I just got back from seeing a concert in one of the most beautiful churches I’ve ever visited- the Frauen Kirche, here in Dresden. I wasn’t planning on going to a concert today, but I managed to buy a scalped ticket for 8 euro moments before it began, and doing so afforded me some time to really examine this amazing building. The music wasn’t bad either.
Dresden has been lovely, and tonight I leave for Prague.
It turns out Batman doesn’t celebrate Christmas either.
I just got into Brussels, but the trip really began yesterday morning… sensing that my flight from Portland would be cancelled, I paid a toothless dog breeder $50 to drive me in his Suburban to SEATAC Airport - which he did, in less than four hours, passing plow trucks and emergency vehicles all the way there.
I managed to catch a 1 am flight to Dallas, then Chicago, then spent two hours at the Art Institute of Chicago before heading to Brussels.
I’ve slept for 4 of the last 48 hours. Travel is the best thing in the world. I’ve been finding myself grinning these last two days, often for no reason at all. Now I’ve got to go eat a waffle and drink some beer. I’m boarding a bus to Dresden at 11 o’ clock tonight.
My winter trip through eastern Europe is finally here.
On Sunday night, assuming the weather allows it, I’ll be leaving Portland for Seattle. On Monday morning, I’ll fly from Seattle to Chicago, and then to Brussels, Belgium, where I’ll arrive Tuesday morning. Then, after grabbing a Belgian waffle and a few beers, I’ll board an overnight bus to Dresden, Germany, where I’ll arrive Wednesday morning.
Three days and 6,500 miles is a long way to go without a bed or a shower, but I’m looking forward to it. Since booking my tickets back in April, I haven’t thought much about this trip at all. It’s been such a good year that I got distracted. As it stands, I haven’t really done any research about where I’m headed, and I have yet to pack a thing. There’s a part of me that would really like to bring only a passport, credit card, and camera, but I know I’ll end up bringing a bag- if only to carry things that I want to bring back.
Posts from the road, when they happen, will be brief. I’ve got too much to see to spend much of my time in internet cafés.
I’ll be back in Portland on January 5th.
Portland has been a lot more wintry than usual this week.
It has snowed at least a little bit every day, causing the mass transit system to completely collapse. Unlike other major cities, some Portland bus drivers consider a bus full when all the seats are taken. This week things have felt more like cattlecars, which reminded me of New York subways.
I was the final person allowed on at my stop, and many of the people who were left behind had been waiting for over an hour.
Work has been a ghost town all week, and it’s difficult to stay motivated when all you really want to do is make soup and watch movies in a nest of blankets, but you can’t beat the view.
I made more good stuff to eat this weekend than usual.
Amsterdam Cheesesteak Sandwich (using aged gouda instead of provolone):
Seared Ahi Tuna on a shaved fennel, parsley, parmesan and lime juice salad.
Jasmine Rice Pudding with cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom pods.
Butternut Squash roasted with maple syrup, walnuts, and nutmeg.
Artichoke, Asparagus and Brussel Sprouts steamed with whole shallots, black pepper, and olive oil.
And then there were my lunches and dinners, but I didn’t take any pictures of those.
According to Sterns’ Encyclopedia of Bad Taste, “The point (of Surf ‘n’ Turf) is to maximize hedonistic extravagance by ordering the two most expensive things on the menu; that is, the menu is guided not by aesthetic concerns, but for the sake of vulgar display.”
Which may be true. But what if that vulgar display of bad taste tastes good?
Last Sunday while at the library I tried to imagine the richest, most unlikely dish that someone could possibly prepare for lunch. I came up with Steak Oscar. Actually, with fresh dungeness crab and a dark, tender Chateaubriand steak in mind, I came up with “something involving steak and crab”, but a quick search of those words yielded Steak Oscar, which is essentially a steak topped with crabmeat, asparagus, and Bernaise sauce.
After scrawling down a recipe and gathering the necessary ingredients, I set to work.
The trickiest thing about this dish is timing- the steak, asparagus and crab need to be ready just as the sauce is finished or else everything will be slightly off.
At least the asparagus, crab, and steak are easy: steam the asparagus, simmer the crab in a little water and butter, salt and pepper the steak, sear each side for 2 minutes, bake on a broiling pan for 10 minutes at 425 degrees, then remove from heat and let rest. Done and done and done.
The sauce is a little harder- first, simmer freshly chopped terragon and shallots in terragon vinegar until most of the liquid is gone. Meanwhile, combine 3 egg yolks, salt, black pepper, and cayenne pepper in a food processor. Add the herb mixture and blend gently. Meanwhile, clarify the butter and then get it hot enough to start bubbling without starting to brown. Add the butter to the sauce gradually and blend softly. Add a few drops of lemon juice to taste.
I used a food processor because I was feeling lazy and one of the recipes I read mentioned doing it this way. Next time, I’d use a whisk.
I’ve never made Bernaise sauce before, so I don’t have any basis for comparison. It ended up tarter than I expected, which obviously came from the vinegar. The raw egg yolk (which I assume is cooked slightly by the heat from the butter) provided an unexpected fluffiness in a butter-based sauce. Honestly, dishes that provide a forkful of rare steak and crab with every bite don’t require a lot of dressing up, so the Bernaise sauce felt like overkill.
In any case, combine everything together AS SOON AS THE SAUCE IS DONE.
Steak + asparagus + crab + Bernaise sauce =
Hell yes.
I paired the dish with a bottle of La Folie, a incredible French oak-aged sour red ale from New Belgium Brewing. It was a gift from a friend, and it suited the spirit of the meal- which to quote the Sterns was ”complete hedonistic extravagance”.
If you decide make this dish, I recommend following it with a scoop of vanilla
ice cream, a screening of The Evil Dead, and a nap. At least that’s what I did.
First I woke up and looked outside.
Then I ate a croissant at Little T’s American Bakery and
saw this dog. I also bought two small pretzel baguettes.
Then I discovered these sitting unattended on
a shipping dock. I wanted to steal some, but…
…I was riding this bike at the time, which I found in the street late at night
earlier in the week and rode home. Then I gave it a tune up, put a new seat
on it, and returned it to the same corner where I’d found it a few days later.
I’m a phantom bike mechanic.
Then I want shopping for DVDs. I found five good
movies to buy, including The Usual Suspects.
Then I was walking home and remembered the pretzel bread in my pocket. I had
the idea to use one as a roll for a bratwurst covered in mustard. It was a good idea.
Then I started watching The Usual Suspects.
Later, I saw this sky.
Even later, I saw this industrial clothes dryer in a parking lot.
Then I met an old friend at Rogue Public House and was introduced to
his coworkers. Not pictured: the utterly humorless cab driver to my right.
Then we tried to go to Potato Champion and were denied
pomme frites because of plumbing renovations…
…so I ate this instead.
Then I went home and finished watching The Usual Suspects, and then I went to bed.
I was having a drink with a friend after work one night when the conversation turned to women.
“I like girls with fucked up teeth,” my friend declared. As he said this he gestured with his hand out, palm down, four fingers bent and slightly crossing each other. It was a funny thing to say, but it was also clear that he meant it.
I sort of knew where he was coming from. He wasn’t talking about Meth teeth- nothing broken, rotten or missing, no jack-o’-lantern smiles- but fucked up in a cute way, like a snaggletoothed canine or a just-this-side-of-conspicuous overbite. In other words, my friend appreciated mouths with character. He preferred smiles that said something besides “My parents could afford an orthodontist.” I could respect that.
***
I once met a girl at a party who was stunningly, intimidatingly beautiful. At first glance she seemed so perfect that it was almost difficult to look at her, let alone want to talk with her. In fact, I soon realized that no one was- she was being avoided, not despite her beauty but because of it. It was as though everyone in present sensed that she deserved to be set apart, sanctified, holy.
Then I noticed her fingernails. They were perhaps the most brutalized, painful looking set that I’ve ever seen. Every single nail was ragged and splitting. Her cuticles were rough and frayed like a pair of old jeans, and dark brown lines of dried blood had collected along the edges of each nailbed like a manicure gone horribly wrong. As I watched, she absently brought a finger to her mouth, fixed her gleaming white teeth on a tiny scrap of skin, and pulled it free.
At that moment, like a magical transformation in a children’s book, she became approachable to me. Her nails were proof that she had limits, anxieties, weaknesses, and once I saw that the swan was really a duckling I felt confident that we could relate to one another. After taking a moment to inspect the gnawed gristle at the tips of my own fingers, I said hello.
