From Soup to Nuts...

Ever wonder where that came from?... Found this on "The Straight Dope," a blog whose tagline reads, "Fighting ignorance since 1973 (It's taking longer than we thought)...



Good old Wiki adds that " the expression is "comparable to expressions in other languages, such as the Latin phrase ab ovo usque ad mala ("from the egg to the apples"), describing the typical Roman meal"... That sounds like a picnic...

Which brings us to the expression, "It's no picnic"... Answers.com says that "'It's no picnic for him' is a phrase saying a task is difficult and unenjoyable, or something is not easy for a person"... Tell that to some of my germophobe friends who also hate ants, flies, and nature in general when it comes to dining al fresco...

This rambling commentary is all Daniel's fault... Actually, I am kind of happy and surprised that GMS is getting readers to think in more interdisciplinary ways about soup... He shares a clip of the Three Stooges learning table etiquette, along with the proper way to sip a bowl of soup in "Half Wit's Holiday"...

This got me curious, so I started searching for more soup-related videos of the Stooges and found this gem of a scene with Moe and his difficulties with a bowl of clam chowder...



But this one "takes the cake" with Curly's showdown with a bowl of oyster stew... Almost the same gag, but different...

Although I am predisposed by gender to hate the Three Stooges, I told Daniel that I would include the clip if he could send me 50 words on how it embodies GMS's anthropological examination of soup, food, and comfort in our culture... He sent me 173 words... So as editor-in-chief and head-bottlewasher, I chose these 50...

"I tried alluding to some GMS references by metaphorically adding alphabet pasta to soup as song; solving problems with pie throwing; poking fun at how we take ourselves too seriously when following rules of etiquette. And emphasizing the happy experience everyone should get when eating a delicious bowl of piping hot soup which is just the way GMS enjoys her soup!"

Okay, so there were 61 words... Thought I'd give the guy a break...

Holy Mackerel: Study Reveals Super-Sizing at the Last Supper

This LA Times story got a giggle... It's no surprise that art - especially paintings and movies - cannot help but reflect the current time while trying to depict a past era...



It would be really amusing if artists changed the "Last Supper's" bill of fare to reflect regional favorites, trends in dining, or even what the apostles would have like... Judas Escariot's escargot?... Peter's pumpkin-eating tendencies?... Could be very interesting...

Here's a link to more parodies of Da Vinci's piece de resistance... Bon appetit!...

Not by Soup Alone: Vitamin P

Love and a thank you to Peter who sent this article from the NY Times today...



Rabin's article describes a four-day study of 79 college students — 32 men and 47 women - who wore an electronically activated recorder that recorded 30-second snippets of conversation every 12.5 minutes... The happiest person in the study - which was determined by their own admissions to satisfaction with their lives - proved to have an average of 45.9 of their day's conversations as substantive and meaningful... Not surprisingly, only 21.8 percent of the unhappiest person's conversations were meaningful...

I work in a very large and populated environment where I see some people every few months, it seems that all we can muster is "Hello, how are you?," which as we all know if more a greeting than a question...

When people like Peter ask this - I'm wracking my brain right now trying to think of anyone else I know who is like Peter and am failing - they expect a real response...

I have to admit, it takes me aback and I have to think for a while to come up with that answer... I usually respond with what I'm doing, not how I actually am, which is something I think I need to work on... I think that by being a writer, I sometimes hide behind my prose, thinking erroneously that whatever I've committed to the written page is all there is for me to say...

To my great surprise, he wrote in his email with the link to this article that I was one of the people in his life that made these meaningful conversations possible...
Peter's and my lives are quite different and so much time has passed since we saw each other regularly... But he has always been one of the people in my life who taught me to listen well to others and to observe, something I seem to have little difficulty doing in my work... Now it is up to me to apply it elsewhere...

Although he's far away and it seems as if we speak only twice a year, our conversations always give me a lift... So much that years ago, I dubbed him "Vitamin P"... I think it's time for a higher dosage all around...

School Lunch: Frank McCourt's Moveable Feast

Photo respectfully borrowed from the New York Times

For about a week, I've been getting in the mood for St. Patrick's Day with my Chieftains CD, "The Wide World Over" and listening to the audio recording of the late Frank McCourt's "Teacher Man"...

Although "'Tis" is my favorite book of the "Angela's Ashes" trilogy, "Teacher Man," which I read when it first came out, has found a new place in my heart for its description of the author's trials and tribulations as a high school English teacher for 30 years...

Although the story is told with McCourt's typical self-deprecating humour (when it's really good, I give it the British spelling), he seems to have had an uncanny instinct for propelling bored and sullen teens into learning and creativity using not stern discipline but by only letting them discover what they probably knew all along...

Some of my famorite parts of the book involve, of course, food... On McCourt's first day of teaching at a vocational school, he gets the class's attention by picking up a sandwich that an unruly boy threw at someone - and eating it... He wins the students' hearts when he tells them it was the best sandwich he ever ate, a prefiguration of the cultural sharing that was to follow...

Another class, emboldened by a learning environment created by an adult who actually listens to them, offers en masse to bring their best family specialties to school and share them at a potluck, which they bring to a park... McCourt's descriptions of how exotic treats like Italian meatballs, kim chee, and marzipan are enjoyed together by the gathering - which included some curious police officers and a few homeless people - reinforce my feeling that we could dissolve a lot of the world's cultural differences by just breaking bread, challah, tortilla, or croissant together...

Having his students read cookbooks - initially to learn a wider vocabulary - turns into not only a lesson in storytelling but in performance... The kids decide that a lot of the recipes should be recited with background music and bring in bongo drums, flutes, and violins to accompany their own family's recipes: a mother's special lamb stew, Peking duck...

When students would complain that they had nothing to write about and that he had a storytelling advantage because of his poverty-stricken childhood in Ireland, he would tell them to "use your own ingredients"... Good advice for all of us who want to write but think that our stories have already been told before... Of course they have been - but by somebody else...

But the secret ingredient of a book by Frank McCourt is that you never realize that he wrote this book while you are reading it... Although you hold it in your hands while your eyes and brain do all the work, it is as if he is there, simply telling you a story... I agree with the fan who wrote on the online tribute page that appeared in the New York Times after alongside his obituary:

"... When I read Angela’s Ashes, I read the book slowly so that I could make the reading last. I forced myself to savor the words and in doing so, I felt like I got to know Mr. McCourt. When I finished his book, I was sad– like saying good-bye to a friend."

So, Happy St. Patrick's Day to one and all... A health to Ireland that created such a man and to America that he made his home...

Short Orders, January to February

As far as my "chicken soup" for the soul goes, there is nothing like an episode of "The Andy Griffith Show" with its wry humor and homespun wisdom... While I have dozens of favorites, "Man in a Hurry" is one that comes to mind with this post, the story of a harried traveler who gets stuck in Mayberry for a day and finally decides to slow down and smell the apple pie...

I too, have been rushing through life lately, but not without stopping to smell - and eat - the soup... Some long overdue entries in the ongoing quest:

Jan. 30, Chicken Soup at L'Angolo's Cafe: After eating the single most disappointing piece of pizza I have ever had at a hole in the wall downtown, after attending my first - and also fairly disappointing - sample sale at the California Market Center, I stumbled upon this oasis on 9th and Main Streets in the heart of the garment district on the way back to my car and decided to stop in...



Since it was that limbo of a time, too late for lunch and too soon for dinner, I thought that soup would be the perfect transitional food... This one was a total surprise from the token bowl of broth that I expected... A classic golden soup held a piquant surprise while floating large chunks of breast meat, fresh red peppers, and tons of healthy and tasty spinaci... It was a soup, it was a salad... It was all things that made me happy... The friendly blue-eyed waiter looking after me to the strains of Sinatra didn't hurt either...

Although not exactly "spa food," the soup was restoring.. I tried to kick up the healthy factor with my afternoon green tea... But it was so restoring in fact, that I felt able to tackle a serving of tiramisu that could have easily served four... I upgraded my beverage to an Americano and reveled in the all-encompassing view of the gritty but gorgeous old buildings that I love in that part of town... And the thrill of mascarpone cheese and coffee...



Feb. 5, Provencal Fish Soup at the French Market Cafe: I had seen a review of the French Market Cafe that spoke right to me when it said that the staff didn't mind people who dined alone... I had been planning to go for weeks, maybe months, when it seemed like I always had someone with me when I went out and when I was alone, it was never convenient to schlep all the way to Abbott Kinney...

Finally, on the way home from a day of errands, I was able to make my way there after a visit to Ritual Adornments, one of my favorite bead shops in Santa Monica...

It was one of those Friday nights last month when it poured like crazy... Despite the weather, the place was pretty deserted for a Friday, but then again, 5:30 p.m. was probably pretty early to be eating dinner... A lone proprietor stood guard over the tiny shop of French sweets, pastries, and other comestibles... I figured I was to order at the counter, as Jolene and I had ordered sandwiches there last summer...

I was about to choose my default brew at such a place, the French onion soup... But then I saw something called "Provencale fish soup" and it sounded like an adventure.. I envisioned fish heads in a spicy broth and sauntered into the petite dining area, where a woman labored over a laptop and piles of papers... I mistook her for another diner but later realized that she was the manager or owner as she kept going into a back room to fetch this or that for her task...



When the fish soup arrived, I was surprised by what looked like a bowl of rusty-red curry sauce - until I got a whiff of its rich sea-like bouquet... I grew up eating all kinds of seafood, so I fear no fish... As a matter of fact, I could smell the unmistakable aroma of crabshells that were probably boiled down for the stock...

It was, like many of my favorite soups, complex... It was like a spicy crab bisque, accompanied by rounds of toasted baguette, a little cup of white cheese and another container of a sweetish pink mayonnaise... The cheese did give it a bit of texture as the soup's ingredients, while completely delicious, were pureed beyond recognition...

The cafe did finally start to fill up as the dinner hour officially approached and the rain diminished - then started in a downpour again, naturally, as I started to leave...

But it didn't matter, as I had the lovely warmth of a seaside soup in me, fortifying me from the elements and making me think of sunny days from my childhood when our parents would take us to the fish market at King Harbor in Redondo Beach... We would buy coppery-shelled crabs, fleshy mauve-hued squid, and the tender smelts that our dad would fry in batter and serve like they were French fries...

Govinda's, 3/7/10

Fashion tip du jour: go out for an Indian scarf, go home with dinner made by Krishna vegans...


Only in L.A. would you find a Masonic temple next door to a Hare Krishna Cultural Center...

The International Society for Krishna Consciousness... I was spending the afternoon in downtown Culver City and remembered the lovely Govinda's Gifts which is next door to ISKCON on Watseka off Venice Boulevard...

It's that time of year when the old wardrobe needs a jolt... It's still too cool for linen skirts but getting too warmish for bulky coats and sweaters... My paisley scarves are my second skin, so I thought some new colors might beat the late winter closet blues... I found exactly what I wanted at Govinda's...

My knowledge of Indian culture so far is limited to the amazing food on the Westside like Samosa House and getting my eyebrows threaded at Ziba... And watching the animated story of "Krishna" introduced me to the azure-skinned, butter-stealing imp that grew up to be a Hindu deity... So browsing through the shop was another plunge into the iconography of the culture with a healthy dose of Westside hippy-ness mixed in...

When I paid for my new wrap, the ladies who were running the shop cordially invited me to eat at the Sunday feast across the street... I demurred at first, thinking it was some religious holiday that might be sacrilegious for me to take part in... But they were so nice about it - and I remembered a meal I had several years ago at the complex's restaurant, a vegan masterpiece of spicy stewed vegetables and a memorable sort of crumbly bread pudding called havalah... I said I was meeting people for dinner and they said to take it home with me... With such insistent kindness, I had to accept...

I walked across the street to another building they had indicated through the window and found a sort of community hall... A gentleman wrapped in a sort of cloak and tunic was handing out sectioned paper plates at the door and bid me a "Hare Krishna"... I smiled and sort of bowed - I don't know where that came from, guess I just try to encompass all protocols when in doubt - and went inside...

There were rows of tables with a rainbow of people eating at them... Very few of them were actually Indian and as far as traditional garb went, the Caucasian participants were the most decked-out... At two stations on either side of the room, volunteers were dishing up rice, an eggplant stew, the much desired havalah, batter-dipped cauliflower and panipuri... A man at a table in the middle was dispensing fresh-squeezed strawberry and orange juice into paper cups...

I was really tempted to sit down and eat while the food was hot, but my family was waiting with our friend Rodney who was out on business from Seattle and food that Jolene brought home from Tasty Garden in Alhambra... Trying to be polite to everyone there - people who actually made eye contact and smiled at you, a rare commodity in the city - I "Hare Krishna-ed" my way out of the building, hoping I was not breaking any rules... Although I generally never use either expression, it seemed less corny than responding to "God bless you" out of the context of a sneeze... And amusingly, I remembered that one of the cashiers at Govinda's did say something like, "Bless you" when I sneezed through my incense-loaded nose...

As I walked back to my car, I stopped in front of the main ISKCON building where it appeared that a worship service was taking place with emanating music and colorful dioramas visible from the open doors... There was a man selling books sitting in front of the building...

Channeling my best Huell Howser (without the sweatstained polo shirt), I asked him what the feast was for... He told me that he and his fellow parishioners (would that be right word?) believed that food should be free and that closed Govinda's Restaurant early on Sunday nights in order to serve a dinner like this for the public... I asked him the names of the various dishes on my paper plate and what could people do to contribute besides donating a few dollars for a lovingly prepared meal, despite its volume... When my sheepish curiosity was satisfied, we wished each other "Hare Krishna" and I went on my way...

When I got home, I shared my bounty with Rodney and my family... We Skyped his family back in Seattle, and tried to entice them to come to L.A. if his work here took a little longer so that his wife Lee could get a scarf like mine and enjoy a vegan dinner at ISKCON with her their two little girls... To bring it a little closer to home, I added a little personal embellishment to my new faux pashmina, courtesy of our engineer friend...