Jill and the Romanesco Stalk

February 23rd

It happened last year - I was given a packet of seeds for my birthday from a stranger. I didn't even have to give up the old family cow in exchange. But still, the kid with the beanstalk probably got the better deal.

Nonetheless, I was pretty excited. Romanesco broccoli. I had been looking for these babies for a while (even in Italy, in fact, when I had to be consoled with puntarelle and radicchio seeds instead).

Romanesco is a variant form of broccoli, or cauliflower, depending on who you ask. (Most people you ask probably won't even know what you are talking about, but then most people don't eat their broccoli, either.) Those who know, though, know that it can be rather fussy about growing. Which is why it is difficult to find at the market and costly when you do.

March 3rd

(Years ago, inspired by the most perfectly-formed romanesco - a bridal bouquet of a broccoli - I asked the kind cashier at Monterey Market if she would marry me. It's not as if I really wanted to get hitched; somehow I just lost my head. She almost fell over, but wisely turned me down. We've continued just as friends.)

Right, then. I planted the seeds this past summer for a fall planting - the preferred time - and nobody showed up.  So I replanted, replanted and finally got two seedlings. One didn't amount to poo-poo, and the second one wasn't going anywhere fast until it got a load of full-strength horse manure dumped on its head.

March 10th

And then we got somewhere. What started out as a small inch-wide bud expanded to the size of a softball. Every day I had to go observe its progress. I was in love again. I was boring my neighbors. Harvesting was easy and the roasted cauliflower recipe from Epicurious was great. Just be prepared for major shrinkage. Or maybe my people actually do eat their broccoli?

I can't say that I will be growing romanesco again anytime soon. But even without the giants, the golden eggs and the bag of gold, I got a fairy tale's worth of entertainment.

March 16th
In the roasting pan

Already?

It should happen later in the year. It would certainly have more meaning if it were a little later in the year. But this year, springtime has come especially early. Like, by mid-February, it was all well underway.

Maybe because the rains forgot to keep coming? Or because, with the time change so early, the calendar had to get bumped up as well?

The daffodils are always early, but usually the hyacinths wait a little longer than this. Around the corner from our house it is even more obvious: there is a protea bush which has reveled in the mild weather.

Proteas look ancient and slightly primitive, and they are. Their ancestors go back 300 million years (prime dinosaur time) to the continent of Gondwana, which included the present day Antarctica, South America, Africa, New Zealand, India and Australia.

Even though their origins are in the southern hemisphere, they have adjusted to a northern springtime. And bloom like nothing else - start as a tight, little, green pine(ish) cone and blow yourself apart. The show lasts for weeks and weeks. It is impossible to walk past and not stop and stare.

You Never Know What the New Year Will Bring...

Marilia and Marco

Brazilians. Of course. But very unusual Brazilians.

First up, most Brazilians do not ride bicycles very much. Secondly, they certainly do not ride them halfway 'round the world: from Thailand, across much of Southeast Asia to China, on through Kyrgyzstan (try spelling that without help), Kazakhstan, Iran, and into Turkey. Then west across much of Europe to Morocco. And onward to Oakland.

Who are these Brazilians? Well, Marilia is the daughter of a friend who hasn't been sighted for 30ish years and Marco is her best buddy who is crazy adventurous enough to pedal all that way with her. Together they are 2 Bikes and the World.

A little assist from modern-day air travel allowed them and their bikes to arrive here just before the new year. They came for a short visit (their big surprise was that they were not permitted to ride their bikes across the Bay Bridge, but had to take BART instead. I mean, really, it's on the map, already...) and stayed for a week.

They then cycled up the coast to Ratna Ling, a Buddhist (nope, that's right, most Brazilians definitely are not Buddhist) retreat center, where they are spending the next five months working - binding books to help preserve Tibetan Buddhism and culture.

I haven't heard what the bikes are up to, but I'm sure it's something very interesting as well.

Brag, Brag, Brag #6: Tamzin Elliott

Tamzin Elliott
photo courtesy of Ann Elliott (Proud Mom)

Our niece Tamzin is studying at the Bard College Conservatory of Music. Last week a few of her vocal compositions, written in the Ingaaric tradition, were performed at the Morgan Library and Museum in New York. Very cool.

Her songs were well performed, well received, and even garnered a most positive review in the New York Times. Trick is, the "Ingaaric tradition" - music, language and culture - is a complete invention of Tamzin's.

I don't know what the Ingaaric eat, but knowing Tamzin, I can hardly wait to see the cookbook.

Working with a Princess

We work well together.  Sometimes making lampshades.

Sometimes at the computer.

Somehow though, she manages to get more breaks in than I do.

Just Ran Out of Time

Happy Valentine's Day!

A Chalalaca for Your Birthday?

Ferruginous Pygmy Owl

It's not a typical birthday thing for me to go out and watch birds. Especially with a charming and informative guide who came prepared with a powerful spotting scope. Even my best guy - who is definitely not on friendly terms with binoculars - at least said that he had a great time.

And how could you not have a fine time when you got to see motmots, chalalacas, honeycreepers with bright red legs and a cute pygmy owl?

Josue

Our guide, Josue de Leon Lux, knows every bird (in English and Spanish) at Los Tarrales Reserve in the Guatemalan highlands (we just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought we'd stop by...). He knows them by sight, by sound and probably even by first name. Most importantly, he could easily locate them through the scope so that we too could get a view. And in all his free time, he records the local bird calls for the Cornell Lab of Ornithology in Ithaca, NY.

I'm ready to go again, anytime. Even if it means putting up with another birthday.







Special thanks to Jack Miller

Miller Atomic Research Services

People's Revolutionary Dept. of Public Works

Last December - that's 2011, mind you - I contacted Oakland's Dept. of Public Works to let them know that there was a vacant house on the block and that the disabled parking zone in front of it was no longer necessary. And hadn't been necessary for over six months. And maybe they could do something about it.

I waited for a response and within a coupla months, got a phone call: someone would be sent out soon.

Cool, but just how long is soon?

Well, not soon enough for some community-minded and relatively handy locals. One night last summer, some busy busybodies - closet radical renegades, no doubt - relocated the metal sign (I'm sure it got recycled) and repainted the blue curb to gray. The blue still showed through - I wouldn't hire them to work on my house - but it seemed to do the job. Suddenly, there was one more parking space available on the block.

So why should one more parking space matter, anyway?

Because my neighborhood, like most urban neighborhoods, is awash in cars. MTC, our regional transportation agency concluded that, way back when (1930 to be precise, when my house had already been around for nineteen years), there were about 29 vehicles per 100 residents in the Bay Area. These days, that number is estimated to be around 75 vehicles. Nationwide, the average is closer to 81 cars per 100 residents. Now dat's a lotta cars.

What has also changed is where those cars are stashed: it used to happen in garages. But now most garages are stuffed full of stuff, leaving many cars to live on the street. Some aren't even allowed in the driveway. Which suggests that maybe the problem is not parking exactly, but cars. Or could it be we car owners?

The final chapter? On December 11, 2012, a city truck showed up on the street. The very nice, and slightly bewildered, man from Public Works came with sign-removing tools, a paint sprayer and some paint, and instructions to remove a disabled parking zone...

They're Baaack!

November 2012

Your tired and cranky amaryllis is supposed to take a two-month snooze in the deep darkness of the closet during the fall. Then, come the holiday season, it should wake up fresh and ready to party.

Like an overtired toddler, however, one of mine refused to go down for a nap. It already had four flowering stalks and was not to be persuaded. So we had a gorgeous display from Halloween (the other holiday season) until mid-December. Just in time for my second plant - the obediently napping one - to send up new shoots. I count six... Nope, make that seven.

So if you are lucky enough to have an amaryllis this season, hang onto it and most likely you will have an amaryllis every season.

November 2012...

And six weeks later

The Other Potato

The rest of the potato story (I just knew you couldn't wait):

In addition to the Augustas, I planted Purple Vikings. They took longer to grow, and didn't produce quite as much (for each pound planted, I got only about eleven pounds back... which is still damn good by all counts). And they took a little longer to mature (110 days or so). But these babies were crowd pleasers.

All of my taste testers, with the exception of my best guy at home, preferred the Purple Vikings. Not by much, mind you, but still.  They were mashed, baked, roasted, cut up into potato salad, even turned into French fries (You can fry food at home? Who knew? I thought you had to eat out for that pleasure), and then gobbled down. No problems there.

Their other advantages: They are pretty fellas - purpley-pink on the outside and and bright white on the inside (you'd think that an eight-year-old girl had dressed them). And they store quite well.

There are only a few left in the box and I'm already looking forward to growing them again next season. Or rather, eating them.  Maybe even sharing them...