The beaver is a proud and noble animal
Notes from a bemused canuck
It’s a hard life
It’s not fancy or by any means gourmet, but it goes great with salty chips and cold beer. Ripe summer tomatoes make a fresh pico de gallo that is out of this world, but for the rest of the year, you want canned tomatoes.
Love a chunky salsa? Prefer it puréed to oblivion? No problem. You can make a chunky salsa by pulsing the blender a few times, or leave it running until the salsa is as smooth as you like it. For a thicker texture, you can also drain the tomatoes before blending.
This salsa is best if you can let it chill for at least 30 minutes before serving, and it’s even better the next day; this gives the flavors in the salsa time to mingle and mellow. The fresh-made salsa is good, but the salsa you serve a little while later will be even better.
1 large can whole peeled tomatoes with their juices
1 bunch fresh coriander, loosely packed
1 small red onion, coarsely chopped
2 medium jalapeños, seeds and membranes removed, coarsely chopped
2 tbsp freshly squeezed lime juice (from 1 lime)
kosher salt and pepper, to the taste
Place all the ingredients in a blender or food processor.
Pulse in 1-second pulses until the salsa is as chunky or smooth as you like it.
Taste and stir in more lime juice or salt with a spatula as needed.
Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to a week.
Store and refrigerate in an airtight container for up to 1 week.
Every show has the same 4 contestants:
– overconfident alpha male (probably with hipster facial hair, but not always)
– young gun just starting out / old fart just about to retire
– token female
– Italian dude (sometimes Asian)
Every show has a trigger-inducing sob story:
Judge: So tell me about why you decided to glaze the pasty.
Contestant: Well growing up my father never loved me and my mother died a tragic death.
Ted: Thank you chef.
You’ve been chopped. Thank you chef. Be well!
If I am an advocate for anything, it is to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. Walk in someone else’s shoes or at least eat their food. It’s a plus for everybody.
I don’t have to agree with you to like you or respect you.
An egg in anything makes it better.
Your body is not a temple, it’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.
Meals make the society, hold the fabric together in lots of ways that were charming and interesting and intoxicating to me. The perfect meal, or the best meals, occur in a context that frequently has very little to do with the food itself.
Context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one’s life.
You learn a lot about someone when you share a meal together.
Don’t lie about it. You made a mistake. Admit it and move on. Just don’t do it again. Ever.
What nicer thing can you do for somebody than make them breakfast?
I wanted kicks—the kind of melodramatic thrills and chills I’d yearned for since childhood, the kind of adventure I’d found as a little boy in the pages of my Tintin comic books.
I have long believed that it is only right and appropriate that before one sleeps with someone, one should be able—if called upon to do so—to make them a proper omelet in the morning. Surely that kind of civility and selflessness would be both good manners and good for the world. Perhaps omelet skills should be learned at the same time you learn to fuck. Perhaps there should be an unspoken agreement that in the event of loss of virginity, the more experienced of the partners should, afterward, make the other an omelet—passing along the skill at an important and presumably memorable moment.
Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom… is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.
I’m not afraid to look like an idiot.
Eat adventurously around a child. Let them find their way to the food.
The annual family picnic held a lot of promise, with bouncy castles, drones flights, rc cars, roller coaster simulator, among others. Sadly, the crappy weather we’ve been having had other plans. The site turned into a giant boggy mess.
We still managed to eat out own body weight in chips, cheese, fruit skewers, and grilled chicken, duck, beef, turkey, pork, lamb, sausages and salads. Then there were crêpes, tartlets, meringues and waffle biscuits for desserts.
Sometimes it feels like this is upper management’s handbook :)
One of the upsides of being at the NRC is having access to some of the social activities. I’ve joined the oenology club. Last week, we had a tasting of South African wines. This week, we went to Changins, the Swiss national center of excellence for training in viticulture, oenology and arboriculture.
They have over 50 types of vines growing on a plot the size of our old garden in Hinxton, and each year, the students must do a winemaking project that can use any sort of process, technique and instrumentation that they have available. Many of the local growers will donate parts of their harvest to the school to aid the students (because, you know, it’s not always easy to find 6 tons of grapes at the drop of a hat).
