Deepwater Ciscoe

From the land of sb-dubs.

Dave Dempsey, yet again, with another great link.

I’m inspired by the thinking behind the “100 mile diet,” but I’d probably be more enthusiastic if I were living back in Maine or Hawaii. While the lobsters are disappearing in some waters off of New England, and the Hawaiian atolls have become the ocean’s trash sieves, the Great Lakes have already been thoroughly abused and decimated.

This is not lost on James MacKinnon of the “100 Mile Diet.”

It’s amazingly easy to forget that Toronto sits at the edge of the lakes that hold about one-fifth of the world’s fresh water. But this is exactly why seeing the world with 100-mile eyes is so valuable. The Great Lakes seem empty now - but that’s only because the recent human occupants on the shorelines have made no effort to live within ecological limits. I didn’t have to do much research to discover that the lakes were once teeming - an old saying declares that, once upon a time, fishing the Great Lakes meant going down and beating the surface of the water with an axe handle.

There is still a much reduced fishery - the story now heard around the world - but the loss is enormous. Most startling is the damage done to biodiversity. The variety of Great Lakes fish species was once among the richest in North America; today, an estimated 90 to 99 percent of the fish biomass in the lower lakes consists of introduced species. Some native species, such as the deepwater ciscoes, are gone from the face of the Earth.

I bet I would have loved deepwater ciscoe. I wonder if it is too late to restore the Great Lakes to their former glory, but how can we not try?

Leeks in a Blanket



An Earth Day spin on the ol' hors d'oeuvres. I call it "Leeks in a Blanket." Surfing Chard recipes (pictured above), I discovered this simple one on Epicurious, featuring Chard and Leeks, which I just happened to have in the crisper. I tweaked it slightly by keeping the leaves rolled around the leeks. I also skipped the butter. I used a little too much olive oil (a bad habit) and ended up blotting out extra with paper towel.

Purple Reign


(New York magazine)

The guilt-free potato. Could such a thing exist? If ever a vegetable deserved a warning label it's the potato. Or maybe avocado. But remember, the darker something it is, the higher its vitamin content so best to ease up on the Idaho Golds. I love yams, but don't crave their sweetness year-round. So when I stumbled across a new hybrid, the Purple Majesty, in New York, one purportedly containing "freakishly high amounts of antioxidants" -- and if ever there were a health buzz-word in my life, it's antioxidant. Which is one of my favorite words anyway -- my mouth watered. I found them at the supermarket that week and then they vanished.

Then my organic delivery arrived with what I'd anticipated were red potatoes, but once I boiled them to fork-crushing tenderness I noticed a violet hue. Their tartness is enhanced by half a minced shallot and plenty of olive oil. I suggest skipping dessert.

Mystery Meat

Meet Raab. I know, huh? Still, the prettiest bouquet I've received in some time. The violet tip looks like a wildflower.



It's like the bastard child of broccoli and asparagus. And the name reminds me of Mary Tyler Moore -- if you take your MTM with Dick Van Dyke instead of Ed Asner. Oh, Raaaaaaaab!

Epicurious suggests a quick, tangy, sweet & sour dressing. Fortunately I had most of the ingredients because I didn't feel like going to the store: sesame oil, balsamic vinegar, honey, salt, and pepper. I'm thinking orange zest or slices in the future. Pic's a little blurry.

Instinct Like Centipedes

"I was trampled by fifty people."
"How do you know there were fifty?"
"I counted their legs and divided by two."

. . .

"Why were they running?"
"Because that is what excited groups of people do."
"They run like mad, and trample other people?"
"Apparently so."
"Did they do it for religion, or sport?"
"There is no difference."
"Then in allegiance, or even protest of the state?"
"No telling them apart."
"Well then, were you hurt?"
"Of course. Not one of them bothered to ask if I'd like to join in."

. . .

"I've heard they're from the Philippines."
"They must be from somewhere."
"You know, you could split them down the middle and both halves would keep running, mindless of the other."
"That's not how you stop them."
"No, for that you have to remove the head."
"We're still talking about the mob, right?"

. . .

"Why do you think there were fifty of them?"
"Glandvilla Homestead. Twenty-five units, and all with well water that turns the fittest men sterile."
"No kidding."
"Turned into a bunch of swingers is what I've heard."
"A gated swingers community?"
"At least they're sterile."
"So what was is it that they was running from?"
"Beats the hell out of me."

. . .

"That community right there,"
"The one that just went running by?"
"Yeah. Nice group of folk."
"Who qualifies as folk?"
"They say there is no crime there."
"What are you getting at?"
"They say they look out for each other."
"That's a nice way of putting it."

. . .

"I found out why that mob ran over all of those people."
"Why's that?"
"Apparently, those are all the people in Glandvilla Homestead that enjoy the luxury of having nothing to do. It was bound to happen."
"What's that?"
"It was a mathematical inevitability that all of those people would eventually, wake up, shake off their hangovers by lounging around until mid-morning, and then all go out for a run at the same time."
"That doesn't explain why they ran so many people over."
"People with the luxury of having nothing to do are very competitive."