Chicken Soup for the Lazy

Once upon a time grandma made chicken soup almost good enough to cure cancer. It had a flavor that made you think it was distilled from everything in the world good, and if you had to, you could live off of it and nothing else. But these days few have the time to make such time consuming soups. I’m neither a devoted cook, nor one with the accumulated skills of a grandmother who has never heard of ‘instant.’ There are things I won’t even attempt to cook because they take too long, or involve tedious preparations. But at the same time, I like to prepare fresh and healthy meals as often as possible.

Today I had a hankering for chicken soup, but didn’t get home in time to prepare the soup one-hundred percent from scratch, starting with raw chicken and a pot of water. Grandma is probably shouting “No! No!” from her kitchen six feet under, but I decided to make what I call chicken soup for the lazy.

INGREDIENTS:

5 carrots

3 stalks of celery with the tops

1 large onion

1 zucchini

2-3 cloves of garlic

1 can of navy beans

2 thirty-two ounce cartons of Progresso chicken broth

½ of a cooked chicken

4 cups of filtered water

3 tablespoons of olive oil

salt

pepper

Zatarain’s Cajun Seasoning

PREPARATION:

Chop the onion, celery and carrots roughly. Slice the zucchini lengthwise, then into ¼ inch pieces. Heat the olive oil in a large soup pot. Add the onion, celery, carrots and garlic to the pot and stir well. Allow the vegetables to cook for 7-8 minutes, stirring often. Pour the chicken broth over the vegetables and raise the heat a notch. Add the can of navy beans and the chicken. I prefer to leave the chicken in good sized chunks, a couple pieces still on the bone. Season with salt, pepper and a good sprinkle or two of the Zatarain’s. Put a lid on the pot, but not a complete seal. Let it simmer for about 30 minutes before adding the zucchini slices. Cook the soup for another 30 to 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Serve over Jasmine rice. This soup is good with garlic toast, but French bread might also be a good match.

Tangled in Seaweed

This Wednesday past, a combination of wind and tides worked a magic wand over the beach here, and as far as the eye could see was nothing but a wide and flat, clean ribbon of beige, almost white sand. The trash buggy that trundles by two or three times a day never had occasion to stop and scoop up so much as a bottle cap.

But tide and wind are fickle, and the scene is quick to change. With the arrival of true autumn weather, the morning tide has shifted such that early morning walks have become impossible, or next to it, unless you have webbed feet or the stamina to trudge through loose unpacked sand for long distances. After lunch has now become the best time for good beach conditions, and I’ve adjusted my walking schedule to fit that hour.

Today I look out toward the beach as I am tying my shoelaces and see what looks to be a long unending smudge of seaweed browning the waterline. Before my feet ever touch sand, a strong salty tang of ocean and fish reaches me, growing stronger the closer I get. I haven’t seen the seaweed this abundant in weeks, and it doesn’t bode well for clean, trash-free walking. Sure enough, within minutes I spot the first gaudy splash of red plastic tangled in the wrack. The seaweed works like a broom to sweep rubbish in to the beach, and when considered, you have to say it is a good thing. Once the plastic is tossed up on land, it’s less risk to the ocean ecology, and easier for a regular patrolling trash collector to find. Certainly not pretty to see on the beach, but much of it will be picked up before washing out to sea again.

Old plastic bottles and waterlogged shoes aside, the ocean and sky today are outstanding, and bubbly tiaras of foam dance on the wave tops under a wide stretch of puffy clouds and cerulean sky. I stop for a few moments to look out and over the seaweed mess to the majesty of two blues above and below, and the twin whites of cloud and foam. I aim the camera but have doubts that any gadget can capture and hold this almost perfect combination of elements.

Something new in the tide these past few days, another deposit of seed pods, possibly from a faraway land. Like the seahearts, these smaller black mangrove (Avicennia germinans) pods have drifted on the currents to wash up on a Florida beach. They are a pretty diversion from the bottle caps and bits of plastic, and lay in olive green scatters around clumps of wet and glistening yellowish brown seaweed. I find a plastic cup that once held Cheerios, and rinsing it clean in the surf, use it to hold a collection of the green pods. By the time I have finished my walk I have what turns out to be a bowlful. Two of them I plant right away in the big white urn of geraniums outside my windows. A friend tells me she tried getting these pods to grow, but had little luck. Black mangrove naturally grows in coastal tidal areas throughout the tropics and subtropics of America and Africa. It grows marginally removed from the shoreline, where it can be reached only by high tides. Not exactly the conditions found in that white urn of geraniums outside my window, but…

Tea & Walnuts

Two very warm and individual brown inks arrived yesterday from Brian Goulet’s Inkdrop. This time Brian has selected an assortment of samples which he very aptly calls, “Mudslinging,” and which includes five shades of ‘muddy’ brown ink, plus a bonus sepia ink new from Private Reserve. Of the six samples, the Lie de Thé from J Herbin grabbed my attention right off, because it’s an ink long on my wish list. The other color that struck me as bold and off the curve is the Noodler’s Walnut.

Hard to speculate on what is prompting the interest, but judging from all the variety out there now, brown ink has suddenly become the new thing in ink colors. Look back as recently as two years ago at what was then available in brown, and you’d have difficulty seeing more than three or four brands offering a brown ink. Seems now that every ink maker out there is stirring up pots of brown.

But in my opinion brown is a hard color to get right. I expect that mixing up a batch of something in the ‘brown’ family is pretty basic at this point, but getting it right, getting all the desired qualities working together in an original shade is perhaps where the challenge lies. And to my delight, there are a few of them who have gotten it bang on target.

J Herbin’s Lie de Thé is one of those, and Noodler’s Walnut is another—one milk chocolaty, the other dark and bold. No hesitation in describing the Walnut ink as dark and bold, but I have sat staring at the Herbin ‘related to tea’ ink for forty-five minutes and still can’t settle on an accurate comparison. It does not look especially like tea, even tea with milk; it doesn’t look like coffee, nor milk chocolate. Because of a faint yellowish cast, what I am most reminded of is a spoonful of water stirred into soil from China. What I can say about this color is that—for those partial to brown—it is a pretty shade, and one that is standard enough to be rated useful, and not merely a mood ink. You could sign your mortgage with this ink and illicit no more than “Mmm…pretty color” from your banker. In the same sense, the Noodler’s Walnut is dark enough to pass for brown-black under ‘civilian’ eyes. For my tastes these browns are a combination made in ink heaven.

Writing… I tested the Herbin Lie de Thé in a Lamy 2000 with what I believe is a medium nib. (The Lamy 2000 carries no identifying marks as to nib size.) Granted the Lamy is a most agreeable pen, but it is sensitive to an ink that lacks cooperation, and with Lie de Thé, ink and pen sort of hit it off and wove themselves into immediate partnership. Great flow of ink; the Lamy 2000 tends to be a wet pen. Shading is good, giving to the lines what most would call a good balance. Saturation is okay, but this is not a shade that invites deep saturation, though there is enough to produce the kind of written page most are comfortable with. I will give this mix from J Herbin a bunch of gold stars, and soon dial up Ink Nouveau for a bottle of Lie de Thé.

For the Noodler’s Walnut I chose a Sailor Professional Gear, medium nib. This pen is what I call picky about inks, and is often quick to stubbornness with certain inks. I have on occasion felt like it was flashing signals telling me to change the ink. But it took right to the Noodler Walnut, and I admit to being surprised at that. With notable exception, Noodler ink has been less than cooperative in many of my fountain pens. Not so with the Walnut, and this too is one I will buy, or beg from Santa. With this one you will get tremendous saturation that leaves the backside of your paper free of all but the faintest show through. Shading is hard to discern, though it is there when you look carefully. Darker inks tend to not advertise their shading.

I scribbled a lot with both these inks and never had a problem with slow drying time. Reasonable and not an issue, though left-handed writers may have some concern.

My conclusion? Click on Goulet Pens and get yourself a bottle or sample of these well-rounded mudslinger browns.

November Peaches

Here are three poems I especially like, the work of what anyone would describe as a very diverse trio of poets, but at the same time poetry that touches upon the human experience in the deepest sense. The poems speak so clearly for themselves, I would feel uncomfortable commenting upon any of the three in a pretense of interpretation or analysis. Most might agree that the written lines say it all.

Li-Young Lee is an American poet, though he was born in Jakarta of Chinese parents. He has published four collections of poetry, the most recent in 2008. The poem below comes from his 1986 collection, Rose.

“FROM BLOSSOMS” by Li-Young Lee

From blossoms comes

this brown paper bag of peaches

we bought from the boy

at the bend in the road where we turned toward

signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,

from sweet fellowship in the bins,

comes nectar at the roadside, succulent

peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,

comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,

to carry within us an orchard, to eat

not only the skin, but the shade,

not only the sugar, but the days, to hold

the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into

the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live

as if death were nowhere

in the background; from joy

to joy to joy, from wing to wing,

from blossom to blossom to

impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

Edna St Vincent Millay is a name already familiar to many lovers of poetry, and was the first woman to receive a Pulitzer Prize for poetry. Her life and her love affairs were often fodder for scandal, and her poetry unlike anything being written by either men or women of her day. The sonnet below is from The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems (1923). It can also be found here.

“SONNET XLIII” by Edna St Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

Under my head till morning; but the rain

Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listen for reply,

And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.

Wendell Berry has published fiction, non-fiction, essays and poetry in volumes too numerous to mention. He was born in Kentucky in 1934. The poem below comes from his 1985 collection, The Collected Poems.

“THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS” by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

For those readers who would like to have these poems in one volume, I recommend what I believe is an excellent collection of poems selected and compiled by Garrison Keillor and called simply, Good Poems.

Souverän Revisited

Very rare that I ever see a review of a Pelikan Souverän in any of the many fountain pen related blogs. I myself wrote some lines back in February of this year about the 600 in the Souverän series, referring to the pen as the ‘top of the heap.’ To be honest, I am somewhat puzzled by the lack of opinion on Pelikan fountain pens in general and the Souverän series in particular, as far as American enthusiasts go. I’ve begun to believe that for one reason or another Pelikan has failed to impress the great majority of pen collectors (hobbyists, enthusiasts) in this country. In Japan, where I was introduced to Pelikan, all of the models, Souverän paramount among them, are wildly popular. I have no Japanese pen-enthusiast friends who don’t own at least two in the Souverän series.

This is a something of a mystery to me, because I know for certain, know as plain fact, that Pelikan is second to none in fountain pen design and manufacture. As most who are a little crazy about pens, I have pens of all makes, in all price ranges, and if you told me I had to give up all but one, the final decision would be down to the Pelikans, and would almost assuredly end with me choosing the Pelikan Souverän 600 as my buddy to the bitter end.

The single unchanging, never faltering characteristic of the Souverän series—and my 600 in particular—is its dependability. Pick it up and if there’s ink in the barrel, it will write beautifully every time, no question, whatever the ink, whatever the paper, no skips, drips or dryness. Ask me and I would tell you it’s the pen of the millennium.

Allow me to be redundant and repeat some of the 600’s specifics here. Like all Souverän models, the 600 is made of diamond ground acrylic resin. It is available in three colors: solid black with gold trim, red with black stripes, or green with black stripes. The red and green also have the gold trim. The gold plated clip is the traditional pelican beak-shape. The cap has the usual trademark of a gold pelican and chick against a black background. The 600 is 5.28 inches (13.4cm) long and weighs 16.4 grams without ink. This size is a good balance in either a small or a large hand. The nib is 14k with rhodium decoration, showing again the familiar pelican and chick.

My own Souverän 600 was special ordered from Fullhalter pen shop in Tokyo, and crafted by nibmeister, Nobuhiko Moriyama. Had to wait six weeks to finally get the pen, but from the day I picked it up, it became the standard against which I compare all fountain pens.

A Cold Radiance

Woke this morning to find that someone had flipped the calendar ahead about three weeks. No, I didn’t open my eyes to turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie, but rather biting cold and ferocious wind. Three steps from bed and I decided these tile floors are out of season, and jumped for the slippers.

Outside, over the water a special light show was in play, and despite the early morning cold and hard-blowing wind, I grabbed the camera and ran to take some photos. I did manage to get five or six pictures, but my state of half dress in the windy cold made it hard to get a steady shot. Not completely satisfied with the photos, but I believe the radiated light at least comes across.

The surf was tumbling too close to the sea wall and walking wasn’t an option. Near lunchtime the tide receded and the water calmed enough to make a walk look good. And so it was for the most part. But walking south with the wind at my back turned into an almost jog. I felt like I was on a treadmill with the speed set too fast and the track running away from me. When I finally turned back, heading north, I was walking face on into what seemed like a wind machine in overdrive, a hand on my chest pushing me back.

A cold beach in driving wind still has its particular beauty, but it’s all a new scene for me, and a reminder that some winter shopping is on the horizon.

The Lure of Beauty

Three years after his last book, Pulitzer Prize winning writer Michael Cunningham has returned with a new novel titled, By Nightfall. Set in post 9/11 New York, the story—though rather short of plot—is one of mid-life crisis in the world of a semi-wealthy art dealer named Peter Harris.

Harris is a mid-forties gallery owner living in a large Soho loft with his wife, Rebecca, founder-editor of a failing art journal. Their daughter has quit college to tend bar and live a rather sad life with an older female friend. This daughter Bea, less than comfortable with her father, leads him to think that he has always been a less than supportive father. On another level, Peter regrets the lost opportunities that have kept him a mid-level art dealer who may never have the chance to handle name artists. Passion is scant in this man’s life, but what there is of it blossoms from his appraisal of art, and the eternal power of beauty. The role of beauty and its meaning is a virtual totem in Peter’s life, and his thoughts are an ongoing inquiry into the relationship between beauty and meaning.

His wife has a baby brother whom they call ‘The Mistake’ or Mizzy, a name fraught with symbolism of a lot more than just a late birth in Rebecca’s family. Mizzy turns up for a stay with his sister and brother-in-law following another of his vague uncertain passages from drugs to rescue and back again. Cunningham stamps this character’s emptiness and pretense at depth by showing him holding at times an open copy of Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, a book he never seems to read from. Mizzy’s place in the novel is as an ideal of physical beauty, a catalyst to jar the protagonist from his stagnation, or impasse in the concerns of family and work. Order in Peter’s life is thus undone by the arrival of this undependable Adonis. Perhaps he is a beautiful ‘work of art,’ but one with destructive potential. Peter finds himself mesmerized by the young man’s beauty, and though troubled by the implications, longs to stare at, to touch him.

Mizzy maneuvers the besotted Peter into a position that guarantees his continued drug use will remain a secret from his sister, Rebecca. Unsure of his own sexuality, Peter considers throwing away all to pursue his wife’s brother. Interesting here is the contrast here between the character’s mid-life crisis and his teenager-like infatuation with Mizzy. Beauty can make fools of us all. And perhaps this is the purpose behind Cunningham’s use of a quote from Rainer Maria Rilke’s “Duino Elegies”—‘beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror.’ Having exhausted Peter’s usefulness, the boy rebuffs his declarations of love, cadges plane fare from his sister and flies off to his next destination.

Peter and Rebecca, having seen through the veneer of their marriage, decide to remain together with a hope of restoring meaning to their lives together.

In his prize-winning book, The Hours, Cunningham used Virginia Woolfe’s Mrs Dalloway as a framework for his story. In his last book Walt Whitman was the springboard for his story. This time, we find repeated reference to Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice, and the elder Aschenbach’s infatuation with the beautiful boy, Tadzio. Cunningham is more than merely well-read and his use of literature, film, music, art and movies to color his character’s words and thoughts is impressive, to say the least. This time we are treated to Shakespeare, Styx, Bette Davis, Tolstoy, Seurat, Beethoven, Damien Hirst, Rodin, Joyce and Mann.

Cunningham’s writing is intelligent and elegant. Dialogue is pitch perfect, and his use of idiom to fine tune his characters is almost delicious. He opens his character’s mind to us through an ongoing inner monologue that reveals the simmering angst and uncertainty, the fear that life has reached its apogee.

As indicated in the title, By Nightfall is something of a dark novel. Not everyone will enjoy the gravity of this protagonist’s dilemma, but let us remind ourselves that Michael Cunningham does not often do light and airy. There is plenty to laugh or chuckle over in this new novel, but you won’t find Gidget.