Food and Footage

 I lived in Baltimore from 2006-2007. That isn’t a particularly long time to spend in a city, but it made an indelible impression on me. If you are familiar with the work of famous  Baltimore director John Waters, then you know how aesthetically fascinating the city can be.

“I would never want to live anywhere but Baltimore. You can look far and wide, but you’ll never discover a stranger city with such extreme style. It’s as if every eccentric in the South decided to move north, ran out of gas in Baltimore, and decided to stay.”
—John Waters

 And if you’ve ever watched The Wire, then you know how heartbreaking Baltimore can be. What’s amazing is that the beauty, the strangeness, and the heartbreak start to blend together until you’re not sure whether you want to smile or weep.

There is a certain impulse to want to save every building from further dilapidation. But that impulse is complicated by the fact that beautiful buildings are being gutted and renovated to suit some outdated yuppie real-estate fantasy.

Or they’re just torn down and replaced with cheap monstrosities.

And then you have to wonder if saving buildings instead of people is all that useful in Baltimore.

So Baltimore becomes a lesson in surrender. You can’t fix everything. You just have to cherish the jumble of the grotesque and the classical.

Recently they’ve begun covering plywood boarded-up windows with decals of fake windows.  When the plastering job reveals the plywood underneath, the effect is really post-modern.

That weekend the weather was beautiful and the light, as the sun set, made everything and everyone radiant.

Despite being down at the heel, Baltimore is rich in symbolism. Edgar Allen Poe lived and was buried in Baltimore. He lent the city the raven, which is the name of Baltimore’s football team. The oriole is another famous bird of Baltimore, the state bird in fact, and the name of the national baseball team. The word “believe” is a slogan for Baltimore and I think it’s a pretty useless slogan. There’s something condescending about it. Sometimes you find it altered to “behave” which seems more appropriate.  Other slogans that refer to Baltimore are; “Baltimore: The Greatest City in America”; “Charm City”; “Mobtown”; “The City that Reads”; and fittingly, “The City of 1000 Slogans.”

Despite the kitschy attitude Baltimore tries to cop–the Hampden beehive and cat-eye glasses thing–something of the macabre Poe still lives on. After a couple of drinks at Club Charles (or Club Chuck, as it’s referred to) things take on a ghostly hue. They say Club Chuck is haunted. It definitely has a “time standing still” quality to it that is only enhanced by alcohol consumption. But the spectral feeling you get when you’ve been drinking there seems appropriate. I think Baltimore is best appreciated under the influence.

Station North, the heart of Baltimore, is the place I’m most familiar with. When I go back to visit, I like to see all the old familiar landmarks. Even the ones I’ve never dared set foot in.

Art Deco makes a regular appearance in Baltimore. Sometimes it can be easy to miss. But when you find it in unlikely places, you have the sense that you’ve stumbled onto a real hidden gem.

This was a liquor store in the Lake Montebello neighborhood of Baltimore. It might surprise you to know that not two doors down from this rough looking place they opened an up-scale and popular charcuterie restaurant.

 This winter it snowed like crazy and the only solution was to shovel everything into low traffic areas. There are plenty of those in Baltimore. The picture above was taken in a deserted shopping mall courtyard. The thawing snow, dirt and trash reminded me of an evil  spirit from one of Miyazaki’s films.

 Somehow everything is iconic and larger than life in Baltimore. The snow is a monster and the gas storage tanks in Dundalk (right outside of Baltimore city), look like pendulous tits or grenades.

I will never forget you, Baltimore. Each time I visit I am reminded of the limitless possibilities that exist for that which is passed over. Art is exploding out of your boarded up windows and I can’t help feeling like a curator when I’m with you, Baltimore. You keep my eyes open and let my mind wander.

I’ve never been squeamish about oysters. When I was a child my parents would order oysters and champagne for special occasions and perhaps because they always required so much pomp and circumstance to eat, I always associated them with luxury. Always eager to expose myself to the finer things in life, I was therefore determined to like them.

Of course, any foodie worth their salt is familiar with M.F.K. Fisher’s incredible prose poem, Consider the Oyster, and when I read this book at the tender age of 17, I was  convinced that oysters were the most sophisticated food in the world. I was also more or less certain that eating them every chance I got would bring me closer to sophistication myself. As I got older and the allure of oysters on the half shell gave way to the hearty appeal of an oyster po’boy, I realized that I needn’t feel beholden to an image of oysters as fancy food. Eating something raw with cocktail sauce can be just as delicious as having it fried and slathered with tartar sauce.

The flavor of an oyster is illusive because so much depends on the terroir of the oyster’s environment. I have been to restaurants where there were so many varieties I just ordered a couple of each and made snap judgements about flavor without having a real sense of where they came from or how they would taste freshly harvested.

Recently I was visiting my boyfriend’s parents on the eastern shore of Virginia and we were able to do just that–harvest oysters from right off their dock on the Chesapeake Bay, clean them, shuck them and eat them all in one day. The process was work intensive but so worth it! In case any of you find yourselves faced with this task, here are a few photos and notes to help you pretend expertise.

Here is the beginning of our journey. Brooks and I scaled the rocky edge of the creek and cleaved oysters from the rocks. They were often hard to loosen from the rock itself and it took a hammer and an expert eye to pry them without damaging their shells and the meat inside.

The next step involved cleaning the oyster shells and scraping off barnacles.  I was the volunteer for this job and it was very hard work. I began with an eye toward thoroughness but by the end, I was happy if they were clean-ish.

Because we didn’t eat the oysters for at least a few hours after they were cleaned, we had to put them back into the brackish creek water. Now that the oyster shells were cleaned, there was no danger of them regaining a slimy shell. Dipping them into the creek for their final “swim” allowed them to retain their particular, fresh flavor until we were ready to open them.

Here are the instruments of torture we used to get the shells open. Oyster shucking is a tricky business. You need to be able to feel the shell opening in small increments until it gives way enough to be able to slide your knife around the perimeter. At the same time, you need to visualize where the meat is because you don’t want your knife to hack the poor creature to death. It’s all very Zen. Brooks was the Mister Miyagi to my Karate Kid and I spent a lot of time watching him open oysters without managing to open too many myself. In time, I may learn. Wax on, wax off.

Ladies remember, just because you’re shucking oysters with the boys, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be elegantly manicured.

The sweet meat of success! If you look closely, you can see the oxygen bubbles still being produced by this unlucky bivalve.

Not sure this is the image people have in mind when they talk about oysters being aphrodisiacs but, I can assure you the experience was positively sensual. How to describe the flavor, is a bit of a struggle. I agree with M.F.K. Fisher when she wrote, “An oyster will taste like what the taster expects, which of course depends entirely on the taster.” I can say that they were milder than most oysters I’ve had. There was something creamy about the meat. The liquid in the shell had less of a briny quality than a pure, fresh water taste. You know how sometimes when you’re really dehydrated water can taste sweet? Well, that sweet-water flavor was present in every part of these oysters.

We made really simple Mignonette and cocktail sauces as accompaniments. Both were good. Here is the recipe we used for the Mignonette:

• 1 tablespoon coarsely ground black peppercorns
• 1/4 cup red wine
• 1/4 cup red wine vinegar
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 teaspoon caper juice
• 2 tablespoons finely chopped shallots
• Salt to taste

One way to get around the problem of shucking fresh oysters is to throw them on the grill and let the heat loosen the membrane that attaches the top shell to the bottom. Of course, you end up encountering a second problem; dealing with piping hot shells that need to be opened lickety split so that the meat inside doesn’t roast too long. Overall, we managed to keep most of the oysters between rare and medium rare with just a few sacrifices to the gods of overcooking.

This is what grill roasted oysters look like. We put them over a bed of salt so that the shells wouldn’t bang around and spill out juice. Roasted oysters are really delicious. I’d never had them before and I think the smoky flavor worked especially well with this sweet and mild oyster variety. I still think I like raw a bit better though.

Finally, we saved a few oysters to make Oysters Casino.  I am a huge fan of 1950’s party food and this was an ultimate 50’s recipe. It just makes you want to have a dry martini and tap your toes to Henry Mancini. We had them with a very crisp Chilean Sauvignon Blanc, which was a good match as well. Also, if you know people that are grossed out by the idea of eating oysters, this is a good recipe to coax them with. Just say bacon, parsley and butter and defy any warm blooded mammal to disagree with that!

Oysters Casino:

• approx. 20 oysters on half shell
• rock salt
• 1 cup butter
• 1/2 cup chopped green onion, about 1 bunch of 6 to 8
• 1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley
• 2 tablespoons finely chopped green bell pepper
• fresh lemon juice
• salt and pepper
• 6 strips bacon, partially cooked, cut in fourths

Fill 4 or 5 pie pans or other baking pans with rock salt. Arrange oysters on shells on the rock salt in the pans. In a small mixing bowl, cream butter; blend in onion, parsley, and green pepper. Add a teaspoon of lemon juice and add salt and pepper to taste. You can also add Worcestershire sauce if fresh lemons aren’t available. Spoon butter mixture onto oysters and top each with a small piece of the partially cooked bacon. Bake at 450° until bacon is crisp and oysters have curled at the edges.

Not to rub it in or anything, but this was the view culminating oyster challenge 2010. Drink it in shuckers!

Picked this baby up today. I am sorry to say that I don’t have a camera to take a picture for you. But, it is emerald green. It has clean modern wooden legs, and sleek wooden arm-rests, and although it’s at least 40 years old, comfort-wise it could have been built yesterday. It folds out in the same way as the classic Ikea futon models but it’s constructed from wood and steel hinges, so it’s much sturdier.

It was probably a pretty standard item in the former East German living room, but it was very hard to find any exact matches when I went searching for photos on-line. I was also very interested to know what it cost then, and what a similar model costs today.

I promise I will post photos as soon as I can. In the meantime, here is a photo I found of a similar sofa made by the same company.

So dreamy!

These were very salty to me the first time I tried them but now they are much more tolerable. I am starting to crave the potency of salty licorice. I like the way it fills your mouth so completely, sort of like wines that are big and tannic. I can understand how that fullness of flavor, once you get used to it, would make other licorice seem weak in comparison. The other thing that is nice about sweet/salty licorice, is that you can’t sit there and eat a whole bag. They pretty much defy gorging. In my case, that’s a good thing. I used to polish off a box of Panda licorice like it was no big deal and pay for it with a stomach ache an hour later. I am starting to think of Salmiak as an apetite suppressant, or more accurately, an amuse bouche. Something that has a lot of flavor, awakens taste buds, but can’t be overindulged in.

The leaves are made with bay-leaf and licorice. They were sweet and mild and the bay-leaf flavor gave them a lovely brightness. The fish were traditional licorice but slightly more salty than you’d be able to find in the US. The phallic guy to the right is based on a famous stone landmark in Amsterdam and the flavor was mild with slight root-beer and chocolate tones. The little coffee mug, (or is it a milk pail?) was my favorite! It was slightly sweet and had an amazing cherry-cola flavor. The branches connecting the leaves were rich and molasses-y with a hint of eucalyptus. And the houses were slightly salty cola flavored delights!

I know I’m supposed to be writing about black licorice, but, like most of my life’s pursuits, I find that just seconds after I commit myself, I begin flailing wildly, looking for a way out. Plus, I am really annoyed by this news segment that I read today concerning classical music and teens in England…

Here’s a little snippet from reason.com:

‘In January it was revealed that West Park School, in Derby in the midlands of England, was “subjecting” (its words) badly behaved children to Mozart and others. In “special detentions,” the children are forced to endure two hours of classical music both as a relaxant (the headmaster claims it calms them down) and as a deterrent against future bad behavior (apparently the number of disruptive pupils has fallen by 60 per cent since the detentions were introduced.)’

First of all, Mozart is not going to make people calmer, fetuses smarter, or plants grow faster. I don’t care what the research says. Forcing people, animals or plants to listen to sappy classical music only reinforces the stereotype that all classical music is snobby and sappy. Even the term ‘classical music’ makes me want to hurl! It makes me think of gilded furniture and little violet candies. In reality, I listen to a lot of ‘classical’ music that has more in common with avant garde noise than it does with little girls and ballet recitals.

Fact: Shostakovich was a bad ass!

Fact: Glenn Gould was a bad ass!

Fact: Max Richter and Steve Reich are not dead and your grandmother would hate their music.

The problem is that there is so much stigma around ‘classical music’ that whenever I ask someone what kind of music they like (a question I mostly avoid) and they say, unhelpfully, ‘everything’, I know they are not talking about classical music. Everything means everything but classical music.

And now, thanks to England, a country which excels at creepy, bizarre, and fantastic methods for policing the populace, a new generation of kids will grow up avoiding any music that gets played in a symphony hall because they associate it with punishment. And not only in schools…apparently they’ve found that it stops teens from loitering if you blast Beethoven through the speakers at bus stops, railways and corners where graffiti is a problem. Didn’t they see A Clockwork Orange? Does this punishment not seem a little Fascist to them?

Ironically, last year I was at a very tony symphony in Berlin where a rare production of Bernd Alois Zimmermann’s  “Requiem für einen jungen Dichter” was performed. The usual box holders were there, and about 10 minutes into this wild, noise explosion, about half of them left. It would have been an evening more suited to the tastes of punks in Kreuzberg than the penthouse dwellers from the west. But the punks would never be caught dead at Berlin Philharmonie because they think classical music is for the elderly and child geniuses.

I wish I could get all of these teachers and principles in a room and edify them with some John Zorn. Or switch the Mozart out and replace it with Stockhausen. That would keep them calm, I’m sure.