Sort of.

Intrigued?

Go here.

A recent post over at the Green Roof Growers blog, on a road trip they took to a south side church, included — almost as an afterthought — a link to a  2007 essay from Orion Magazine, on how a community garden has helped one traumatized small town patch itself back together. 

That sounds deadly, right? Who wants to read about a bunch of kumbayah do-gooders finding healing through gardening? But it is, in truth, a lovely, moving piece of writing. It is also explicitly religious. And not just religious, it’s Christian.

It’s hard to spend any time around gardens, gardeners, or garden lit without running into God. Religious organizations often lead the charge for environmental justice in their communities, and the many corollaries between spiritual practice and gardening are so obvious I’m embarrassed to even point them out (cycle-of-life awareness, acquisition of enlightenment and/or sustenance through mundane daily ritual, irrational yet fervent belief in miracles …. you get the drift). And, of course, the Bible is overrun with gardens, from Eden to Gethsemane. You can’t throw a rock at the good book without hitting one seed-related parable or another.

My relationship with organized religion is pretty ambivalent. My paternal grandfather was an Episcopal bishop, one of my uncles is a reverend, and my father is in about as deep as a layman can get. You could say it’s  the family business. When I was a child we not only went to Sunday services, we sat in the front row and I tried hard to look holy.

And then, around the time I started experimenting with asymmetrical hair-dos, I denounced the whole thing as a patriarchal conspiracy and flounced off to listen to the Smiths. No big surprise there.

Now, as a grownup, I am surprised by how much comfort I find in liturgical ritual on those rare occasions that I turn up in a church. I don’t know quite what to make of that. Even trying to write about it is making me deeply uncomfortable. But, reading the Orion piece, I thought about the weird ways Christianity still has its hooks in me, and I also thought about my other grandfather, my mother’s father, who taught English and Latin at a boys boarding school and loved to mow the lawn sans shirt. Grandpa rarely darkened the door of a church. He found his peace  in nature; his scripture was written by Robert Frost. 

Pops’s ashes are interred in the basement crypt of an Episcopal church in Harlem. Grandpa’s were scatted in Puget Sound. Both are lovely places to visit (though the crypt is a little creepy).

For me, the act of growing things is where these two strands of DNA twist and meet. Halfway through life I have yet to develop any sort of coherent belief system, but I am slowly coming to believe in the power of getting up and going outside to weed and water and stake. It is a devotional practice — one just as compromised, as fraught with good intentions and frustration and shortcuts, as any other, and occasionally just as enlightening.

Passing along from the Advocates for Urban Agriculture list-serv — a cool new resource (born in Australia) for urban gardeners: Cityfood Growers

Here’s what they say about themselves:

Planting made easy 

With the burgeoning interest of city dwellers in growing their own food, one of the key challenges to food gardeners has been resolved with the USA release of the www.cityfoodgrowers.com organic gardening web site.  

At the click of mouse, gardeners from any town or city in all USA states can select by day, month or plant on the correct times to plant, cultivate or harvest their food plants. The web site stores temperatures from over 4000 weather monitoring points in the USA, temperature profiles of 130 of the most common plants grown by USA hobby food gardeners and daily planetary information for the northern hemisphere.   

Food gardeners will no longer need to use the complicated and sometimes inaccurate broad zonal planting systems. The web site allows for localisation of the garden climate profile down to the level of town and city and even suburb within large cities. As an example, the state of Illinois has 180 weather monitoring points and 4 within its largest city of Chicago. This localisation greatly improves the potential for successful planting. For gardeners interested in taking advantage of planetary forces, such as moon planting and biodynamic planting data, the web site integrates the often complex planetary information directly into the planting calendar. The web site also provides localisation for Australia and New Zealand. 

When a food gardener starts using the web site, they create a local temperature profile for their garden and can even provide for shade factors in their garden and vary this over the year as the sun’s position changes with the seasons. When they use the site planting calendar, their search result will display when it is ideal to work with a plant on a month or day. It will also show which months during growing period when the gardener should expect extremes of heat or cold so they can take some precautions in advance to protect their food plants.  

At some point during the RAFT summit back in March, one Wisconsin orchard-keeper publicly despaired of ever making a profit off of his cider. The number of apples needed to squeeze out a gallon of juice, the labor, and other associated costs, forced the price structure of cider closer to that of wine than beer, he said, but consumers don’t want to pay wine prices for something percieved as simple and rustic. Thus, he sighed, his bottles gathered dust on grocery shelves.

“Couldn’t you just put a sign on it that it’s locally made?” asked one starry-eyed locavore. “I’d think people would buy anything if they know it’s local.”

I don’t remember exactly what the cidermaker said, but it boiled down to, “Uh, no.”

I thought of this the other day when I checked in with the Death’s Door Spirits blog to see how their plans for world domination were proceeding. Things are looking good! They have a new distributor and the company’s white whiskey, vodka, and gin are now available in New York, New Jersey, and California as well as across the midwest. And the company continues to get good press, with recent mentions in Imbibe and on the bartender’s trade website My SpeedRail.

And yet …. some people are not buying it. The booze, or the story.

As Brian Ellison wrote in May:

“Its ironic that some of the hardest sales have been in Door County, where the wheat for our product is grown. J.J., of the illustrious JJ’s and Waterfront, was practically out and out hostile towards the brand. “Why do I care if the grain is grown on Washington Island?” He asked, “So big deal, it helps two farmers. Have they ever come into my restaurant to eat?”

Frankly, I’m not surprised.

While there was a fair amount of island-wheat pride on display on Washington Island last summer, not everyone was a fan. One islander’s cutting remark outside Karly’s to the effect that DDS was “taking the branding a little far” vividly stuck with me . Several others I met privately disparaged the stuff — sniffing at either the quality of the hooch or scoffing at the notion that anyone up north would pay $30 for a bottle of vodka.

I don’t know if this was a simple case of familiarity breeding contempt or what (in a rural community, farmers aren’t exactly exotic) but these dissenting voices buzzed in the background of my summer, worming their way into my consciousness. And it’s fair to say that they are at least partly responsible for the current back-burner position of this project.

The reporter in me knows that conflict is the engine of narrative, and noble failures are always more interesting than success stories. But I’ll admit now that the mechanics of  trying to unpack that conflict, as an outsider in a tiny community, ultimately defeated me. Sometime in August I just gave up.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately as it’s been a year since I packed up the Protege and headed to Door County. I still think there’s a good story to tell here about islands and food and development and utopian ideas and Wisconsin — but it has a much longer arc than one lazy summer can allow. I hope to go back sometime soon and see how the hotel is doing in its first season sans Leah. Beyond that, I’m not sure.

But this question of the relative market value of localism — why the story of Death’s Door Spirits “sticks” in New York City but not in Sister Bay — is interesting on its own. I’d be interested to hear if anyone knows of similar ventures in the region. I’m thinking of high-profile artisanal enterprises like La Quercia and weirdo visionaries like Willi Lehner — anyone trying to harness something essentially midwestern and sell it to the rest of the world. How are they doing? Let me know.

[From a friend, part of a longer interview with Albini in the LA Record.]

What do you think is your great topic—something you’re endlessly fascinated by?

There’s like a half a dozen things. Generally my areas of interest outside of being in a band are probably cooking, billiards, poker, general superficial scientific interest—nothing academic but at the speed of the Discovery Channel.

Have you ever been to El Bulli?

No, although I have to say—intuitively I’m kind of grossed out by molecular gastronomy. There’s something about the industrial-process element of it that I have a hard time embracing. A lot of the sensations and a lot of the things that happen in molecular gastronomy are inevitably unique because it’s never occurred to anybody to put sea urchin pureé inside of a caramel shell. So of course they’re going to be unique experiences and as an eater, I enjoy unique experiences—I have a very expansive palate. But something about the amount of effort and convolution of the processes that need to occur in order to get to the finished product makes it seem unsatisfying. It makes it seem like that one bite of frozen carrot foam can’t possibly have been worth the three days of preparation and the team of assistants. There is something about that fundamental inefficiency that galls me. It makes it seem grotesque and indulgent and like a gilded toilet or something. I’m in this weird quandary. I would very much like to have that experience—I would very much like to respect it, but it is so indulgent and so reserved for the truly decadent that it’s like boutique heroin. It makes me hate the people who are into it. If there was like a DIY version where people could do it without wasting 90% of the ingredient to get the two drops of salmon essence—if there was a way that it could be made more like normal eating, but still have these unique sensational experiences… If there was a way that it could be made more normal so that it wouldn’t seem so indulgent and pampered and fucking Monopoly money, then I would be into it.

How much of that is what exactly people are paying for?

I don’t know. There are a couple of restaurants like that in Chicago that have these things like laser-grilled packing peanuts, but I’ve never eaten at any of them. I have friends who have and they truly enjoy the experience and say that they were breathtaking, memorable, life-changing meals. I believe them, but there’s something grotesque about it that makes me—in the weakest part of my personality, the reactionary part of my personality—makes me hate my friends a little bit for that. It makes me think that they’re creepy and I don’t like feeling that way about my friends. Because these are the same friends that can go to the ballpark with me and have some churros and a hot dog and enjoy that. They’re the same friends that appreciate the things that I do, like a fresh peach. What the hell is wrong with a fresh peach? It’s thirty cents and it’s awesome. So I don’t like feeling that way about them, but I can’t help myself.

[Me now]

Steve Albini is a smart guy, and there are two things I appreciate about this rantlet that distinguish it from the usu. diatribes against fine dining as pointless/wasteful conspicuous consumption. 

1) He’s able to articulate his discomfort with molecular gastronomy in terms of efficiency. For him, the inputs (materials, time, labor, pricey china) don’t justify the output (bite of pureed sea urchin in caramel shell). He may be underselling the inputs necessary to produce one fresh peach, but this approach seems at least of a piece with his aesthetic as a musician and engineer — vintage mics, unfussy effects, hands-off production, etc. I don’t want to go too far into that, as I will just wind up sounding stupid, knowing, as I do, not so much about all that stuff. But, I do appreciate consistency across genres.

2) He’s able to locate his “hatred” for friends who do get off on fancypants food  in “the weakest … most reactionary part of my personality,” rather than using it to pole-vault up to the moral high ground and lob water balloons at those below. This speaks to a degree of  decency, empathy, and perspective that’s often in short supply when people start getting their panties in a twist about the ethics of fine dining. 

So, uh, good job.

… blurry photos of home-cooking experiments.

On the left are quick-pickled radishes: two tablespoons salt, one tbsp sugar, some “pickling spice” from Stanley’s, which is a little heavy on the coriander, and two weeks worth of Vera’s radishes. Put all in jar; cover with water. Cap, shake, and chill.

On the right is green garlic pesto. Puree handful of garlic scapes (also courtesy Vera), a smidge of leftover parsley, and the sad, limp remains of one drowned basil plant in Cuisinart. Add olive oil and pine nuts till a nice thick paste. I suppose you could toss with pasta, but I’ve just been making impromptu garlic bread by spreading it on toast. Delicious — if pungent.

Both of these were ridiculously easy, though the pesto was more a solid win than the radishes, which are a little watery. I’ve been making pickles for several years — mostly wild-fermented, but some vinegar — but my efforts are still scattershot, thanks to my chronic laziness and impatience.

So today, seized by the urge for self-improvement (and wracked with watery-radish disappointment) I ordered a copy of Eugenia Bone’s new Well-Preserved. By the end of the summer I shall be a master canner.

It’s far more reasonable than last summer’s goal.

Fruit Slinger returns!

At some point over the winter he appears to have picked up a much better camera. Jealous.

… is up and running, so look forward to an imminent return to blurry shots of home cooking experiments regularly scheduled programming.

In the meantime, check out this rave pre-review non-review from Don Hall, aka “Angry White Guy in Chicago.”

The pull quote:

“I think you should, without question, go and see Strauss at Midnight. I freakin’ love theater that requires literacy from its audience and this is some blisteringly smart art.”

Also, take a gander at these spiffy photos, shot (as was the one above) by John Sisson at Tuesday night’s dress.

THIS JUST IN: TOC’s John Beer says Strauss is “savage, inventive, and very funny“.

ALSO! “Probably the boldest production you’ll see this year” (NewCity) and “A supremely entertaining look at the mindset that leads to very dismal events” (Centerstage).

AND! “The best cast I’ve ever seen in an Oobleck show…. A  Chicago fringe all-star team.” (Reader)

This week I took a break from the natural world and spent just under 60 hours is the very unnatural world of the theater. That theater, up there, to be precise. 

Theater Oobleck’s production of Jeff Dorchen’s new play, Strauss at Midnight, opens Thursday, June 11, at the DCA’s Storefront Theater downtown. And it is great! But Jeff can explain it better:

“The play is called “Strauss at Midnight,” and the Strauss in the title is the classicist and political theorist who taught at the University of Chicago for a while, Leo Strauss. There are various reasons why the title character in the play is Leo Strauss, and they mostly have to do with neo-conservative politics. The main real-life figures in the play are Strauss, his student Allan Bloom, and Bloom’s friend Saul Bellow. Also appearing is Niccolo Machiavelli, author of the famous Italian Renaissance guide for heads of state, The Prince. Strauss wrote about Machiavelli.

“Also in the play are fictional characters created by Neil Simon in his play The Odd Couple, and the character Virgil Tibbs from the 1967 film In the Heat of the Night starring Sidney Poitier and Rod Steiger. …

“You don’t need to read Leo Strauss, Saul Bellow, Allan Bloom, Machiavelli, or see The Odd Couple or In the Heat of the Night to enjoy Strauss at Midnight, anymore than you need to read Shakespeare or Marlowe in order to enjoy Shakespeare in Love, or Sade to enjoy Quills, or On the Origin of Species to appreciate the drama of Inherit the Wind, or to have played seventy-six trombones to enjoy The Music Man. It may add to the experience, but it’s not at all necessary.

“Strauss at Midnight is about the ongoing struggle between two forces: those who condemn us to repeat history, and the rest of us. The rest of us are represented by the world of The Odd Couple, and those who condemn us to repeat history are represented ultimately by Leo Strauss and his disciple Allan Bloom.

“Saul Bellow is the artist caught between the forces of his social environment and the inevitable gravity of the artist’s moral truth.”

Intrigued? There’s more here. Jeff will also be talking about the play on WNUR’s This is Hell today (Saturday, June 6) at … like, now, actually.

Meanwhile, those tomatoes in the window? They remain in the window. Though they are significantly taller one week later. But today I’m taking a break from figuring out what the light looks like in hell, so they may be liberated from their potting cells in short order.