Painting in and out of a corner

I had a late night conversation with another artist friend the other night. We were discussing didacticism in painting. He had another artist critique his current work and she warned him of didacticism. It instantly made sense, as this friend's paintings are heavily loaded with narrative and images of his childhood and the like (as a Diebenkorn-influenced abstractionist, this is something I don't worry about too much in my own work), and it is easy to cross the line into trying to paint some sort of polemic when this is what one is doing.

I realized that we tend to think of didactic art as just so much agitprop, but I think that is the wrong way to identify the error of didacticism. So I came up with what I think is the simplest way to describe it: An attempt to use the pictorial medium of painting primarily to convey an argument (or subject) that is better made with words.

Didacticism is an error because it wastes time. Why risk the ambiguity when one could make a clear argument in writing or speech. I see Judy Chicago and giggle. A feminist with integrity sees Judy Chicago and rolls her eyes. A feminist who does not understand art or who lacks integrity says "right on!" An anti-feminist who does not understand art sees Judy Chicago and calls his favorite am radio talk show. Judy Chicago's work is the epitome of preaching to the choir (although I know of a church where the choir should be preached at - the danger of a professional choir).

Same with Thomas Hart Benton. Without the verbal arguments being made, all you have is incredibly poor illustration. However, with both Judy Chicago and Thomas Hart Benton we are still dealing with agitprop. Didacticism can be manifested even in the banal. Our dismay at how our siblings are living their lives, our likes and dislikes of avocado ice cream, all of this can cause the error of didacticism in painting.

Once we start trying to say something that can be better said in words, we are wasting energy trying to do with paint what words are better suited to do.

The second problem with this error is that didacticism begets didacticism. Once we are trying to make verbal arguments with paint, we end up wanting to reject our work if we change our minds. I might realize that I was wrong about avocado ice cream or wrong about Roosevelt, and if the painting is PRIMARILY about my argument against avocado ice cream or for FDR, then I am stuck with the temptation to change the painting or to destroy it.

Now, we can fight didacticism by attempting to reduce the argument to something that can be realized in paint, but then we either are back to preaching to the choir or we are in the dangerous territory of emotionalizing important issues without dealing with the rational basis of them. Purely emotional responses to anything, from politics and religion to how we FEEL about the way our parents' treated us tend towards a swamp of more emotions. I have yet to find that a purely emotive response ever solves any deep-seated issue.

So my advice to my friend was to pick subject matter that is completely without any sort of narrative loading. I told him to go buy $10 of fruit and a stack of cheap canvas boards and spend the next two months on quantity, to produce a lot of quickly-rendered paintings that have almost no deep emotional value. Basically, I think that any artist who risks getting bogged down in story-telling or political argument needs to forge for himself a retreat and get back to the basics of painting. Then, one may judiciously reintroduce the dangerous stuff. Otherwise the temptation to make poor arguments with paint always lurks.

A similar problem is found in conceptual art. When the concept is greater than the aesthetic experience of the remnants of the piece (here I allow my admiration to show for conceptual art that leaves behind beautiful photographs or other such relics), what we have tends to balance between bad art and bad literature. Heap political argument on top and all you do is plaster on a veneer of shoddy politics.

I realize that the standard retort to this is that apolitical art is inherently political, and I say AMEN. The only thing that art can successfully argue is the richness of the aesthetic experience itself. I have never had my mind changed by a work of art, and I find myself generally embarassed by didactic art that I agree with: "Gee, he's making a point, but by reducing the point to pictoral and emotive content, he is blowing any chance of generating a strong philosophical argument. I wish he had left this to writers."

Comment away!

I Hear Those Jackboots Marchin'

The forces of Anti-Libertarianism strike again on Erik's Rants and Recipes. According to Ann, the talented web-tech-design person behind the scenes here, we now have Blacklist. Many thanks to Ann!

I will dedicate this Blacklist to the Cause of Perpetually Stamping Out the Good Reputation of Paul Robeson (pheh! pew! yuck!). Of all cultural figures, the most repulsive has to be Paul Robeson (pheh! pew! yuck!). He was educated at the finest schools, had a college sports career, a law career, a music career, and a film career, made a ton of money, yet embraced Stalinism, even to the point of betraying a friend to death. He made a ton of money singing "Negro Spirituals" all the while denouncing religion. He was a traitor to every party that he owed allegiance. In blacklisting his good name for eternity, let's take a moment to pray that he repented, because otherwise a man of his depravity would undoubtedly be eternally farted out of Lucifer's least part.

While speaking of blacklisting I always think of Satan's little club, those turds at the American Civil Liberties Union, and that makes me think of my dislike of civil libertarianism in general. I read on a blog or somewhere that the government is monitoring blogs. The linked article had the usual pissers and moaners crying "domestic spying!"

It sounds like these folks are in need of a castor oil cocktail. Blogging is publishing, and it is publishing in a particularly accessible form. We charge no money (although some ask for contributions to help keep the blogging a higher priority than it would otherwise be (as a person who makes his living from writing, I certainly understand Mark's position)) and, in fact, try to encourage as many people as possible to come to read our blogs. To have any expectation of privacy is daft. I suppose these ACLU numbskulls would have the FBI shunning the newspapers as well.

So, in the spirit of blacklists and in the memory of my hero, Sen. Joseph McCarthy of happy memory, let it be known that June 1, 2004 is the last date that I will accept as innocent when the Keilholtz Dictatorship seizes the membership lists of the ACLU. You have been warned. Any name found in active status from that point on, will be viewed as guilty of violating the law, even though it may take another 20 years to establish the Keilholtz Dictatorship.

Furthermore, while ACLU members are still invited to the San Fermin festa, they will be required to ply the Duce with jugs of cheap red wine to assuage his wrath. The only person who is automatically uninvited is Paul Robeson himself (dead Commies are not usually the life of the party, you know). Even his good for nothing son can come, provided he pays the proper tribute.

Posted by order of the BlogDuce

American Idol and other Entartete Kultur

TSO wonders if the is the last person to never have seen American Idol. I hate to burst his bubble, but I have not seen it either. Nor have I seen so much as a minute of Survivor. I am, on the other hand, a rabid Teletubbies fan and have visions of basing the official aesthetic of the Keilholtz dictatorship on their peculiar world. OK, it is those speakers that pop up and recite things that really get to me.

Just imagine. You are in a park having a quiet moment with a friend. You look into each others' eyes, giggle, have a bite of sandwich, and then...

A bronze periscope comes out of the bushes making odd electronic noises. Then a calm, yet authoritative voice says, "The Duce greets all of his subjects on this beautiful day and reminds them that the parade will be held on Saturday at 8am. Your syndicate bosses will be taking attendance. We will now listen to Respighi's Roman Festival Overture. Believe! Obey! Fight!"

The idea is to combine the aesthetics of Teletubbies with The Prisoner. That is the sort of world I want to run.

How about you, number 6?

Bullfights! San Fermin! Food! Yippeeyieyay!

This weekend one can find bulls in Tulare (Saturday) and Stevinson (Monday). I might go to Stevinson (it is the Hilmar D.E.S festa). Tulare is just too far to drive. The Stevinson ring is a good one, and the cartel is Eddie Costa of Los Banos and Cesar Castaneda of Tijuana. Castaneda is capable of good work, but he is uneven. I was very enthusiastic about him a number of years ago, but the last few times I saw him I was less than satisfied. Someone told me that it was a goring that challenged his nerve. Maybe so, but many others bounce back after a goring. I have always liked his attitude in the past and he seems to have had technique.

Meanwhile, for those of you in the area (or willing to travel) please mark your calendars for my annual San Fermin barbecue and party on July 10th in sunny Oakland, California (in the neighborhood where Gertrude Stein grew up in, Jack London lived for a spell, and one of the Wells Fargo founders lived). I cook food from the areas of the world where bullfighting flourishes: Spanish, Basque, Portuguese, Catalonian (nyah, nyah, nyah you limp-wristed animal rights creeps in Barcelona, stronghold of Commies and heretics), Camarguese, Mexican, Californian, Bourdeaulaise, Peruvian, Venezuelan, Colombian, as well as the food of Greece and Italy (historic nod to the taurine contributions of the Minoans and Romans). The fun starts at 4pm and goes late into the night (paella is served at midnight). For out of towners, there is crashing room in our place (nothing luxurious, we are talking about a patch of floor after the coveted couches are snagged), and we can probably quarter folks in friends' places as well, if need be. In the morning we can have breakfast and walk to the Latin Mass (either Tridentine or Novus Ordo, both Latin, both reverent).

The traditional dress for San Fermin is white with a red sash and bandana. I am usually the only one so clad, so obviously it is optional. Feel free to bring musical instruments, although I have plenty of Iberian and bullfight-related music on CD. At some point we will probably look at some bullfight videos, for those who are interested. I don't have a huge collection, but I have some good ones.

The usual crowd is an interesting mix of folks, from radical Berkeley leftists to radical Berkeley rightists. We even have had Libertarians show up. As long as they appease the Jefe with offerings of wine, they are tolerated. No one else should feel the least bit obligated to bring anything but an appetite (except for actual Commies. They need to appease the Jefe as well - this Jefe can be bribed. If you want a clean and noble saintly Jefe, you will have to look to Francisco Franco. I am more like Nixon in a funny hat. Very bribable).

One note: the sangria is stronger than it seems at first. Go easy on it!

If you want directions or would like to reserve one of the coveted couches (at three am I cannot guarantee anything, but can try to remember who has dibs on the best perches. I will have been cooking for something like 14 hours straight, though), please drop me a line! All St. Bloggers are invited. For out of towners who would like one of my tours of the Bay Area, please plan on staying through Monday, as I will be too tired after mass on Sunday to show people the sights (other than the gelateria or the taqueria, as the last thing I will want to do is to cook).

Ice Cream Truck

I am all in favor of ice cream trucks. After all they bring ice cream to the door (or at least to the curb), usually on a hot day, in the afternoon, when one should indulge in a little ice cream. I even like the little jingles that come around. So far Amalia does not know that the music means ice cream. Maybe when she is a teenager I will tell her. She just thinks that nice folks drive around with music for us to listen to. Local teenagers provide music for the neighborhood without invitation, so it is only logical that some grown ups do the same. At some point I suppose that our tastes go from Musica Tambora to "Turkey in the Straw."

However, I do insist on standards of performance practice and the rendition of "The Entertainer" that I am hearing right now is just wrong. Too fast, too square, and the speaker is overpowered, so that it distorts (which is OK for some music: gives the 1812 Overture a funkiness that is quite charming). Enough is enough. I will make this announcement:

If any ice cream truck comes by playing a Thelonious Monk tune I will buy ice cream immediately. I consider Monk one of the best composers of all time, and I love his rhythmic sense as a player. I also think that his tunes (even his own quirky playing) could translate to the ice cream truck genre. So, if you are thinking of operating an ice cream truck in East Oakland, please consider this for your repertoire. You will have one or two phenomenally loyal customers on 13th Avenue!

Blog Spam

I have been deleting spam comments and banning the IP's. Unfortunately I lost one of the numbers that I was going to put on here, so if you spammed me last night and find that one of your IP numbers still works, please let me know so that I can ban you.

I am up to something like 60 banned IP numbers, almost all of them for spamming. I am quite tolerant of most anything, but spam and sedevacantism go too far.

Reading spam is probably some great cultural barometer, though. Reading said barometer is probably a task better left to some grad student with a grant and a lot of time on his hands. I would do it, but it is a sunny day and the goats need feeding!

We're having a heat wave...

Well, we had a heat wave. It seems to have broken this evening. Now, if I were to have to go outside, I would probably put on a jacket. Last night, I was out at 1 am and completely comfortable in a lightweight cotton shirt. I like the heat, even when it gets mighty uncomfortable. One thing that I had to learn, growing up in Sacramento, is that eventually the heat wins, we slow down, and Bingo! it is not so uncomfortable anymore. And when it comes down to it, nothing beats a gin and tonic in the shade on a super hot day.

However, at the end of the day, even when we get comfortable in the heat, there is something great about that blanket of fog that comes in on giant cougar's paws and makes the temperature drop so fast that one's head spins. Tonight we had the cooling without the fog, which is strange. It felt more like a delta town than the Bay.

It feels like it might be hot again tomorrow, and that is fine with me, so long as I don't have to turn on the oven or boil water for pasta or anything that would increase the internal heat (no one has air conditioning here, as it is rarely hot enough to need it). So, if my prediction is correct, expect some recipes for barbecue marinades and rubs.

Also, I will try to post something with more meat than just menus and recipes, but my editor just got back from vacation and dumped a lot of assignments on me, so I am a bit swamped for a few days.

NASCAR

I don't really know much about auto racing, but when in Redding we are exposed to a lot of it. I have to say that it sure looked to me like Dale Jr. was robbed this afternoon. I do not know all the nuances and all, but I would have to say that a race in which no one is allowed to pass in the final lap is not much of a race at all. Are any of my readers fluent in NASCARese? I tend to get my information on this from rather biased sources, so I would like to hear from a Jeff Gordon supporter on this!

Back from Redding

The weekend was fun, but not exactly relaxing (well, it was in the way that nutcases like me find cooking from 3pm to midnight a relaxing way to spend the day). The dinner for our nephew was a blast. I will post recipes as requested or will simply foist them on you at irregular intervals. The menu:

1. Asparagus and green garlic soup with garlic Pugliese croutons and orange creme fraiche
2. Warm salad with Niman ranch uncured bacon, avocado, seared sea scallops, and beurre blanc
3. Meyer lemon and campari granita
4. Roast tenderloin of pork, stuffed with dried apricots, prunes, garlic, thyme, and bay, served with rosemary roasted potatoes and short braised cavolo nero.
5. Tiramisu
6. Espresso served with dark chocolate orange cookies
7. Post dance midnight chocolate souffle

Today we went out for hamburgers at a Redding institution. Not the Redding institution we normally go to, but one that makes me appreciate fast food. One of these days I am going to post my tribute to McDonald's that discusses WHY fast food caught on so well and continues to do so well. Some of my foodie and slow food movement readers may be offended, but, so be it. There is a valid place for fast food, and a reason that the standardized chains were able to create a niche for themselves so quickly. If it weren't 2 am, I would write on it now, since I have been thinking about it, but I need some sleep if I am going to make it to os toiros tomorrow night!

Toiros!

On Saturday is the big bullfight in Madera. I will not be able to go, unfortunately, but I highly recommend it. We always have a good time in Madera, and the bulls are usually pretty good. For pictures of Madera from a couple of years ago, go here for Jared's excellent pictures. There are some good ones in there.

Also, on Monday is the St. Anthony bullfight in Stevinson. If all goes according to schedule, I will be at that one. It should be fun, although it just doesn't seem like the beginning of the season without a bullfight in the hills. There is not going to be one up there until next month or something. Too bad. It is a great early summer ring.

If any of you want directions or more information, you can get in touch with me, or go to bullfights.org and look at the California schedules section. It looks like this is going to be the most complete list again this year (the various Portuguese California sites have been a little spotty in the last few years).

If anyone wants to meat up with me at one of these bullfights, let me know and I will tell you how to find me. I generally have a favorite section in each ring, and can be counted on to be around the linguica stand before the bullfight.

Savory Cheesecake Experiments

You may have been noticing a long-running battle between a couple of my regular comments' box denizens and myself over the issue of fish and cheese. One of the partisans is a dogmatic anti-fish and cheese person, reflecting the basic culinary rule. Two of us are on the side of evaluating each case individually. In the process we have come up with the name Cheddar-on-Trout, which we figured must be in the Lake District.

Other than that we have been working on recipes that combine cheese and seafood without doing damage to either (and we are not aiming for neutrality, rather dishes where the two sides actually improve one another - otherwise why bother?).

The obvious combination was smoked salmon and cream cheese (or caviar and cream cheese) and that led to thinking about savory cheesecakes, and that has quickly become an obsession. I have yet to don my lab coat and start mixing, but I am thinking of a crisp potato crust, a mildly garlic/herb chevre and smoked salmon or smoked sturgeon in layers.

Melanie volunteered me to cook a multi-course dinner extravaganza for our nephew's prom this weekend. This will be up in Redding where there is a paucity of examples of the culinary arts (although they have two places that are worthy of food pilgrimage - Buzz's Crab Stand (yes, I would recommend going from the Bay Area three hours inland for seafood - it is that good) and Bartell's Giant Burger), so I am trying to keep things tamer than I would for a similar gathering in Berkeley, where I would expect the teenagers to have their own preferences for which duck farm to use for confit.

I am thinking about springing something like this on them as an amuse bouche. Has anyone out there made a savory cheese cake before and have any reports of what worked and what didn't?

Linguine in a clam, green garlic and saffron sauce

Tonight I made what is possibly the best pasta I have ever made. It started as one of those easy, regular standards: the sort of recipe you pull out when you did not get a chance to get to the store (Amalia took a 3 hour nap, so that killed the grocery expedition). Normally I do a very simple sauce of clams, white wine, garlic and parsley. However, not only did I not have anything to make a regular dinner with, I also used the last of my regular garlic yesterday. But I do have a drawer full of green garlic, so I figured I would use that.

It just did not seem right to simply use the green garlic as regular garlic. Certainly the dish would have been good, and the green garlic would have added something a little different, but it just seemed that green garlic demanded something a little better. So I started by sweating about six heads of green garlic (I use the heads with about two or three inches of the stalk, depending on the color, split lengthwise into quarters) in about three Tablespoons of unsalted cultured butter, a generous splash of water, a pinch of salt and a dash of white wine vinegar. I let it all simmer at very low heat in a covered saute pan. After 10 minutes, I transferred the whole mess to the food processor (or blender) and pureed it. In the same pan I sauteed two cans of minced clams in a Tablespoon of unsalted cultured butter (reserving the juice from the cans). After a minute or two, I added the clam juice, a shot of pastis (you could use Pernod, anisette, or Arak, too), the garlic puree, and a pinch of saffron and let the whole thing reduce. When the linguine neared the halfway point, I added about a half a cup of heavy cream to the sauce and let it thicken. I finished the pasta in the sauce and topped it with fresh chopped parsley and a sparse sprinkling of thinly sliced green garlic stocks. We served it with a Chateau Ste. Michelle Columbia Valley Johannesberg Riesling (a good wine, but too sweet for my taste. I would have prefered Bonny Doon's exceptional Pacific Rim Riesling).

I think I could live on this pasta alone for a long time.

Polpette di lesso

I may have posted this before, but it merits reposting, since it is such a good basic idea. You have to understand that Italians are cheapskates. We let the Scottish get the blame, because it is always fun to point the finger at someone else, but when it comes down to it, we give them a run for their money. We are instinctively opposed to wasting food. Back in the living memory of my family, we simply could not afford to waste anything.

Because the main ingredients for food were scarce, but not the things that make them tasty (garlic, herbs, etc.), we have some amazing recipes for leftovers. They are so good that folks now make dishes just to use them in our leftover recipes. These meatballs are a good example of that.

Most meatballs are made from raw meat. These, however, were designed to come up with a good way of using cooked meat, from a leftover roast or some other dish.

Tonight I did them with leftover leg of lamb (and, yes, the bones are right now simmering in the stock pot for lamb stock - good for lamb sausage risotto).

I am giving you the recipe for what I did tonight, but it can be done with any cooked meat (and even mixed meat. I have had good results with chicken, pork and beef mixed up with leftover sausage and whatever meat sauces I had sitting around - beurre rouge is particularly good in these).

I started by chopping the leftover lamb, including bits that were a little tough, but could be chopped fine enough to overcome any residual toughness. I also boiled a few red potatoes (any waxy variety will do, and a russett will do in a pinch). Normally I mash the potatoes, but this time I left chunks. They went in the mixing bowl with the chopped lamb. I added the finely chopped zest of a meyer lemon (Eureka, Lisbon, or any other will do fine), the same herbs I used in roasting the lamb, a couple of eggs, a generous amount of grated reggiano parmigiana, some crushed garlic, a little bit of pan juices and fat from the lamb sausages we had the other night, and some fresh cracked pepper.

While I did not use sage in the roast leg of lamb, there is something about that flavor that is essential in these meatballs. In fact, they can be done with just sage, if that is all you have or want to use. I kneaded the mixture to make it as even as it would be.

I made little balls (more ovoid, kind of like owl turds), coated them in breadcrumbs, and fried them gently in olive oil. When done, they can be sprinkled with a little sea salt. I served them with a simple green salad and a Bourdeaux (I would have served Nerello del Bastardo or a Super Tuscan, but I changed my mind when I saw this particular wine in the wine "cellar" - a humble closet under the staircase).

For a simple meal to use up leftover meat, these cannot be beat.

Pipilotti Rist

One of the more interesting things at SFMOMA yesterday was a video installation by the Swiss artist Pipilotti Rist. I want to see it again before writing a grown up review, but from a toddlers' perspective, the piece in which a figure in Hell is seen through a rough hole in the floor begging for help was a hit. The little screen was about two inches accross and was the only thing in the darkened room. It made me want to make a little "glimpse of Hell" display for each of the Canti in Inferno.

New Link!

Anna L. Conti is an artist in San Francisco with a blog! From what I have read this morning she is worth reading. She also has pictures of the de Young construction. I am still pessimistic about the whole thing, but that is for a later post.

Meanwhile, be sure to read her entry on "what is art."

Two More Reviews Coming!

I have just caught up on my blog reading, and it is late, so I will not write any detailed reviews tonight. I just want to mention that the Berkeley Rep's staging of Charles Ludlam's Irma Vep was awful. Silly crap that seemed to come right out of Weimar Germany. Oops, Ludlam was associated with Warhol. Surprise! 1960's New York, Weimar Germany, too many connections for comfort.

I will probably also rant against Susan Sontag, who is quoted extensively in the program notes. Same program notes that compare Ludlam to Shakespeare and Moliere. Well, they all breathed air, but beyond that the similarities start to fade. The BRT director must have been absent for their outstanding staging of Ghosts.

The other review, this time highly favorable, was of tonight's performance by the Wiggles. Great show. I would go see it again.

Other than the fact that those two shows were both on my agenda for the week, there is another connection here. Stay tuned!

I am not sure how soon I will be posting any long posts, as we have a Symphony dinner to go to tomorrow and a baseball game on Sunday, followed by some other thing that I vaguely remember (I rely on Melanie to keep our social life straight).

And, if you think Pop Art is bad...

On the fifth floor of SFMOMA was an exhibit of works from the 1990's from the Logan collection. Most of it was standard issue trendoid art junk: cow's head in fluid, kitschy paintings with "subversive" elements, etc.

They say that if you give a man enough rope... well, the arts establishment has a veritable Rube Goldberg contraption for its gallows. These works, from all over the world, show Western art in a terrible state of crisis, which brings to mind Bishop Wang's homily on the Easter Vigil.

His Excellency pointed out that the word for crisis in Chinese has the same root as the word for opportunity. I don't think that artists have ever had such an opportunity to rebuild art as in the last 30 years. There are a few brave souls making interesting paintings, but for the most part the mainstream art scene has put itself (not painted itself, because much of this crap is in assemblage and photography and whatnot) into a corner. There is no way out in the current direction. When these folks say that "painting is dead" what they mean is that painting as dictated by theoreticians for the past 40 years is dead. It was dead on arrival, actually, but the last gasps of the dinosaur prove how dead it is.

Pop Art is still silly.

In case anyone was wondering whether Pop Art looks any better after 30-40 years, let me answer: no. I went to the SFMOMA Pop Art retrospective today and found the usual suspects. There were some good paintings in the bunch, but one could easily argue that they are fundamentally different than the main body of Pop Art.

So, first the good:

Thiebaud. They were displaying about five Thiebauds, all of them excellent. I continue to find his paint handling, his composition, his use of color as exciting as ever. Two of the works were from the early 60's, and showed vestiges of his earlier abstract period (in terms of paint handling, not in terms of subject matter). I do prefer Thiebaud's more recent paintings (from the 1980's on), but these pastries and gumball machines are still fantastic.

Is Thiebaud a Pop Artist? Well, no. He paints landscapes, still lifes and portraits. The fact that his still life subjects are found in daily life is not a remarkable trait. All still life subjects (or at least most) tend to be of objects found in daily life. Why tag it as Pop Art simply because the daily life depicted is in the late 20th century?

Robert Arneson. Arneson, like Thiebaud, depicts daily objects, but with a humor that is not as apparent in Thiebaud's work. Calling him a Pop Artist almost works in terms of calling Oldenberg a Pop Artist, but there is something fundamentally different in how they approach the objects they are depicting. Oldenberg's use of monumental size might be seen as ironic (a term that is horridly overused), but Arneson is using the objects to provide form for his own peculiar visions of the world. So a closer comparison (not stylisticly however) would be to Picasso. Was Picasso a Pop Artist when he used his leftover sole bones in a ceramic work? Of course not, and neither is Arneson a Pop Artist because he made a ceramic sculptural fantasy on a typewriter.

Ed Kienholtz. I am bugged by this artist simply because his name is too close to mine. If you have an oddball last name, you should at least have the consolation of not having other folks in the field with a similar sounding name. OK, he was first, but so what? I do like his work a lot. Is it Pop? Maybe. But then again, what is Pop Art anyway?

If we have to peg it as a movement, then it must be scene through the eyes of Andy Worhol, and I hate seeing anything through his eyes. Yuck. But more on him later.

Mel Ramos. Another Sacramentan. Since he paints things like superheroes and supermodels, he might actually deserve the tag Pop Art, for what it is worth. His paint handling and compositional sense set him light years ahead of Warhol, though.

Now the Bad:

Warhol. Yawn. His work was never interesting. If we are to denigrate the genre of still life, then all of the criticisms of the genre belong in Warhol's lap (notice that the main purveyors of schlock art ALL have lots of Warhol prints, along with that Neiman or Neumann or whatever the horrid Sports Illustrated painter's name is). However, the less said about this most overrated artist the better. They had Brillo boxes and soup cans and Liz Taylor and all the other crap there.

Lichtenstein. More boring formula from a man with a mildly interesting idea carried way too far.

I will see the show for a second time (hopefully with Amalia asleep so that I can take a longer look) and will post a more thorough review then.

The Internet is Amazing

I found this floating around the Internet. Obviously it was not in German when it ran in the Alameda Times-Star (nor in the other 5 papers it ran in). I have yet to read it to evaluate the translation, but if you want to read me auf deutsch, then by all means click on the link.

I wonder if this means that I can pretend to be a famous music critic the next time I am in Deutschland.

Roasted Leg of Lamb in an Herb Mustard Crust

I was going to roast the leg of lamb over potatoes, onions and tomatoes, but looked at the menu and thought it all too starchy. So I opted for a classic method, but improved it with some interesting herbs.

I like a 9 lb leg. It tends to have better flavor and roasts better than the typical 5-6 lb legs. You need a good-sized roasting pan for a 9 pounder. I had my butcher saw off about three inches (save that bone for lamb stock!), and it still had to go slightly diagonally to fit.

I went out to the herb garden and picked fresh rue, Greek oregano, thyme, lovage, winter savory, lemon balm and rosemary. I should have added a few lavender blossoms and taragon, but I forgot the lavender and did not have any taragon. I chopped the herbs finely and made them into a paste with crushed garlic, Dijon mustard, fresh cracked pepper and olive oil. I trimmed the leg of most of its fat and the silver skin and rubbed the paste all over it. I let it sit at room temperature for about 30 minutes and put it in a preheated 325 degree oven. When it hit the desired temperature, I removed it and let it sit for 15 minutes on the cutting board. I carved it the long way and served it with sauteed scorzanero and a Folie a Deux Amador County Zinfandel.

Happy Easter!

I hope all of you had a great Triduum. I was planning on blogging a little bit on Saturday, but an unexpected visit from relatives put that plan to the wind. After four liturgies, preparation for the Easter dinner, and hosting said out-of-town visitors, I am a bit tired (and still have quite a bit of cleanup to do) and will probably be a little slow on the blogging today (or, maybe not). I will post the final Easter menu as well as the recipes, since I ended up changing things around a bit.

Christ is Risen!

My Easter Menu (second draft)

A lot of this depends on availability of ingredients. For instance, finding stinging nettles is easy, if I have the time to harvest them, which I might tomorrow. I know of only a couple of folks who sell them, though.

Antipasti - mixed cured meats, olives, ceci with balsamico, thyme and olive oil, grissini, and lardo bruschetta.

Soup - Green garlic soup from the Chez Panisse cookbook

Primo - Pancetta and stinging nettle risotto, served with fresh pecorino sarde OR Fresh fetuccine with pancetta and fresh peas.

Secondo - Roast leg of lamb (possibly roasted over a potatoe gratin, following the recipe in Patricia Wells's Bistro Cooking, perhaps just with an herb rub. It depends on my mood)

Vegetable - ragout of fave, garlic and rosemary
Vegetable - parboiled and sauteed asparagus spears
Vegetable - sauteed pea shoots with garlic and anchovy

Salad - mixed spring greens in shallott vinaigrette with toasted pine nuts and avocado.

Colombina - Italian Easter cake baked in the form of a dove. We buy ours from the Victoria Pastry Company on Vallejo and Stockton in San Francisco.

The menu is subject to change. If anyone wants a recipe for the things that are not directly from commercially available books, let me know and I will post them.

Happy Birthday Merle!

I was reminded via Alicia that today is Merle Haggard's 67th birthday. If you have been following the Texas and California country thread at Summamamas, you know that I am a huge Merle Haggard fan. Oddly enough, I have never met him, even though Melanie's family knows him, and he has several connections to the Arhoolie world. I know from everyone I know who knows him (and from all that I have read about him) that he is often a prickly character. He managed to anger a lot of fans last year when he was hired by San Francisco Jazz to do a show of Bob Wills material and came and just did his own material, knowing full well that that is not what the SF Jazz folks paid top dollar to hear (why would they, when you can go to county fairs less than 100 miles away to hear him do his own classic tunes every summer?).

Anyway, seeing as how Bob Wills was notorious for missing gigs, showing up drunk or late, and being basically scornful of his audience, I suppose that this was probably a fitting tribute to Wills. The strange thing is that only a few days before Haggard was really talking up Wills while being interviewed on the radio, telling about how he has Bob Wills' fiddle, etc. Go figure. He left a lot of folks perplexed, but that is what Haggard often does.

What there can be no doubt about, though, is his genius as a songwriter and performer. "Mama Tried" will be heard 100 years from now. My first exposure to this tune was not his own version, but the Grateful Dead's. It blew me away and made me go out and get Haggard's, which was even better (and the Dead did a good job on it).

Once in awhile I have to drive through the southern Central Valley. If time allows, I make a detour to Bakersfield just to soak up the atmosphere (I guess you call that atmosphere - it is pretty grim, even today). I also think of Haggard whenever I pass San Quentin, where Haggard was incarcerated when Johnny Cash performed there.

So, Happy Birthday Merle Haggard!

Take Me Out To The Ballgame!

We went to opening day (night) of the A's, and I am happy to report that the A's are in first place with a 100% Win record! This year it's the World Series, for sure. Please note that they also have a 100% record for home games this season, a sure predictor of a victorious season.

I have to feel sorry for our fellow bloggers in Texas, since the Rangers are at the opposite end of the scale now. Oh well, at least y'all will have October free (perhaps to listen to Buck Owens, Merle Haggard and some real country music from the Golden State). Har har har. Hmmm. No gloating during Holy Week. Bad, Erik, bad.

The team also put on a great spread for their guests before the game. We took a table right by the seafood station, and I have to admit that eating ceviche, beautiful prawns, crab, and Hogg Island Oysters hardly felt like Lenten Penance food, until I saw the lamb and the Chinese station full of yummy-looking pork stuffed things.

At least the weather provided some penitential feelings. At one point I wondered, "are we in Candlestick Park?"

The A's played pretty well, with some good defensive moves. I am going to have to watch a couple of the rookies this year. As a group they showed promise, but made some rookie mistakes (the cringe moments of watching two A's look at each other as the ball whizzes past in what should have been an easy catch for either of them, or the rookie hesitation while deciding whether or not to throw the ball to first - GACK!).

Amalia was quite a trooper, but we had to leave at the fifth inning and heard the rest of the game on the radio. I was a little relieved to go this time, not just because of the cold, but because we were in a section where balls were coming in like rockets and I seem to have lost my mitt. It made me a little nervous to have to stand over Amalia to keep her from being pegged, realizing that the only thing between me and a very fast hardball was going to be the fellows around me who were practically climbing over each other to grab fouls (and after the amount of beer these fellows were drinking I was not entirely convinced of their accuracy).

Since these are the company seats, I am going to have to invest in a new mitt this season.

Play Ball!

Green Garlic!

I know that Easter approaches when beautiful green garlic shows up at the farmers' market. Melanie picked up some Italian green garlic, which looks like leeks. When I make out my Easter menu, I always have green garlic soup on it, so I have to start keeping an eye on my favorite farmers. Fortunately this year it looks better than ever. For the recipe, I use the one from the Chez Panisse cookbook. It is a great start to a good meal. I am still up in the air as to which lamb recipe to use. When it gets firmed up, I will post the menu with recipes.

In other exciting news, the friar in charge of decorating the church decided to cover the statues instead of removing them altogether. What makes this exciting is that I have spent the last five Holy Saturday mornings hauling the statues back out to the niches. This year I will be mercifully relieved of this duty. All we will have to do is pull off the cloth. Yipee! It is amazing how heavy plaster can be when you are on the tenth statue.

I love the tradition of draping the statues, though, not just because of laziness. It definitely conveys the gravity of the Passiontide, probably better than removing them altogether, which just gives the church a vaguely Calvinist feeling to it, like some stripped and desecrated Dutch church (or the work of Richard Vosko, except that we don't rip out the tabernacle, turn the church sideways, surround the altar with chairs, give pride of place to the organ pipes and then ignore the instrument for the tinkling of a piano and the strumming of guitars).

The Countdown

Have you ever wondered why people don't stay up to do a countdown when Daylight Savings Time begins?

Me either, because it seems obvious: you stay up until 2 and then all of a sudden it is 3 and the bars are still closed.

Perhaps on the other side of the coin.

Anyway, when the time changes I set the clock in the car to the correct time. Then, I see how much it gains for the next time shift. We are at 14 minutes since the beginning of Standard Time. Go, Ford! That might explain the fuel gage, as well.

The good news is that Amalia will probably sleep until 7. She will think it is 6, but we grownups have a way of thwarting things! Ah-hah, little toddler. We reset the clocks, so you didn't get us up at a horrid hour. Very clever, those grown-ups. Very clever.

I love Daylight Savings Time: sun into the evening is a great joy. I do miss my bright mornings, but nature adjusts and they sneak in. Then they become the consolation for the Gloomy Days (that and the extra hour of the bars being open).

It finally feels like summer here in the Bay Area, which means we got a blanket of bone-chilling fog in this evening. Ah, I love this town, as the late Herb Caen used to say. Now, I will dress as an Eskimo and drive to Sacramento only to watch the external temperature gauge (which is accurate) creep up one degree a mile. It is kind of scary. You hit Vallejo and think, "did I pack any cool clothes?" By the time you are in Vacaville, which is the hottest part of the area, you are wondering why you even own a flannel shirt.

Our memories are short. We hit summer and it is a big surprise. OK, maybe not for you, but it always sort of blindsides me. Then we get our nasty fogs and all of a sudden September hits with real summer weather. Again, I don't really expect it.

Part of this is my own gloominess when the weather is gray. In Sacramento we had nasty Tule Fogs, these opaque goos that hung out on the ground for what seemed like months on end. I remember one December I was seriously wondering if I was ever to see the sun again. These are killer fogs that cause major accidents on the Interstate, so you have to understand the Tule Fog Insanity on those terms.

Here on the Coast we have much more civilized fog. It still chills you to the bone, which is annoying in July, but it rolls in off the ocean and has some romance to it. I always want to sip a martini and listen to Tony Bennett when the fog rolls in. OK, I am almost always game for a martini and Tony Bennett, but it is especially acute when the fog is rolling in. And not "I Left My Heart" either. I want something from Perfectly Frank, maybe "Time After Time."

Long timers forget the weather, too. One day I was with a fellow who was born in the City, and has lived here most of his seventy-something years. We were watching the fog roll in over Russian Hill. "You know, this is quite rare. It usually doesn't come in like that."

Huh? Come again, Phillip?

"Well, it generally comes in more from the North. You know, from Fisherman's Wharf."

From the North. Fisherman's Wharf. Yes. I suppose it does. Hmmm.

We are also often surprised to see the Farallon Islands.

"Look! You can see the Islands!"

"You could see them yesterday, too."

"But, with such...clarity. That's a rare thing, you know. I remember when you could see them everyday..."

We feel like we are somehow letting the City down by not getting the details of our memories correct, but the City has a way of doing that to you. So does Oakland. In my mind, it is always foggy in the City, and always sunny in Oakland. I don't want to confuse my memory with actual data, so I let this persist.

"Wouldn't you rather live in the City?"

"Well, yes, but you can't grow tomatoes in the City."

Anyway, happy Daylight Savings Time.

Barney Live Report

Barney Live was actually better than the stupid TV show. The children were not as fake acting as on the show (and were better dancers), and the massive enthusiasm of the little ones for the purple lizard was cute. Surprisingly, the all-to-common agitprop about the environment and such was absent. It was just decent, if sappy, entertainment aimed at 3 year olds. Amalia was not as smitten as she might have been (I am quite proud of her for that). I think the BART choo-choo ride was the highlight of the evening (and chasing Mama and Babbo around the Fruitvale Transit Village).

I still have to agree with the father behind us who, on hearing "I Love You" said, "I don't think I have ever looked forward to that song as much as I do now."

It all made me realize that there needs to be a Barney drinking game. Take a drink whenever the words imagination, stupendous, and super-de-dooper are used. You will be tanked by the end of the show.

Speaking of imagination, why is it that a show that makes such a big point of it is so unimaginative that they even steal the melody for their theme song? And what is with those cheesy synthesizers? Yikes. Terrible stuff.

Anyway, avoid it if you can, but it is not as bad as other things I have seen (Andrew Lloyd Weber's Phantom of the Opera, the Will Rogers Follies, and the musical of Ragtime all come to mind).

Friday Penance

Tonight we are off to see the purple lizard. I don't dislike the title character so much as one Baby Bop, who makes me hit the cookbooks for Alligator recipes, assuming that dinosaur tastes "just like Alligator." The only thing that makes it worthwhile is how excited Amalia has been about it. Now, she is bored to tears with the show. If she turns on the TV and it is on, she turns it off immediately, but she has always liked the dinosaur himself, so she has been very excited about seeing Barney (especially since we are taking the BART choo choo to get there). I will post my review later this weekend.

The last one of these craptacular kids' spectacles we went to was "Bob the Builder." I had never seen the TV show before (still haven't, after seeing what I saw at the live show). I was outraged. This Bob is an idiot, and the State should yank his contractor's license immediately! I posted all about his errors and worthless procedures last year (prize to the first person who finds it in the archives).

I, on the other hand, am more excited to see the Wiggles in two weeks. Fruit salad, yummy yummy! My favorite Wiggles tune is "Quackadoodle." I hope they play it. Otherwise I am going to be the only grown-up in the Arena standing up yelling, "qua, qua, qua, qua, quack, cock-a-doodle doo..." I suppose if one has a favorite Wiggles tune, one is in risk of being stripped of the title "Grown-up." Perhaps they will know me, like ex-PFC Wintergreen as ex-Grown Up Keilholtz. Uh-oh.

Spring plans changed

Due to budget tightening at the Newspaper, we will not be going to DC this month. Part of me is sad, but not so sad as to suggest that we spend our own money and vacation time going (not that I have anything against DC, but if it is just for vacation I want to go in the autumn, extend it into a trip North, etc.). However, I think we are going to take a big rail adventure for our vacation. Probably the Pacific Coast Starlight in May or something like that.

So I will not have a chance this year to meet DC-area bloggers, but if you are in the other Washington, we might be up there (unless we end up going to Mexico instead - who knows? I always like going to Mexico, particularly the State of Michoacan, and I have really been itching to get into the hills of Sinaloa, so we might be doing that instead).

A Tribute to Grumpy

Grumpy is my favorite of the Seven Dwarves, mostly based on his moment of glory:

"Wimmens! They've got wicked wiles."

"What wicked wiles?"

"I don't know, but I'm agin 'em."

I am not sure about the wicked wiles, but wimmens have this shoe thing going on. Even our otherwise rational St. Blog's wimmens are going ga ga and posting photos of their Easter shoes.

These patient wimmens have tried to explain to me what it is about shoes, but I don't get it. Me, I have the blacksmith nail an iron "U" to my foot every so often and that does it. When I run really fast, sparks fly. Fortunately I never run really fast, or at all, except once in a great while. The other day I had to run, and it was not nearly as bad as I remembered.

But my Easter shoes will be no different from my Christmas shoes, my Lent shoes, my any given Sunday shoes. Wing tips. Brown or black, depending.

I heard someone tell the story of Richard Nixon going to the beach and walking in the sand in his wingtips. Right then and there, I knew that Nixon wasn't all bad. Just the image of that dork walking in sand with his wingtips on made me suddenly feel the humanity there. Satan would not have had on wingtips.

All of a sudden it hit me: Richard Nixon was not so much evil to the core, just a clueless dork.

Dork. A good word that you don't hear much any more, but it explains so much. Nixon thought that the Dems were laughing at his wingtips so he resorted to dirty tricks, even when facing an unelectable candidate. I have no problem with a fair share of dirty tricks: statecraft requires a good repertoire. But deep down, I have to say that Nixon resorted to them because he knew that he was a dork and that everyone really was laughing at him.

It would explain why he had my hero Spiro on board: to provide a clown to take the focus off the sandy wingtips.

So, I will proudly wear my wingtips on Easter, in tribute to Richard Nixon. Mark Sullivan calls it getting in touch with my inner Milhous, and he is right. As I have said before, never elect me President. Even though I would aim for a Washington, an Adams, a Teddy Roosevelt even (although I do hate that name Roosevelt - feel like I should wash my mouth out and spit on the graves of Stalinists whenever I hear it), I am quite sure that I would be Nixon 2.

If you ask Amalia, she would tell you that I am more of a tyrant than Nixon. I made her take a nap today, in a startling move that underscored daily tradition for something like two and a half years. Can you imagine the horror? Nap.

If some absolute authority figure commanded that I take a nap every day, I would pay him homage in a big way, say a bottle of some of the really good stuff. Amalia, so far, has yet to deliver the bottle of the really good stuff. I do get plenty of hugs, kisses, and those smiles that just scream, "pick me up and hug me, because with that one look I completely control your every move." It is hard to be a domestic tyrant when your subjects give you that look.

"I want fruit!"

"That's nice."

"Frooooooot!"

"Amalia, how do we ask?"

"Can I have fruit please, Babbo?" [the look]

[paralyzed by the look, not lecturing on how we shouldn't have to be reminded to ask politely, but not daring to pick up toddler to give her the big hug that the look demands because, well, you heard the girl, she wants a piece of fruit] "What kind, sweetie?"

Ugh. Toddlers. How can I take over the world and subject all of you to my insane micromanagement when I have this one to tame?

April Fools

I am sorry. I just could not come up with a really good April Fools prank for you.

I am not only letting you down, but am disgracing my family. My grandmother was the alltime April Fools Champion. Somehow she played it off so that my poor grandfather was caught unawares, yet again. One time she had him running down the street looking for imaginary thieves. I think he got about a block away when the date dawned on him.

Anyway, I can't come up with anything good, so you will have to make due on your own. Sorry.

I was going to post my tribute to Budweiser Beer (which is serious) only to leave you guessing, but thought better of it. I will explain why this underrated beer deserves a closer look later on, preferably when I can get my hands on some good caviar, which is the perfect match for ice cold Budweiser.

I thought of writing something to the effect of "well, when it really comes down to it, you can't taste the difference between factory farmed tomatoes in March and vine-ripened, organic heirloom tomatoes in September," but realized that the patently absurd does not work.

Maybe next year.