There are two day left until Christmas, and I'm ready for that.
There are five days left until Family Christmas. I'm not likely to be going.
It's too stressful. I struggle with social anxiety, especially in unstructured situations. A big, sprawling, chaotic party is probably very relaxing for most people but it's nearly nonstop fear, panic and disorientation for me. Worse yet, a lot of my family are stressed by social situations and unwilling to admit it, so we kind of heterodyne. Adding in any of the normal tensions of adult life -- money woes, child worries, relationships going through a rough patch -- and it's a mixture that trembles on the edge of explosion.
In recent years, I have gotten through these by giving myself permission to just leave if it got to be too much, an option I took more than once. This year's gathering is on the far side of the county and with my Mom gone, I don't have close ties to most of the group, nor much in common with them. Walking on eggshells for several hours among people I barely know followed by a long drive home in the dark is daunting.
So I'll probably skip it.
Monday, December 23, 2019
Sunday, December 22, 2019
Had A Busy Day And Yet....
I barely did anything! Brunch with Tam and my friend the Data Viking; a quick trip to the supermarket and a few older episodes of The Expanse, followed by some minor chores around the house and here I am.
Saturday, December 21, 2019
It Keeps Crashing
Is it Firefox, or is it my old computer, purchased refurbished and never quite one hundred percent? I don't know.
Facebook seems particularly challenging for the machine and it's certainly digital heroin for the human.
Facebook seems particularly challenging for the machine and it's certainly digital heroin for the human.
Friday, December 20, 2019
"Goin' To The Candidates' Debate"
I listened to much of the Democrat Presidential Primary candidates debate last night, despite audio problems (digital glitches and occasional interruptions by the U. S. Naval Observatory "talking clock," used as audio confidence filler on NPR's Breaking News channel) that had me remembering the view through sunglasses in They Live.
Many of the candidates were promising to tax the wealthy, raise worker's wages and bring businesses back to the United States -- and never you mind that avoiding taxes and seeking to pay less for labor is at least part of what drove businesses offshore in the first place.
In fact, fewer people than ever are having to live in poverty, especially at the lowest end of the scale, while the ultra-rich are spending their big bucks about as fast as they come in on job-creating things like space travel. If having less kids stave to death in the mud requires I have to accept Jeff Bezos running his own space program instead of being taxed into Middle Suburbia, oh well; I think I can tolerate that.
* * *
Meanwhile, last night I dreamed my employer had provided paid apartments for the staff, about 1930s standard (which is what I usually lived in, when I was younger), with a washroom off the shared hall (managed to avoid that, thank you). Somehow that, the debate and some craziness on Facebook gave rise to a story idea, in which most of Western Civilization, especially Freemasons and Moon landing, was the result of an intelligent alien crystal's efforts to get itself back to the Moon from the Earth, which it had somehow ended up on after a meteor impact.
It's an interesting idea -- and it was even more interesting in 1957, when Isaac Asimov wrote a slightly different version, titled "Does A Bee Care?" It's better left as he told it.
Many of the candidates were promising to tax the wealthy, raise worker's wages and bring businesses back to the United States -- and never you mind that avoiding taxes and seeking to pay less for labor is at least part of what drove businesses offshore in the first place.
In fact, fewer people than ever are having to live in poverty, especially at the lowest end of the scale, while the ultra-rich are spending their big bucks about as fast as they come in on job-creating things like space travel. If having less kids stave to death in the mud requires I have to accept Jeff Bezos running his own space program instead of being taxed into Middle Suburbia, oh well; I think I can tolerate that.
Meanwhile, last night I dreamed my employer had provided paid apartments for the staff, about 1930s standard (which is what I usually lived in, when I was younger), with a washroom off the shared hall (managed to avoid that, thank you). Somehow that, the debate and some craziness on Facebook gave rise to a story idea, in which most of Western Civilization, especially Freemasons and Moon landing, was the result of an intelligent alien crystal's efforts to get itself back to the Moon from the Earth, which it had somehow ended up on after a meteor impact.
It's an interesting idea -- and it was even more interesting in 1957, when Isaac Asimov wrote a slightly different version, titled "Does A Bee Care?" It's better left as he told it.
Thursday, December 19, 2019
The U. S. House Of Make Me A Sandwich?
Yes, yes, we had the impeachment vote and if you were surprised the House voted to impeach, you're a rare and wonderfully innocent creature.
Did you notice that both sides had apparently provided their Representatives with talking points? Not every Congressthing bothered to stray very far from their party's crib notes during their time at bat and the same ideas and phrases turned up over and over, which makes me sad -- to date, impeachment's been a once-in-a-lifetime event for most Representatives, and that's only if we include all the lower offices: just seventeen times since the very first Congress.* You'd think they'd want to make the most of it.
But what really struck me were terms of collegial address used by the Chair:
The boys are "distinguished gentleman" and "gentleman," possibly distinguished by seniority.
The women are "gentlewoman" or "young lady." Consistently.
Young lady? A 55- or 60-year old Congresswoman with a touch of gray in her Federal helmet-hair, wearing a nice suit and the gravitas of her office† is "young lady?"
'Splain me just how these modes of address don't inherently set the chicks a step lower down than the dudes. Use short words.
Look, I'm not one to exalt the dignity of elected officials; they're just hired help, after all. The U. S. House in particular is supposed to be a little rough around the edges, closely linked to the electorate, quick to anger and to mourn, quick to forgive and to celebrate. They're expected to be rambunctious and argumentative. But by golly, in general forms of address I'll impugn them all fairly and equally (usually as "Congresscritters" or "Congressthings") and if I'm going to be more dismissive of them, I try to do it one at a time, on their own merits and failings.
Back in 2017, one of the Representatives (male) addressed a recently-elected Representative (female) as "young lady" (she's not young) and she was understandably riled. The usual newsies tut-tutted in the usual way and there appeared to be a general consensus that this was Not How It Is To Be Done. Flash forward to 2019, and the Chair's droning out, "The young lady is recognized" and "The young lady is reminded to direct her remarks to the Chair," high, wide, mighty and routine, and not even the most long-serving woman rates a "distinguished."
It doesn't sit well with me. Not even a little bit. Congressboys, you're not flattering stenographers here; even the dullest female Party hack deserves better than the same form of address rendered to female High School students. You can either trot out out a secret codicil to the 19th Amendment that says this is okay-fine, or straighten up and play fair.
_____________________________
* For those you keeping track of the stats, they're seven out of seventeen overall for convictions, and zero for two when it comes to Presidents.
† Or possibly regretting her choice of lunch. The two expressions are very difficult to tell apart on television. Based on my casual observations with a TV playing while I was working yesterday, constipation runs rife in the House of Representatives.
Did you notice that both sides had apparently provided their Representatives with talking points? Not every Congressthing bothered to stray very far from their party's crib notes during their time at bat and the same ideas and phrases turned up over and over, which makes me sad -- to date, impeachment's been a once-in-a-lifetime event for most Representatives, and that's only if we include all the lower offices: just seventeen times since the very first Congress.* You'd think they'd want to make the most of it.
But what really struck me were terms of collegial address used by the Chair:
The boys are "distinguished gentleman" and "gentleman," possibly distinguished by seniority.
The women are "gentlewoman" or "young lady." Consistently.
Young lady? A 55- or 60-year old Congresswoman with a touch of gray in her Federal helmet-hair, wearing a nice suit and the gravitas of her office† is "young lady?"
'Splain me just how these modes of address don't inherently set the chicks a step lower down than the dudes. Use short words.
Look, I'm not one to exalt the dignity of elected officials; they're just hired help, after all. The U. S. House in particular is supposed to be a little rough around the edges, closely linked to the electorate, quick to anger and to mourn, quick to forgive and to celebrate. They're expected to be rambunctious and argumentative. But by golly, in general forms of address I'll impugn them all fairly and equally (usually as "Congresscritters" or "Congressthings") and if I'm going to be more dismissive of them, I try to do it one at a time, on their own merits and failings.
Back in 2017, one of the Representatives (male) addressed a recently-elected Representative (female) as "young lady" (she's not young) and she was understandably riled. The usual newsies tut-tutted in the usual way and there appeared to be a general consensus that this was Not How It Is To Be Done. Flash forward to 2019, and the Chair's droning out, "The young lady is recognized" and "The young lady is reminded to direct her remarks to the Chair," high, wide, mighty and routine, and not even the most long-serving woman rates a "distinguished."
It doesn't sit well with me. Not even a little bit. Congressboys, you're not flattering stenographers here; even the dullest female Party hack deserves better than the same form of address rendered to female High School students. You can either trot out out a secret codicil to the 19th Amendment that says this is okay-fine, or straighten up and play fair.
_____________________________
* For those you keeping track of the stats, they're seven out of seventeen overall for convictions, and zero for two when it comes to Presidents.
† Or possibly regretting her choice of lunch. The two expressions are very difficult to tell apart on television. Based on my casual observations with a TV playing while I was working yesterday, constipation runs rife in the House of Representatives.
Wednesday, December 18, 2019
"Efficient" Government
It's a concept that gets thrown around a lot: "Efficient government." Trouble is, nobody ever takes a close look at what it is.
Republicans run for office and promise to "run it like a business;" Dems run and promise to allocate resources equitably and efficiently.
But governments that pride themselves on their efficiency are, without exception, repressive and disrespectful of individual rights. Most are totalitarian.
Human beings are not especially efficient. Human societies are not all that efficient. "Waste not, want not," we're told, and the stories of the past, no matter if they're ungarnished or slanted, nearly always tell us how our primitive ancestors "used every part of the pig but the squeal," recovered nails from old buildings,* and on and on -- and yet, much of what we know of the past aside from written records comes from midden heaps. Garbage piles. Abandoned buildings. Stonehenge has stood in mute, hard-to-fathom ruin far longer than it served as a ceremonial center. Even when we're trying, even when we are so poor that have nothing to spare, our efficiency is not all that high.
Efficiency may not suit us in our interactions with others. When disaster strikes, we rush in help; but effectiveness and immediacy outweigh efficiency.
This ties in to public transportation, long a kind of litmus test of libertarian purity. Indeed, run as a business, most public transit systems lose money or at best break even; considered as transportation, most of them outside of large, population-dense urban areas are a poor second to automobiles (for short distances and a moderately hale rider, even bicycles are better). --But what is the goal? My parents grew up in the days of streetcars and interurbans; mass transit meant that as teenagers, my Dad worked in a grocery store well outside of walking distance, meant my Mom's family could get by with one car, and meant two low-middle income kids could go to movies and window-shop in downtown Indianapolis. That kind of semi-casual use isn't efficient; but it may be effective.
In Indianapolis, the Red Line buses approximate one of the old streetcar routes, Broad Ripple to Downtown. Supposed to be spaced so there's one every ten minutes, they're running farther apart and the city has struggled with the ticketless electronic far system, bus charging and even the system of center-lane dividers used to mark the bus lane and remind drivers to turn left only at stoplights.† The big, beautiful buses have low occupancy except at peak times and even then, they're not nearly full. Considered as a business enterprise, it's risible.
As a way for people without cars to get from home to work (or shopping, or places to eat), it's effective. The Indiana Blind School is a brisk walk from the north end of the Red Line and I'm seeing more white canes along the route‡ than I ever did with the old buses. The elderly seem to be using it, too -- and that's one less car inching down the street with someone struggling to peer through the wheel, a win-win situation. The system of buses and raised stations is accessible to wheelchair users in a smooth and easy way, too.
Maybe efficiency isn't the only metric of these things. The Red Line's progress has been fumbling, awkward; the construction to install center-street bus stops and move utilities away from beneath the center lane was disruptive. The technology of the electric buses is by no means mature and their batteries struggle to hold a charge on cold weather. But it is making a change, and it seems to be useful in ways that the former bad-neighborhood-on-wheels buses were not. One of the major ones is traffic no longer has to fight around a hulking bus stopped at the curb every few blocks, and that's making me happy.
_____________________________
* My parents were Great Depression babies. I grew up in a household where if you took down a little project -- a playhouse, a rabbit hutch, whatever -- you took care to pull the nails out straight (or hammered them back straight) and to salvage just as much of the wood and hardware as possible. The first time I saw a double-headed nail, I laughed in delight, knowing just what it was for; conversely, finishing nails, sunk and filled over, were only for the very nicest of constructions, like the "food box" kitchen my Dad built to fit in the back hatch of the VW bus for use on camping vacations. I'm still a little thrilled by the notion of having a whole big box of brand-new nails instead of a coffee can of bedraggled much-used ones. For that matter, the idea that they sell plant stakes still seems odd; that was one of the last uses for scraps of lumber, sawn or split into narrow widths, pointed, hammered into the garden soil and holding up tomatoes.
† They started out with a rubber-block system, like a long speed bump down the center of the bus lane. People drove cars over it to turn left despite the ban, and tore out segments. Now the city's installing a long concrete curb; you could drive over it, but you're not going to enjoy the experience.
‡ Including one guy strolling down the slick and snow-drifted sidewalk yesterday with what might be "snow tires" on his cane: a flat, thick-ish disc a few inches in diameter on the end, presumably providing a little more tactile information about what would be underfoot for the next steps.
Republicans run for office and promise to "run it like a business;" Dems run and promise to allocate resources equitably and efficiently.
But governments that pride themselves on their efficiency are, without exception, repressive and disrespectful of individual rights. Most are totalitarian.
Human beings are not especially efficient. Human societies are not all that efficient. "Waste not, want not," we're told, and the stories of the past, no matter if they're ungarnished or slanted, nearly always tell us how our primitive ancestors "used every part of the pig but the squeal," recovered nails from old buildings,* and on and on -- and yet, much of what we know of the past aside from written records comes from midden heaps. Garbage piles. Abandoned buildings. Stonehenge has stood in mute, hard-to-fathom ruin far longer than it served as a ceremonial center. Even when we're trying, even when we are so poor that have nothing to spare, our efficiency is not all that high.
Efficiency may not suit us in our interactions with others. When disaster strikes, we rush in help; but effectiveness and immediacy outweigh efficiency.
This ties in to public transportation, long a kind of litmus test of libertarian purity. Indeed, run as a business, most public transit systems lose money or at best break even; considered as transportation, most of them outside of large, population-dense urban areas are a poor second to automobiles (for short distances and a moderately hale rider, even bicycles are better). --But what is the goal? My parents grew up in the days of streetcars and interurbans; mass transit meant that as teenagers, my Dad worked in a grocery store well outside of walking distance, meant my Mom's family could get by with one car, and meant two low-middle income kids could go to movies and window-shop in downtown Indianapolis. That kind of semi-casual use isn't efficient; but it may be effective.
In Indianapolis, the Red Line buses approximate one of the old streetcar routes, Broad Ripple to Downtown. Supposed to be spaced so there's one every ten minutes, they're running farther apart and the city has struggled with the ticketless electronic far system, bus charging and even the system of center-lane dividers used to mark the bus lane and remind drivers to turn left only at stoplights.† The big, beautiful buses have low occupancy except at peak times and even then, they're not nearly full. Considered as a business enterprise, it's risible.
As a way for people without cars to get from home to work (or shopping, or places to eat), it's effective. The Indiana Blind School is a brisk walk from the north end of the Red Line and I'm seeing more white canes along the route‡ than I ever did with the old buses. The elderly seem to be using it, too -- and that's one less car inching down the street with someone struggling to peer through the wheel, a win-win situation. The system of buses and raised stations is accessible to wheelchair users in a smooth and easy way, too.
Maybe efficiency isn't the only metric of these things. The Red Line's progress has been fumbling, awkward; the construction to install center-street bus stops and move utilities away from beneath the center lane was disruptive. The technology of the electric buses is by no means mature and their batteries struggle to hold a charge on cold weather. But it is making a change, and it seems to be useful in ways that the former bad-neighborhood-on-wheels buses were not. One of the major ones is traffic no longer has to fight around a hulking bus stopped at the curb every few blocks, and that's making me happy.
_____________________________
* My parents were Great Depression babies. I grew up in a household where if you took down a little project -- a playhouse, a rabbit hutch, whatever -- you took care to pull the nails out straight (or hammered them back straight) and to salvage just as much of the wood and hardware as possible. The first time I saw a double-headed nail, I laughed in delight, knowing just what it was for; conversely, finishing nails, sunk and filled over, were only for the very nicest of constructions, like the "food box" kitchen my Dad built to fit in the back hatch of the VW bus for use on camping vacations. I'm still a little thrilled by the notion of having a whole big box of brand-new nails instead of a coffee can of bedraggled much-used ones. For that matter, the idea that they sell plant stakes still seems odd; that was one of the last uses for scraps of lumber, sawn or split into narrow widths, pointed, hammered into the garden soil and holding up tomatoes.
† They started out with a rubber-block system, like a long speed bump down the center of the bus lane. People drove cars over it to turn left despite the ban, and tore out segments. Now the city's installing a long concrete curb; you could drive over it, but you're not going to enjoy the experience.
‡ Including one guy strolling down the slick and snow-drifted sidewalk yesterday with what might be "snow tires" on his cane: a flat, thick-ish disc a few inches in diameter on the end, presumably providing a little more tactile information about what would be underfoot for the next steps.
Tuesday, December 17, 2019
We Never Got That Drizzle
And now it's a Winter wonderland out there. It started snowing again yesterday afternoon, a slanting, determined snow. It was never quite as strong as Sunday night, when waves of big, fat flakes drifted straight down from overhead like flour from a full sifter in the hands of an overworked cook, but the afternoon snow just kept on. From time to time, it would falter and stutter, and then lean with the wind and snow some more, streaming down at nearly 45 degrees, getting just ahead of road salt and struggling to stay there, covering the less-traveled roads with a carpet of white and leaving a crunchy, slippery coating even on the main streets.
It kept that up all night. You can tell the walks here at Roseholme have been shoveled by the contour but the snow is shoe-covering deep on them and more than twice that everywhere else.
It's sticky snow. The tree limbs all have their white frosting and so do the phone lines, the power wires and my ham radio antennas. So far it hasn't been too heavy -- but we're getting there.
The most recent forecast I have seen says we're done with snow for the week. Temperatures will barely break freezing today and then head downward and stay low until Thursday afternoon, when we might see 37°F. We may not see the more-neglected sidewalks until next week
It kept that up all night. You can tell the walks here at Roseholme have been shoveled by the contour but the snow is shoe-covering deep on them and more than twice that everywhere else.
It's sticky snow. The tree limbs all have their white frosting and so do the phone lines, the power wires and my ham radio antennas. So far it hasn't been too heavy -- but we're getting there.
The most recent forecast I have seen says we're done with snow for the week. Temperatures will barely break freezing today and then head downward and stay low until Thursday afternoon, when we might see 37°F. We may not see the more-neglected sidewalks until next week
Monday, December 16, 2019
Prognosticators: Close
So close! They said it would snow all night, and it did. There's a little more than twice as much snow now as there was when I went to bed.
They said it would change to drizzle in time to clear the streets for the morning commute--
It hasn't. Not yet.
The line between snow, ice and rain is a narrow one. As fronts wander a bit, as air temperatures and winds at various altitudes vary, as clouds filled with precipitation drift and their balance tips, the big trends are (relatively) easy to predict but the fine details are elusive.
Has our drizzle dodged? Maybe. There's time left, depending on where you score "rush hour."
They said it would change to drizzle in time to clear the streets for the morning commute--
It hasn't. Not yet.
The line between snow, ice and rain is a narrow one. As fronts wander a bit, as air temperatures and winds at various altitudes vary, as clouds filled with precipitation drift and their balance tips, the big trends are (relatively) easy to predict but the fine details are elusive.
Has our drizzle dodged? Maybe. There's time left, depending on where you score "rush hour."
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Three Hours Ago, I Was Mowing Up Leaves
It was a bright day, mostly thin overcast with a few intervals of sunshine. I took the lawnmower and mowed up leaves in the front and back yards.
That was three hours ago. I made dinner -- chili as promised, and I have now learned to not add fennel seed -- and after eating, looked out the window:
Winter storm, as promised.
That was three hours ago. I made dinner -- chili as promised, and I have now learned to not add fennel seed -- and after eating, looked out the window:
Winter Storm Watch!
It's a beautiful, sunny morning -- cold, 27°and we'll barely break the freezing mark at the warmest today -- but come late afternoon, it's supposed to start snowing. And snowing.
And snowing.
A couple of waves of snow will pass through and by the time they're done, we'll have three of to five inches of snow on the ground. Just on time for the Monday morning rush hour!
Naturally, I'm planning to go buy bread, milk, eggs and washroom tissue. Well, actually Hoosier red-stew-mustn't-call-it-chili fixings; get a couple of bowls of that in you, and you'll gladly wrestle dire wolves for the right-of-way.
I'm thinking chorizo, country sausage and ground sirloin, with nice green chilis, maybe an interesting fresh pepper if they have any I like, onion, canned crushed tomatoes (will also look at fresh -- adding a few helps) and maybe red kidney beans on the side to be added if desired.* Out of deference to purists, elbow macaroni is probably out.
__________________________________
* If you happen to have a dining table divided over the matter of beans, there's a very easy way out -- there's a company that makes microwaveable pouches of very tasty beans. All of the kinds I have tried so far had a chili-compatible spice mix. Zap one of those, set the beans out for those who like them and there you go -- bean-lovers and bean-deniers can both be happy with very little additional effort.
And snowing.
A couple of waves of snow will pass through and by the time they're done, we'll have three of to five inches of snow on the ground. Just on time for the Monday morning rush hour!
Naturally, I'm planning to go buy bread, milk, eggs and washroom tissue. Well, actually Hoosier red-stew-mustn't-call-it-chili fixings; get a couple of bowls of that in you, and you'll gladly wrestle dire wolves for the right-of-way.
I'm thinking chorizo, country sausage and ground sirloin, with nice green chilis, maybe an interesting fresh pepper if they have any I like, onion, canned crushed tomatoes (will also look at fresh -- adding a few helps) and maybe red kidney beans on the side to be added if desired.* Out of deference to purists, elbow macaroni is probably out.
__________________________________
* If you happen to have a dining table divided over the matter of beans, there's a very easy way out -- there's a company that makes microwaveable pouches of very tasty beans. All of the kinds I have tried so far had a chili-compatible spice mix. Zap one of those, set the beans out for those who like them and there you go -- bean-lovers and bean-deniers can both be happy with very little additional effort.
Saturday, December 14, 2019
Today's Brunch Omelette
Why not make a nice omelette for a chilly day? Castelvetrano olives, Manchego cheese (plus a sprinkle of Parmesan) and bacon.
Fry three slices of bacon in a 10" skillet. It's more than you need, really, but -- bacon. I like to grind a little mixed pepper over it; YMMV. Non-stick or well-seasoned cast iron is your best bet here.
Next, make a shy quarter-cup of crushed crackers and add dehydrated mined onion, a big pinch of Italian seasoning mix, pepper, thyme and poppyseed; you mix up everything up, pour in enough warm water to cover, and let it sit a spell. You've got bacon frying, after all. Better look to it!
Add three eggs to the crushed crackers and seasoning, and beat well. Really well. C'mon, you're not half trying! You're after a really uniform mixture. Then leave it be.
Fish the bacon out and put it on paper toweling in a plate to drain.* Carefully pour off just about all the bacon fat from the pan, leaving any interesting crunchy bits in the pan. Turn the heat low, and pour in the egg mixture.
Now finely dice (1/8" cubes) a tablespoon or two of Manchego cheese, then take three of the bright green olives, slice the sides away from the pit, cut the saucer-shaped sides in two, turn the olive 90 degrees and slice way the remaining two sides; this gives you side roughly equal segments from each one. Set the pits to one side, there's olive left on them.
It's a about time to slide the skillet half off the fire. You do this so the top side will get cooked a bit more. It should still be a bet wet-looking at this point but the edges will be cooked. Sprinkle a couple of pinches of grated Parmesan on the omelette if you'd like.
I like to use shears to cut up the bacon. Put three-quarters of it on the half farthest away from the heat, and on that half, alternate with cheese and olives. You can put a little cheese on the top half, too. Take the saved pits, if you'd like, and trim the olive from the ends to put on the top half, too.
At this point, you're ready to see about folding. The top half should be pretty well set. Center up the pan on the burner, slide a thin, flexible spatula under it about halfway, and gently pivot up the outside edge. Does it lift as a unit, or is it sagging a lot? If it appears to have fair structural integrity, now's the time to grab the cheating spatula: semi-circular and nearly as wide as the bottom of the pan! If you don't have one and you want to make omelettes, buy one the next time you're at the 21st-Century five-and-dime. Slide it under the thin spatula, pull the thin one out, and fold the omelette over.
It's as simple as that. If it breaks at the fold, fold the break back up and hold it in place. It'll stick there pretty quickly. You can slide the half-moon a bit more centered on the pan, cover it and leave it for three minutes or a little more.
From there on, it's a matter of estimate and judgement. Covered, it cooks through and stays soft; uncovered, it cooks the outside, and you do want just a little texture there. You'll have to roll it over on the fold at least once -- easy to do with the big spatula -- and if you think it's close but you're not sure, cut it at ninety degrees to the fold and check if the cross-section looks done inside. This morning's took about six minutes after the folding, mostly with the lid on.
Keep the heat pretty low; that, too, is a matter of judgement, difficult to teach but easy to learn, if you're willing to fail a few times. Eggs aren't very expensive, after all, and the other ingredients are used in small quantities. Also, it takes a really bad outcome to not be edible.
The end result is worth the work -- light, delicious, and warm!
___________________________________
* If you have an older gas stove and oven, the plate goes in the bottom of the oven at the back, above the pilot light that lives down in the broiler section (mind the flame!). If you have a wood stove, it goes on the warming shelf. If you have a really fancy kitchen, you may have a warming oven. For the rest of you, the stovetop away from active burners is about as warm as you've got.
Fry three slices of bacon in a 10" skillet. It's more than you need, really, but -- bacon. I like to grind a little mixed pepper over it; YMMV. Non-stick or well-seasoned cast iron is your best bet here.
Next, make a shy quarter-cup of crushed crackers and add dehydrated mined onion, a big pinch of Italian seasoning mix, pepper, thyme and poppyseed; you mix up everything up, pour in enough warm water to cover, and let it sit a spell. You've got bacon frying, after all. Better look to it!
Add three eggs to the crushed crackers and seasoning, and beat well. Really well. C'mon, you're not half trying! You're after a really uniform mixture. Then leave it be.
Fish the bacon out and put it on paper toweling in a plate to drain.* Carefully pour off just about all the bacon fat from the pan, leaving any interesting crunchy bits in the pan. Turn the heat low, and pour in the egg mixture.
Now finely dice (1/8" cubes) a tablespoon or two of Manchego cheese, then take three of the bright green olives, slice the sides away from the pit, cut the saucer-shaped sides in two, turn the olive 90 degrees and slice way the remaining two sides; this gives you side roughly equal segments from each one. Set the pits to one side, there's olive left on them.
It's a about time to slide the skillet half off the fire. You do this so the top side will get cooked a bit more. It should still be a bet wet-looking at this point but the edges will be cooked. Sprinkle a couple of pinches of grated Parmesan on the omelette if you'd like.
I like to use shears to cut up the bacon. Put three-quarters of it on the half farthest away from the heat, and on that half, alternate with cheese and olives. You can put a little cheese on the top half, too. Take the saved pits, if you'd like, and trim the olive from the ends to put on the top half, too.
At this point, you're ready to see about folding. The top half should be pretty well set. Center up the pan on the burner, slide a thin, flexible spatula under it about halfway, and gently pivot up the outside edge. Does it lift as a unit, or is it sagging a lot? If it appears to have fair structural integrity, now's the time to grab the cheating spatula: semi-circular and nearly as wide as the bottom of the pan! If you don't have one and you want to make omelettes, buy one the next time you're at the 21st-Century five-and-dime. Slide it under the thin spatula, pull the thin one out, and fold the omelette over.
It's as simple as that. If it breaks at the fold, fold the break back up and hold it in place. It'll stick there pretty quickly. You can slide the half-moon a bit more centered on the pan, cover it and leave it for three minutes or a little more.
From there on, it's a matter of estimate and judgement. Covered, it cooks through and stays soft; uncovered, it cooks the outside, and you do want just a little texture there. You'll have to roll it over on the fold at least once -- easy to do with the big spatula -- and if you think it's close but you're not sure, cut it at ninety degrees to the fold and check if the cross-section looks done inside. This morning's took about six minutes after the folding, mostly with the lid on.
Keep the heat pretty low; that, too, is a matter of judgement, difficult to teach but easy to learn, if you're willing to fail a few times. Eggs aren't very expensive, after all, and the other ingredients are used in small quantities. Also, it takes a really bad outcome to not be edible.
The end result is worth the work -- light, delicious, and warm!
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* If you have an older gas stove and oven, the plate goes in the bottom of the oven at the back, above the pilot light that lives down in the broiler section (mind the flame!). If you have a wood stove, it goes on the warming shelf. If you have a really fancy kitchen, you may have a warming oven. For the rest of you, the stovetop away from active burners is about as warm as you've got.
Friday, December 13, 2019
We've Been Here Before
...But Andrew Johnson got nine more Articles. Inflation, I suppose, or the shifting market.
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