Photo by Julie Seyler.
Late afternoon.
The Saturday Blog: Lilies
14 Saturday Dec 2013
Posted in Art
Tag Archives: The Write Side of 50
Intense Under Pressure: Pasta
13 Friday Dec 2013
Posted in Food
Ten or so years ago, my mom gave me her old pressure cooker. The Presto Cook-Master Cooker Model 104 is from the 1960s or 1970s. My mom couldn’t remember. Some research didn’t provide date-details, but on eBay, it’s described as “Vintage.”
It’s been sitting, dormant, in the back of a cabinet, an hours drive away, for the past ten years. No interest on my part. I have a crock pot. I have a wok. What exactly does a pressure cooker do? Isn’t it more of an appliance? Like a microwave? It’s an obsolete, all-aluminum (therefore toxic) dinosaur. I don’t even remember any childhood meals from the thing.
But I don’t toss out the old easily.
Last week in Williams-Sonoma, there was a pressure-cooker revival going on in the back. Equipped with a 2013 Fissler Vitaquick Pressure Cooker, a chef churned out Rotini in Tomato Sauce in 15 minutes. A one-pot pasta.
“Unfortunately, nobody uses pressure cookers any more,” the chef said to the crowd.
“I have one from the ’60s or ’70s,” I said.
She told me it probably wouldn’t work anymore. I needed a Fissler.
That’s all I needed to hear. I drove the hour a few days later, and picked up my pitted, aluminum, old and dirty Presto with the broken handle. I brought it home.
They all go to pot at once.
I set out to pick up the short list of ingredients – ground beef, onion, garlic, oil, twirly pasta, tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese. That’s it. (Because I couldn’t decide what kind of mozzarella to get, I ended up forgetting it altogether. So I used the Gouda I had on hand. Cheese is cheese – especially when steam-softened.)
I sautéed the onions and garlic in canola oil, then browned the beef, and then I got to throw everything else in all at once. Even the dry pasta: 
I clamped it shut, turned up the fire, and stood back.
The hard part is not being able to see what is going on inside. I wanted to peek after 10 minutes, but the lid was shaking, and the seams were bubbling; hissing; gurgling. My old Presto did not have the “Euromatic Safety Valve,” or the “Residual Pressure Block,” or the “Auto-locking Lid and Visual Indicator” with “Automatic Steam Release,” that comes with the new Fissler.
All safety features that, to me, squash entertainment and merrymaking out of the whole undertaking. Nope – my no-indicator, nozzle-spinning, vibrating, silver-studded noodle heater may have been one step away from exploding. It could have poked my eye out. I could taste the danger!
I gave the whole process 15 minutes. When it started whistling like a locomotive, I turned off the flame. I couldn’t open it. I ran it under cold water, and …
… a potful of superlative. Pure with flavor; vivid with smell. The burnt, black residue on the bottom offered a mouthful of smoke; a tang. Like real food.
The new Fissler is stainless steel with an aluminum base, and sells for $300. My vintage Presto is all aluminum, thank you!, and is priceless.
Check out the recipe here.
One Foot in San Francisco, and One Foot (and My Heart) in New York
10 Tuesday Dec 2013
Posted in Confessional
A warm Thanksgiving Day 2013.
My childhood memories of Thanksgiving Day growing up in New York include loud family gatherings, ridiculous amounts of food, and a brisk walk after dinner. Since I moved to California, 40 years ago, two big differences are that Thanksgiving feasts consist of more friends than family, and the weather is closer to a New York summer day than the wintry cold of the Northeast.
Shorts in November.
Last weekend, six of us got to spend time with our dear friends at their beautiful beach house in Monterey. We took long walks along the beach, had breakfast at a Russian mom-and-pop restaurant on the water, made homemade ceviche from the day’s fish catch, and had lots of laughs. But I must say, the highlight was our group bike ride along the Pacific coast. In shorts and tee shirts. Really? Late November, and shorts and tee shirts?
Which is why I choose to live in California. While it can’t compare culturally to New York City and its food – the Bay Area cannot compete with New York bagels, pizza, and pastrami – the truth is, I can see a Broadway play when it’s in San Francisco at a cheaper price. I don’t eat meat, so I don’t miss deli food, and I love the fact that I can be outdoors all year round. That being said, I love New York, and I feel fortunate to have a foot in each world. Now if I could only get my New York family to put a foot out here!
The Saturday Blog: Aglow
07 Saturday Dec 2013
Posted in Art
For Me, December 8 is John Lennon Day
06 Friday Dec 2013
Posted in Confessional, Men
Photomontage by Julie Seyler.
In the course of any lifetime, there are memorable historic events – you know, those “where were you when …” events. We recently passed the 50th anniversary of the President Kennedy assassination. That was certainly one of those days. I have long held the opinion that you cannot call yourself a Baby Boomer unless you were in school when JFK was killed.
We’re coming up on another of those events for me. It’s the day that John Lennon was killed. It was a frigid December night in 1980 as I walked from Lincoln Center to Columbus Circle to catch the A train. There were a lot of sirens that night going toward nearby Roosevelt Hospital, but there are always sirens in the city, and so it didn’t make a big impression. But by the time I got home, the news was on the radio. John Lennon had been killed.
My immediate reaction was that Mark Chapman had not just killed John Lennon, he had killed The Beatles. Just a few months before, Lorne Michaels had offered a ridiculously small amount of money if The Beatles would reunite on Saturday Night Live, as Simon & Garfunkel did. In an interview, Lennon said that coincidentally, Paul McCartney had been visiting him at The Dakota that night, and they were watching Saturday Night Live when Michaels made the joke offer. They even considered getting into a cab, and going to 30 Rock as a surprise stunt. But now, Mark Chapman had made any Beatles reunion impossible.
The outpouring of grief and affection for John Lennon was striking. People congregated for weeks near The Dakota just to be near where John had lived. Months later, Elton John did for his friend what he had earlier done for Marilyn Monroe with “Candle in the Wind.” He immortalized John Lennon in a song called “Empty Garden,” that poignantly expressed our collective grief. Elton’s song characterized Lennon as a compassionate gardener whose absence leaves an empty garden. In the words of the song:
He must have been a gardener that cared a lot
Who weeded out the tears and grew a good crop
And we are so amazed we’re crippled and we’re dazed
A gardener like that one no one can replace
And I’ve been knocking but no one answers
And I’ve been knocking most all the day
Oh and I’ve been calling oh hey hey Johnny
Can’t you come out to play
I can’t think of a better way to remember John Lennon. He was a man who fought for peace. He was a man who told us “All You Need Is Love.” And he was the man who got us all to “Imagine” a better world. For all these reasons, December 8 will always be John Lennon day for me.
Why I Love New York City
04 Wednesday Dec 2013
Posted in Travel
1st Avenue and 12th Street.
If you are someone who loves to travel, I think there is no greater place to live than New York City. When I attempt to walk through the throngs that amass Chinatown, I have a funny feeling I am experiencing a smidgen of a sensation that would descend upon me in Beijing. I am visiting someplace unfamiliar; a little exotic. There are no spaces between bodies, there are markets where all of the food is advertised in Chinese, and I can’t ask what kind of fish is being displayed because I don’t speak the language.
Chinatown Saturday night.
Sometimes I get a hankering for a Greek taverna like what you might find on the Plaka in Athens. I can take the subway a couple of stops to Astoria, and order a salad studded with red-ripe tomatoes and fragrant feta cheese, and an entree of grilled branzino. If I want to pretend I am shopping on the Champs-Elysées, I might stroll along Madison Avenue. And if I pop into any one of the great historical churches built hundreds of years ago with their vaulted ceilings and rose windows, I feel as if I made a pit stop to Europe.
There are the thousands of galleries and museums with works of art that range from 15th century B.C. Egypt to 19th century Papua, New Guinea to 21st century photography.
Whether I need an emergency fix of turmeric, have an urge to see live theatre, or sense that it’s time to hear a little Beethoven, it really does all happen here. All the time. I love New York. 
My Husband’s Gift of a Lifetime: Free Pass to National Parks
03 Tuesday Dec 2013
Margie and Phil at the Grand Canyon.
As I head out of my 50s, my husband’s advanced years have turned out to be a gift for the two of us. Last year he turned 62, and was eligible for the $10 lifetime pass to all national parks. So we decided to make our rounds to get our money’s worth, and had friends lining up to join us on our adventures. You see, not only do he and I get in for free, but everyone in our car gets to benefit as well. No matter how old or young they might be.
Our journeys so far:
Trip 1: The Grand Canyon.
This is where we purchased the sacred pass, and chose to do this one by ourselves. Spectacular rim vistas; perfect hiking weather; limited animal sightings. After two days of hiking, both in and out of the canyon, we left completely satisfied at being able to cross that one off our bucket list.
Trip 2: Denali National Park, Alaska.
Margie and buddy in Denali.
Drastically different from the Grand Canyon – no walking trails, no food or drinks sold in the park, no sweeping vistas of the mountain (too foggy), and long bus rides being the only option to see the park. Best part of that trip was being with dear, old friends (we were celebrating Jack’s 60th), and taking a guided hike where only one other group is allowed to hike per season. Also saw a moose up close!
Trip 3: Glacier National Park.
My favorite. We also got to experience this one with close friends, one of whom spent three summers 35 years ago working at the park. He planned the whole trip (the job I usually do), which I greatly appreciated. Glacier had the perfect combination of magnificent scenery, and close-up animal sightings. We saw grizzlies, black bears, mountain goats, and big-horned sheep – just to name a few.
We also took an outstanding hike in Waterton to beautiful Crypt Lake. I happened to be reading Cheryl Strayed’s best seller, “Wild” about her life-altering experience hiking the Pacific Coast Trail. I believe if I had not been reading this book, I would never have found the courage to climb the ladder on the mountain face, crawl through the narrow tunnel, and pull myself over 15 feet of cables to make it to the other side of the mountain. This was the only way in and out of the lake, and well worth the challenge.
All told, I highly recommend that all 62 year olds run to their nearest national park to buy a lifetime pass! It’s the best thing to happen to seniors since Medicare.
Text Blessaging
02 Monday Dec 2013
Posted in Concepts, Confessional
The vibe out there among technology experts is, that since 2011, text messaging, in many countries, including the United States, is on the decline. (Christmas Eve, one of the busiest days of the year for texting, has seen a drop in the millions.)
But the Thanksgiving blessings sent by text (blessages, as I’ve shamelessly dubbed them in my spiked-apple-cider bliss), still remain as much a welcome ritual for me as the turkey that is always too big for my oven, and grandma’s sausage-thyme stuffing.
Facebook and Twitter have contributed to the texting decline, and the novelty of texting wore off long ago. The sending of holiday good-wishes, much like the writing out, and the sending of cards, can become less about thoughtfulness, and more about rote and duty. Perhaps.
But this year, still sleepy, I rolled over first thing Thanksgiving morning to my phone, and to:
“Happy Thanksgiving, my dear friend,” from an old friend.
And an ever-mounting stack continued throughout the day:
“I am thankful for you;”
“Love you, LoLo (emoticon);”
“Gobble Gobble! xoxo.”
I gave back. They kept coming. I gave some more. I started some. A domino effect of collective cyber-love permeated the autumn air.
As someone who insists on unplugging for a chunk of time every day, and often ignores her phone on weekends – much to the consternation of family and friends (Where R U?? Pay attention to your phone!!!) – I can’t get enough of those Thanksgiving texts.
And this year was a banner year for me, so us over-50s (all of my texts were from over-50s) are probably not as burnt-out as the younger set. Some texts were funny; some came with visuals. Some were long; some brief. And some were in snappy, convoluted text-tongue (Hppy THXgving, CUl8ter).
So, a thumbs-up to the electronic chorus of well-wishes; the lineup of virtual hugs. Because all together, they can live forever, strung together in my phone. A “‘Tis the season!” “I love you;” “I’m glad we’re still alive;” I miss you;” “I thought of you because I burnt my nuts in the oven,” narrative – the short version.
The Saturday Blog: The GWB
30 Saturday Nov 2013
Posted in Art
The George Washington Bridge. Photo by Julie Seyler.
Hug a bridge.
Leftovers
29 Friday Nov 2013
Posted in Food
Turkey was served …
… and devoured:
The table was a mess, and even though, most likely, everyone was stuffed to the gills …
… room was made for pie:
And today, leftovers for breakfast …
The Write Side of 59 