The Ultimate Materialist

There is a habit that plagues many so-called spiritual minds: they imagine that matter and spirit are somehow at odds with each other and that the right course for human life is to escape from the world of matter into some finer and purer (and undoubtedly duller) realm. To me, that is a crashing mistake -- and it is, above all, a theological mistake. Because, in fact, it was God who invented dirt, onions, and turnip greens; God who invented human beings, and their strange compulsion to cook their food; God who, at the end of each day of creation, pronounced a resounding "Good!" over his own concoctions. And it is God's unrelenting love of all the stuff of this world that keeps it in being at every moment. So, if we are fascinated, even intoxicated, by matter, it is no surprise: we are made in the image of the Ultimate Materialist. 

From the "Preface to the Second and Third Edition" of The Supper of the Lamb by Robert Farrar Capon.

The Beverage of Gourmets

I have nothing against soda (or pop, as my Michigander friends prefer to call it), I just don't drink that much of it. Like many good things, a little goes a long way.

As a young man, I attempted to drink that quintessential New England beverage, Moxie. Alas, I was too young, my palate undeveloped and immature as it was, could not tease out the lovely and complex interplay of flavors, nor fully appreciated the strength, boldness and audacity inherent in the extract of gentian root. I spurned Moxie for the sweeter and less demanding taste profiles of the more popular carbonated drinks.

Now in my middle age I have come around. Given the choice, I now willingly choose to be moxicated.

I will allow as it may take a bit of getting used to, but so does anything worthwhile. Here is a primer on how to drink Moxie.



Here's a nice spot on other local beverages, finishing with the best.

Watch this at My Fox Boston

Canned Goods

My friend Wendy has begun a lovely little blog called "Little Farm in the City" about her experience as...well....as so many things. I encourage you to visit.

Her recent post is on ratatouille, and how it seems to her like eating summer. Her writing reminded me of a song by Greg Brown called Canned Goods. It really is a beautiful and evocative song.

Peaches on the shelf 
Potatoes in the bin
Supper's ready, everybody come on in
Taste a little of the summer, 
Taste a little of the summer, 
You can taste a little of the summer 
my grandma's put it all in jars. 


Here is a very passable rendition I found on You Tube. You can also listen to Greg himself doing it on Last FM or Lala.com

Run Baby Run

I played around a bit this past summer with barefoot running. As I was not able to achieve anything approaching the toughness required, and whereas I can't really afford the expense of Vibram Five Fingers, I have pretty much given it up for the winter. I expect to return to flying unshod across the countryside with the return of warmer weather.

Nevertheless, the whole idea of barefoot running really appeals to me. As with so many of these kinds of things, there are zealous converts, prophets of the new way, and pharisaical naysayers firmly planted in the conventional wisdom. I don't really care a whole lot about all that. I just want to walk like a man, and for untold centuries, men walked in direct contact with the ground. And ran.

In fact, there is evidence to suggest that this was one of the great advantages of being human. Over the long distance, the biped has it all over the quadruped. Especially if the biped is water-cooled. Many prey animals are air cooled (panting) which over the long haul is much less efficient.

So what? I'll tell you what.

It seems that our ancient forbears simply ran their dinner to death.

Seems crazy, but if you have no claws, and your teeth aren't all that impressive, what options do you have? Observe the following video and be grateful for your farmer and your butcher.

I wonder if this would be possible during deer season in NH?

3 Films

We have recently struck it rather lucky with three most excellent films. I recommend you immediately place them in your Netflix queue, or run right out to your local video store and rent them up. Each is quite different, but all three are smartly directed, sharply written, delightfully acted, and just generally good, in the good sense of the word good.

In Miss Pettigrew, I especially loved the direction that reminded me of stage direction (or the best screwball comedies of the thirties), and the occassional perfect line that had meaning on three layers at one time. Beautiful.

Bottle Schock is a story of passion, hope and hard work. It has a smart and funny edge to it, a very American sensibility that looks on europe with suspicion of a very different kind from the suspicion felt by Europeans toward America. Again, tight story telling of a story that is fun, with lovely cinematography. Some of the love triangle action rang a bit false to me, but I could overlook it.

The Big Night. Oh....just a delight. A sacramental experience. The final scene with the fritatta is one of the finest scenes I have ever witnessed on the screen.

Yeast Burps and Sweat

Peter Reinhart talks about the 4 levels of understanding anything: Literal, Metaphorical, Political (ethical), and Mystical (anagogical). He illustrates this with bread.

My wife and I once considered becoming bakers. We did not have the capital to start the business but it always held a certain fascination for me. The nature of creating and consuming a "transformative" food, as Reinhart presents it here, resonates deeply with me. I love good bread. I love the idea of making something that nourishes people in a very fundamental and literal way. I also love the idea of helping people to understand other way that bread can nourish them. It is no accident that our eucharist is bread and wine, both of them transformed and transformative. He doesn't get explicit about it here, but he is treading sacramental ground and just opening the door a crack to let us begin to see how God uses mundane and ordinary things to make invisible Grace visible and tangible.

All the world, every part of creation is a sacrament of God's grace. Bread is a good place to start seeing that. 

Listen to Reinharts talk here. It's about 15 minutes.

The Glory of a Feast!

"Why do we marry, why take friends and lovers, why give ourselves to music, painting, chemistry, or cooking? Out of simple delight in the resident goodness of creation, of course; but out of more than that, too. Half of earth's gorgeousness lies hidden in the glimpsed city it longs to become. For all its rooted loveliness, the world has no continuing city here; it is an outlandish place, a foreign home, a session in via to a better version of itself -- and it is our glory to see it so and thirst until Jerusalem comes home at last. We are given appetites, not to consume the world and forget it, but to taste its goodness and hunger to make it great" 

 -- Robert Farrar Capon, The Supper of the Lamb, p. 189).

"I wish you well. May your table be graced with lovely women and good men. May you drink well enough to drown the envy of youth in the satisfactions of maturity. May your men wear their weight with pride, secure in the knowledge that they have at last become considerable. May they rejoice that they will never again be taken for callow, black-haired boys. And your women? Ah! Women are like cheese strudels. When first baked, they are crisp and fresh on the outside, but the filling is unsettled and indigestible; in age, the crust may not be so lovely, but the filling comes at last into its own. May you relish them indeed. May we all sit long enough for reserve to give way to ribaldry and for gallantry to grow upon us. May there be singing at the table before the night is done, and old, broad jokes to fling at the stars and tell them we are men . . . The road to Heaven does not run from the world but through it" 

(Robert Farrar Capon, The Supper of the Lamb, p. 180).

A Tree, A Grave and a Really Big Party!!!

Assistant Village Idiot rejects the planting of a memorial tree. I can certainly understand that as far as it goes. To think that by planting a tree instead of a gravestone you extend your remembrance strikes me also as a misplaced sentiment. But if you take a much shorter and much less sentimental view, then planting a tree can be a pretty good idea. I would like to offer my survivors two options. While both require some effort, I think they may be worthwhile.

Option A.

Plant a fruit tree directly on my grave. Plant me below it in a simple pine box. The idea is that the tree’s roots should penetrate the box and assimilate me into the itself. I will be a huge organic fertilizer spike. It must be a fruit tree, preferably an apple tree. You see, when it gets to the point where it can bear fruit, lots of yummy apples, then take those apples one autumn, mash them and press them. Take the resulting juice and put it up to ferment. That’s right – Cider. Lots of it.

Then have a party. Invite people from all over. Drink all the cider. Tell ridiculous stories. Stay up very late. Sing loud songs. And Dance a lot to wild music, preferably by live musician playing stringed instruments and drums. If you wish, repeat the ritual yearly until the tree is too old to bear fruit any longer. Then cut it down and burn it at the last party. Roast a pig over the coals and have a really great final shindig. Then forget about me.

Option B

Burn my body. Scatter the ash over a plot earth. Till the plot and grow a garden fertilized by my ashes. Grow vegetables of all kinds. Especially grow cabbage, carrots, hot peppers, tomatoes, onions, Take whatever gets thinned out or that you can’t eat and feed it to a pig.. Take the veggies and make cole slaw, salsa, soup, and whatever else you can think of that is good. Kill the pig and roast it over a hardwood fire. Serve it with cider, barbecue sauce, cole slaw and salsa from the garden. Have a barrel of cider on hand. Eat it all, drink it all, laugh a lot…you know the drill.

I prefer Option A, but let me suggest that if you cut my body in half, burn one half and bury the other, then you can have it both ways. It has a certain symmetry to it really.

And…after the Resurrection, we all get to do it all again, forever, but without the whole dying part. I'll be able to join in directly. I figure these little rituals can me my way of helping the descendants practice for the Eternal Wedding Feast of the Lamb. We better start practicing now…it’s a real endurance event. We’re gonna need to get ready.

The Divine Vaccinium

The sweetest orb, and finest fruit

That ever sprang up from the root;

Wild of branch, on forest floors,

Among the ledges in taller hedges,

Or between rocks, low and clustered flocks.

Untamed by hand, but cultivated by God.

To climb the mount, stretch out the hand

And gather the bounty from the land.

Not just one, but by the handful.

Look around, there's a whole land full

Of them, covering the summit.

Warm from the sun and tight with juice,

Which squirts when pressed between the tooth.

Oh the blueberry! O the Joy!

A whole sky, a whole mountain, the whole earth,

All distilled to one small ball,

One indigo ornament.

Not one. A mouthful. A bucketful.

A belly full, with stained lips

And a tongue dyed with their glory.

Until you have gathered wild blueberries,

And shoveled them into your mouth,

So that they explode into your brain,

On a mountain

in July...

Your life is an empty, dry and flavorless proposition.

Stolen Thoughts on Food

I love food. I love eating it, and I have been known to even do a passable job of preparing it. I love talking about food as much as I like talking about anything, but I can't claim to be especially knowledgeable on the topic. But...that never really stopped me from talking about anything else. When I lack inspiration, I steal ideas. Here are a few clever things other people have said about food.

If we aren't supposed to eat animals, then why are they made out of meat?
Jo Brand

You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times.
Morley Safer

I'm not a vegetarian because I love animals. I'm a vegetarian because I hate plants."
AW Brown

Red meat is not bad for you. Now blue-green meat, that’s bad for you!
Tommy Smothers

Sex is good, but not as good as fresh, sweet corn.
Garrison Keillor

Cheese - milk's leap toward immortality.
Clifton Fadiman

Do vegetarians eat animal crackers?
Author Unknown

A nickel will get you on the subway, but garlic will get you a seat.
Old New York Proverb

I'll bet what motivated the British to colonize so much of the world is that they were just looking for a decent meal.
Martha Harrison

A meal without cheese is like a beautiful woman with only one eye."
Jean Antheleme Brillat Savarin

Rice is good to eat when you're really hungry and want to eat a thousand of something.
Mitch Hedberg

Of Cabbages and Kids

A married couple comes to a local potluck dinner. They bring a lovely cassarole of roast vegetables. In the course of conversation it comes up that the vegetables are from this couple's garden. They grow much of their food on the land behind their house. They also keep some livestock in their barn and a few chickens, from which they get a significant part of their meat and all their eggs. The reason, they say, is simply that they like to know where their food comes from, what is in it, and most of all, they simply believe that home grown food tastes better.

Most people would find this admirable. They might not want to do it themselves, preferring to run down to the local grocery store. Even so, they admire the industry and appreciation of good things that motivates this young couple to self-sufficiency.

On the other hand, another married couple comes to the same potluck dinner. They have several children. In the course of conversation it comes up that the children are taught their school subjects at home. The reason, they say, is that they like to know what their children are learning, to have a more direct hand in shaping their character, and they just like having children around.

For some reason, it is common for the second couple to receive many subtly raised eyebrows in their direction, and questions posed in tones carefully veiled to hide the skepticism lying behind the questions. It seems that most everyone understands why growing ones own food is a good and noble thing, even when it's all available at the store for just a little money. Nevertheless, to undertake the teaching of one's own children just seems like such a crazy thing to do when there are trained professionals right around the corner, who are already paid to do it for us. It's all just so much time, and so much work, and frankly, just a little strange.

What strikes me as strange is the double standard.

Food, Booze and Books

A friend of mine recently commented on my remarks on books that are difficult to read.

Just because everyone else likes something doesn't mean you have to. I don't like eating at fancy restaurants, I'd rather watch a game at a bar than in the stadium, and I don't like any of those books either.

This got me thinking. My comments about the books I haven’t read were intended more as a commentary on me, not a comment on the books. The fact that I find so many of the great books difficult is because they are difficult. Is that an excuse not to engage with them?

Reading great literature gives you the opportunity to sit under the teaching of the greatest minds of all time – of ALL time. A teacher can be long dead, his bones turned to dust, but through his book, he can teach you. You can learn from him. Sometimes this will only happen if you have the courage, the tenacity, the will and, indeed, the intellect, to engage him on the page. It is certainly a different experience from working with a living teacher, but at the same time, it is not. Some teachers are clear, pleasing to work with. They reach out to you and attempt to shape their ideas to your understanding. Other teachers dish out almost grudgingly, making you work for each step of growth in understanding.

The question is, which is more important; the ease with which you can grasp the idea, or the power of the idea itself? It is useful to separate the value of the content of ideas in a book, from the style or manner of the writing of it. There have been certain teachers in my life that I did not like at all. Yet my time with them was extremely valuable. I cannot say that they did not care about my learning. They did. Style was not the issue.

The fact is, some ideas are hard, and must be hard won. There is no other way.

What especially struck me about my friend’s comments is that in some ways it sounded much like me 20 years ago. Eating in fancy restaurants? Not for me. High falutin’ digs? Not comfortable. I have since learned that this says more about me than about the restaurant. How did I learn this? I have paid my money and I have eaten at fancy restaurants. I discovered that there are few experiences that parallel truly excellent dining.

My first experience, and most memorable (we always remember the first time, don’t we?) was at La Poulet au Dents in Norwich VT. I’m not sure it’s spelled correctly, but it is supposed to mean The Teeth of the Hen. I don’t believe it exists any longer. I took my bride there when we were on a vacation visiting family in NH during our time in exile in the Midwest. It was, up until that time, the most expensive meal I had ever had. It cost us over $100.00 in 1989. For a young married couple on limited means this was a significant splurge.

And it was pretty classy. It’s one of those places where the busboy comes out between courses with a little silver whisk broom and dustpan to sweep off your tablecloth. Yet I must say, it was one of the most delightful experiences I have ever had. We simply put ourselves in the hands of the staff. From the beginning we explained to our waiter that we had not experience with this type of cuisine or establishment and we asked for his recommendations. We were feeling adventurous and willing to try new things (as we usually are when it comes to food). Neither the staff nor the food disappointed.

When it was all done, I sat back feeling an amazed and delighted contentment. I had paid over a hundred bucks for a truly astounding experience of beauty and sensual delight. It was completely worth it, and my horizons had been greatly expanded.

I likened it to attending a musical concert. Many musical concerts will end up costing at least that much to attend. Yet we don’t think that’s particularly odd or unusual. This was music for the palate and the nose and the skin and the eyes. It was the shared enjoyment of good things, with someone I love deeply, and whose company in that quiet sharing was delightful. It came at a cost, and the return on that investment was enormous. You do get what you pay for. This is true on many levels.

More recently I have experienced something similar with another friend who introduced me to single malt scotch. This is certainly not a drink for the weak or flighty. It is a drink to be considered, pondered and enjoyed (pardon the pun) soberly. It actually takes a certain degree of concentration to appreciate it. This does not mean that it is a bad liquor. It is just that it is not an easily accessible liquor, aesthetically speaking. But is it worthy? Oh yes. Oh my yes!

Just don't expect to mix it with 7-up. You can drink it that way, but you will completely (and I mean COMPLETELY) miss the point.

So what does food and booze have to do with books? Just this. I am still young. I am growing into these books. I will be reading until I am dead. I will never stop trying to read War and Peace. I will someday actually tackle Calvin. My difficulty with these books simply means that I have some maturing to do. Someday, I may even learn to love opera. Some people for whom I have tremendous respect assure me that there is much in opera that is worthing learning to like.

Just because it is an acquired taste does not mean that it isn’t good. It just means that I can’t find that goodness yet. But when the time is right, I am confident that I will be ready to learn.

From Merced

We are now in Merced CA, in the heart of the Central Valley. Again, I am amazed at the variation in terrain and climate. What a country. I love America.

We are here visiting Tom and Sandy. Tom and Sandy are parents of Wendy, our good friend from Green Bay. It has been several years since we have seen them and it is as good as always, as they are wonderfully wise and generous people. Just hanging out with them is a joy and a blessing. Wendy and Ron are our bestest friends in GB (and probably anywhere actually), and it has been years since we have seen them also. This is about as close as we have been to them in some time. In fact, we understand that they will actually be here in a few weeks. We'll have to leave some secret messages hidden for them.

This morning we got the tour of Merced and Atwater, including Wendy's high school, the houses of the boys she used to date, and detailed descriptions of her teenage life. It was all most enlightening, and it really explains so much that has puzzled us for years. ;-)

We were privileged to attend the Atwater July 4 parade. It is the same parade that is taking place across America today. The marchers change, the names on the floats change, the length of the parade may be shorter here and longer there, but it is the same parade. It's a great reminder that ultimately America is not Washington DC. It is here, it is your neighbor and my neighbor, the farmer, the insurance guy, the businesses and churches and clubs that populate our towns. Is it boring? I suppose as an event, as entertainment it is not the most exciting thing ever. I view it more as a ritual, and expression of community and democracy and life in a great county, a life of abundance and freedom and responsibility and community. This is not my community, but it is like my community and I felt right at home watching this parade and enjoyed knowing that it is still my parade.

The highlight of the day (so far -- it ain't over yet) was eating at In 'N Out Burgers. Ron grew up in CA, and has at various times extolled the virtues of numerous eating estblishments common to the west coast -- Jack in the Box, Del Taco, and Carl's Jr. among others. Perhaps the highest praise, the most esteemed location in Ron's gustatory pantheon is reserved for In 'N Out Burgers. To drive by, one might simply chalk it up to another fast food place, but not so. Oh no.

The menu is elegantly simple. Burgers. Fries. Soft drinks. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing. This alone sets them the owners apart as geniuses.

The burgers come in three varieties only; Double, Cheesburger, Hamburger. Therefore, there are only three combos available. Each burger is cooked to order. The fries are cut from fresh potatoes (from Maine!), cut and then fried "in oil free from trans-fats since 1948." This somewhat ambiguous grammatic construction does make me wonder if they change the oil periodically, but I decided not to worry about it. Some things just are better left unknown. Underneath the each soda cup is the reference to a bible verse. This may be good or bad depending on your perspective. It reminds us of Chik-fil-A, another offbeat fast food venue which we thought offers uncommonly good food. The burgers are good sized and well-built, hot and delicious. The fries are real potatoes and really yummy.

And so, we experience yet another important slice of California culture. There is so much to eat, and so little time. I am not a food snob. I love good food in all forms; fast, slow or even sitting still. I thought this was terrific. Thanks Ron!