Eat Plenty of Fruits and Vegetables

I recently ate a meal prepared by a cook who was fully committed to a low-carb diet. Before sitting down to the table, we enjoyed vegetable-crab rollups (crab salad rolled in very thin slices of zucchini) and raw veggies with yogurt dip. The main meal was composed of roasted salmon with a delicious tomato-kale chutney, green beans, salad of diced watermelon and segmented oranges in a mint dressing, and for dessert, a baked peach and blueberry tart without crust.

The food was of gourmet quality, and although I wasn't really hungry afterward, I still wished for a piece of bread. And I would never spend the time (two or more hours) this cook spent peeling, slicing, and dicing.

However one feature of her kitchen caught my attention: she displayed her fresh fruits and vegetables like pieces of art, on white porcelain trays in a wrought iron rack. I wasn't able to find exactly the same rack, but instead, invested in the two racks shown in the photo, from Pottery Barn. Most of the time, I'll use them for fresh produce, but I can also use them on special occasions for serving pieces or as the base for a spectacular centerpiece. Having the fruit and vegetables right there in front of my eyes, displayed in an appealing way has had unintended consequences. Now, I reach for a piece much more frequently, and I don't have as much waste --- produce going bad because I'd forgotten about it.

I'll never adopt a strict low-carb diet (and I'm not convinced of the heath benefits). But now I'm eating plenty of fruits and vegetables.

BOOK REVIEW: Summer reads

If you need some light reading, something relaxing and funny, I can recommend the following books I've recently read:

1. One Man's Meat, by E. B. White, 1942.

White's wit is dry and ironic, and his content ranges from the mundane to the profound, but he makes it all interesting. This book is a collection of short essays, published originally in periodicals, just before and after the beginning of World War II.

White and his family have left city life in Manhattan, and moved to a farm on the coast of Maine. It does not matter whether he is discussing the fine points of keeping the correct heat in a chicken brooder or the broad ideals of democracy; White takes life philosophically but with just the right degree of crankyness to keep the reader wondering what he'll think of next.

2. Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe, by Bill Bryson, 1992.

In early middle age, Bryson takes off on his own to retrace his first trip in Europe, taken when he was a naive college student. The descriptions of the cities he visited will be familier to anyone who has also visited them; unlike the standard guidebooks, he is not uniformly entranced. But even when he finds himself in situations that would distress many travelers, he finds humor --- somtimes raunchy, sometimes laugh-out-loud hilarious.

Bryson is my kind of traveler, one who likes to be by himself and relates more to the place --- the geography, scenery, architecture, culture --- than he does to the people.

3. Marrying Off Mother and Other Stories, by Gerald Durrell, 1992

The settings and characters in a few of these short stories will be familier to those who have read Durrell's My Family and Other Animals. Durrell claims that all the stories are based on real events. He spins a tale, full of humorous exaggeration, piling one impossibility on top another. But he does it so skillfully, the reader is left with a tiny suspicion that it might really have happened.

Doolittle Syndrome

"Words, words, words. I'm so sick of words!"

I share Eliza Doolittle's lament! The kids and grandkids have come and gone, and I enjoyed their visits very much. But I've also enjoyed a week of peace and quiet since they all left. The visits of all four grandsons, ages four to seven, overlapped for three days. They're a loquacious bunch; they all started talking at a young age, and they haven't stopped. When they're not talking they're screaming or simply making noise. When my kids were young, I theorized that many children have a minimum noise tolerance. When things get too quiet, they find a way to turn up the volume.

Like My Fair Lady, we hear words all day long. Many people have the TV or radio going day and night. I don't understand how people can work in establishments where loud, recorded music is part of the (supposedly desirable) ambiance. People cannot ride a bus or train without hooking up to their iPods. Even walking down the street, they feel the need to use their cell phones several times an hour, just to talk, just to check in.

Are we afraid to be quiet? Is this an adaptive trait, a need to hear noise and confirm that we're not alone in the world? Is noise substituting for quieter, more satisfying way of relating to other people? Can we really listen thoughtfully when others speak, while surrounded by noise?

Whatever the answers, I'm in favor of deliberately teaching kids to value silence. And maybe, since "No Smoking" areas are now prevalent, we could begin to establish "Quiet Zones" in public spaces.

P.S. I realize I'm creating more words with this blog, but at least they're silent and you don't have to read them.

Alleys

There are not very many alleys in the town where I live in California. But alleys are an important part of the street plan in my home-town in Ohio. I suppose alleys were considered a necessity in the days of horse-drawn vehicles when, instead of garages, many houses had a stable at the back of the lot. Alleys also served as utility byways for delivering coal and picking up trash.

As children, we often played in the alley. There wasn't much traffic and when a car did come through, it was going very slowly. (The speed limit in alleys in Ohio is 15mph.) The alley was particularly exciting after a rain when the ruts filled with running water, and we could suddenly splash to our heart's content and sail little paper boats in the instant rivers. One night there was particular excitement when a tree fell, and the alley beside my bedroom window became a major thoroughfare for cars detouring around the blocked street.

Now my sister and I like to explore the alleys for a view of each property that is hidden from the street. There are interesting collections of out-buildings: garages, barns, tool sheds, playhouses, animal pens. Occasionally we see a substantial building that was once a small business: a machine shop, an auto mechanic, a one-man repair shop. We've sighted unknown apartments, even a swimming pool. And there are the carefully tended vegetable gardens: my sister remarks, "Why don't my tomatoes look like that?"

Our home-town is small, and as children, we walked, biked and even roller skated everywhere. Both my sister and I have lived elsewhere for our adult lives. Now my sister has returned after 40 years to take care of Dad, and I visit frequently. As we walk the alleys, we discover a different aspect to the town we thought we knew.