Saga of the Grill Press

As the Teflon controversy finally crawled into my skull and convinced me to slowly place less dependence on their non- stick qualities, I turned back to the old reliable cast iron wear hidden somewhere in the jumble of items too valuable to toss, but not used enough to keep at hand. Rather than rely on the old frying pan – needs a lot of work to bring back to its former glory – I purchased a pre-seasoned 9” square griddle pan with ridges. I confess I’m addicted to those pretty grill lines perfectly crossed on steaks, pork chops, chicken breasts and various vegetables that we prefer not to boil endlessly in water. Testing the newly purchased cooking utensil with some chicken breasts brought to light a couple of problems. One, it took longer to cook than I preferred – fussy. Two, due to the extra time on the grill, it left a slight, but noticeable burnt taste which we decided was objectionable. How to rectify these minor dilemmas?
Somewhere in the back of my mind lay the answer. Ah, yes! I remembered seeing a grill press – that cast iron item about 8” in diameter with a wood handle – perfectly formed to place atop whatever was in the griddle to speed up the cooking time; and as an added advantage, it was reputed to be excellent for squeezing out excess fat (told me on the cute advertising tag). How could one go wrong? Quick, run over to the gourmet shop and pick one up. Once home, it takes only a moment to realize the press is light grey in color and both the pre-seasoned griddle and the older frying pan are black. So I recall that in the past you were expected to season your cast iron at home the old fashioned way. Wash it with hot water, slather on some cooking oil and bake in the oven for 45/60 minutes and let cool. With loving use, the new item would eventually darken and take on the preferred black patina treasured by cooks. At first the wooden handle seemed to preclude placement in the oven, but on further examination I discovered it was easily removed by removing the two holding screws. Therefore, after the wash, the light application of oil and placement in a 350’ F oven, I awaited the buzzer announcement that I would be able to use my newest utensil for the preliminary test.
As I relaxed in my Lazy Boy reclining chair, intent on completing the New York Times crossword, a weird odor arose from the kitchen causing some concern as it definitely was pouring out of the oven. Why would such a foul smell arise from a bit of cooking oil? Smack upside the head! Suddenly, I remembered reading an article online which indicated that manufacturers were now coating cast iron with a protective wax finish before shipping. Ran to the kitchen and hauled out the grill and sure enough, the waxy coating had shrivelled in spots and was clearly visible. No problemo – as they say in Mexico. Left it to cool then attacked it with steel wool and plenty of hot water until the sticky substance was committed to history. And then: began the process anew, oil, oven heat etc. Tremendous success on the second try, once cooled you could feel the smoothness and eye the slight patina already in evidence.
Happy to report, the initial use of combined griddle and press was a total success. If I neglected to mention before, I relied on the use of an electric indoor Teflon covered grill – okay, I confess, a George Foreman special, quick and easy until the Teflon wears off – hope I do not half to burn up my apron a la “Hell’s Kitchen & Gordon Ramsay”. Cooked in almost the identical time and did so without sticking. Plus cleaning up cast iron pans somehow connects you even closer to the joy of the cooking process.

Odds and Ends #6

Fatty Acids

Just when I thought I had it organized and under control; along pops up information to mess things up or so I thought. Let’s recap: try and achieve a ratio of 2:1 to 4:1 of omega 6 fatty acids to omega 3 fatty acids to permit proper utilization of the latter. Too much omega 6 spoils or prevents the chemical reactions of omega 3 into required compounds. Apparently this was much easier to accomplish before the advent of packaged foods – read filled with the wrong oils and loaded with preservatives. All I had to keep stuck in my brain was to eat plenty of cold-blooded fish, actually fish from colder waters like sardines, salmon etc. to attain a nutritional balance. On a quick glance at the headline, I assumed the new class of fatty acids would somehow have received a numeric designation to fit in with the existing 3 and 6 families. And therefore, I would be forced to learn a whole new set of ratios together with additional food combinations. What a relief to discover they seemed to have only discovered some previously unknown type of bio-machine oil. Now the meal planning for the next year can proceed as laid out in the Excel spreadsheet produced on New Years Eve.
As my finger hovered above the keyboard to send me to another site in cyberspace, I drew back in deep thought. Maybe better to hold on and tag the article for future reference. When my bio body eventually begins to break down, science has promised a plethora of cybernetic replacements to keep me going ad infinitum. Once I get the mechanical parts installed the sensors in the newly discovered fatty acids will help to relay information to my new-fangled on board computer monitoring the efficiency of my substituted limbs and organs. Plus the computer can arrange with the hospital for an oil change appointment.

Dimwitted

Anything that helps me to locate my misplaced glasses immediately warrants my attention; so this item titillated my interest. That is, until I hit the first paragraph indicating my place in the universe might be amongst the ‘slower-witted’ or why else would I have succumbed to the enticing headline. When an article starts off suggesting I may be lacking in cranial acuteness, my anti-advertising awareness indicator pops up and warns me someone may be trying to sell me a remedy for what ails me. So now doing the odd sudoku and the New York Times crossword every weekend may not be as effective as computer based puzzles which tend now to come in plastic clad packages complete with $60 barcodes. And does throwing your weight behind a computer based system mean you have oodles of stock in the company? Probably! Not only that, but they proved me wrong and out-of-touch. Once on the MindFit site, I discovered the asking price was close to $150 – I wasn’t even close – MindYou, shipping is free! Unfortunately, I’m too slow-witted to understand the purchasing procedure; and therefore, unable to place an order. Talk about a Catch-22: in order to get smarter, I first need to order the MindFit program; in order to order the MindFit program, I must first get smarter. Help, I’m developing brain freeze without the benefit of an ice-cold drink.

Greener than Grass

I applaud anyone who allows their landscaping to reflect the natural condition of the land and refuses to worship the establishment of an anal retentive, manicured grass lawn. Over the years, I’ve tended to avoid being a slave to the dictates of the perfect green carpet: weeding, watering, fertilizing, mowing, de-thatching, rolling, aerating, raking, topping, reseeding and then starting over at the top. Unless you resort to hiring lawn service professionals for monthly upkeep, count on three to four hours hard labor for every hour relaxing on your greenery.
After being faced with almost a quarter acre of lawn to care for in my first house, I turned about two thirds into a vegetable garden which not only halved the upkeep, but provided enough produce for almost the entire year.
At another dwelling, while I was deciding what should be done with a barren back yard, nature took over to provide a year round display of greenery. For close to nine months, a tremendous variety of wildflowers went through their natural cycles presenting a constantly changing tableau with no need for any interference. Despite the absence of noxious weeds, the neighbours frowned upon the seeds being borne on the wind to settle on their putting greens.
And I’ve experienced the value of a moss lawn with its laissez faire approach to landscaping when I lived outside the city on a smaller acreage. Faced with a poor sandy soil – heavily infiltrated with rocks and stones – surrounded by cedar trees dropping needles adding to the already acidic earth, I watched as various weedy plants sprouted across the bare expanse and realized delicate grasses would never establish themselves without year long care (luckily snow covered it for four months to solve the blight temporarily). But with the aid of liberal areas of shade and the unique dampness of British Columbia, at least two types of native moss gradually began to spread outward from the trees and crept silently to attain full ground coverage by the third year. Left to its own devices, the mosses even crowded out the naturally occurring weeds, preventing any sunlight from encouraging their growth. Once thickened, we could enjoy a permanently lush green carpet without an ounce of effort or care.

Rattus

For some reason I expected the headline ‘Dwarf Cloud Rat’ to relate to astronomy as in dwarf star or Magellanic Cloud and assumed the word rat had been co-opted as a new technical term. Little did I realize in other areas of the world rats make their homes in trees much like their sticky-pawed, bushy tailed cousins do in my neighbourhood. Most of my experience with rats has been confined to observing them scooting in and out of garbage piles. On the odd occasion, I’ve watched them slither up stucco or cedar siding gaining access to bird feeders or lapping up barbeque drippings on apartment decks. While I have picked and handled a couple in laboratory settings, never did I have the urge to keep them as pets or explore their habitat. Bad enough the Norway rat has managed to sail its way around the world to spread disease and set up shop as a local pest; the last thing I want are fuzzy rats hanging above me as I navigate the city streets – our northwestern crows problem enough. So if you choose moss over grass for your lawn as per the previous entry, beware permitting the moss to cover your trees for fear of inviting unwanted guests!

Buy My Vote!

Rather than allow the Kokanee Corporation to use my free vote for their own advertising campaign; I’ve chosen to permit either the Ranger or the Sasquatch to purchase my vote for a miniscule sum – to be revealed at the conclusion of this story.
Years ago, we decided our next mountain top venture would be to conquer Bald Mountain (prior to the erection of a lodge barely outside the park boundary and the hordes of out-of-shape tourists) in Glacier National Park, and stay overnight for a rustic campout. Now this is not an extremely high vista – 2317 meters – and not a huge elevation gain – 1130 meters – and only a middling distance – 17 kilometres one way. So because it was to be two day venture, we didn’t hit the trailhead until one in the afternoon which left plenty of time to climb up to the designated camping area near the upper ‘Ranger’ cabin, pitch the tent on the side of a barely trickling streamlet and put together a one-pot supper before turning in at dusk. Bless the mountain weather. Less than two hours later, a walloping storm blew in bringing not only gargantuan downpours, but a thunder and lightening show on a cosmic scale. In moments the wee stream became a six foot wide creek, lapping at the edge of the tent which had decided to give up and allow the rain, propelled by sudden swirling winds, to enter at every possible seam. Gathering our stuff, leaving the shelter to its own devices, we scrambled over to the cabin which had a small covered front deck where hay was stored. Being on the east side out of the wind, we used the bales as a mattress, wrapped ourselves up in our sleeping bags and lay back to enjoy the spectacle. Very interesting to watch bolt after bolt of lightening, not only skyward above Copperstain and Moonraker, but hitting constantly down below in the Grizzly Creek valley. A couple of the closer strikes were only about one hundred meters distant which tends to leave a jagged pattern of light seared on the eyeball for quite a few seconds. Once the storm abated, we were able to grab some shut eye and awoke to a gorgeous sunny day.
After a quick breakfast, we headed up to the summit, realizing why it received the appellation ‘bald’ and spent three or four hours enjoying the tremendous view of the Selkirks, with Mount Sir Donald right in your face. Interestingly, we spotted a large, hairy creature disappearing into the undercover as we passed the ‘Ranger’ cabin on the way down. While we assumed it must have been an elk, over the years the tale leans toward the sighting of the elusive Sasquatch. Then it was an easy return trip to the vehicle and over to the park headquarters at Rogers Pass to check in. There we learned from one of the long term employees that the storm was considered to be one of the most intense in the past forty years. Deciding to salute our own accomplishment of braving the extreme elements, we headed to the Glacier Park Lodge for a victory supper. Opting to quaff a couple of ales, we were introduced to Glacier Light – direct from Creston and the Columbia Brewing Company. Then and there, we decided the attainment of future peaks were to be rewarded with the downing of a Glacier Light, a ritual to be upheld through the ensuing years. Unfortunately, some misguided marketing type chose to eventually re-brand our traditional beer by sticking a great big Kokanee on the cans and bottles while reducing the glacier and light to secondary importance.
Therefore, in order to receive our votes, either the ‘Ranger’ or ‘Sasquatch’ must convince management to return Glacier Light to its former glorious position in the pubs of BC; and once accomplished, deliver one dozen properly chilled cans to a British Columbia peak of our choosing to celebrate our summit party.

Odds and Ends #5

Moose Miracle

While I was waiting for the page to load, I was chastising myself for having missed any previous articles concerning the intelligence of moose. Up to that moment, I was unaware they even had the ability to add or subtract; never mind learning to multiply. I was immediately in awe of those stoic Scandinavians being able to herd these high strung ungulates into a classroom; and then instilling in them the basis of mathematics and the opportunity to become partners in the worldwide capitalist society. After all, years ago Mr. Ed could only add and chimpanzees have been restricted to short pictorial sentences, with a lot of food rewards for encouragement. So I eagerly anticipated reading the complete story as soon as it flashed on the screen.
Drats. I was sucked in by a cleverly worded headline. Moose in Scandinavia are no smarter than their brethren in Northern British Columbia, except they may be more amorous – how else to explain the multiplying.

Robot Rollouts

What the good professor is not telling us? Robots are loose among us and not only the benign ones building the cars and vacuuming the floors. Already, the competent companions for the elderly population and the happy helpers for the playschools and daycares may have been instilled quietly, with little fanfare, into our society at the behest and backing of our federal government. The head mechanical man is already well placed to continue infiltrating his kin into our population with the complete cooperation of our national ministries and departments. And who is this chief architect of our introduction to widespread robothood and possible ‘big brothers’ – why our very own Prime Minister Stephen Harper! What else could explain the slow, deliberated body and brain movements? None-the-less, rumour has it he is concerned about the appellation ‘dumb’ machines as applied to his extended family in the linked article.
Somehow the moral and ethical dilemmas concerning the future of robotics fail to get close to the top of the current impending doom list of troubles facing society. Concerns about climate, energy, food, and terrorism are but a few of the problems; living in fear of an ankle biting vacuum cleaner hardly hits the top one hundred.
BTW, if a robot doctor examines and operates on your prostate, will he/she/it be offended if you request that he/she/it warm up their hands or claws or snippers?

Dullsville

What a revelation; once again science triumphs over common sense. Anyone who has ever laboured in a dead end job, a repetitive function or non-stimulating atmosphere can attest to the fact of wandering focus. And in most cases, we know ourselves our attention begins to dart ever more swiftly among many competing thoughts and are entirely aware of our drifting concentration. The answer, of course, involves adjusting those in monotonous positions into regulated lab rats. Stick a beanie on them, insert wired probes into the brain mass and punish them for misplaced thoughts or inappropriate day dreaming. Given the opportunity to machine enhance the human species; science will continually opt for an invasive solution to problems instead of altering the task to better suit our psychology.
From my observation, it may be over concentration producing the same negative results and an electric impulse fired into the brain may not have the desired effect. Not long ago, I happened to be in a hospital emergency department where I was watching paramedics bring in a person who had suffered from a fall or possible heart attack. The patient was on a stretcher and breathing through an oxygen mask hooked up to a stationary tank. One of the paramedics began to adjust the intravenous needle in the crux of the man’s arm and casually pulled the stretcher over into the light. Unknowingly to the attendant, this wrapped the oxygen supply tube around the victim’s neck and pulled tight enough to restrict his breathing. Even though the gasping became audible the paramedic was so involved in replacing the needle properly, he failed to respond. Moments later, the other paramedic returned and initially began to help with the needle. As I started over to warn them about the man’s discomfort, the second paramedic finally became aware of the problem and moved the stretcher back to loosen the tube. Had a brain machine restricted their focus to the importance of replacing the needle correctly; the patient could simply die from lack of oxygen.
Personally, I have reservations about injecting fish genes into the DNA of tomatoes, and like experiments; so any unnecessary enhancements to my brain requiring relinquishing my decision making to a machine are presently rejected.

Bobblehead

In a hockey centric city like Vancouver, it will be more than strange to find the lowliest member of the team structure – the stick boy - have more experience and knowledge than the newly installed General Manager. After mumbling through a press conference on the firing of Dave Nonis and explicitly acknowledging the need for a seasoned professional in the driver’s seat, the team ownership, led by Francesco Aquilini, opted instead to install a bobblehead figure in the front office. Based on previous interviews, the Aquilini’s have left no doubts as to their desire to micro manage the team themselves and are unlikely to tolerate independent underlings. Once they have Gillis totally indoctrinated, he will become the perfect figurehead to send to league meetings, handle the press and preside at photo ops. Be sure to take special notice if both Mike and Francesco are together at the same functions – are Aquilini’s lips moving when Gillis pretends to hold court? All in all, a very tactical and intelligent move. Should the situation not improve and the Canucks continually denied the glory of a Stanley Cup triumph; simply fire the underperforming general manager who was given’ carte blanche’ to build a contender and failed. Should a miracle occur and the cup come to Vancouver, make no mistake- all the credit will be claimed by ownership for their prescience in taking a hands on approach.

Walk-Jog-Run

Not necessarily in that order, but I’ve wondered about the transition zones and, in particular, whether the run/jog question depends on the individual. I used to believe only two methods existed: either you walked or you ran. And without the benefit of a degree in kinesiology, most people if put to the test would agree on which is which just from watching. However, watching the Olympics some years back introduced me to the sport/pastime/athletic endeavour of race walking, a seemingly mechanical or robotic approach to moving quickly. No matter how often commentators explained the rules – I think a part of one foot must always be in contact with terra firma – it remained a mystery how the sideline referees managed to detect rule violations on route. Even with the benefit of slow motion, spotting violations appeared difficult and I began to suspect the officials were surgically altered with eagle eyes. Besides I can’t help thinking the awkward motions must put undue strain on body parts. It does, however, suit the description of a transition between jogging/running.
Most runners I’ve talked with seem to agree a difference exists between jogs and runs, although most of the explanations tend to a personal view rather than based on science. For some time, my division rested on the amount of bobbing I witnessed in other runners – if up and down motion seemed almost greater than forward motion; then I described it as jogging. With faster forward movement and the upper body seemingly almost stationary above the churning legs, I elected to call it running. My system works well when viewing other runners, but was difficult to apply to myself. I’ve heard others try to base the transition on pace which is okay if comparing high to low, but as one approaches the middle this begins to get fuzzy. Finally, I settled on taking note of how my body would sway slightly from side to side when I went for slow runs and opted to call this point the transition from running to jogging.
Since I don’t race the question is solely academic, merely another random thought momentarily bouncing around my brain cavity until it fades and ends up replaced by important concerns such as ‘what’s for dinner’.

Follow Up #1

Rodent Renegades

Had I known of such aggressive behaviour amongst the squirrel clans, I may have reacted with additional care when I was a party to their eviction from my attic space. A bear killing carp should be expected – bands of irate blood-thirsty squirrels are another kettle of fish so to speak. Only by chance while generally wasting time surfing did I happen on the old report of squirrel mayhem in the depths of Russia. Since the breed of dog is never mentioned, one would assume a yappy, lapdog - like a Chihuahua - would be at risk; any larger mutt should be able to defend itself unless it is too old to run. And still, I’ve never witnessed bands of squirrels roaming the city parks plotting havoc against larger foes. Normally I notice the little pests chattering and madly chasing each other in order to defend their territories. Since the females run the males away from the nesting area (apparently they have a penchant for disposing of their offspring) before the pups are born, the males could be cloistering in groups bemoaning their fate, but becoming marauders seems beyond their genetic make up. Yet, I hope the Russian rodent mob are not yet internet savvy or cell phone wielding enough to send messages to their brethren here in North America fomenting revolution halfway around the globe. To be on the safe side, I will refrain from standing near trees engaged in any loud or threatening conversation. Also, a few pine cones stuffed in my jacket pocket could serve as ransom if I do find myself cornered.

Where are the Tillandsias?

Not long after I wrote this entry, I decided to head off to the local garden shop to purchase another type to add to my collection. After wandering around for some time, I was unable to spot any displays – the indoor plant area had been rearranged – so I asked an employee where they might now be hidden. Turns out they had none in stock owing to the nursery suppliers also being out of stock. Apparently, all the air plants are in short supply, but nobody knows whether it may be due to an importing problem from the United States or some growing or breeding difficulty. Visiting three or four other outlets, the plants were still unavailable and the reasons identical. Deep in the dead flower department of a local supermarket, I did come across a few bedraggled specimens of Ionanthas – comforting to know the air in a grocery store may be toxic to air plants ( in truth just a lack of water). Thank goodness my blog entry was not the cause of hordes of people rushing out to corner the market. As if anyone is actually out there in cyberspace grinding through the onslaught of thousands of blogs per hour. However, I suspect a conspiracy in the works: all the tillandsias have been stripped from their supports and tossed into the chippers to become the next source of biofuel.

The Lost Book

Once I learned my requested book had been declared missing-in-action, I assumed I would be waiting for a new copy to be purchased or the return of a copy on loan. Less than two days later, I received notification via e-mail the book – ‘The Mindful Way through Depression’ – was ready for pickup at my local branch. As I had extra time to waste the day I went to pick it up, I decided to query the librarian on the whys and wherefores of the wandering text. Expecting an explanation to the lost days in the life of the wayward tome, there was none to be had. It had seemingly turned up at her work station as if by magic. Apparently, before she even had the chance to launch an investigation, it had been placed close to her computer where she found it the following morning. She surmised one of the part time employees working the previous evening had located it elsewhere, by accident, realized there was a hold on the volume and did not return it to its usual shelf position. Such a banal ending to the story of its disappearance – hardly worth writing about or coaxing a blog entry out of my fingers. More likely, the book elves were having their fun moving the book surreptitiously from place to place right under the noses of the book herders. Now, I just have to buckle down and read the book while hoping the most important pages are intact and not torn out!

H is for Haas Avocados

Cheating on this one because it could have been used under A, but then I would have lost the applesauce and sacrificed a guacamole recipe. Why have a guacamole recipe? Because I’ve been blessed with a spicy gene flowing down through the years from one of my ancestors and it needs to be expressed. Excellent for dipping taco chips, for fajitas, on top of huevos rancheros, alongside grilled chicken breasts, even smothered over pork chops. Unless you’re lucky and bought your avocados a few days previous, they are usually hard as rocks when picked up in the supermarket. Buy them anyway; drop them in a paper bag with either an apple or banana and they will ripen in a couple of days and be soft enough to mash up. Anticipation will make the end product even tastier.

4                          avocados ripe about 2 pounds
½ cup                 tomato peeled, seeded and finely chopped
¼ cup                 red onion finely diced
¼ cup                 cilantro
3 tablespoons     lemon juice or lime
1 clove                 garlic minced
1/4 teaspoon      cayenne pepper
1/8 teaspoon      salt
1/8 teaspoon      chile powder
2                           jalapeño peppers seeded & minced

• Peel and pit the avocados; then use a fork to coarsely mash them in a bowl.
• Mix in the lemon juice and then the remainder of the ingredients. Stir until well combined, but do not over mix into a smooth paste. Using a food processor tends to turn the mixture to mush.
• Chill for 30 to 45 minutes before serving.

Mince up 2 additional jalapeño peppers into a small bowl so the more adventurous can add heat to their taste.