I just finished reading "Dean's Blind Spot" by Ronald Brownstein on The Daily Dish. Brownstein writes about what has been driving me crazy about health care reform, Afghanistan, Copenhagen, and Obama's falling approval ratings.
Let's talk about approval ratings before getting back to Brownstein. Obama's approval rating hovering around fifty percent (according to Karl Rove, the lowest of any new president at the end of the first year)is deceptive. Eight years ago the people who disapproved of Bush II's performance were united in their disdain, or disgust. United also were the fifty percent of the population who disapproved of Ronald Reagan's performance at the end of his first year. (Rove, not surprisingly, was wrong. Reagan's ratings were equal to if not worse than Obama's. Of course that fact would not be convenient to Rove's argument.)
In Obama's case, the disapproval is coming from totally different camps. Bill Maher, Howard Dean, Ed Schulz, and the like are screaming (You would think Dean would have learned about screaming!)because the bill will not include EVERYTHING they demand. Obama should get tough with Joe Leiberman they say. Bully the holdouts. Threaten the republicans. Stop trying to be bi-partisan. What they actually want is for Obama to be, well, Rovian. The conservative shouters, on the other hand, are screaming because the bill seems to be getting ANYTHING Obama wants. Even though THE HUFFINGTON POST disagrees, I suspect those approval numbers will jump dramatically once health care passes in some form because the necessity for posturing will be over.
As a liberal, I'm angry and frustrated that recalcitrance has become the republican default position. But I am more flabbergasted at the liberal reaction. After all, getting mad at republicans for wanting to cut services as they cut taxes is like getting mad at sharks for nibbling on swimmers. Is it possible that Bill Maher, Arianna Huffington, Howard Dean, et. al. really believed Obama and his non-majority majority would accomplish everything the campaign promised? Has there ever been such a campaign? Is it possible that all these liberals would be willing to cut off their nose to spite their face because the health care bill, while the biggest social program since The New Deal, is not perfect?
Back to Brownstein who says the biggest reason why so many liberals are abandoning the Obama bandwagon is because college educated white voters tend to be the demographic using the internet as its main information source and the internet "makes more noise" politically than just about anything you can think of. This is the demographic that Howard Dean mined in his ill-fated presidential bid. That demographic also provided the energy behind Obama's campaign, but it didn't stop there. It spread because of the nature of Obama and his promise.
According to Brownstein, the problem is that "college educated white voters . . . tend to see politics less as a means of tangibly improving their own lives than as an opportunity to make a statement about the kind of society they want America to be."
These statement makers don't have to really worry about health care. Approximately 97% of this group has great coverage. So the health care debate for them really is an intellectual exercise, a parliamentary battle like the kind they used to have in junior high when they first learned ROBERTS RULES OF ORDER.
They tend to forget that for millions of americans this is no parliamentary game; this is literally about life and death. They have neither the wherewithal nor the time to cruise the net every day to see what the pundits are saying. They don't have the time to wait for perfection.
Who does?
Friday, December 18, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Christmas Traditions
When I was a boy in Estes Park our Christmas tradition was set in stone. All of the kids would be sent into the basement or the back bedroom early on Christmas Eve where we would be given games to play and admonished to stay put, otherwise Santa wouldn't come. By the time I got into junior high school and both of my sisters started reproducing like rabbits, the mob of kids in the back bedroom became almost more than I could bear.
While we were in seclusion, my mother, aunt, and grandmother would put up the tree and decorate it. We were never allowed to have a tree in our house before Christmas Eve. It just wasn't done.
Then my mother would ring sleigh bells to evoke Santa and we would all run out to the living room where we were greeted by a stunning tree decorated with generations of glass ornaments and tinsel. And underneath that tree was a miracle of presents. At least that is what it seemed like at the time.
After opening presents, normally a two to three hour orgy of materialism, we would all clean up and go to midnight mass at Our Lady of the Mountains. I always got a ride to church earlier than the others because I was the main altar boy in our youth group and one did not take that responsibility lightly. The church was always beautiful and the choir (my mother and aunt were altos; my grandmother was a bass) sang the Ave Maria, Gounod's version, and we were all filled with the wonder of the whole thing.
That tradition went away pretty much at the same time I grew up, got married, and had children of my own. So we substituted a new ritual around the holiday season and mostly with Katherine's family.
There is always the name drawing party the weekend after Thanksgiving. The extended family all shows up at Sharon and Roger's house for drinking, a little dancing, a lot of conversation, and finally dinner at around 9:30. As I get older it has become increasingly difficult to remain convivial all the way through dinner.
Then we have a family gift opening at our house. When Franny was a little girl she passed out the presents and paced the whole ordeal like a gifted head waiter. Since Franny has grown up, other young ones in the family have tried to take her place. In my opinion, they can never quite pull it off with Franny's aplomb.
Christmas Eve Chris and Nate would spend with their mother and Katherine and Franny and I would go to Mike and Barb's for a lovely dinner and small party. When we got home on Christmas Eve and got Franny into bed, we stuffed and put up the stockings with care. The next morning Mary would bring Chris and Nate back home. Actually, I would go and pick them up. And we would all gather round the tree and open the stockings and have cinammon rolls and hot chocolate or something equally Christmassy. Later that day we would go to Katherine's parents' house where we would meet Chuck and Teena, their kids, and Roger and Sharon. The gift opening that followed was always obscenely huge and more than a little embarassing. After that we would have a fancy dinner, invariably with mail order filet mignon and twice baked potatoes. Later that night everyone in the family would end up at Roger and Sharon's for more drinks and LATE night chili. Whew. End of holiday.
That tradition has changed as the kids have all grown up and moved away. We still have a name drawing and gift opening party for the family and we still go to Roger and Sharon's late Christmas night. As far as Christmas Day goes, Kathie and I spend the whole day making various tapas-like food and family and friends stop by throughout the day and visit, open presents, drink bloody marys, wine, beer, and sit around the kitchen table and eat. Late in the afternoon before heading to Roger and Sharon's we make Mario Batali's short rib recipe paired with Frank Bonnano's pirogi recipe and no one can get enough.
While we were in seclusion, my mother, aunt, and grandmother would put up the tree and decorate it. We were never allowed to have a tree in our house before Christmas Eve. It just wasn't done.
Then my mother would ring sleigh bells to evoke Santa and we would all run out to the living room where we were greeted by a stunning tree decorated with generations of glass ornaments and tinsel. And underneath that tree was a miracle of presents. At least that is what it seemed like at the time.
After opening presents, normally a two to three hour orgy of materialism, we would all clean up and go to midnight mass at Our Lady of the Mountains. I always got a ride to church earlier than the others because I was the main altar boy in our youth group and one did not take that responsibility lightly. The church was always beautiful and the choir (my mother and aunt were altos; my grandmother was a bass) sang the Ave Maria, Gounod's version, and we were all filled with the wonder of the whole thing.
That tradition went away pretty much at the same time I grew up, got married, and had children of my own. So we substituted a new ritual around the holiday season and mostly with Katherine's family.
There is always the name drawing party the weekend after Thanksgiving. The extended family all shows up at Sharon and Roger's house for drinking, a little dancing, a lot of conversation, and finally dinner at around 9:30. As I get older it has become increasingly difficult to remain convivial all the way through dinner.
Then we have a family gift opening at our house. When Franny was a little girl she passed out the presents and paced the whole ordeal like a gifted head waiter. Since Franny has grown up, other young ones in the family have tried to take her place. In my opinion, they can never quite pull it off with Franny's aplomb.
Christmas Eve Chris and Nate would spend with their mother and Katherine and Franny and I would go to Mike and Barb's for a lovely dinner and small party. When we got home on Christmas Eve and got Franny into bed, we stuffed and put up the stockings with care. The next morning Mary would bring Chris and Nate back home. Actually, I would go and pick them up. And we would all gather round the tree and open the stockings and have cinammon rolls and hot chocolate or something equally Christmassy. Later that day we would go to Katherine's parents' house where we would meet Chuck and Teena, their kids, and Roger and Sharon. The gift opening that followed was always obscenely huge and more than a little embarassing. After that we would have a fancy dinner, invariably with mail order filet mignon and twice baked potatoes. Later that night everyone in the family would end up at Roger and Sharon's for more drinks and LATE night chili. Whew. End of holiday.
That tradition has changed as the kids have all grown up and moved away. We still have a name drawing and gift opening party for the family and we still go to Roger and Sharon's late Christmas night. As far as Christmas Day goes, Kathie and I spend the whole day making various tapas-like food and family and friends stop by throughout the day and visit, open presents, drink bloody marys, wine, beer, and sit around the kitchen table and eat. Late in the afternoon before heading to Roger and Sharon's we make Mario Batali's short rib recipe paired with Frank Bonnano's pirogi recipe and no one can get enough.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Why Is Economics More Important Than Morality?
Doug, a guy I work out with at the Y every morning and a past president of the Aurora teacher association, came up to me outside the weight room and whispered (There are lots of republicans at the Y so we have learned to be discreet) that someone had commented that universal health care should not be an economic issue, but a moral one. I think you will agree Doug's discovery is not a new one. The remarkable thing about Doug's comment is that he had to make it at all.
Why is it that everything the Obama phenomenon was predicated on was about doing the right thing, doing the moral thing, changing the atmosphere, and now everything is about what is practical, what is efficient, what will help the economy? When did this shift happen? The huge post war government programs both here and abroad were not responses to the question of what would be the most efficient and profitable thing to do, but what would be the moral thing to do.
If I approached the health care debate from an economic angle, I would be as passionately and irrationally against it as Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck. I've got mine! It is a great plan. I don't want anything messing it up. As far as those people who don't have a plan as good as mine, or who have no plan at all, fuck 'em. I mean this is America (I'm resisting an impulse to spell that with a K). If you don't have health care it is likely to be your own fault. In any event it is not my problem. "Have we no poor houses?"
When I approach the debate from a moral perspective, my argument is embarassingly short. It is the right thing to do. The thought that it might raise my taxes, or alter the scope of my current benefits isn't even a factor in my considerations.
The problem with this position is that it seems laughable. People who heard the argument would all resist urges to pat me on the head before walking scornfully away. And yet, being the hopeless liberal I am, I am pretty convinced moral questions should take precedence over economic ones.
That is why I was so taken by Tondy Judt's "What Is Living and What Is Dead in Social Democracy?" ("The New York Review of Books, December 17, 2009). His masterful essay starts with the question (much more eloquently and coherently stated) that I asked above. He doesn't go on to answer it so much as amplify it. I have to get this down so I can remember his arguments in case I want to lay waste some conservative friend.
He makes the point that we are the only democracy in the modern world that is not a social democracy. In fact, our traditional distrust of central government makes any other approach nearly impossible to visualize. Judt does allow for the fact that the USA is considerably larger and more diverse than other democracies and that diversity mitigates against a social element. In other words, if we all lived in a country the size of Montana and had a similar population base, we would have no problem establishing social institutions that would help out rancher Ben down in the valley when he hit on hard times because we know Ben would do the same for us. We trust him.
But the thing (one of the things) that has happened to dilute this social contract is privatization. The New Deal ushered in the idea that government had certain responsibilities to preserve the general good (postal delivery, regulation of public services, establishing roads, providing for defense, etc.). Even though many of my conservative friends would point out therein lies the source of all our current problems, Judt maintains that this governmental role helps serve as a buffer between the individual and the larger demands of a society. When you privatize many of these governmental roles, you end up with gated communities, both literally and figuratively. If you and your fellow community members put up your own fence (or pay for it through your homeowners) and hire your own security guards, are you still invested in society as a whole? Is there even such a thing as society any more? And if there is no longer a society as such, why in heaven's name should you feel the need to brunt the costs of someone else's healthcare, or unemployment,or foodstamps?
Now back to the question. Is it possible to make morally efficient or efficiently moral decisions? The question not only seems absurd, but beside the point. Judt gives a great example. He wants us to imagine the best way to run a railroad. If we simply ran express routes between big population centers with no stops in between, we would make a profit and the railroad would be efficient, but it would provide horrible service to those who live in one horse towns. If, on the other hand, we based the railroad on what is best for the customer, we would have local trains in addition to the express trains and those local trains would lose money. What to do? Don't ask Congress to decide!
Trains, mail, schools, health care are SOCIAL services. They can't be left to the vagaries of the market place. THEY WILL PROBABLY NEVER BE EFFICIENT OR PROFITABLE. That is just the nature of the beast.
But Judt does give us an uplifting end to his polemic. Maybe we should change the way we figure value? Maybe we should look at things that can't be so easily quantified as profit and loss? For instance, it is more efficient to simply give donations (food stamps, religious charities, etc.) to the poor than it is to fix the infrastructure in such a way as to ease the social humiliation of poverty and the huge disparity between rich and poor in this country (I read the other day in The Daily Beast that the disparity between rich and poor in the USA is greater than that of China. Startling information!) What is the COST of the humiliation that is indicative of the current system? The fact that we can't measure it doesn't take away from its importance. Maybe, as Judt says, if we considered the cost of the humiliation and despair of poverty, we might just discover that things like universal health care, subsidized transportion, and the guarantee of higher education might just be worth the investment. But there I go confusing economy with morality again.
Why is it that everything the Obama phenomenon was predicated on was about doing the right thing, doing the moral thing, changing the atmosphere, and now everything is about what is practical, what is efficient, what will help the economy? When did this shift happen? The huge post war government programs both here and abroad were not responses to the question of what would be the most efficient and profitable thing to do, but what would be the moral thing to do.
If I approached the health care debate from an economic angle, I would be as passionately and irrationally against it as Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck. I've got mine! It is a great plan. I don't want anything messing it up. As far as those people who don't have a plan as good as mine, or who have no plan at all, fuck 'em. I mean this is America (I'm resisting an impulse to spell that with a K). If you don't have health care it is likely to be your own fault. In any event it is not my problem. "Have we no poor houses?"
When I approach the debate from a moral perspective, my argument is embarassingly short. It is the right thing to do. The thought that it might raise my taxes, or alter the scope of my current benefits isn't even a factor in my considerations.
The problem with this position is that it seems laughable. People who heard the argument would all resist urges to pat me on the head before walking scornfully away. And yet, being the hopeless liberal I am, I am pretty convinced moral questions should take precedence over economic ones.
That is why I was so taken by Tondy Judt's "What Is Living and What Is Dead in Social Democracy?" ("The New York Review of Books, December 17, 2009). His masterful essay starts with the question (much more eloquently and coherently stated) that I asked above. He doesn't go on to answer it so much as amplify it. I have to get this down so I can remember his arguments in case I want to lay waste some conservative friend.
He makes the point that we are the only democracy in the modern world that is not a social democracy. In fact, our traditional distrust of central government makes any other approach nearly impossible to visualize. Judt does allow for the fact that the USA is considerably larger and more diverse than other democracies and that diversity mitigates against a social element. In other words, if we all lived in a country the size of Montana and had a similar population base, we would have no problem establishing social institutions that would help out rancher Ben down in the valley when he hit on hard times because we know Ben would do the same for us. We trust him.
But the thing (one of the things) that has happened to dilute this social contract is privatization. The New Deal ushered in the idea that government had certain responsibilities to preserve the general good (postal delivery, regulation of public services, establishing roads, providing for defense, etc.). Even though many of my conservative friends would point out therein lies the source of all our current problems, Judt maintains that this governmental role helps serve as a buffer between the individual and the larger demands of a society. When you privatize many of these governmental roles, you end up with gated communities, both literally and figuratively. If you and your fellow community members put up your own fence (or pay for it through your homeowners) and hire your own security guards, are you still invested in society as a whole? Is there even such a thing as society any more? And if there is no longer a society as such, why in heaven's name should you feel the need to brunt the costs of someone else's healthcare, or unemployment,or foodstamps?
Now back to the question. Is it possible to make morally efficient or efficiently moral decisions? The question not only seems absurd, but beside the point. Judt gives a great example. He wants us to imagine the best way to run a railroad. If we simply ran express routes between big population centers with no stops in between, we would make a profit and the railroad would be efficient, but it would provide horrible service to those who live in one horse towns. If, on the other hand, we based the railroad on what is best for the customer, we would have local trains in addition to the express trains and those local trains would lose money. What to do? Don't ask Congress to decide!
Trains, mail, schools, health care are SOCIAL services. They can't be left to the vagaries of the market place. THEY WILL PROBABLY NEVER BE EFFICIENT OR PROFITABLE. That is just the nature of the beast.
But Judt does give us an uplifting end to his polemic. Maybe we should change the way we figure value? Maybe we should look at things that can't be so easily quantified as profit and loss? For instance, it is more efficient to simply give donations (food stamps, religious charities, etc.) to the poor than it is to fix the infrastructure in such a way as to ease the social humiliation of poverty and the huge disparity between rich and poor in this country (I read the other day in The Daily Beast that the disparity between rich and poor in the USA is greater than that of China. Startling information!) What is the COST of the humiliation that is indicative of the current system? The fact that we can't measure it doesn't take away from its importance. Maybe, as Judt says, if we considered the cost of the humiliation and despair of poverty, we might just discover that things like universal health care, subsidized transportion, and the guarantee of higher education might just be worth the investment. But there I go confusing economy with morality again.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
THE SELECTED WORKS OF T. S. SPIVET
THE SELECTED WORKS OF T. S. SPIVET
By Reif Larsen
This book is a literature teacher's dream. Name a trope about coming of age and you'll find it here. That could be bad and derivative and read like some horrible adolescent novel, the kind you'll find in high school reading labs, but in Larsen's wondrous book those tropes get enlarged and refined.
The most obvious comparison here is to CATCHER IN THE RYE. Our hero is a twelve year old genius cartographer who has recently lost his brother to an accident for which he feels culpable. His freakish abilities and insight make him estranged from everyone except his sister, Gracie, and his mentor, Dr. Yorn. His mother, at least in his eyes, is something of a failed scientist and his father is a gruff old rancher recovering from the loss of his son. So we have here a character just like Holden: brilliant, insightful beyond his years, isolated, and confused. And, just like Holden, T. S. goes on an odyssey of sorts to Washington D. C. and the Smithsonian which has somehow awarded him the Baird Fellowship and is expecting a Mr. T.S. Spivet to be in residence for the next six months.
On this improbable journey from his Montana ranch to the east coast, T. S. hops a freight train, amost gets stabbed to death by a religious fanatic, and hitches a ride from Chicago to D. C. from a truck driver reminiscent of the hipster trucker in Jim Dodge's NOT FADE AWAY. When the book finally settles in Washington and our hero's picaresque adventure comes to an end, everything slows down a little and to my taste seems to get side-tracked with some secret society weirdness that better belongs in a book by Dan Brown than here, but you can't have everything. All I can say is that riding along with T.S. Spivet between Montana and D.C. is a trip rich with discovery and insight.
Once T.S.'s roadtrip begins, he stumbles across the story of his great-grandmother's trip across country with the Hayden Expedition as a geologist as well as her romance with signalman Tecumseh Tearho Spivet. Generations of similarly named scientists, miners, artists, and ranchers ultimately lead, T.S. comes to realize, to his hoboing across country on this particular train or that particular semi on his way to that particular museum. You come of age by taking ownership of who you are and where you come from. It is a lesson that always comes in a flash of insight.
But enough about the story. I want to talk about the book itself. The hardcover edition I have in front of me from The Penguin Press (New York:2009) is the size and shape of a history textbook, which is to say that it has wide pages just right for holding lots of illustrations and graphs and, of course, maps. This kid maps everything and we get to see the results in the margins as he creates them. He polishes off maps of local water tables, maps of male pattern baldness, and a particularly nice map of grown men dancing, all drawn in one of his hundreds of meticulously organized notebooks. Along with the maps are fascinating sidebars exploring such questions as "When Does a Child Become an Adult?", or a chart depicting the evolution (or devolution) of the length of shorts in answer to the question, "When Did a Short Become a Pant?"
My advice is to postpone all further activity and go out and read THE SELECTED WORKS OF T.S.SPIVET.
By Reif Larsen
This book is a literature teacher's dream. Name a trope about coming of age and you'll find it here. That could be bad and derivative and read like some horrible adolescent novel, the kind you'll find in high school reading labs, but in Larsen's wondrous book those tropes get enlarged and refined.
The most obvious comparison here is to CATCHER IN THE RYE. Our hero is a twelve year old genius cartographer who has recently lost his brother to an accident for which he feels culpable. His freakish abilities and insight make him estranged from everyone except his sister, Gracie, and his mentor, Dr. Yorn. His mother, at least in his eyes, is something of a failed scientist and his father is a gruff old rancher recovering from the loss of his son. So we have here a character just like Holden: brilliant, insightful beyond his years, isolated, and confused. And, just like Holden, T. S. goes on an odyssey of sorts to Washington D. C. and the Smithsonian which has somehow awarded him the Baird Fellowship and is expecting a Mr. T.S. Spivet to be in residence for the next six months.
On this improbable journey from his Montana ranch to the east coast, T. S. hops a freight train, amost gets stabbed to death by a religious fanatic, and hitches a ride from Chicago to D. C. from a truck driver reminiscent of the hipster trucker in Jim Dodge's NOT FADE AWAY. When the book finally settles in Washington and our hero's picaresque adventure comes to an end, everything slows down a little and to my taste seems to get side-tracked with some secret society weirdness that better belongs in a book by Dan Brown than here, but you can't have everything. All I can say is that riding along with T.S. Spivet between Montana and D.C. is a trip rich with discovery and insight.
Once T.S.'s roadtrip begins, he stumbles across the story of his great-grandmother's trip across country with the Hayden Expedition as a geologist as well as her romance with signalman Tecumseh Tearho Spivet. Generations of similarly named scientists, miners, artists, and ranchers ultimately lead, T.S. comes to realize, to his hoboing across country on this particular train or that particular semi on his way to that particular museum. You come of age by taking ownership of who you are and where you come from. It is a lesson that always comes in a flash of insight.
But enough about the story. I want to talk about the book itself. The hardcover edition I have in front of me from The Penguin Press (New York:2009) is the size and shape of a history textbook, which is to say that it has wide pages just right for holding lots of illustrations and graphs and, of course, maps. This kid maps everything and we get to see the results in the margins as he creates them. He polishes off maps of local water tables, maps of male pattern baldness, and a particularly nice map of grown men dancing, all drawn in one of his hundreds of meticulously organized notebooks. Along with the maps are fascinating sidebars exploring such questions as "When Does a Child Become an Adult?", or a chart depicting the evolution (or devolution) of the length of shorts in answer to the question, "When Did a Short Become a Pant?"
My advice is to postpone all further activity and go out and read THE SELECTED WORKS OF T.S.SPIVET.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Post Thanksgiving Day Eats
The first step in designing the perfect day after Thanksgiving is to make sure there are no leftovers, or to come as close to that goal as possible. With all the television news magazine shows and feature sections of newspapers and even THE DAILY BEAST offering tips on what to do with leftover turkey and stuffing for the weeks after the big day, it seems almost sacreligious not to do something clever with the remains. One year we were really into cracking eggs into little pockets of dressing and baking them. The first few bites are terrific and you feel proud of yourself for being so clever, but the dressing inevitably gets too dry and you end up just scooping egg out of pockets of day old stuffing when what you really want is a breakfast burrito at Snooze. The whole point is that if your turkey is so good and moist that it flies off the carcus and onto guests' plates, you won't have to feel guilty about spending the next day hanging out at your favorite restaurants.
Thanks to my wife's "We-don't-need-no-stinking-brine" turkey mastery, at most we have enough white meat for a couple of sandwiches, a few dollops of dressing, a handful of asparagus spears and a tub of gravy.
After some preliminary cleaning late Thanksgiving night after the guests have left, my perfect follow-up day starts in the kitchen at about 6 in the morning before anyone else has gotten out of bed. The kitchen, mess and all, is all mine and I can sneak bites of left over pecan pie as I winnow out the detritus. By the time the rest of the house is up, the kitchen looks like new, the table has been rearranged for normal non-Thanksgiving day life, and I am at the table drinking coffee and working the crosswords.
On this latest post-Thanksgiving lark, we all pile into the car and drive down to Snooze for pineapple upside down pancakes, monstrous breakfast burritoes, and eggs benedicts to die for.
To our way of thinking, Snooze is the Mizuna of breakfast joints (more on Mizuna later). When we told the owner that a few visits ago he almost got on his knees to give obeisance to our praise. But it is true.
Let's face it, breakfast is pretty much the same wherever you end up. Two eggs over easy with two strips of bacon and hashbrowns at Denny's isn't all that different than the same at the Brown Palace. The difference is in the details and that's why people are lined up all morning long outside Snooze's door at Park Avenue and Larimer. There is a newer Snooze on Colorado Boulevard somewhere around
8th Avenue. I'm sure the food is equally wonderful, but from the outside the place looks too much like a Denny's for hipsters. The place downtown looks like what it is, a converted whore house with great food and service.
We don't get our names on the list until 11:30 and we finally sit at a quarter past noon. I like the fact that Snooze steadfastly refuses to play favorites when it comes to seating. They don't take reservations and they aren't even interested in you calling in your name from the car on the way down. On the other hand 45 minutes does push my patience a little even though the food is worth it.
After they call our name, we work our way through the awkward corner-front door with a post placed in such a way as to make a quick entry or exit impossible. I always like being led through the mobs of hopeful diners and to a table. The four of us (daughter and son-in-law were with us) score a circular vinyl upholstered booth, one of a string of booths lined up and down the middle of the room. A few former waiters stop by to say hi as we wait for bloody marys and coffee. Both are wonderful, especially the coffee. One of the main draws of Snooze for me is that I like to bring home bags of coarsely ground Snooze coffee (They come in colorful cloth bags that make great gift bags for the holiday season.).
It takes a while to order at Snooze. I, for one, carry on a running debate with myself on the way downtown. Will it be the Spuds Deluxe this time, or Pork Benny? Why not just get a flight of pancakes? The burrito was amazing last time, maybe I should order it again? It is a tough decision but someone has to make it.
The four of us end up ordering one breakfast burrito, two benedicts and one Spuds Deluxe. Mine comes with pulled pork and great green chili with two eggs over easy. And then the same thing happens that always happens during great meals. The conversation slows down and turns to the food and when we take bites we all variously look up and glance heavenward with a knowing look that says this is the best thing I've ever tasted. And then you keep saying that with the next bite and the next.
The meal over and as much as we want to camp out we don't. That would be tacky. So we get up and out of the way so the next happy foursome can rotate in. That's the way it goes at Snooze.
But the day has just begun. On the way home we stop at St. Nicks on South Santa Fe and spend two hours looking at every kind of Christmas ornamentation possible. As a added bonus, we spot a group of three coyotes standing out by the Platte looking for some lap dog to munch on. I can't guarantee the coyotes at every visit, but you might get lucky and have a lap dog nearby as well. I keep leading my wife and daughter down to see the artificial trees every time we go to the joint. My subtle hints have not panned out so far, but I'm still hoping.
Since this perfect day is going to end with dinner at Mizuna, the rest of the afternoon has to be devoted to hanging out. Watching football. Catching up on Facebook. Reading. But under no circumstances should there be any eating or drinking. You can only consume so much in a day.
Walking into Mizuna is always like going to a family reunion only without any irritating cousins. Everyone just seems happy to see us. Even the car valet seems pleased, like he's been looking forward to our arrival. We get one of our two most cherished tables over in the corner by the entrance to the back dining room and almost simultaneously Chris, Ryan, Greg and Steve come by to welcome us back and ask our daughter how life is in the White House and congratulate her husband on his new job. These people are good!
I love seeing the food I order at Mizuna being brought to the table. The servers act like they are excited to see your reaction to the presentation and when they walk away from the table they sneak glances over their shoulders to catch, for instance, my look of sheer bliss when I took my first bite of the sweet and sour pork, or Franny's amazed reaction to the fois gras.
I also love, after I get settled and have a sip of wine, to just look around the room at Mizuna. Every table is full. The sandstone colored walls (maybe they are yellower than sandstone) punctuated with Quang Ho's wonderful oils wrap around Denver's classiest and cosiest dining room. The most important thing is that you almost never see any sad faces at Mizuna. Just lots of toasts and smiles.
This time the four of us order salmon, a veal porterhouse and two tenderloin preparations. I figure this combination will give Ryan a nice wine challenge and he comes back with a ruby red syrah from California that is so good we order a second bottle.
Every main course was exceptional, but I have to pay special attention to the perogis that accompany the tenderloin. I make perogis at home as a kind of new Christmas day tradition and they are quite good. In fact they are made from the Mizuna cookbook, but eating the real thing helps show me the difference between a restaurant cook and a home cook. Mine are delicious and the family keeps coming back for more, but Mizuna's are more carmelized than mine (easily fixed) and I think the olive oil they use and finish with is infinitely better. Mostly, I fear, it is all in the touch, the technique.
We have some coffee and dessert, pay the check (GASP) and drive the long way back up Santa Fe to our home in Littleton. Whenever I make that drive (which is quite often) I always kinda wish that Mizuna would open up a Mizuna II in downtown Littleton, or some such place. When I come to my senses, I realize that if that actually happened I would gain 50 pounds and be bankrupt in six months. Be careful what you wish for. . .
Thanks to my wife's "We-don't-need-no-stinking-brine" turkey mastery, at most we have enough white meat for a couple of sandwiches, a few dollops of dressing, a handful of asparagus spears and a tub of gravy.
After some preliminary cleaning late Thanksgiving night after the guests have left, my perfect follow-up day starts in the kitchen at about 6 in the morning before anyone else has gotten out of bed. The kitchen, mess and all, is all mine and I can sneak bites of left over pecan pie as I winnow out the detritus. By the time the rest of the house is up, the kitchen looks like new, the table has been rearranged for normal non-Thanksgiving day life, and I am at the table drinking coffee and working the crosswords.
On this latest post-Thanksgiving lark, we all pile into the car and drive down to Snooze for pineapple upside down pancakes, monstrous breakfast burritoes, and eggs benedicts to die for.
To our way of thinking, Snooze is the Mizuna of breakfast joints (more on Mizuna later). When we told the owner that a few visits ago he almost got on his knees to give obeisance to our praise. But it is true.
Let's face it, breakfast is pretty much the same wherever you end up. Two eggs over easy with two strips of bacon and hashbrowns at Denny's isn't all that different than the same at the Brown Palace. The difference is in the details and that's why people are lined up all morning long outside Snooze's door at Park Avenue and Larimer. There is a newer Snooze on Colorado Boulevard somewhere around
8th Avenue. I'm sure the food is equally wonderful, but from the outside the place looks too much like a Denny's for hipsters. The place downtown looks like what it is, a converted whore house with great food and service.
We don't get our names on the list until 11:30 and we finally sit at a quarter past noon. I like the fact that Snooze steadfastly refuses to play favorites when it comes to seating. They don't take reservations and they aren't even interested in you calling in your name from the car on the way down. On the other hand 45 minutes does push my patience a little even though the food is worth it.
After they call our name, we work our way through the awkward corner-front door with a post placed in such a way as to make a quick entry or exit impossible. I always like being led through the mobs of hopeful diners and to a table. The four of us (daughter and son-in-law were with us) score a circular vinyl upholstered booth, one of a string of booths lined up and down the middle of the room. A few former waiters stop by to say hi as we wait for bloody marys and coffee. Both are wonderful, especially the coffee. One of the main draws of Snooze for me is that I like to bring home bags of coarsely ground Snooze coffee (They come in colorful cloth bags that make great gift bags for the holiday season.).
It takes a while to order at Snooze. I, for one, carry on a running debate with myself on the way downtown. Will it be the Spuds Deluxe this time, or Pork Benny? Why not just get a flight of pancakes? The burrito was amazing last time, maybe I should order it again? It is a tough decision but someone has to make it.
The four of us end up ordering one breakfast burrito, two benedicts and one Spuds Deluxe. Mine comes with pulled pork and great green chili with two eggs over easy. And then the same thing happens that always happens during great meals. The conversation slows down and turns to the food and when we take bites we all variously look up and glance heavenward with a knowing look that says this is the best thing I've ever tasted. And then you keep saying that with the next bite and the next.
The meal over and as much as we want to camp out we don't. That would be tacky. So we get up and out of the way so the next happy foursome can rotate in. That's the way it goes at Snooze.
But the day has just begun. On the way home we stop at St. Nicks on South Santa Fe and spend two hours looking at every kind of Christmas ornamentation possible. As a added bonus, we spot a group of three coyotes standing out by the Platte looking for some lap dog to munch on. I can't guarantee the coyotes at every visit, but you might get lucky and have a lap dog nearby as well. I keep leading my wife and daughter down to see the artificial trees every time we go to the joint. My subtle hints have not panned out so far, but I'm still hoping.
Since this perfect day is going to end with dinner at Mizuna, the rest of the afternoon has to be devoted to hanging out. Watching football. Catching up on Facebook. Reading. But under no circumstances should there be any eating or drinking. You can only consume so much in a day.
Walking into Mizuna is always like going to a family reunion only without any irritating cousins. Everyone just seems happy to see us. Even the car valet seems pleased, like he's been looking forward to our arrival. We get one of our two most cherished tables over in the corner by the entrance to the back dining room and almost simultaneously Chris, Ryan, Greg and Steve come by to welcome us back and ask our daughter how life is in the White House and congratulate her husband on his new job. These people are good!
I love seeing the food I order at Mizuna being brought to the table. The servers act like they are excited to see your reaction to the presentation and when they walk away from the table they sneak glances over their shoulders to catch, for instance, my look of sheer bliss when I took my first bite of the sweet and sour pork, or Franny's amazed reaction to the fois gras.
I also love, after I get settled and have a sip of wine, to just look around the room at Mizuna. Every table is full. The sandstone colored walls (maybe they are yellower than sandstone) punctuated with Quang Ho's wonderful oils wrap around Denver's classiest and cosiest dining room. The most important thing is that you almost never see any sad faces at Mizuna. Just lots of toasts and smiles.
This time the four of us order salmon, a veal porterhouse and two tenderloin preparations. I figure this combination will give Ryan a nice wine challenge and he comes back with a ruby red syrah from California that is so good we order a second bottle.
Every main course was exceptional, but I have to pay special attention to the perogis that accompany the tenderloin. I make perogis at home as a kind of new Christmas day tradition and they are quite good. In fact they are made from the Mizuna cookbook, but eating the real thing helps show me the difference between a restaurant cook and a home cook. Mine are delicious and the family keeps coming back for more, but Mizuna's are more carmelized than mine (easily fixed) and I think the olive oil they use and finish with is infinitely better. Mostly, I fear, it is all in the touch, the technique.
We have some coffee and dessert, pay the check (GASP) and drive the long way back up Santa Fe to our home in Littleton. Whenever I make that drive (which is quite often) I always kinda wish that Mizuna would open up a Mizuna II in downtown Littleton, or some such place. When I come to my senses, I realize that if that actually happened I would gain 50 pounds and be bankrupt in six months. Be careful what you wish for. . .
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Bones: a noodle bar
Bones
701 Grant
Tucked in a tiny corner between Luca d'Italia and Lancer's Lounge at 7th and Grant and right across the street from Benny's sits Bones. This Asian-fusion noodle bar is the brain child of Frank Bonanno and his partner on this venture, Chris Gregory. And you can tell, because it has the same feel that all of Bonanno's restaurants have: casual elegance and the aroma of killer food.
As opposed to Luca next door, Bones offers a relatively affordable dining experience. The small menu has approximately nine appetizers and two salads as starters and five varieties of noodle bowls. Dessert offerings all spring from the soft serve ice cream maker behind the bar. And just to add to the charm of the place, if you order one of their inventive cocktails or some Sake or beer, you will spot your waiter edging his way up the backstairs to the tiny bar located at the top. The place is just too small to wedge a bar into the main floor.
The place might have 25 seats if you don't count the tables on the outside patios flanking either side. But even though the place is small it doesn't feel crowded. That is probably due to the ample chairs and the equally ample table spacing. I can think of some other restaurants around town that might try to crowd forty bodies into this same space. And the art work by Quang Ho helps to turn this potentially pedestrian location into a sophisticated foody spot.
But we should talk about the food. Call ahead for reservations to be safe and ask to sit at the bar so you can check out the preparations. And since Bonanno scurries between Mizuna, Luca, and Bones, you might be treated to a view of him whipping up steamed buns or roasted bone marrow appetizers.
I can only think of one other place in Denver serving bone marrow, but the marrow at Bones is creamier and easier to get at than the buffalo marrow at The Fort. Ask your server to suggest a Sake to complement your order and settle back and start spreading the marrow over the toast points. I can't think of a more luxurious way to start a meal.
Actually that is not true. An order of the steamed buns--particularly the ones with pork belly--is about as decadent as it gets. If you are with a companion, whatever you do play it safe and get two orders. Don't share the buns. They come three to an order and the fight over the last bun could do serious damage to any relationship.
There are other apps and they are all delicious. The beef short-rib eggrolls are perfect with crispy skins and juicy melt-in-your mouth chunks of beef inside. Don't forget the potato three-ways for a lesson in spud management. Did I mention the salads, crisp and beautiful and fresh.
Please don't stop there. The Udon noodle bowl with slow cooked pork shoulder topped with with a poached egg is unlike anything I've had before. The dish gives testament to Bonanno's mastery of the pig that has been on display next door at Luca for years. They even have nifty little plastic containers that will easily allow you to bring home the inevitable left overs. There is a poached lobster ramen, an egg noodle bowl with chicken quarters, but my favorite is the Soba noodle bowl. It is served cold like a salad with rare Ahi tuna and a variety of vegetables of the season all set off with a grapefruit ponzu. Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful!
A soft serve twist cone is a nice way to end if you feel the need for something sweet. The sweetest thing of all is just the place itself, the way all the servers act so happy and proud, the bustle behind the bar, Chris Gregory touching tables like the best front man in Denver that he is. Go to Bones for lunch (an abbreviated menu) or dinner, but go by all means.
701 Grant
Tucked in a tiny corner between Luca d'Italia and Lancer's Lounge at 7th and Grant and right across the street from Benny's sits Bones. This Asian-fusion noodle bar is the brain child of Frank Bonanno and his partner on this venture, Chris Gregory. And you can tell, because it has the same feel that all of Bonanno's restaurants have: casual elegance and the aroma of killer food.
As opposed to Luca next door, Bones offers a relatively affordable dining experience. The small menu has approximately nine appetizers and two salads as starters and five varieties of noodle bowls. Dessert offerings all spring from the soft serve ice cream maker behind the bar. And just to add to the charm of the place, if you order one of their inventive cocktails or some Sake or beer, you will spot your waiter edging his way up the backstairs to the tiny bar located at the top. The place is just too small to wedge a bar into the main floor.
The place might have 25 seats if you don't count the tables on the outside patios flanking either side. But even though the place is small it doesn't feel crowded. That is probably due to the ample chairs and the equally ample table spacing. I can think of some other restaurants around town that might try to crowd forty bodies into this same space. And the art work by Quang Ho helps to turn this potentially pedestrian location into a sophisticated foody spot.
But we should talk about the food. Call ahead for reservations to be safe and ask to sit at the bar so you can check out the preparations. And since Bonanno scurries between Mizuna, Luca, and Bones, you might be treated to a view of him whipping up steamed buns or roasted bone marrow appetizers.
I can only think of one other place in Denver serving bone marrow, but the marrow at Bones is creamier and easier to get at than the buffalo marrow at The Fort. Ask your server to suggest a Sake to complement your order and settle back and start spreading the marrow over the toast points. I can't think of a more luxurious way to start a meal.
Actually that is not true. An order of the steamed buns--particularly the ones with pork belly--is about as decadent as it gets. If you are with a companion, whatever you do play it safe and get two orders. Don't share the buns. They come three to an order and the fight over the last bun could do serious damage to any relationship.
There are other apps and they are all delicious. The beef short-rib eggrolls are perfect with crispy skins and juicy melt-in-your mouth chunks of beef inside. Don't forget the potato three-ways for a lesson in spud management. Did I mention the salads, crisp and beautiful and fresh.
Please don't stop there. The Udon noodle bowl with slow cooked pork shoulder topped with with a poached egg is unlike anything I've had before. The dish gives testament to Bonanno's mastery of the pig that has been on display next door at Luca for years. They even have nifty little plastic containers that will easily allow you to bring home the inevitable left overs. There is a poached lobster ramen, an egg noodle bowl with chicken quarters, but my favorite is the Soba noodle bowl. It is served cold like a salad with rare Ahi tuna and a variety of vegetables of the season all set off with a grapefruit ponzu. Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful!
A soft serve twist cone is a nice way to end if you feel the need for something sweet. The sweetest thing of all is just the place itself, the way all the servers act so happy and proud, the bustle behind the bar, Chris Gregory touching tables like the best front man in Denver that he is. Go to Bones for lunch (an abbreviated menu) or dinner, but go by all means.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
FLOTUS
Under normal circumstances just following Ali through Hangar 909 and past the half dozen fighter planes parked there might have been the visual highlight of our day. There was more to come. We waited on the tarmac (I've always wanted to be able to use the word tarmac in a sentence involving me.) for the First Lady's plane to arrive. Our assignment was to sit in the straggler van and wait for Franny to climb in so we could surprise her. Then we would ride in the motorcade from Buckley Air Force Base to the Governor's Mansion for the first event of the day.
We got a small glimpse of the First Lady alighting from the plane, but the biggest treat was watching Franny bustle around in her business clothes with her cell phone in permanent text position directing people--important people--to go this way and that. She looked busy and in control the way Holly Hunter looked in "Broadcast News." It is important to note that, as opposed to Holly Hunter, she also looked happy--that Franny smile.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Originally we were to meet Franny at South High School where the First Lady was scheduled to talk to/with a group of selected girls about their futures, their nows, their questions, etc. It was all part of a successful female mentoring program Mrs. Obama is launching--and Franny is organizing--to give promising young women a head start. After the kickoff event in D.C., Denver was her first stop on the "Mentoring Tour". Other stops to be announced.
Those plans changed when Ryan, one of Franny's advance team, emailed us that they wanted us to surprise her and spend the day with them instead. We thought it was a potentially good idea and that is why we ended up at Buckley at ten on Monday morning. The happy look on F.'s face told us it was a good idea.
If I were president, getting to ride in a motorcade with sirens blaring, running through red lights with impunity, and shutting down whole portions of interstate highways just so I could transit rapidly from one spot to another would be reason enough to seek a second term. Right now, I can't think of another.
We motorcaded out of Buckley, waving at people lining portions of the streets, and proceeded to commandeer I-225, I-25, and finally Logan on the way to the Governor's Mansion, the site for a luncheon with dozens of girls chosen from local school populations and a handful of famously successful, or successfully famous women. Janet Neopolitano was there, and Katherine Sibelius. Susan Sarandon was the only lady there not power dressed in black or shades of gray with pointy toed and spikey heeled black footwear. She came in a sweater, cords and running shoes, and I'm sure she was the envy of every lady there. Mrs. Ritter and Mrs. Hickenlooper were in attendance, of course. One of the Desperate Housewives made the gathering, but I couldn't make her out. I thought a severely dressed black tressed lady with the spikiest boots I ever saw might be the desperate type, until I was otherwise informed by a van driver.
With the exception of those named above, it was a lot like watching "Dancing with the Stars." I can never tell which is the star and which is the dancer.
After the lunch and some Broadway entertainment (It seems that Mrs. Obama's young life was changed when she saw her first musical and she wanted to share that experience with the gathered kids.), we took the motorcade to South, closing up more streets and avenues en route. I loved the way kids filled South's windows to get a glimpse of the First Lady and other famous types. Getting out of the van I suppressed an urge to give one of those hand rotating waves that famous people give. I wish I would have because I think I might have disappointed a few of them. Oh well.
We finally met the First Lady after the event at South finished around 3:30. As I expected, Michelle Obama is a hugger. Not one of those polite little half-assed hugs, but a full-fledged bear hug that makes the recipient feel like the First Lady had been waiting all day for this reunion-like moment. I was more than a little impressed.
After it was all over we took Franny away (she decided to spend the night in Denver and catch a commercial flight back to D.C. in the morning). We had a great dinner at Bones and went home to talk and go to bed.
A great day.
We got a small glimpse of the First Lady alighting from the plane, but the biggest treat was watching Franny bustle around in her business clothes with her cell phone in permanent text position directing people--important people--to go this way and that. She looked busy and in control the way Holly Hunter looked in "Broadcast News." It is important to note that, as opposed to Holly Hunter, she also looked happy--that Franny smile.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Originally we were to meet Franny at South High School where the First Lady was scheduled to talk to/with a group of selected girls about their futures, their nows, their questions, etc. It was all part of a successful female mentoring program Mrs. Obama is launching--and Franny is organizing--to give promising young women a head start. After the kickoff event in D.C., Denver was her first stop on the "Mentoring Tour". Other stops to be announced.
Those plans changed when Ryan, one of Franny's advance team, emailed us that they wanted us to surprise her and spend the day with them instead. We thought it was a potentially good idea and that is why we ended up at Buckley at ten on Monday morning. The happy look on F.'s face told us it was a good idea.
If I were president, getting to ride in a motorcade with sirens blaring, running through red lights with impunity, and shutting down whole portions of interstate highways just so I could transit rapidly from one spot to another would be reason enough to seek a second term. Right now, I can't think of another.
We motorcaded out of Buckley, waving at people lining portions of the streets, and proceeded to commandeer I-225, I-25, and finally Logan on the way to the Governor's Mansion, the site for a luncheon with dozens of girls chosen from local school populations and a handful of famously successful, or successfully famous women. Janet Neopolitano was there, and Katherine Sibelius. Susan Sarandon was the only lady there not power dressed in black or shades of gray with pointy toed and spikey heeled black footwear. She came in a sweater, cords and running shoes, and I'm sure she was the envy of every lady there. Mrs. Ritter and Mrs. Hickenlooper were in attendance, of course. One of the Desperate Housewives made the gathering, but I couldn't make her out. I thought a severely dressed black tressed lady with the spikiest boots I ever saw might be the desperate type, until I was otherwise informed by a van driver.
With the exception of those named above, it was a lot like watching "Dancing with the Stars." I can never tell which is the star and which is the dancer.
After the lunch and some Broadway entertainment (It seems that Mrs. Obama's young life was changed when she saw her first musical and she wanted to share that experience with the gathered kids.), we took the motorcade to South, closing up more streets and avenues en route. I loved the way kids filled South's windows to get a glimpse of the First Lady and other famous types. Getting out of the van I suppressed an urge to give one of those hand rotating waves that famous people give. I wish I would have because I think I might have disappointed a few of them. Oh well.
We finally met the First Lady after the event at South finished around 3:30. As I expected, Michelle Obama is a hugger. Not one of those polite little half-assed hugs, but a full-fledged bear hug that makes the recipient feel like the First Lady had been waiting all day for this reunion-like moment. I was more than a little impressed.
After it was all over we took Franny away (she decided to spend the night in Denver and catch a commercial flight back to D.C. in the morning). We had a great dinner at Bones and went home to talk and go to bed.
A great day.
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