Ox-Tail Soup

I first fell in love with oxtail soup as a child in the Alps. It is especially good on a chilly day, but works fine in warm weather as well. I have recreated it from memory and have arrived at the taste I remember. I am sure that my readers from Tirol will gasp with horror, finding this or that ingredient wrong, and I welcome suggestions, as I would love to have an authentic Tirolean recipe. But in the meantime, I challenge anyone to make it this way and to say that it actually tastes different than what one might find in some remote Alpine Gasthaus.

Today I made it with two beef ox-tails (from our adventure on the ranch - Amalia was quite fascinated with the fact that we were eating the bulls' tails. In fact, she has become quite into all things bovine. We had to read Ferdinand six times today), so if you want a smaller batch, use one tail and scale it back (or use the same ingredients and it will just have less of an oxtail taste and fewer bits of meat in it).

If your butcher stocks whole oxtails, or you killed a couple of bulls and have whole oxtails, they should be cut into approximately one inch rounds. I used a fairly dull cleaver (I have to remember to take it to the knife guy next week), and got through it with only minor aches afterwards (the trick is to use your wrist more than your arm).

On a dinner plate make a generous mound of flour, seasoned with fresh cracked pepper and salt. Flour the chunks of tail and brown them in a large pot with goose fat, lard, or butter (I suppose vegetable oil will work, but I consider it quite inferior). Do not crowd them or juices will prevent proper browning.

When they are all browned, wipe out burned flour bits and add more fat. Gently fry 4 peeled and smashed garlic cloves for about a minute. Add a finely diced onion and fry until it is translucent. Add a mixture of finely diced carrot and celery (about two large carrots and two celery stalks). Throw in the remaining flour from the plate. Fry for a couple of minutes to form a roux.

Add the browned oxtail pieces and stir to coat. Pour in a bottle and a half of sturdy, dry red wine (I used a bottle of Torres Sangre de Toros from Catalunia (the one with the little bull dangling from the foil) and a half bottle of a California Central Coast Sirah), a can (or box, if you use Pomi (highly recommended) strained tomatoes (then pour a splash of sherry in the box or can, swirl and pour in), two bay leaves, broken in quarters, a few sprigs of fresh thyme, a pinch of dry thyme, two heaping teaspoons of Spanish pimenton dulce, a generous amount (a quart at least) of brown stock (I use my "leftover bone" stock, which is made from whatever bones are in the freezer - this one was a mix of lamb, beef (t-bones from barbecue (adds an interesting smokiness), and chicken) and let simmer, skimming every 15 to 30 minutes, for three or more hours. When it nears completion, add a cup of dry sherry and a generous splash of Worcester Sauce. Taste and adjust for salt and pepper (you want a slight warmth on the back of the throat after you have swallowed, not an up-front burn).

When it is right, remove the pieces of tail and, using a very sharp paring knife, remove the meat. Chop the meat (especially if there are tough bits) and set aside. Strain the soup through a chinois, crushing the vegetables so that they exude all that they can. You want a velvety texture.

Put the meat back in the pot, cover with the soup, and bring back to temperature. Finish with more sherry (if needed) and a few dashes of Angostura bitters. If it is too thick, you can cautiously thin with hot water, but be careful, because if you over thin, then you have no choice but to boil and wait (I would not add starch at this point, as it can become too sticky. It already will tend towards stickiness, due to the gelatinous meat and the flour in it, so be careful).

Serve with a salad and French bread. Although I think this is best served with Pilsner, I was out, so we opened a bottle of Sangre de Toro.

For lunch on a cold day, serve with slices of German bologna, schrottbrot, and Swiss Ementhal cheese.

Variety Meat Recipe Research

I have been looking around the Internet for fun recipes for beef liver (I have two giant beef livers in my icebox) and the like. I came accross this one, and am linking to it. I have not checked the recipes yet, but anyone who refers to Rocky Mountain Oysters as "Montana Tendergroin" is OK in my book.

UPDATE: the recipes look good (or at least can be used as the basis for good eating). Be sure to check out "Ranch Fry."

Start Your Own Lepanto League Chapter

Jeff Culbreath asks how to start a Lepanto League Chapter in Sacramento. Since Sacramento is only 90 miles away, the best bet is probably to get a group together to just read the books and come to the next Bay Area get-together and take it from there. I will discuss it with the Chief Instigator when I talk to him next, but that seems like the best approach. If we have several chapters then we will have to figure out how to get them to communicate, to mingle, etc. I have suggested the idea of expanding and having an annual Lepanto League barbecue for all the chapters. The Joaquin Miller Park in Oakland has an amazing barbecue pit surrounded by a ring of tables. It is in the Oakland hills and has a view of the Bay. It would be a great place to roast a whole animal and gather to discuss literature and the like.

Beef and cattle

Today Amalia and I were at my godfather's ranch for a cattle slaughter. I am a firm believer that one should know the source of one's food. If one cannot bear to see cattle being slaughtered and butchered, one should ask why (likewise, if anyone thinks that bullfighting is particularly cruel, then one should probably question their commitment to eating meat of any form).

There is a great side benefit to participating in your food from pasture to the table in that you understand the complex flavors of the food much better. Beef is a very complex flavor. When you can trace certain notes from the grass to the smell of the freshly butchered animal to the cooking to the final dish your understanding of beef cookery deepens.

Certain smells are almost overpowering when encountered in the natural state. I will not gross you out with details, but first there is a wave of unpleasantness. Then recognition hits: "ah hah! I know that smell, as it is one of the components to the beef flavor." Suddenly that smell falls completely into place and ceases to be all that unpleasant.

Part of the deal of this trip was that I got to take home all the variety meats (although the Mexican ranch hands had dibs on the heads, so no beef cheeks, and I was only able to come away with one tongue). I have to admit that I was a little disappointed to find that one of the bulls was not intact. My platter of criadillas will have to be a little smaller, but I can hardly complain, since even the Oakland Housewives Marketplace doesn't stock these. I ended up passing on the tripe, because the ranch does not have running water, and I was not about to transport tripe that hadn't had a blast from a high pressure hose first. Also tripe preparation is lengthy and difficult, so the 69 cents a pound that I can buy pre-washed tripe suddenly looked pretty good (commercially they wash tripe in machines that look like cement mixers, so they can do massive amounts cheaply).

When I got home I had the taks of trimming and packing all of this exciting stuff, which is a further chance to explore the smells of what eventually ends up on the table.

On a parenting level, I have to admit that I really had to think about whether to take Amalia to the actual slaughter. In the end I decided that it was a great learning experience, and I am glad that she saw the whole thing. She asked a million questions and only seemed bothered by the sound of the gun. She also was fascinated by the cleaning and trimming at home. She is very much looking forward to "eating the bull."

Last night at my godfather's house we were looking at his bovine library. He had a book on bulls that had some good bullfighting pictures. Amalia is keen on going back to the bullfights now. I was proud of her when she would not let me go on to the section on breeding, because she wanted to look at the bullfight pictures some more (she was especially smitten with one of El Cordobes on one knee, passing the bull with the muleta).

Anyway, I now have more beef liver (not calves' liver, but the full-flavored thing from three year olds) than I possibly know what to do with, so expect some beef liver experimentation reports. I will also be making a big batch of Oxtail soup, so you can demand a recipe for that as well (I make mine in a modified Alpine/Hungarian style with paprika, tomatoes and red wine, finished with dry sherry). Also, expect some reports on beef heart experiments.

The Lepanto League

I was aksed in a comment about The Lepanto League. The best explanation is to read the website. If you are in the Bay Area, you might want to check us out. If you are not in the Bay Area and would like to start some Lepanto League activity, give us a holler. We do have a nifty banner, if I do say so myself (not to mention very fun events).

On Sunday we turned out in force (50 of us) for the ground blessing for the new cathedral in Oakland. Poor Bishop Vigneron. He inherited the project from Bishop Cummins and has done the best he could to turn it into a Catholic church. Hopefully the architecture can gradually be converted (not to mention the Episcopagan architect). From what I have seen of the designs, it will be a monstrocity, but it will be our monstrocity (whoopee! That line was borrowed from our head instigator and founder).

Vigneron also inhereted the ceremony that took place on Sunday. It was a veritable United Nations sort of event that underscored, italicized and bolded the need for Latin. The prayers of the faithful were rendered in many languages, each one read by someone in colorful ethnic costumes. I understood the Spanish, English, French and Portuguese, but none of the other languages (not too big a deal, as God understands all, just as well as He understands Latin). I did notice that they did not have any Italians. Italians have been important to Oakland. Why were they absent? If everything were in Latin no one would have noticed that their particular ethnicity was unrepresented.

The music was typical Amchurch Keerap, complete with a hippy woman belting out pseudo-Gospel type music. When the Lepanto League showed up, we came in chanting "Vexilla Regis Prodeunt." Without amplification, with a bare minimum of rehearsal, we sounded much better than the amped-up, rehearsed guitar and bongo extravaganza. Of course the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre were dressed much cooler than we were (we are working on that, but I don't think we will be able to match them for classical Catholic elegance).

But we are finally going to have a cathedral, and the Bishop blessed our banner, and we had a great picnic in the park (after the Latin mass that most of us went to). The weather was lovely (70-something degrees with a slight breeze), and it is always good to see a platoon of Roman collars outside of Rome, where such a sighting is commonplace.

Brief Update

I am just checking in to say "howdy." My to-do list is finally getting smaller, and I see the light at the end of the tunnel (until another blast of tasks comes my way). I am far too tired to write anything extensive for you, and I am sorry.

I will say this: for the last few months I have been very adrift in my painting. I start works only to lose interest in them. I have tried doing smaller works, but even there it has not been that fruitful. I have been spending most of my visual creative energy on art-related craft projects and have not really been able to focus on working canvases or panels to the extent that I have to in order to make a good painting.

Part of the problem has been that my own idea of what I want to get done in a painting has been shifting. This is a good thing, but it makes coherence rather difficult. One week I am thinking about Pierre Bonnard, the next about Giotto. The downside is that when one is in this mode, one tends to paint fairly insignificant works: when it comes down to it, no one really needs to see a Bonnard-inspired composition painted with Giotto's technique. Yawn. This is the stuff that art education is made of and has its place, but that place is not in a serious portfolio, much less a gallery wall.

The advantage to this mode of thinking is that it makes one think more generally about art theory. I have always held that good art theory explains why one finds pleasure in Lucien Freud as well as in a Diebenkorn Ocean Park. It should speak to Matisse AND Caravaggio.

When I see a landscape or a figure grouping and think about it in terms of various artists and styles, it forces me to take a more abstract view of art, particularly of composition. That makes me theorize, and theory is the scaffolding upon which good art is built (sorry to you Romantics out there who hold to blind, frenzied creation, but even the most ecstatic moments of Van Gogh were built on solid draughtsmanship and good principles of composition).

Hopefully something interesting will come of this, but I will definitely be focusing in on an exploration of composition in one particular direction. Maybe it will last for ten years, maybe ten weeks, but I am finally seeing some sense of direction to my painting, something that has been lacking for the past three years.

If I figure out how to do it, someday I will post some images on this site (or on another site). I have to admit that learning how to do all that computery stuff is pretty low on my priorities these days.

Mea Culpa

I am sorry for the light postings these days, but I am tremendously busy. I have been working on two marketing project proposals, a music marketing project, two restaurant reviews, a slew of CD reviews, a banner for the Lepanto League, as well as the reading for the Lepanto League gathering. Add this to raising Amalia, helping my parents in their landscaping project, a dinner party, a bullfight Monday and Lectura Dantis readings and I am one busy puppy. I will try to post a bit here and there, but I will be pretty swamped until Tuesday.

Meanwhile, for your reading pleasure, might I recommend any of the fine blogs on the sidebar (as well as the usual suspects who have yet to make it on the sidebar)?

A New Record!

This evening my site was spammed some 600 times, all for variants on the same filthy URL. What would have taken hours took only 20 minutes, thanks to MT Blacklist. Hopefully I was comprehensive enough in adding strings of text to the blacklist, that this will rid me of this particularly offensive spammer.

If you are using Movable Type, I highly recommend MT Blacklist. I thank Ann for installing it and for all of you who recommended it to me.

Barney Bullfight

Someone found this site with a Google search for "Barney Bullfight."

First, I am not so sure that Barney is an intact male. At the ranches toreros and amateurs might participate in vacadas on the cows, which are just as ferocious as the bulls, have horns just as dangerous, etc., but I don't think there is a right thinking Spaniard in all the world who would attempt to torear a steer.

Second, Barney does not have horns. Baby Bop or BJ, on the other hand... at least I wouldn't object to them taking the sword, and they do have horns.

Third, Barney might be able to talk, but he would never have the potential of developing sentido, which, while being a toreros dream come true, would make for a particular stupid bullfight. I can just see it:

Barney charges the muleta, only to find that the matador has skillfully manipulated it so that he ends up striking air. "Super-dee-duper! If we use our imaginations we can pretend that we just struck a rival for our territory."

Finally, audiences would quickly tire of Barney skipping around the ring, singing. If the band were to play during the final tercio, that singing would clash with the pasodobles.

On the other hand, I can't think of any adult who would not relish the thought of Barney taking the pic or banderillas.

Spam Must Go!

I just had to spend the last half-hour de-spamming a bunch of comments that got past blacklist. As a result I am far too foul a mood to post what I was going to post. Sorry. Perhaps later.

The offending comments were beyond offensive. Is there any way of turning this stuff in to a regulating agency that will actually do something about it?

A New Friday Five

Thanks to those who answered last week's Friday Five. It was a bit geeky, so this will be less so. I have been thinking about beef recently, so here are five questions regarding the flesh of bovines.

1. How do you like your steak cooked?

2. Describe the ideal hamburger.

3. Grass or grain?

4. Do you worry about mad cow disease?

5. What is your favorite kind of beef jerky?

Please answer in the comments box or on your own blog (but announce it in the box, please).

Flowering Peach Wood

Today I was helping my parents with this yard project. We discovered that a flowering peach tree had a large branch that cracked and fell on the fence between their yard and the neighbors'. I sawed the branch, lugged it over to my parents' side and cut it up. What I found was dense, tightly-grained wood. I was wondering if anyone has ever had any experience with working this kind of wood. I imagine that it would make incredible furniture. Does is take to seasoning well? Does it check easily?

My Friday Five Answers

1. The steward at the wedding at Cana was amazed at the quality of the wine that was the result of Jesus' first public miracle. What sort of wine do you think it closest resembled and why do you think so?

Obviously this wine had to be a powerhouse wine, since the guests had clearly been drinking quite a bit of the old vino and yet the quality was noted. We have to think what would have been a knock-out wine in that region. For someone who is most familiar with Bordeaux, an old Hermitage might taste weird if one isn't ready for that barnyard aroma. I am tempted to think, however, that this wine was like a great Bordeaux cuvee, because I can't see how anyone could fail to love a wine like that, but I think it was probably more of a Rhone style wine, since the Sirah grape is most-likely Persian in origin, so would have had a more familiar taste profile. I am guessing then that this wine resembled a Chateauneuf du Pape, Vieux Telegraphe (or Bonny Doon's wonderful tribute, Old Telegram). Partly because of my own fondness for these magnificent Cote du Rhone wines, partly because of the Papal connections to the wine, but mostly because I think that this is what most Mediterranean folks think of when they think of a great wine. Either that or a Super Tuscan or Super Piedmont wine.

2. What is your favorite Catholic work of art that was done by a non-Catholic?

This is a tough one. Probably Bach's b-minor mass, but quite possibly one of Rembrandt's religious paintings. It depends on my mood.

3. What is your favorite depiction of Hell in art?

Easy. I will have to stick with Dante's.

4. What about Heaven?

At the risk of sounding boring, I will stick with Dante here, too.

5. When you think about Satan, do you think of the Miltonic Satan or the Dantean Satan? Or do you think about the Red Devil from the fireworks box?

Even though I accept the theological correctness of Dante's Satan, I probably think of the Miltonic Sexy Satan, perhaps updated. Sometimes I go for the whole plantation suit with panama hat thing, othertimes I think of the sinister Italian in a sharp suit with sunglasses. However, when I think of people under his dark influence, I think of them as oafish, perhaps charming, but utterly vacuous. Bill Clinton comes to mind. I just imagine these folks being totally smitten with some slick, fast-talking Debbil: "Bill, if you sign on with the program, I will make you King! I will make you Emperor! I will make you President of the United States! I will give you the wimmins! I will give you the best book contracts and speaking engagements!"

Of course the fall of men is even darker when we think of them falling under the sway of a hideous, three headed semi-being, frozen in ice, eternally silent and practically paralyzed with fear and loathing, munching away absent-mindedly on Judas, Brutus and Cassius. It is absurd. On the other hand, selling one's soul to evil is a very dark and absurd thing to do, so when I really think about the matter, I move more to Dante's Statue of Evil.

Tomatoes

I gave in to temptation at the farmers' market and bought a couple of tomatoes. Too early. Let them ripen on the vine for another two weeks at least. They were getting there, but not quite there yet. Summer is just around the corner, though.

Balsamico Pasta with peas, pancetta and pecorino

On Easter we tried a dried egg pasta that is made with balsamic vinegar. It was delicious. I made it again last night as the primo piatto to a roasted capon (classic French recipe there: stuff with sliced lemon, half a chopped onion, a handful of celery leaves (I used lovage), massage the bird with butter, salt and pepper. Place in 425 degree oven for 15 minutes. Baste. Lower temperature to 350. Baste repeatedly. Around 30 minutes into the cooking, strew onions and carrots around. If they start to burn, moisten with white dry vermouth. Keep basting. When the bird is done, remove it to a board, cover with foil, deglaze roasting pan with cognac, thicken sauce with butter, strain, adjust for seasonings. Serve).

I boiled the pasta and finished it in the following sauce:

Heat extra virgin olive oil. Gently fry a handful of chopped pancetta. Fry a couple of cloves of garlic (peeled). Add fresh English peas. When the pasta is done (al dente please), shave pecorino di sarde over it.

For the leftovers, I made a gratin with butter, cream, garlic, bay leaf, nutmeg, pepper, Sao Jorge Azoran cheese and reggiano parmiggiana. I resisted the temptation to finish it with white truffle oil or even extra virgin olive oil. It was a yummy lunch.

St. Francis

I have mentioned before how much I love The National Shrine of St. Francis of Assisi, but there are some days when it really hits me. Today was one of those days. Nothing in particular, mass was a beautiful as it usually is (although I was overjoyed to see a harpsichord hanging around the place - it was there for the concert dedicated to Our Lady that happened this afternoon), there was a good turnout for mass, the weather was stunning, the schola cantorum sounded fantastic, etc. All but the harpsichord were pretty much par for the course. But some days it just all adds up better than usual. If any of you are ever in the Bay Area, be sure to stop by some Sunday.

Happy Mothers' Day!

A very happy Mothers' Day to all the mothers and grandmothers of the blogosphere!

It is Official...

The Friday Five is no more. Sometimes they were stupid or even offensive, sometimes they were simply bland, but othertimes they really fueled conversation. I will miss them. I suppose we could have a Catholic Friday Five thing if someone (Smockmomma?) were to write them, or perhaps an Arts Friday Five (or Both! Yipee!). I don't think that I have the time nor the ideas to keep something like that going. But, just to start:

1. The steward at the wedding at Cana was amazed at the quality of the wine that was the result of Jesus' first public miracle. What sort of wine do you think it closest resembled and why do you think so?

2. What is your favorite Catholic work of art that was done by a non-Catholic?

3. What is your favorite depiction of Hell in art?

4. What about Heaven?

5. When you think about Satan, do you think of the Miltonic Satan or the Dantean Satan? Or do you think about the Red Devil from the fireworks box?

OK, this is a start. I will answer in a couple of days when the rest of you have had a chance to respond.

When Geeky Artists Have Children...

Amalia and I spent a crazy amount of time playing with Play-doh today (and, no, not the make it yourself kind, which looks to take a lot of time and yields monstrously large amounts that would need to be stored - we buy those small containers so we can maximize on colors. When they dry out or become multi-colored mush, they get thrown out- it is cheap stuff if you buy it at the right places). Alligators, giraffes, pigs, bears, flowers, hair for all of the animals above, we were making a lot of things.

Then something happened. Amalia handed me the can of black play-doh. It was wonderful stuff. I squshed it on the desk and used a pottery knife to make all sorts of striations and lumps and patterns in it. At one point I had a giant glob that was full of little globules on the outside. Amalia looked at it and asked, "can I eat the blackberry?"

"Amalia, it's just Plah-doh. We can't eat it."

Amalia looks at me like I am an idiot, "Just pretend."

"Oh, OK"

Anyway, the black Play-doh is great fun to push around. The way light hits it is sort of interesting, too. I highly recommend getting a can and seeing the possibilities in it. I suppose the next step would be to translate whatever you can do in the play-doh to some more archival goo.

I was equally smitten with the metallic colors: gold and silver, but the novelty wore off and I was annoyed at the little glitter bits that I found all over for the next week. But there is something really beautiful with the black, sort of like playing with road tar or spilled crude oil (ah, memories, memories. May have been an environmental disaster, and probably dangerous, but playing with sea-water cured crude oil mixed with iron-rich sand made for a fun afternoon many years ago. I don't remember the source of the spill (undoubtedly a ship, don't remember the details, but one of the local beaches was pretty gooey for awhile).

What the???

I have discussed my culpability in planting mint as a Junior High horticulture experiement and how my mother still has to fight it off. I think that I am being punished for it. I cannot seem to get mint to grow in pots. I can get orchids to produce great blooms, I can get huge yields from a Meyer lemon tree in horrid conditions, I can raise tomatoes, hydrangeas, dahlias, etc., etc., but my mint is pathetic. Mint. A weed. Something that one normally must fight to contain.

You should see it. Snail-eaten. Spindly. Few leaves on long stems. And right next to it, a French rue that is growing like crazy.

I went out yesterday to pick some leaves for the mojito granita and could not get enough leaves from the plant. I will have to go buy mint leaves today. That is almost as goofy as when I was in college and realized that one of our kitchenmates was buying California bay laurel leaves. I pointed to the tree accross the street. This biology major then saw the error in his ways. One should not have to buy certain herbs.

Next thing you know I will have to buy wild fennel.

Meanwhile, have a very happy Cinco de Mayo! Go sneer at a Frenchman.

Mojito granita

With the warm weather, I have been thinking more and more about granitas. I made a meyer lemon and Campari granita that was quite nice, as well as the standard granita di caffe (yum). I have a few ripe avocados that must become guacamole, so I bought a bag of limes, more than I need, but limes are good to have around. I was going to have margaritas, but I am out of tequila and will not have a chance to get to Beverages and More where they stock the brand that I like, so I decided to make mojito granita. This is a pre-trial recipe, so be warned. I might change it at after trying it:

Make a strong limeade with lime juice, sugar, water, finely chopped lime zest and finely chopped mint leaves. Allow to freeze in a loaf pan, stirring every hour or half hour, so that you have large crystals instead of a large block of ice. Serve with a splash of rum and a dollop of whipped cream. I will be trying this tomorrow and will report.

Paul Robeson

Ryan asks, regarding Paul Robeson, "What on earth do you have against that guy?"

Well, start with this and if you still think highly of a man who had everything in life (education, sports career, law career, music career, acting career) and traded it in to nurse his own bitterness, who made a lot of money from cynically singing spirituals (in a minstrel style that was as hammy as that of any blackfaced vaudevillean of old) as a practicing Marxist, then read this or this, from which I have taken this passage:

"As a member of the CPUSA, Robeson enthusiastically supported the 1940 Smith Act which made it an offence under which members of organizations that advocated the violent overthrow of the government could be prosecuted. The Party saw the Act as a means of using WWII as an excuse to legally persecute Trotskyists. While addressing a convention of the Civil Rights Conference Robeson rejected an appeal by a Trotskyist who feared he would lose his government pension, saying that 'Trotskyists are no better than fascists and Klansmen ....... and not deserving of any rights'.

His unconditional support of Communism bordered with betrayal of humanity, as the story of Itzik Feffer shows. "

Bordered on?!? Somewhere you can read the whole story as related by his son, Paul Jr. In its details it is ghastly, even with the whitewash offered by sonny boy.

In typical Commie fashion, Robeson loyally did what he could to smash Trotskyite dissidents, even in the United States. That is why these people (Thank God) lost Spain - they were too busy killing each other to successfully wage war against Franco. I am no lover of Trotsky, but the hatred the mainstream Commies had for him bordered on the psychopathic. Have you read about how Trotsky met his end? This is the sort of brutality that Robeson stood for.

If you want a portrait of what is wrong with the Liberal establishment, then look no farther than this creep. He has been honored with a postage stamp (who next, Goebbels?), building names (the administration building for the discredited Oakland School District), festivals, tributes from the grinning morons of the Film and Recording industries, and so forth and so on. Elias Kazan, who was a brilliant director and took the truly courageous position of turning in vicious colleagues who were members of the Communist Party, was faced with loads of scorn when he was honored with a Lifetime Achievement Award. What happened to those who were on his list? Gulag? Death? No, they simply had to use pseudonyms to draw outrageous salaries as screenwriters and actors.

On the other hand, what happened to Pfeffer?

Once Again, the Duce is Going Soft on Juvenile Disobedience

Right now Amalia is supposed to be taking a nap. Instead she is in her crib singing. I don't mind the singing, because it usually leads to sleep, and it is a relaxing activity, but she has been going on for fifteen minutes. Normally I would poke my head in there and gently remind her that she should be trying to get some sleep.

However, I can't bear to do that, because she is singing Prokofiev (what is the standard transliteration of his name, anyway?). There is something almost unbearably cute about listening to a two and half year old singing fragments of Peter and the Wolf. Yesterday it was "Farmer in the Dell" which is fine, but not quite as fun as "the duck is played the omboe like THIS: la la la la la la." Funny. In all my studies of music history, orchestration, and the like, I have never encountered an instrument called the omboe. I will have to ask Amalia later.

New Lyrics for Classic Songs

Melanie has some wonderful ways with my favorite speech disfluency: the Spoonerism. She will utter some of the funniest things by Spoonerizing the middle of words. I should probably make a catalog of the best ones someday. However, the particular one she did tonight was not a Spoonerism, but a subtle change of one word in a classic children's song. She was singing with Amalia and came up with, "hey, hey, skip to the loo." Wow! It changed the way I have always thought of that song. Unfortunately, I am not the best at skipping. I tend to get my feet all tangled up, and if I were really in need of the loo, skipping could cause delays, but I will keep it in mind the next time I must use the WC.