small place, lots of bikes

Asian-ish Slaw or Something Like That.

Seems like this is becoming a food blog. That’s ok. In the immortal words of the Descendants on the wildly influential Fat Wreck Chords compilation Short Songs For Short People, “Food Is Good.”

Anyway, tonight the upstairs neighbor (@CaptainE on Twitter) and I are grilling up some kebabs ( i pronounce it “kee-babs”, with an exaggerated “ee” sound. It’s fun). My kebabs are pork and veggies and I marinated the meat in Soy Vay Island Teriyaki, and with the leftover marinade I’m currently making a sticky sauce. But the sauce is not what I’m sharing. The hasty Asian slaw is what I’m sharing tonight. I considered writing the description in one looooong run-on sentence to convey the harried mindset necessary to properlay make this, but I’ll spare you (and myself) that. Let’s compromise and forego bullet points. Here goes…

Chop up cabbage. I used red cuz it’s visually appealing (okay, pretty). Thinly slice some onion. Chop up some fresh cilantro. Throw those in a bowl. Pour in some rice vinegar, lime juice (don’t bother if it’s in a bottle), soy sauce, maybe some other fruit juice, like pineapple (just a bit), salt, sugar, and sesame oil. Mix. Taste. Adjsut ingredients to taste. let sit for a little while if possible. If not, don’t sweat it. Mix again before serving, top with seame seeds. Share and Eat. Accept praise gratuitously.

-john

The Concept of Friends

I’m not talking about Facebook “friends” or Twitter followers or any nebulous Web 2.0 concept of a relationship. This is about actual friends. Real friends. Friends you can touch, hug, punch.

The backstory: I’ve spent my life as an individual dispaying a curious dichotomy: at once outgoing and gregarious while being introverted with a sense of self-sufficiency. I don’t have many friends, but those I have I adore and have limitless respect for, even if I am bad at keeping in touch. I’m happy for them when thngs go well, I’m one of the first to dive in to help when things don’t. I don’t ask much from friends. I rarely ask for help anytime, from anyone- a trait I developed at a young age.

Naturally, this approach is not optimal. I have a tendency to keep forging on stubbornly and I treat the resulting scars as part and parcel of the process of improving oneself. I’ve never considered life to be easy, but I’ve never complained about the beatings its given me. The hope of creating a success, of finally completing something, of having providence smile upon me for just long enough to do something great is what keeps me going.

Yet that glimmer of hope is starting to fade. Has been, but I keep going. Learning but not accomplishing. Advancing yet stumbling. But I keep pushing that figurative rock up the mountain. Maybe THIS time, it will work. Maybe.

Then, right when that rock is about to roll over me again, there’s someone there holding it. Friends. People in my life who I would do anything for. People in my life from whom I would never ask for anything.

And I’m floored. My view of friendship is not duplex. Doing or acting expecting something in return is not friendship, it’s commerce. And this is such a new experience for me I really don’t know how to handle it.

So, Thank you.

-john

Adventures With Red Cabbage

Tonight I cooked a good Teutonic(ish) meal: grilled Kielbasa (I know, Polish), red cabbage, potatoes (ok, fries) and grilled asparagus. But this is not a story about meat, starch and greens. This is a story- a short and most likely uninteresting story about Red Cabbage.

Since I was planning on grilling a Germanic meat, I felt that I wanted an appropriate side to go with that, for tonight we’ll consider it a salad. To cook red cabbage in the traditional manner you simply slice up some red cabbage and some onion. You put the onion with butter or bacon (or both) in a cast-iron frying pan. Slowly saute’ until fragrant but before it starts to caramelize. Throw in the cabbage, mix it around and get it good and greasy and after it’s cooked for a bit you then toss in some cider vinegar and maybe some water (beer or apple cider would work well too). Put the lid on and let it steam for a bit. If you have any apple feel free to slice some up and toss that in too. Let it steam for a bit- the texture is better when the cabbage has cooked down soft. This takes maybe an hour or so.

Keep an eye on the liquid, if it’s watery let it cook with the lid off but be sure to not let it dry out too much. At this point I put in some brown sugar. Notice that I haven’t listed any quantities- good cooking comes from developing a feel and by learning from your mistakes. I just throw some things together, cook it like it’s always been done until it resonates with completeness.

This method, while adventurous, does sometimes result in the occasional unintended consequence. Like tonight’s cabbage.

I started out with perhaps a bit too much butter. No big deal, really. But then I poured in the last little bit of my jar of vinegar, which did turn out to be too much. Okay, so it will be extra tart tonight. Then when I added the sugar I had a bit of a heavy hand while wielding the sugar bag. Okay, well, sweet cabbage was never a problem, and will maybe balance the vinegar better.

What I got was worthy of dessert. A deep purple sauce- rich, sweet, and mysterious with slender tendrils of supple cabbage (makes you want to hum Smoke on the Water). Delicious. Next time I might just add some good balsamic vinegar and bacon, then serve over a rich vanilla-bean ice cream. To die for.

-John

Salsa

Tonight, I had to make some more salsa. It sees like my salsa consumption tries to outpace my salsa production. Anyway, here’s how I make it. This batch has no carrots, since I’m out. I added a bit more red cabbage to compensate. For those of you currently cringing at the thought of cabbage in salsa, let me explain: it adds a roundness to the flavor after it sits a day or so, it adds bulk, so you get more (like beans in chili), and well, it kinda looks pretty. There’s a mildly amusing story associated with cabbage in salsa, but I’ll save that for later.

Anyway, here’s how I make it:

• Tomatoes (I used canned diced- the only quasi-prepared item here)
• Onion, chopped coarsely
• Garlic, plenty (and fresh)
• a Jalapeño, chopped (leave out seeds if you don’t want it too hot)
• Cilantro, fresh and plentiful
• Red cabbage, a leaf or two and sliced thin
• Carrot, some, shredded
• Sea or Kosher salt

Play with the quantities. Put in a container. Mix. Leave in the fridge for a day before eating. This will keep for a week or so but will lose its zest after about 3-5 days. Keep away from friends if you want it to last.

-john

Truck

I need a truck.

No, not in the American consumerist sense. And not because I have stock tanks to haul or a steer to loan to old man Stromberg down the valley.

There is still, in this age of willing and eager emasculation, a need for a man to show his plumage in the form of an old Dodge or International or Studebaker. The weak man errs towards a larger truck- the honest man, the man who is strong enough to not just admit but also show his quirks and weaknesses procures an old truck. The big new truck displays insecurity and good credit. The old truck displays a life that is spent not just through handiwork but also an appreciation for that in life that is not known and not understood.

I’m holding out for an early 50’s Dodge.

2

Tonight, I met four other bike geeks at Old Chicago for $1 PBR and Pizza night. We’re all completely smitten by bikes. We all have more than five bikes each. We all commute by bike twelve months out of the year, which is fairly substantial considering we live in Montana.

And what did we talk about? Bikes? Well, no. Not really. We discussed, briefly, going riding on Sunday. But the main subject of the night’s conversation was old cars, specifically old American Iron from the early 50’s to the early 70’s. Cars older than any of us (and I’m the old fart of the group). We talked about 50’s Dodge pickups. Late 60’s Ford Broncos. Oldsmobile Cutlassesfrom the 70’s. 50’s Chevy Nomads. The aesthetic differences between ‘55, ‘56, and ‘57 Chevys.

You know what? I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it, either. As much as I strive to get people out of their cars and on bikes, I still feel that there is a place for big, heavy, American cars. Like it or not, the automobile defines us as a culture. The car and the individual freedom it provides is a non-trivial part of what makes this country great. That doesn’t mean that we should eschew public transportation, however. Living in Montana with most of my family in New York, I would love to spend $300 on a round trip train ticket where I could easily bring my bike. Sadly, that is not possible yet.

What am I saying? Well, Cars and trucks are cool and all, and are useful tools. Without them we wouldn’t have the Great American Road Trip, the sense of freedom that’s our birthright, or the convenience to head anywhere in this land without anyone telling you different.  But that freedom should come at a price. And I’d rather have that fee be exacted at the pump, when I register my car, or when i buy tires than by the blood of my countrymen and women. This sentiment may come off as extremist, but at least I live my life by my words (most of them, at least). I ride twelve months out of the year. I put about 5000 miles on my car this year (which gets 30ish miles per gallon). I do what I can to minimize the need for American Volunteers to fight for me.

It’s not about portraying an image, not about being smug just because I use fewer resources than someone else.

It’s about using the right tool for the job, and giving a shit about those I’m sharing this planet with. I’m as big and vocal of a patriot as what’s out there, but If our economy relies solely on exploitation of future generations’ resources, I’ll be damned if I’m going to take an active role in it. I’m going to do what I can to conserve, even if that means forgoing short-term gain.

Tough.

-john