Excellent Quote: The Dark Wind

On my annual family vacation to Emerald Isle in North Carolina this year I was in search of suitable beach reading -- I had gotten overly excited and pre-read most of my beach books well before the actual trip. Fortunately, at the beachfront house we rented there was a bookshelf full of trashy reads that included a few gems. Of these, Tony Hillerman's The Dark Wind stood out.

I love Hillerman's writing. His books feature (mostly separately) two compelling protagonists, Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee, both of the Navaho Nation Police, and a third, mesmerizing character: the Four Corners area of the West. The setting for Hillerman's mysteries add a layer of interest and context to his novels that most writers lack. In addition, the land serves as grounding for the equally engaging practices of the Navajo Indians, an important element in his "long and respectful interest" in Native American culture.

Here is what I mean; in the book Detective Jim Chee sets out to interview a woman who lives on a remote plateau:

"Black Mesa is neither black nor a mesa. It is far too large for that definition -- a vast, broken plateau about the size and shape of Connecticut. It is virtually roadless, almost waterless, and uninhabited except for an isolated scattering of summer herding camps. It rises out of the Painted Desert more than seven thousand feet. A dozen major dry washes and a thousand nameless arroyos drain away runoff from its bitter winters and the brief but torrential 'male rains' of the summer thunderstorm season. It takes its name from the seams of coal exposed in its towering cliffs, but its colors are the grays and greens of sage, rabbit brush, juniper, cactus, grama and bunch grass, mesquite, pinon, and (in the few places where springs flow) pine and spruce. It is a lonely place even in grazing season and has always been territory favored by the Holy People of the Navajo and the kachinas and guarding spirits of the Hopis. Masaw, the bloody-faced custodian of the Fourth World of the Hopis, specifically instructed various clans of the Peaceful People to return there when they completed their epic migrations and to live on the three mesas which extend like great gnarled fingers from Black Mesa's southern ramparts. Its craggy cliffs are the eagle-collection grounds of the Hopi Flute, Side Corn, Drift Sand, Snake, and Water clans. It is dotted with shrines and holy places. For Chee's people it was an integral part of Dinetah, where Changing Woman taught the Dinee they must live in the beauty of the Way she and the Holy People taught them."

-- Hillerman, Tony. The Dark Wind. Thorndike, ME: Thorndike Press, 1982. Pp. 167-68.

It is typically gorgeous writing that adds real resonance to the story itself and contributes to the larger narrative arc of all of Hillerman's series, which are embedded in the culture and landscape of its characters, whether criminals or law enforcement officers. If you haven't read one of Tony Hillerman's 18 Navajo mysteries go to your local library and have them dig around in the stacks to loan you one. If you have, reread one STAT.

PS - Speaking of evocative words, "You Worry Me" by Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats is a moody blues; now playing on iTunes.

Recipe: Shrimp and Grits

The deservedly praised southern culinary master Bill Neal once wrote, "Shrimp and Grits is undoubtedly the most requested recipe I have yet created." And rightly so. It is an outstanding mix of freshness and soulfulness.

Unfortunately, many folks who didn't grow up with it think of grits as runny diner goo. But it actually makes an outstanding polenta-like base for a subtle melange of mushrooms, scallions, shrimp, and bacon; it is even better if you add sharp cheddar cheese to it.

Without further ado, here is Bill Neal's "real" recipe:

1 recipe Basic Boiled Grits (see below)
Tobasco sauce
Freshly grated nutmeg
White pepper
1 lb fresh shrimp
6 slices bacon
Peanut oil
2 C sliced mushrooms
1 C finely sliced scallions
1 large garlic clove, peeled
4 t fresh squeezed lemon juice
2 T fresh, chopped parsley
Salt
Pepper

Prepare the grits according to the recipe using the full amount of cheese (see below). Season to taste, but lightly, with Tobasco, a very little nutmeg, and white pepper. Hold in a warm place or in the top of a double boiler over simmering water.

Peel the shrimp, rinse them, and pat dry.

Dice the bacon and saute lightly in a 10 inch or larger skillet. The edges of the bacon should brown, but the bacon should not become crisp.

Add enough peanut oil to the bacon fat in the skillet to make a layer of oil about 1/8 inch deep. When quite hot, add the shrimp in an even layer. Turn the shrimp as they start to color, add the mushrooms, and saute about 4 minutes. Turn occasionally and add the scallions. Add the garlic through a press and stir around. Then season with lemon juice, a dash or two of Tobasco, and parsley. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Divide the grits among four plates. Spoon the shrimp over and serve immediately.


Making the Grits

If y'all ain't from the South, here's how to make cheese grits. Don't tell nobody, but you can use instant grits if yuh's skairt to make real ones.

4 1/2 C water
1 t salt
1 C hominy grits
Butter
3/4 C grated sharp cheddar cheese

In a 3-quart heavy-bottomed saucepan bring the salted water to a strong boil. Slowly sift the grits through one hand into the water while stirring with a whisk in the other hand. When all grits have been added, continue stirring and reduce the heat to low until only an occasional bubble breaks the surface. Continue cooking for 30-40 minutes, stirring frequently to prevent scorching.

Beat in a good quantity of butter and the cheese and serve immediately.

Preparation of the grits is a grrrreat job for a co-chef. Get them a nice glass of wine and set them to whisking away, low and slow, while you make the main dish.


PS - Sweet baby Lord, it is good! What's also good is "Time" by Angelo De Augustine; now playing on iTunes.

Excellent Quotes: Enter a Murderer

Agatha Christie was only the most famous of the British writers during the Golden Age of Detective Fiction. An equally charming contributor to the genre was New Zealand import Ngaio Marsh, herself both an award-winning writer and a theatrical producer.

Marsh's Poirot was Inspector Roderick Alleyn--the hero of thirty-two stories. He is a gentrified Detective Chief-Inspector whose Oxford erudition and sarcastic humor belie a street-wise tenaciousness and a feeling heart.

The detective's second adventure, 1935's Enter a Murderer blended Marsh's two great loves, centering on a play wherein one actor is killed onstage by a gun that has mysteriously been filled with real bullets rather than the usual blanks. Alleyn is, of course, in the audience for the fateful event and you'll be shocked that the denouement of the story involves reassembling the cast on stage to walk the "it's you, unless it's you, but really it's you" bases:

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Alleyn, "I have asked you to come here this morning in order that we may stage a reconstruction of the first scene in the last act of The Rat and the Beaver. In that scene, as you know, the deceased man, Mr. Arthur Surbonadier, loaded the revolver by which he was subsequently shot. You are all aware that Mr. Jacob Saint is under arrest. He will not be present. Otherwise, with the exception of the deceased, whose part will be read by Mr. Simpson, we are all here."

-- Marsh, Ngaio. Enter a Murderer. New York, NY: Felony & Mayhem Press, 2012. P. 186.

If I had a dollar for every drawing room conclusion I've read I'd be a jillionaire. Still, both as an example of the enduringly popular genre and as a too-little-known character, Detective Alleyn is worth spending time with.

PS - Speaking of classic Golden Age mysteries, this month Twentieth Century Fox is releasing a lavish, star-studded remake of "Murder on the Orient Express." I wonder whodunnit? But you don't have to wonder about whether or not you should listen to Dunez's "I'm a Rebel Just for Kicks"; now playing on iTunes.

Books I Have Read (and Donated)

I have a small book problem. It lives in my small apartment. I need to do something about the number of books I have and the answer is not more cowbell. Neither is it another bookshelf.

So, in an idiosyncratic deal with myself, I am posting a list of books I have read (so as not to ever forget each precious one) and passed on to another reader at the library's book donation center:

The Godwulf Manuscript - Robert B Parker
Death in Paradise - Robert B Parker
High Profile - Robert B Parker
Sea Change - Robert B Parker
The Secret of the Old Clock - Carolyn Keene
The Partner - John Grisham
Ender's Game - Orson Scott Card
The Broker - John Grisham
The Client - John Grisham
In Pale Battalions - Robert Goddard
Death By Hollywood - Steven Bochco
The Killing of Monday Brown - Sandra West Prowell
The Horse You Came in On - Martha Grimes
I am the Only Running Footman - Martha Grimes
A Man with a Load of Mischief - Martha Grimes
The Dirty Duck - Martha Grimes
The Old Fox Deceiv'd - Martha Grimes
Jerusalem Inn - Martha Grimes
The Anodyne Necklace - Martha Grimes
The Deer Leap - Martha Grimes
Our Kind of Traitor - John le Carre
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy - John le Carre
Our Game - John le Carre

PS - I cannot remember the plots of half these books. Why I should feel the need to know that I read them is beyond me. A perfectly good alternate solution would be to throw out all my other books and just read these over and over, being pleasantly surprised each time. Oh, and another thing not to forget is to listen to "Hope the High Road" by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit; now playing on iTunes.

Excellent Quotes: A Catskill Eagle

My Mom fled the long winters, seasonal affective disorder, and blue collar parochialism of her neck of New England for warmer climes as soon as she graduated from college. But, some of the family still lives there and so do many friends and I have been going back more often for work lately. My travel has been all in the summer and spring, when a fella thinks, "Yeah, I could live in Boston. What a pretty place." (Note: I also regularly think this about Chicago; I have been advised to visit during the winter months before making any foolhardy decisions.)

Now, the Cradle of Liberty has many things going for it, Puritanical weather aside. One of them is Janet Echelman's aerial sculpture over the new Rose Kennedy Greenway. Another less ephemeral thing is the legacy of Robert B. Parker's Spenser mysteries. The books center on a laconic Beantown private investigator, known only as Spenser, with a sweetheart named Susan and A Man Called Hawk as a best friend.

I am a sucker for anything driven by a code of honor character--gimme an N, gimme an O, gimme an I, gimme an R, whaddya got? Heartache! Spenser indeed has an internal code. And Hawk has a code, too. Spenser's code makes room for a girlfriend--he is not actually a true Philip Marlowe clone--even if the relationship is sometimes rocky. Hawk's makes room for the occasional fine, foxy lady but his code is too close to the street to really let anyone all the way in. The bad guys don't stand a chance.

Spenser and Hawk are kindred spirits, but they cover their brotherly affection, book after book, with a steady flow of snappy, erudite banter as they track down the baddies. They are either the first post-racial detectives in history or they just don't give a crap what anyone thinks; they play the race card on each other like it was a long night at the green felt table in Vegas. In A Catskill Eagle, Spenser has just broken Hawk out of a false imprisonment and they are tracking down one Jerry Costigan, who has been horning in on Spenser's Lady Friend and may be involved in much more:

"Remember where Mill River Boulevard is?" I said.

"Un huh."

"Jerry Costigan lives off it on something called Costigan Drive in something called The Keep."

"The Keep?" Hawk said.

"The Keep."

"The more money you honkies get," Hawk said, "the sillier you get."

"Wait a minute," I said. "Didn't you grow up in a place called The Ghetto?"

"Shit." Hawk said. "You got me."

"See, you intolerant bastard."

Hawk drove quietly for a moment and then he began to laugh. "Maybe I move to Beverly Farms," Hawk said, "buy a big house call it The Ghetto." He made ghetto a two-word phrase.

"The Wasps would turn lime green," I said.

"Match their pants," Hawk said.

-- Parker, Robert B. A Catskill Eagle. New York, NY: Dell, 1985. P. 65.

There are a jillion Spenser novels. I think I have read every one. If you haven't read them, try out one of the forty on offer. If you haven't read one in a while--Parker died while writing a new novel in 2010--I suggest picking up a paperback for a long flight and getting reacquainted.

PS - Why the television series starring Hawk was set in DC, I will never understand. But understand this: "Time to Pretend" by MGMT is good stuff; now playing on iTunes.

Hacking

Quite a while ago I went to the Noisebridge hacker space in San Francisco to be all rebellious and to learn me some hacking like a real hipster.

Now, I imagined that a Matthew Broderick figure dressed in subtle greys and designer blacks would be teaching me to code my way past the corporate ice of the New York Times to list myself in their database as an expert news source on hacking and computer security issues. Shazam! Super-size my irony, to go, please. What I got was a middle-aged dude in cargo shorts who somewhat phoned in our lesson on soldering Arduino boards to make one of a number of prefab kits.

The good news: I picked a kit to work on that allowed me to assemble a master remote control that issues the "shut off" command for every known major brand of television. Bwahahaha! It works up to 50 feet away. I have tried it on my own tee vee and it turns off the boob tube like a champ.

If only I weren't such a non-hacker chicken and were willing to take it with me to bars and airports to flip the kill switch on the droning ubiquity of cable "news" in public spaces. But I worry about explaining to the flight safety mandarins how my exposed wiring and inexplicable mini-UV light bulbs are just a fun project and not, wait, no, I don't need to visit the special room, no, it is just a fun project I did, and I have a plane to catch, please, please take off the surgical glove, there is no need for that....

Still, it was fun to re-learn to solder -- turns out I had completely forgotten how to do it correctly -- and to brush shoulders with Fog City's energetic maker culture. Not that I can actually make anything else without serious coaching and supervision. But, I do have my one hilarious remote. If your television mysteriously up and quits, look out the door for my car coasting down your street with the lights off.

PS - Prior to that, I went to a maker space and took a lesson in lock picking. Yeah, I can't do that by myself, either. But, speaking of the waterless Golden State, I can listen to "The Golden State" by John Doe; now playing on iTunes.

Recipe: Balsamic Salad Dressing

Recently I took a cooking class. Never done it before and it was a lot of fun. Our chef/instructor was very, how you say in America, high-energy, but she knew her stuff. We learned to prepare a few Southern Italian dishes and drank a Sicilian wine that was full-bodied and didn't threaten to kill anyone, you know, the way a lot of full-bodied Sicilians do in books and movies.

So, a win. Yum.

Without giving away too many state secrets that would put my cooking class host out of business, below is her truly yummy recipe for a balsamic dressing for a Panzanella salad; I think it would go well with a green salad,too.

1/8 C balsamic vinegar
1/4 C olive oil
1 T Dijon mustard
1 T honey

Combine all in a jar with a tight lid and shake until well-mixed.

PS - As noted, we had it over a salad of large, toasted bread cubes, tomatoes, cucumber, shallots, and basil. Golly. Also delish is "The Unguarded Moment" by a very young The Church; now playing on iTunes.