What's the wildest thing you've ever eaten?

I think about food all the time, can you tell?

I wonder what makes eating a certain thing a wild and daring endeavor. You could argue it's fear of the unknown and unusual with mysterious consequences. This would make something like chicken feet exciting to you (note it's to you; chicken feet are normal to me). But what makes chicken feet exciting but moldy bread disgusting?

My pal A said the wildest thing he's ever eaten was a durian milkshake. It more or less tasted like a vanilla milkshake but with a strong aftertaste that pretty much only comes from durian. The durian taste and stigma made the drink exciting. It was okay, but probably not something he would order every time.

My pal M (not to be confused with me) said the wildest thing she's ever eaten is Korean-style marinated crab. That's the dish where you take a whole, live (I think) crab, douse it in spicy sauce, and eat it raw. Let's face it; what made this dish exciting was the prospect of eating raw crab. She didn't like it. Apparently the dish was too spicy for her taste and the crab meat was the consistency of jelly, which is a desirable feature of jelly but not crab. However, this dish is intriguing in that, to a casual observer, it is clearly the child of necessity. You can imagine a hungry fisherman in his boat in the middle of the sea, unable to build a fire, with only a jar of sauce remaining in his provisions, surrounded only by his catch and icy grey seawater.

As for me, I consider things like chicken feet, fried pig intestines, and fish intestines in egg to be normal fare. These aren't everyday dishes, mind you, since the pig intestines are definitely high in cholesterol. Oddly enough, the wildest thing I've ever eaten was a salty yogurt drink. My pal K and I once ate at a kebab restaurant and decided to try the bottled yogurt drinks in the refrigerated case. These drinks are basically thinned plain yogurt with a lot of salt. I do mean a lot. Something like 2000+ milligrams per serving. What made this wild was the sensation of drinking something made of ordinary ingredients (albeit ones I don't normally eat a lot of) in a combination I'd never tried before. The drink itself was intensely tangy and salty. I could feel my blood pressure skyrocket after the first sip.

Stereotyping.

Warning: the following contains many sweeping assumptions. Please do not think any less of me because of them. Also, I am referring to restaurants in the United States only.

For as long as I can remember, I have judged the authenticity of an ethnic restaurant by the percentage of patrons of that particular ethnicity. You can call it racism. You can call it ignorance. You can call it stereotyping. I just figure that, assuming there are many options in the area, and assuming a moderate price range, authenticity is a major factor in choosing a restaurant. Do the places I go to serve authentic food? Sure, it may taste good to me, but I've long suspected that I have rather conservative and wimpy tastes.

All of the Chinese restaurants I normally go to are filled with Chinese people. The food is authentic, and I know this because I've had good teachers. I have eaten at P.F. Chang's, and I can safely say that the food there is not authentic. I was also very glad someone else paid for the meal, because I disliked it very much. P.F. Chang's was not filled with Chinese people during my visit.

Nearly every Japanese restaurant I go to is not filled with Japanese people. The exception is Tobie Tyler's. Based on the assumptions made in the first paragraph, I believe that stir-fried seaweed-topped spaghetti, mild curries, yosenabe (sp?), and the occasional platter of sashimi are Japanese comfort foods. I like them all. Caterpillar rolls, although delicious, are not authentic. But I like caterpillar rolls too, so my tastes really run toward corrupted versions of Japanese cuisine.

Every American restaurant I have been to was filled with Americans, because American is not a race. So there. I would like to visit the First Nations restaurant in Vancouver, which I guess makes American a race, but it's referred to as First Nation. It's 1:00 AM so I won't try to resolve this now.

I have never been to an Italian restaurant filled with Italian people. However, I believe this is because these weren't really Italian restaurants, they were truly Italian-American restaurants.

I have never been to a Thai place that had Thai people eating there, but then, I hardly have the pleasure of meeting many Thai people to begin with, so I assume this has more to do with statistics than authenticity. Needless to say, I'm pretty sure I've never had authentic Thai food.

Every Korean and Indian restaurant I have been to had plently of Korean and Indian people, respectively, patronizing the establishment. This is where I think my assumptions begin to break down. I cannot eat very spicy food, and yet I could eat the food at these places. I can't possibly have chosen authentic restaurants every time, right? Didn't these places adapt their cuisine, "dumb down" the spice level if you will, to please my corrupted palate?

And now that you've read this, you must think I'm a horrible bigot.

I watch way too much TV.

What does it mean when I find myself enthralled by "ICC Cricket World"? It's marvelously fast-paced and has dizzying camera shots. I think it's in English, but I barely understand what's going on. It makes me wish they'd show cricket on ESPN2 once in a while, but not at the expense of my beloved sumo wrestlers.

Why I watch cartoons.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/linkset/2005/04/11/LI2005041100587.html/?nav=pq
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/05/03/AR2005050301281.html
Just the tip of the iceberg, from columnists I like to read on a regular basis. And that's just the print media. What's on TV is a totally different story because on those channels, there's no food section to break up the coverage. Just a continuous string of non-stories. I learn more from the ads on Nickelodeon than I do from any of the news networks. The cartoons are laden with messages about sharing and so forth. We get none of that from the news.

So please, please, please make it stop. Give me CNN International.

Sometimes hate isn't a strong enough word.

Neither is love. Brotherly love. Which you're supposed to feel for your siblings, right?

What else can you say about a sibling who's so cheap, to avoid sales tax on his online purchases, he will ship them to your house and expect you to bring them up to him on your next visit?

Who went to the trouble to have his own birthday gift delivered here, but couldn't spare the effort to call or write a quick e-mail to say it was on its way? Who instead told Mom to tell you it was on its way?

Who, when you called to say that the gift had arrived, wouldn't even come to the phone, and instead made Dad take the phone? Because he was upset I didn't work from home all week to take the package from the UPS guy in person, instead of letting the UPS guy leave it at the back door?

Who is so cheap, to avoid both sales tax and shipping charges on his Christmas/b-day gift to you, shipped it to your place, but had to include a DVD for himself because his actual gift to you didn't cost more than $25? And incidentally, couldn't spare an e-mail or a phone call then, not even to tell me to expect to see an extra in the package.

Who, when sending your gift in this manner, couldn't figure out the "gift send" feature that obscures the cost of the items being sent, so it's not so blatantly obvious that the DVD was nearly half of the total?

Who doesn't respond to your e-mails asking him what he wants for Christmas or his birthday?

Who merely acts polite when you call him to wish him a Happy Birthday?

Am I being selfish? Is it really all about me?

Of course it is.

On the other hand, isn't it great to be loved?

What a fantastic term: yak-shaving. Will expand and comment later. In the meantime, the link captures it quite nicely.

Yak-shaving yak-shaving yak-shaving. Yep, it's a winner.

Kids these days.

Yesterday I was on a mission to look for J's beloved apple-cinnamon Pop-Tarts along with my usual groceries. Reading about her inability to find them piqued my interest, especially since her birthday is coming up. I figured this would make a great birthday gift: it is exactly what she wants, and would be easy to ship, especially if I manage to snag a case of these things. Add a brown paper wrapper and the address and it's all ready to go!

The only problem is they don't sell that particular flavor here, either. They seem to be phasing out the non-fruit varieties and anything that isn't frosted. Seriously, though, how can you tell the difference between "french toast", "brown sugar", and "s'mores" anyways? They are all brown. If we lived in Canada, I am sure there would be a "maple" flavor, too.

Now I am going to say some things that will make me sound very old, because I guess I am.

My first encounter with Pop-Tarts was in grade school because previously, all food was eaten with the family at home or in a restaurant. Pop-Tarts were forbidden because they were (are) clearly made of unidentifiable ingredients. They were a strange food because we had no idea what they were. Breakast? Snack? Dessert? The kids at school would pack them in their lunches, in much the same way I would pack a cookie to go along with my sandwich and fruit.

I remember reading the label at the supermarket once, back when fruity flavors dominated the lineup, and seeing it claimed to provide one exchange of fruit. If you're eating a fruity flavor, this makes sense. There is some fruit inside, even if it is dyed and sugared and the consistency of paste. A little bit like eating jam straight out of the jar.

The brown flavors can make no such claim, as far as I can tell. I first sampled Pop-Tarts several years later, when we somehow got a free sample of the new "s'mores" flavor. The verdict? Maybe you're supposed to toast them first instead of eating them cold. I got the incredible sensation of eating tooth-achingly sweet cardboard. If I were stranded on a desert island with no other supplies but a case of those, I'd use them as bait for fish.

That said, they would have been ridiculously easy to ship to J for her birthday. But since I couldn't find them, I think her best bet is to buy them in Canada: http://www.kelloggs.ca/cgi-bin/klog-canada/product.pl?product=486&company=2.

While you're up there, J, perhaps you could pick up some Allegra for me.

不行。

I think I am coming down with a cold or the flu. Whatever it is that's going around. I have a new idea. I now believe if you are sick, you should come to work, and if you are not ill, you should stay at home.

麻烦。

Multiple near-identical machines. Which one does everyone want? That's right, the one I'm using.

Agony and the Pursuit of Truth

I have 40 minutes on Tuesday to present my progress over the last quarter. I have spent the last three days working on the slides. The trouble is, there hasn't been much progress. I have spent the quarter validating things. Slowly.

I have come to the conclusion that I am inept. These and past slides have been agonizing precisely because I have to figure out a convincing argument for something that isn't so convincing. At least, it is not convincing to me because I never seem to have enough data. My schedule always indicates that all the data will come after the presentation, which is why I am inept.

Oh sure, people try to reassure me and tell me I actually do have enough data and the argument is a wonderful one. They tell me the presentation went well and I looked like a pro up there.

Just once I would like to give a presentation where I was armed with a ton of data and prepared to chat for hours if the schedule didn't limit me to 40 minutes.

Times like these make me very glad I abandoned all hope of becoming a journalist. Digging for juicy bits on the international political scene sounded wonderful until I realized that I can't write. I certainly can't write on a deadline, which is what journalism is all about.

On the other hand, the inability to write makes for much better slides.

What I would do with a watch that stops time.

Bart Simpson used his to play pranks on the good people of Springfield. Other characters would use it to do good.

Me? I'd catch up on my sleep.

You're a bright guy and that's a stupid question.

My favorite quote from "The West Wing". One of these days I am going to slip up and actually say it to somebody.

I guess I'm not brilliant enough.

I drove 101 up to San Francisco on Sunday. In Palo Alto, a driver in a small older car missed his or her exit and was reversing up the shoulder to get back to it.

I never would have thought to do this in a million years.

I missed my Palo Alto exit too--I was going to meet somebody for lunch on the way up. I got off at the next exit and took the freeway back to the correct exit. I thought about driving all the way to San Francisco and giving a lame excuse for missing lunch. That is the extent of my creativity.

Maybe it's looking a gift horse in the mouth.

I appreciate the effort that went into my plaques. They cost a fair bit of money (plaques do not normally come cheap). The award is much appreciated, especially given that they probably strained the department budget. But there's a but.

Is it too much to ask that all plaques come with appropriate mounting or display hardware? This particular one, the nicest one I have and my personal favorite, has nearly killed me at least twice. It has grooves where the mounting hardware probably goes, but no hardware. I improvised with pushpins. Obviously this isn't working out.

Maybe I really am turning right.

Lately I've been pushing forward on various projects despite their slow and frustrating pace. I have also had to justify these to people who apparently refuse to see my point of view. I have to justify, rejustify, and explain. It all makes perfect sense but I am feeling opposition. I know I'm right and I am pushing for a balanced view of things. But I feel like I'm the only one looking for the alternative route, the way out. So why are so many people treating me like I'm wrong?

Help me.

I think I'm starting to swing right. What should I do?

Maybe I just feel guilty.

I spontanteously read the ladies room door in pinyin (romanization of Mandarin Chinese) instead of English. I didn't mean to. It's just that it looked very weird for a minute there, having the restroom suddenly open to all of us.

1. Do I feel guilty for not studying my lessons diligently?
2. Am I going insane?

And now for the problem.

There don't seem to be any recipes out there for a basic, simple, foolproof lasagne that is liked by many, freezes well, that the beginner chef can get right on the first try, and don't require a lot of expensive ingredients. Fennel is fantastic stuff, but I'll save that for the next batch.

Perhaps lasagna is such a simple and universal dish that I should just be able to assemble it based on intuition and past experiences with restaurant food.

How difficult can it be?

I have an idea and a problem.

I'll split this into two posts. First, the idea.

Washington state ought to decide its governor with a winner-takes-all showdown. There would be three events: an apple-bobbing contest, an egg-rolling contest, and a sack race. The next governor is the winner of two of the three contests.

The apple-bobbing contest is a nice tribute to one of the state's famous agricultural products. May the candidate with the bigger mouth win. In the interest of fairness, I should be the one to pick the apples and setup the washtub. Why me? Because I have no vested interest in either candidate. I am quite sure I could dislike both candidates equally.

The eggs in the egg rolling contest would be grade AA extra-large. The spoons would be stainless steel, right out of my drawer.

The sack race would pair each candidate with their deputy.

Many will argue this is a juvenile idea but probably won't offer to explain how this is any less juvenile than what's happening now. At least my idea is faster and cheaper.

I wished for rain.

I got ants.

If I wish for snow, will I get locusts?