05, 11.41pm PST

Torture in Uzbekistan: It’s Not About Democracy, Stupid

British bloggers are risking a lot by getting this information out. In my own modest way, I have to help. I ran across this at Boing Boing:

Ignoring UK Ban, bloggers publish leaked torture memos

The following is from a speech former UK Ambassador to Uzbekistan Craig Murray gave in York last February, after he’d been sacked for speaking out and before the Foreign Office’s attempt to censor his forthcoming book about his experience. The telegrams are quoted in full and there are graphic descriptions of torture, carried out in the name of “democracy” and “freedom” and “the war on terror.”

But really, it’s about oil, power, and the kind of intel that tends to support high military and anti-terrorism budgets, and we’re paying for it.

Just in the last couple of days the go-ahead has been given for the construction of the pipeline to Afghanistan which will bring Central Asia’s massive gas reserves out. Uzbekistan while the dominant country in central Asia it does not have the dominant amount of hydro-carbons but in terms of military strength and population it is the dominant regional player and central Asia has enough gas to supply the Western world at present levels of consumption for at least fifty years. So this is all about power play and hydro-carbons and if that power play is best advanced by backing a dictator that’s fine so long as no-one knows about it because no-one in the West does know about it. The number of people in the West who already know the things I have told you is extremely small. You’re probably the only people in York who know anything about Uzbekistan. The Uzbek’s play their part and help the American justification for what they are doing by saying that they are an integral part in the war on terror. The main way they do this is by providing intelligence material linking the Uzbek opposition to Al-Qaeda.

In November 2002 I was sitting looking through MI6 intelligence material I saw some of which the markings indicated it was a re-release of CIA material passed on from another security service – from the text it was plain that was Uzbek. There were two intelligence reports; one about a threat to Samarqand – a city in Uzbekistan- from Tajik militants in the hills- Islamic militants who were supposedly going to sweep down and attack the city. We happened to know that this just wasn’t true- the defense attach� had been there, we knew the places, there weren’t training camps where it said there were. The second one was talking of the links between some Uzbek opposition group with Al-Qaeda and Osama Bin Laden – it was just the same formula that I had seen before. And I started thinking now has this been got through torture? How did it get here? Where did it come from? So I said to my deputy ‘I want to go back to London and complain about this but I don’t want to make a fool of myself so could you go and see the Americans because it’s possible that they have a protocol in place to make sure that any information passed on by the Uzbek’s doesn’t come from torture. Perhaps Americans have to be present during Uzbek interrogation if the material is to be used by the Americans.’

This of course is before Abu Ghraib when I rather naively felt that having Americans present at the interrogation would prevent people being tortured as opposed to helping to facilitate it. So She went and saw the CIA head of station in Tashkent and said to him’ my boss has been worried that this intelligence might be obtained by torture’ and he said to her ’well it probably is obtained by torture – we don’t see that as a problem’ She came back and reported to me so I went back to London saying’ This material is nonsense and probably obtained by torture’ London did not actually reply.

After several attempts to get the Foreign Office to see the error of their ways, and the folly of trying to stay in good graces with the country I’m forced to call “Torturers ‘R U.S.”, Mr Murray was “sacked” (translation: “fired”) as the UK Ambassador to Uzbekistan, and several months later he resigned entirely from the UK diplomatic corps. There’s more about him here.

And with that, here’s hoping for a happier new year.

Attention Timmy: Don’t Show Mom This Article

Michigan man bowls third 300 game of life, then dies

PORTAGE, Mich. (AP) – He rolled the third perfect game of his life and then collapsed and died at the bowling alley.

Sixty-nine-year-old Ed Lorenz bowled a 300 in his first game last night at Airway Lanes in Portage. In the middle of his second game, he clutched his chest and fell over. Efforts to revive him failed.

Mom’s a good bowler – just don’t give her any ideas.

Slings and Arrows

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them.

– Hamlet’s third soliloquy

Chicago Tribune | Maureen Ryan | The Watchie Awards

I’ve been meaning to look up links and information on the Canadian comedy series “Slings and Arrows” for a while now. It’s been on the Sundance Channel.

It’s a theatrical comedy, with wit and barbs as sharp as rapiers (“Buttons OFF!”). The main character is Geoffrey, an actor who’s gone a little crazy since his last appearance at the New Burbage Shakespeare Festival, when he totally lost it while playing Hamlet one night. He returns to take the reins as interim artistic director, and also to spend a lot of time arguing with the ghost of his mentor, Oliver. That the company is putting on a controversial production of Hamlet just adds to his aggravations.

There’s a memorable party scene early on that sets up a lot of the comedic conflict for Geoffrey, who battles with just about everyone during the series, including himself and his ghostly buddy, Oliver. He goes to his ex-girlfriend’s house, to a party that he is specifically and pointedly not invited to attend, and of course being completely drunk, challenges the play’s director to a duel with fencing foils. They have a history, too. Hence, the “buttons OFF” comment. A wacky duel ensues, which only ends when the mousy stage manager, who’s had more than enough to drink herself, declaims loudly, “ACTORS! Yerrrrr all the same…” and ending up, “Well, fuck you. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU allllll.” She collapses into her drink as everyone else spontaneously decides the party’s over.

I took her speech as something backstage staff (especially assitant directors and stage managers) have been dying to say to actors all their professional lives. From the backstage info, it’s apparent that this project is most definitely written by actors, about actors, for actors.

I’m happy to see that there’ll be a second season, where the company will take a whack at “the Scottish play.”

Moolti-pass Flicks: Can’t Hardly Wait

There are some movies that you see once in the theaters and forget. There are other movies that you see once in the theaters, forget, and watch once more when it comes to cable. And then you forget it again. There’s a third class of movies that you saw multiple times in theaters, bought the DVDs, and yet you STILL watch them when they show up on cable – this latter class includes the Lord of the Rings movies, the Harry Potter movies, and so on. One other type of movie seen in first run is the kind where you can’t quite bring yourself to buy the DVD, or it’s never come out in DVD format, but you’ll watch it every single time it shows up on TiVo. Such movies as “The Fifth Element” fall into this category (which is where I got the “moolti-pass” joke.)

And then there are some movies that you never saw in first run, but when they show up in the cable rotation, you watched out of idle curiousity. Suddenly, you’re hooked, and you will happily watch them over and over again, because for some mysterious reason, you absolutely love them and can’t think why you didn’t see them in the theater.

Such a movie is “Can’t Hardly Wait,” a movie made in 1998. In some ways, it’s the “American Graffiti” of its generation, but with better dialogue (remember who wrote AG? I rest my case).

The characters are pretty stock, but the cast is good.

Also, the background action is sometimes pretty funny, but there’s no explanation. Why does that weedy little teen keep showing up and stealing stuff right from under everyone’s noses? At one point, he boosts a patrol car. No one notices this.

Preston? Pre-STONE! I can watch this movie over, and over, and over. Why? I’m always spotting something I didn’t notice before, like the fact that the actor playing the hippy guy that licks a brownie off of Denise’s face is an alum of “Six Feet Under,” as is the actress that plays Denise. There are 3 pretty well-known actors in the “uncredited” section – Jenna Elfman, Melissa Joan Hart, and Jerry O’Connell, not to mention several more like Liv Tyler who did voiceovers.

Like I say, it’s like American Graffiti, but much more contemporary, since it contains a fairly decent re-creation of the lightsaber duel between Luke and Darth Vader, with flashlights.

Friends Don’t Let Friends Tell This Joke

I heard this one just now, and gave it the thundering silence it so richly deserved. Remember, people, if I’m talking to you on the phone at work, the clock is ticking! Don’t crack a joke unless it’s actually funny!

Me (in just-the-facts mode): “What’s your phone number?”
Caller (in sheepish I’m-such-a-hick mode): “It’s my pager.”
Me (in crisper, fact-checking mode): “Pager number?”
Caller (in damn-I’m-funny mode): “1-800-I-WISH-I-HAD-A-CELLPHONE”
Me (in crickets chirping mode): …
Caller (in damn-I’m-not-so-funny mode): “Sorry…”
Me (in even more crisp JUST THE FACTS mode): “PHONE number?”

Keep in mind, I can type at dictation speed, so when I ask a question, I expect an answer that I enter in the record and move on to the next question.

Thank you for calling. Buh-bye.

Where in the HELL is the Baby Jebus?

No one actually said this on Christmas Eve at Holy Moly. But there was a moment when it must have crossed someone’s mind. When I arrived at the church for a quick run-through of some of the music for that night’s service (which included an extra half-hour singing carols) there was a large altar party being walked through its route. There were about 4 times as many people as usual, what with extra torchbearers and other ecclesiastical supernumeraries, and they had a more complicated processional path to follow, in order to end up by the little creche that was set up at one side of the sanctuary.

They practiced their moves, we went over our musical stuff. The service started with a hitch, because we had a new guest organist, and I gave her the go-ahead a little early. Woops! But we pretended it was just a prelude. Then we started the half hour of carols (note to self: if we do this next year, the carols need to be the really well-known, familiar ones, not the obscure ones). About two-thirds of the way through, the son of one of my choir buddies came over in some haste and got his mom to go with him. This made for an awkward bit while she scooted out, and I switched over to singing melody.

After a while, she came back, walking in that circumspect way that people wearing “church clothes” do when having to move around during a service.

We finished with the carols, and then the choir walked back to the behind-the-scenes hallway where we would follow the altar party in to start the actual service. There was another little pause, and then some scuffling around, and then one of the kids was handed the Baby Jesus to carry in the procession. We processed in, the altar party went over to the creche, and the Christ Child was placed on his little manger (actually, it’s a carved wooden bookstand, covered with straw and greenery). The rest of the service went off in the normal way – singing, prayers, a sermon, more singing, the Eucharist, and then singing “Silent Night” by candlelight.

Later, when we were enjoying a plateful of shared nosh downstairs, I asked my buddy why her son came and got her in the middle of a choral piece, instead of waiting until the music was over.

Turns out that they’d misplaced the Baby Jebus, and no one knew where He was. But He was found in a cupboard somewhere, and so it all worked out.

A Modern Mystery Play

This story in the Chicago Tribune got me wondering what the real deal was: Chicago Tribune | Winnetka couple arrested after standoff

A nearly four-hour police standoff in downtown Winnetka came to an end this morning after a couple who allegedly threatened an officer and barricaded themselves in an apartment surrendered.

“They carried him out in his underwear,” said Tim Klein, 13, a neighborhood youth who watched as police brought the couple out of their apartment. “Then a woman came out in her nightgown, and she got into the police car.”

The incident began about 5 a.m. when a police officer in his squad car came upon a man and a woman arguing outside an apartment building on the 500 block of Chestnut Street, Winnetka Police Chief Joseph DeLopez said.

So: they started off arguing outside the building, at oh-dark five. At this time of year, it’s pitch black outside – it doesn’t really start to get light for another couple of hours. And it’s hella cold if you’re only clad in your PJ’s – it’s below freezing, but not in the low teens or below zero or anything. And was the man in his underwear then, too? If so: brr.

So then, they go back inside when confronted by the cop, and do what? Make coffee? Go back to bed? Get undressed?

It just doesn’t make a lot of sense. If I were caught arguing with my husband in the street in the pre-dawn darkness(not that this would happen, just “what if”) and the cops surrounded the place, all S.W.A.T.ed up, I’d put on some damn clothes. It’s the cops outside, for God’s sake!

And I’d tell David to put some pants on.

UPDATE: More mystery ensues.

But the man’s father, Amedee Jones of Deerfield, disputed the official account. In remarks to reporters outside the police department, Jones said an officer who had dated his son’s girlfriend was harassing her, provoking the incident.

“He called and said, ‘Dad, there’s a bunch of police out here. I’m scared, I don’t know what to do,'” Jones said. “I advised him to basically hold on, to just stay there, to do nothing until we heard from our attorney to find out what the best thing to do was.”

Oh ho – police involvement? Wait and see.

I’m Broadcasting, Baby!

Macally PodFM FM transmitter for iPod

David got me this fun little gadget for my car – it takes the output from my iPod Mini and broadcasts a low-power FM signal, which is then picked up by my car stereo. It’s got 3 pre-sets, but you can program it to broadcast at any wavelength. Tune the car radio to the same frequency, and wah lah! Your tunes are on the radio!

I’m not sure how far its effective transmission distance is, but it’s a fun toy. Also, it’ll be fun to take a lot of tunes with us when we travel.

Adam Felber’s Seasonal Greetings

Humorist and damn-fine blogger Adam Felber comments on the (mostly harmless) “War on Christmas” and wishes his readers the politically corrected holiday wishes:

Fanatical Apathy – Merry Christmas, Mr. O’Reilly…

But what I really wanted to do this holiday season was to wish all of you, the readers of Fanatical Apathy, the merriest and happiest of holidays. I hope you get all the gifts you want and give away more than you can afford. I wish you all the best. May your cups runneth over, and may your designated drivers help you clean up afterwards.

Remember late tonight, when you’re tucked into bed and are pretty sure that you can hear the sleigh-plane of Secula Clause and his eight Evolutionarily Unlikely But Free Range And Well-Treated Reindeer-Americans off in the distance, remember what this season is really all about: Loving each other (as long as you’re of the same gender), and hating America.

Merry Christmas!

Remember late tonight, when you’re tucked into bed and are pretty sure that you can hear the sleigh-plane of Secula Clause and his eight Evolutionarily Unlikely But Free Range And Well-Treated Reindeer-Americans off in the distance, remember what this season is really all about: Loving each other (as long as you’re of the same gender), and hating America.

Merry Christmas!