Hawleyblog

A Current Affairs Post With Several Items About Goldman Sachs

Is There a More Hypocritical Figure in American Politics Than Joe Lieberman?

Nope.

Alan Grayson Is the One Democrat in the House Who Relishes Calling the Republicans on Their Bullshit

And how do his fellow Dems in Congress reward him for his toughness? They trash talk him when speaking to the Republican-backed Washington Web site Politico. 

Tim Geithner Always Has the Time to Talk to Those Who Matter

And they would be the CEOs of Citigroup, JPMorgan Chase, and Goldman Sachs.

The Most Transparent Administration Ever! Not So Much

A British citizen was tortured by the CIA and by countries we "rendered" him to for the specific purpose of having him tortured. And waterboarding was one of the more defendible things done to him. Obama now says we shouldn't be allowed to know about it because it would make us look bad if other countries became aware that we did such things.

Could Dianne Feinstein's Hawkishness Have Anything to Do With ...

... the fact that her husband is part of the military-industrial complex?

And Could Evan Bayh and Joe Lieberman's Opposition to Health Care Reform Have Anything to Do With ...

... the fact that their wives have been paid buckets of money by health insurers and drug companies?

The New Confederacy of Republicans

Michael Hittleman writes at truthout that the GOP of today is like the Southern Democratic Party of the 1860s: racist, defiant, and oligarchical.

New Jersey Is Still Paying Goldman Sachs for Protection Against Rising Interest Rates on Bonds That No Longer Exist

Bloomberg News's Dunstan McNichol writes that the agreement that led to this debacle was made while "gay American" Jim McGreevey was governor—not Jon Corzine, the former Goldman Sachs boss who just got his ass handed to him by repulsive Bushie Chris Christie.

Who's Losing While Goldman Sachs and Wells Fargo Win Billions?

On interest rate swaps. And why do people still think Larry Summers is a genius?

Insurance Companies Are Not in the Health Care Business; They Are in the Risk Business

William Fisher reminds us of some very important truths about the health insurers.

"It's Hard to Fight People You're Trying to Squeeze Money From"

Robert Reich says Wall Street reform is going nowhere because Obama and lawmakers are too tight with the banksters. Mr. Hopey Changey hosted a fundraiser with banking bigwigs last month that brought in $2 million.

A Goldman Sachs Adviser* Says Jesus Was Really Telling Us to Make Shit Tons of Money at the Expense of Others When He Was Talking About Loving Others as Ourselves

I say that if someone were to punch that guy (the bankster, not Jesus) repeatedly in his weasel fucking face, the angels in heaven would be high-fiving each other.

He's a Maverick Against the Internets

John McCain wants to kill Net neutrality. He says that trying to prevent the telecom/cable companies that own him from fucking with our ability to access what we want online when we want it is tantamount to a "government takeover of the Internet." If you pay a U.S. senator enough money, you can get him to say the most outrageous lie without batting an eyelash.

We Could Use Another Teddy Roosevelt Again

The inimitable Frank Rich on the Obamans and their too-close-to-do-what-needs-to-be-done connections with, yeah, Goldman Sachs.

Pat Robertson Lies

About the U.S. Hate Crimes Act. He scoffs at the notion that it would ever cover religious beliefs but it has for decades.

Liz Cheney Lies

About everything.

McClatchy Has Been Covering the Shit Out of Goldman Sachs

And finally, Dean Baker, in praising the newspaper chain's three great stories on the company that rules our world, wrote that "if Fox went over Goldman with the same energy it pursued Acorn, no one in Congress would go within a mile of its lobbyists."

*This adviser is the guy Robert Reich referenced at the beginning of his blog post I linked to in the item above this one. Sadly, Reich didn't advocate physically assaulting him. I'd love to see that cute, short, Jewish academic open up a can of whup-ass on that goddamn limey bastard.

A Sumo-rific Visit With the Gerbers

Last Sunday, the Gerbers treated me to a Halloween brunch at Preakness. Mike and Matt wore the coolest costumes. They were both sumo wrestlers.

The food was terrific, as always. And tucked in among the buffet items was an awesome disembodied head inside a crystal ball that lit up and made noises. Here it is with my camera's flash on:

And here it is with the flash off:

Spooky!

And speaking of scary heads, I got in on the pretending-to-be-a-sumo act:

At Chez Gerber, we did the usual things:

Give lots of love to Molly:

Check. 

Play video games on M&M's Wii and my PSP until our eyeballs want to fall out:

Check. 

Cook and eat Brussels sprouts. Ch– Whaaa!?

I took some Brussels sprouts I'd gotten at the Greenmarket the day before because I wanted the Gerbers—who Tracey claimed don't like BSes—to try them the way I make them: Bill's Browned Brussels Sprouts. They're little slices of cruciferous-vegetable heaven, served piping hot from my skillet to your belly. Unless you won't try 'em. Like Matt. I guess we now know which twin is my favorite and who'll be getting the opulentest presents this coming holiday season. Mike, would you like the Porsche or the Maserati? And Matt, will it be anthracite or bituminous? Hah!

Tracey and David both genuinely enjoyed my little cabbages, and Mike said they were OK. Winnah!

And speaking of food-related winning, when I'd spoken to Mom that morning on the walk to the subway, she'd mentioned that she'd been able to find canned apricots at the grocery store for the first time in a long time. Hmm, should I give that a bang to make it seem more exciting? Sure. She'd been able to find canned apricots at the grocery store for the first time in a long time! Then she said—and she acknowledged it was a little strange—that she liked all of the fruits in canned fruit cocktail but she's not terribly fond of fruit cocktail.

I had to share that story with the Gerbers, which led us to create all kinds of nutty expressions along the lines of "I like fruit and I like cocktails but I don't like fruit cocktail," which I know isn't quite what Mom said but it works better for comedic purposes. For example, "I like milk and I like shakes but I don't like milkshakes." and "I like monkeys and I like britches but I don't like Monkey Britches." Yesterday, I came up with one I thought was clever and wrote it on David's Facebook wall while wishing him good luck in today's New York City Marathon: "I like Marys and I like thongs but I don't like marathons." He wrote back that it was a stretch but thanks. So then I wrote, "I like running long distances and I like races but I don't like marathons." And then, "I like cheese and I like taking a whiz but I don't like Cheez Whiz." Eh? Oh come on. That's all comedy gold.

After a pizza dinner, one of the best moments of the day came when the Gerbers dropped me off at the train station in Ridgewood. Matt told me, "I like uncles and I like Bills but I love Uncle Bill."

A Food Post With Transportable Ice Cream, the Prettiest Potatoes Ever, Lots of Meals Eaten Out, and a Painting of Dad's Favorite Restaurant, Part II

Just like the headline says, I've been enjoying lots of meals out lately, mostly with Joe and my new buddy Lou, who contacted me thanks to a Web site gay men use to find friends, friends with benefits, and boyfriends. And, uh, one-night "friends." On that site, I've posted pictures of me with each of the woofers and one of me on the beach in Cape May. Lou sent me an e-mail in which he told me that he once had a basset hound named Reggie (which is an excellent name for a basset) and that one summer he worked at what was then the Admiral Hotel in Cape May. Lou has some really cute stories about Reggie, which I'll share in my next all-dogs post. But for now, on to the food!

At Chez Jacqueline last month, at our first dinner together, Lou got the asparagus soup as his appetizer. It had the purtiest flower on top, made of a sweet-red-pepper purée or something similar. I got Salade Jacqueline, which consisted of endive, radicchio, apples, and walnuts. It was huge—and delicious. For our entrées, Lou got striped bass and I got a beef stew that had cute little raviolis in it. I enjoyed the meal quite a bit.

Earlier this month, we ate at Home, one of several restaurants the farm I apprenticed on during the summer of 1996 sold produce to. I was a little disappointed in my opener, Hudson Valley Duck Confit Salad, with watercress, candied cashews, grilled apples, and an orange vinaigrette. It wasn't balanced enough for me and had what seemed like an abundance of duck and cashews and not enough of the other elements. Part of the issue, no doubt, was that I'm not a huge fan of duck; the other ingredients sounded so tempting that I decided to give it a whirl, especially since I planned to go with an everyday main course: macaroni and cheese. That's not to say the M&C was pedestrian; it was really good. It's just that it wasn't a particularly adventurous selection.

Lou got the M&C too. He got a soup for his first course. I believe it was butternut. Or maybe carrot. It was definitely orange colored and one that I usually jump on when it's offered.

For dessert, I know for a fact we shared two of Home's highly praised puddings: chocolate and butterscotch. They were absolutely delicious, like I knew they would be. I've made the chocolate pudding a few times before, though only once since I moved to New York. I'm pretty sure I've made the butterscotch at least once before, when I was on the farm. I should make it for Bob since he's so fond of the brown sugar–and-butter flavors in chocolate chip cookie dough.

I took pictures of my salad and the puddings, but the lighting really sucked, so I'm not going to bother to post them.

And speaking of not-great lighting, here's a photo of Lou outside Chez Jacqueline:

And still speaking of not-great lighting, here's a photo of Joe at our table outside Philip Marie on our second dinner date:

I really enjoyed my meal at PM. I got a chicken pot pie (the kind with the crust), and we shared a nice bottle of rosé because there was still a little summer left and it would split the difference between his red-meat entrée and my white-meat one.

Earlier this month, we had a fine dinner at Good. I started with a quesadilla filled with kabocha squash, mushrooms, and cheese. It was tasty but too light on the squash for me. For my entrée, I had the Ricotta Meatballs, which Joe recommended. They came with mashed potatoes and tomato sauce. For dessert, we had the German Chocolate Cupcakes I made for Joe's birthday that I mentioned in part 1. We were both so full that even after letting our supper digest for a while, we could only manage a half cupcake apiece.

***

On the last Tuesday in September, Desirée and I met for lunch at Shake Shack so we could indulge in the Red Velvet Frozen Custard. It was the last day for that featured flavor in that month. My cone was even better than the one I got when Joyce and I ate at SS in May, the last time the RV custard was available. This time, I got some huge chunks of cake that were probably visible from space. Oh so good.

***

Oh so sad. The last issue of Gourmet arrived in the mail yesterday. Maybe I'll keep it in its poly bag in the hopes of selling it for big bucks someday. Though I found other food magazines more useful as far as recipes are concerned, the superbly written and edited features in Gourmet couldn't be beat. I'll miss it.

***

I made Guinness Gingerbread last weekend and, oh man, was it good. I got the recipe from The Sweet Melissa Baking Book.

All day last Friday, I was hoping I'd have a chance to hit the Union Square Greenmarket and get a half Ginger Cake from Our Daily Bread. But we were still too busy getting the magazine finished for me to leave early enough to hit Union Square and get back in time to meet Paula and Mark for a 5 o'clock dinner at Fresh Basil's. P&M were in the city at their timeshare hotel, and they'd gone to the Statue of Liberty that day with other members of the SOL group they belong to. Since she knew they'd be getting up really early that morning, Paula hadn't wanted to commit to trekking out to Brooklyn for a late pizza dinner with Bob and Jen and me, which was my first suggestion.

Becco was booked, so that killed my second suggestion. Paula didn't want to venture even as far downtown as the Village that evening after such a long day, so we couldn't do my third suggestion, Mario Batali and Joe Bastianich's Otto Enoteca Pizzeria, which I thought would be a good alternative to Lidia and Joe Bastianich's joint in the theater district.

I asked Paula to pick a place, and I selected FB from her two suggestions. It's a couple blocks down Lexington from my office, and I pass by it all the time. The food was OK—I got the Tricolore Salad and penne with meat sauce—but the service was don't-need-to-go-back-there bad.

On my way home, I stopped at Sweet Melissa to see whether there was any gingerbread to be had. There wasn't, so I figured I'd just have to make it myself if I was going to get my fix for something sweet and gingery.

SM's recipe called for white pepper, which I didn't have. I decided to spring for some to make it the way Melissa intended. And I knew I could always use it in place of black pepper in my day-to-day cooking, so it wouldn't go to waste.

I actually used St. Peter's Cream Stout instead of Guinness because I found it unrefrigerated and in a single small bottle in the store where I went looking for the Guinness. And because, I guess, I liked the idea of a cream stout, aka milk stout, even though I didn't know at the time what it was.

I doubled the recipe, which also called for a good amount of cocoa and, of course, ground ginger. I took a pan with me when I hung out with the Gerbers on Sunday (I'll probably write about that visit in my next post) and I gave half a pan to the Schultieses. I took the other half pan with me to work. I had a couple of pieces for after-lunch desserts before splitting the last three on Wednesday with Joyce and Missy, who both really enjoyed it. And so did Nate; Missy took hers home. Joyce described it as "very moist! Delightful. ... Dark and earthy. ... Pfeffernussy.* Almost. But no anise. ... Run, don't walk, to eat this cake!**"

***

And speaking of sweet and spicy and, earlier, butterscotch, I wish I'd gone to the Gamesters gathering two Sundays ago so I could have tried Barry's Butterscotch Spice Cookies.

***

A couple weeks ago, I saw a guy standing near the high school on the southwestish corner of 7th Avenue and 4th Street painting a picture of Dad's favorite Park Slope restaurant, Sotto Voce. I guess if I were really the best son ever, I would have asked the guy whether he planned to sell his work. But does my Dad really need an oil painting of SV when he can eat there anytime he likes just by making the trek to my hood? I snapped a photo of the painter in action and sent Dad a copy.

***

Finally, to wrap things up, here are photos of some more purty produce:

This variety of heirloom tomato often has the word garden in front of it. It's got a very interesting texture, more delicate than most tomatoes. And it tastes fruitier too.

Romanesco cauliflower, which I should try if I see it at the farmers market again tomorrow

And habenero peppers. I took this photo only last Saturday, and they still looked summertime beautiful.

*The Barefoot Kitchen Witch's recipe doesn't actually call for anise, but the page was so gorgeous I had to link to it. This recipe contains anise extract, and this one, crushed anise seed.

**Obviously, I added this last part myself. Because my ellipses made Joyce's e-mails sound like movie review quotes.

More Flowers of Fall

The first kind of flower I bought after my last flowers post was ageratum. I was apparently so excited about finding a cocoon or chrysalis in the bouquet that I forgot to take a picture of the flowers themselves. They were more lavender than blue. I kept the cocoon inside my living room to see whether the insect inside would emerge. Unfortunately, it didn't. There were beautiful golden spots in two different places on the outside of the cocoon.

The next time, I bought butterfly weed. Which didn't have any cocoons on it.

I wasn't thrilled with any of the photos I took. And the milky sap produced by this member of the milkweed family was annoying to deal with when I trimmed the stems.

Two weekends ago, I had a better time with my pairing of cosmos and globe amaranth.

 

I've been doing a lot of pairings this fresh-flower season. They wouldn't win me first prize on Top Flower Arranger, if there were such a reality show, but I'm digging most of them a good deal. This past weekend, I paired plumed celosia with dahlias.

A Food Post With Transportable Ice Cream, the Prettiest Potatoes Ever, Lots of Meals Eaten Out, and a Painting of Dad's Favorite Restaurant, Part I

Late last Sunday afternoon, I was walking down Prospect Park West, carrying German Chocolate Cupcakes on my way to the Gamesters gathering, when I heard someone call my name. Desirée and Bob were driving down PPW on their way back to Jersey from the Brooklyn Museum. D had wanted to see the Art Smith jewelry exhibit there. Bob spotted me while he was on the lookout for a sign for the BQE. D said he's really good that way: He'll spot the brother of one of Desirée's co-workers whom he met only once before who's picking out a bouquet of flowers outside a grocery store on some random street in the city and say to D, "Isn't that Carla's brother?" And sure enough, it is. Because he's got the eagle eye. If you need help finding Waldo, he's your man.

I had to offer D&B a cupcake, but I asked if they wouldn't mind splitting one because I only had nine in the cupcake carrier. I'd made two dozen, mostly for Joe for his birthday, and had also given some to the Schultieses.

I started out cutting the cupcakes in half and putting Coconut-Pecan Frosting in the middle and on top, as the Martha Stewart's Cupcakes book directed, but after the first dozen, I realized I was piling on too much and was quickly running out of icing. So I started frosting only the top and even so ended up with a few cupcakes that I left plain, which I didn't want to take to the Gamesters.

Desirée's Bob is allergic to nuts, so D got the cupcake all to herself. She dug it, and Joe, Jen, and the Gamesters enjoyed theirs. Jen's Bob told me he doesn't like coconut. *sigh* I'd given the Schultieses some of the plain ones because I figured the kids might not like nuts and/or coconut, and I ended up giving them a couple more.

I thought the cupcakes were a success too. The only glitch I had, and it was a result of my own laziness, was that not all of the semisweet chocolate got worked into the batter, so some of the cakes had little chunks of chocolate in them. The recipe said to let the chocolate cool for a half hour after you melt it, so I made myself some lunch in the meantime. By the time I got back to my baking project, the chocolate had cooled too much and was somewhat solidified in parts. I didn't feel like heating it up again, and I thought the action of the mixer might break up any globs and smoosh them into the batter. It didn't.

Gamesters host Mark-tin Scor-sexy always makes everyone pose for photos with whatever homemade stuff a guest brings, even though there are usually some groans about doing the same kind of picture AGAIN. This time, he went with a sepia-toned look.

 

***

The previous Sunday, I figured out a way to enable the Gamesters to try my ice cream. It didn't look like I was going to have the time or the energy to bake something that weekend, and because I'd been in such an ice cream–making frenzy, I had plenty of my best flavors (and the pluot :-)*) left. I have three plastic ice cube trays that have a cover you can slide open to reveal, say, only four cubes. You can crack those out and leave the rest of the cubes in place. I figured I could use them to hold good-bite-size blobs of ice cream instead. I emptied out the cubes and stowed them in the freezer. I filled one tray each with spoonfuls of the three flavors of ice cream—chocolate chip mint, lemon verbena, and pluot—that I'd let soften a bit. I refroze them and took them to the Gamesters in my little Igloo cooler with a lot of ice on the bottom. I also took a bunch of metal spoons so minimalist-kitchened host Mark wouldn't have to dirty a bunch of his silverware.

Mark said he was "so impressed by the ice cream," and it was a big hit with the guys, particularly the lemon verbena. I tell you, there's magic in that herb!

Regular Gamester Barry brought delicious peanuty brownies with chocolate ganache.

I opened up the tray with the pink pluot ice cream for the inevitable photo.

***

I imagine the fresh, local lemon verbena is all done until next year. When I see it back at the farmers market, I'm going to make Lemon Verbena Custards using the recipe from Claudia Fleming's The Last Course: The Desserts of Gramercy Tavern. Fleming and her co-writer, Melissa Clark, describe LV as "the pastry chef's perfect herb. It has both the fresh liveliness of lemon combined with the fragrant delicacy of a flower. Here, it lends its distinctive perfume to lush baked custards, adding a light, bright taste that keeps them from feeling too rich and heavy on the tongue."

***

Purple Viking potatoes

from

are so purty. They're white inside, not purple and pink.

*Actually, the pluot ice cream has grown on me a little more since I first made it. I still wish it tasted more like fruit punch, as the fruit itself does, but it really is good. And fun for its novelty.

Wishful Drinking and Othello

On Tuesday night, Missy, Nate, and I saw Wishful Drinking, Carrie Fisher's highly entertaining one-woman show at Studio 54. Fisher was very funny and utterly charming on stage. She blew off most of her fans at the stage door, though, so major points off to girlfriend for that. She signed only a handful of autographs and posed for one photo before being whisked away in a waiting car. *sigh*

Once it got rolling, and it didn't take long, I enjoyed every minute of the show, especially the inside-Hollywood stuff about Fisher's family, including her parents' new spouses/lovers and their offspring; the outside-Hollywood folksy wisdom of her Texan maternal grandmother; and the stories about George Lucas and the blockbusters that made her masturbation material for millions of teenage boys. (A quick bit of Star Wars trivia: Christopher Walken was seriously considered for the role of Han Solo. Yikes.) Even though she's had a very difficult life, particularly being hospitalized for treatment of manic-depression, there's not a moment where she plays her past for sympathy; she's looking only for laughs.

If you plan to see this show, don't read anything about it until after you've gone, because too many writers like to give away the best lines in their articles. For example, Amy Larocca in New York magazine. And Doug Sturdivant in Playbill. I wish I could have heard the punch lines that they gave away during the show instead of reading them in the publications they work for.

***

When I saw Othello at NYU's Skirball Center with Eugene last month, two days before its official opening, I wasn't thinking, "This is a train wreck." It was certainly unusual, what with Othello and Desdemona's bed being constructed out of small television screens; the casting of African-Americans in several roles, none of which was the title character, about whom much, of course, is made in the text of the play of* his blackness; and the roles of Bianca, the whore, and Montano, the governor of Cypress, being performed as the same person by the same actress in the same costume. And then there were the attempted-rape scene; the not-just-in-Iago's-head affair between Othello and Iago's wife, Emilia; the stretches in which the military characters drink bottled beer on folding chairs in a bar; the flurry of communication between characters on mobile phones at the beginning of the show; and the too transparent evilness of Iago—played in a green polo shirt by a doughy Philip Seymour Hoffman—that had me scratching my head and wondering why everyone wasn't on to him by now. If it had been a movie I was watching on DVD, I'd have wanted to yell at the screen: "Emilia, can't you see that your husband is scheming to have your lord kill your lady? Stop him all fucking ready, you dumb ass!"

Maybe it's because I don't feel terribly qualified to criticize Shakespeare productions. Or maybe it was my desire to like what the generally good cast was performing—and a show that my friend was treating me to. But I gave the director, Peter Sellars, the benefit of the doubt that he knew what he was doing. Given all the reservations I had, I shouldn't have done that.

Other reviewers certainly haven't had a problem trashing the show. The New York Times's Ben Brantley called the production "exasperatingly misconceived." And under the clever headline "It's Lost Its Moorings," New York magazine's Scott Brown says that none of Sellars's "potentially incendiary concepts made it out of his brain alive." Ouch. And my new buddy Lou, whom I'll write more about in my next food-and-drink post, showed his displeasure with his feet when he saw the play a couple of weeks ago. He left at intermission because he figured there were better ways to spend the rest of his evening than watching the second act of this Othello.

*That's a lot of "of"s in one sentence. But it all seems grammatical to me. And I should know. :-)

Bob Is 40 Too. Hah Hah!

Bob turned 40 on Thursday. So he can now stop zinging me for being (numerically) older. Last Saturday, Jen threw a surprise birthday party for him at Rodeo Bar, and Thursday night, we had a late dinner of delivery Indian food and I gave him my present, which was really cool, if I do say so myself. :-)

Rodeo Bar was one of the stops during the multi-venue bachelor party I organized for Bob back in the summer of 1996. I was hoping one of his favorite bands at the time, 5 Chinese Brothers, would be playing at RB, where they appeared frequently, on some weekend leading up to his and Jen's wedding, but they weren't. So the party sucked a little. Hah! No, we still had a lot of fun.

First, we had dinner at an Italian restaurant whose name I will never recall. I assume I must have asked for a restaurant suggestion from Jen because I was neither a city boy nor particularly Internet savvy at the time. I do remember everyone, including myself, being pleased with the food.

And at one point we went to a strip club, which I recall being a totally unsexy place. Not necessarily because it was chickies doing the stripping, though that was kind of an issue for me, but because the rules against contact with strippers in the city were so stringent that it seemed like an exercise in standing around and looking at boobs from a short distance. And us guys would walk up to one of the gals every so often and hand her a dollar like she was a cashier at Gristedes.

And Rodeo Bar was a lot of fun, though my memories are a little hazy. I remember (college buddy) Dan and I calling Hal on a pay phone because he couldn't come to the party, because he was doing his annual training with the Army Reserves. I remember hanging out with Bob's favorite cousin, Tom. And I'm sure there must have been a band there, but I've got no idea who it was.

Bob said he was surprised last week. Jen had said she was going to take him to dinner somewhere nearby and she "spontaneously" suggested they stop in RB for a drink.

I had fun catching up with some friends from college I hadn't seen in a while: John and Tracy Patterson and Phil and Bill Mindler. (From left to right, that's John, Bill, Tracy, and Phil, which is short for Philinda.)

After we ordered our appetizers, I texted Hal to see whether he was on his way. He'd told Jen that he'd try to make it after he did the City to Shore bike ride for the Greater Delaware Valley Chapter of the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. I was puzzled by his response but didn't even consider that he'd changed his number when he got his iPhone this summer and so I was actually texting someone else. So I defaulted to WTF mode while bringing up Hal's penchant for women with fit backs (though he likes the usual lady parts, too).

I then got a call from the woman who now has Hal's old number. Her name is Patty, and she said I'm very funny. I thanked her and told her to have a good night. I didn't ask her why she typed 44.

Hal eventually showed up. He got the Chicken Chimichanga, as had I. The appetizer had consisted of platters of fried pickles, onion rings, mozzarella sticks, empanaditas, chicken fingers, and chicken wings. For dessert, I ordered the Key Lime Pie but stole a bite of Bill B.'s Mississippi Mud Pie.

John had suggested I ride back to Brooklyn with him and Tracy so that they could get their present for Bob—40 bottles of beer in a large, straw-lined basket—back to the apartment building. Jen's parents, who were driving B&J home, were able to fit it in the back of their car, so I instead went to a diner with Hal so I could meet his new girlfriend, Stacy. She'd been hanging out with a friend of hers from college after having driven Hal up from his bike ride. Stacy seems like a good gal. Hal said he's glad she's an 8th grade teacher because it helps her to deal with him. Hah! And so true too, I'm sure.

On Thursday, we had a bottle of Domaine de Vaufuget Vouvray—which my Dad has been buying for me every so often ever since I told him I really liked it the first time he bought it for me—with our Indian food. And I gave Bob his gift: a bottle of California cabernet sauvignon that, like Bob, is of the 1969 vintage.

I first thought I'd give Bob a bottle of Bordeaux from our birth year, but after doing a little research online, I discovered 1969 was a terrible vintage for Bordeaux. I didn't find a whole lot of 1969 wines available online from hard-to-find-wine shops, which was probably a good thing so that I didn't feel totally overwhelmed by choices. I found some good reviews of this Beaulieu Vineyard bottling, and it's fun to see that BV is still making quality cabernets in the Napa Valley. (Although I see that it's corporate owned—by Diageo Plc—which lessens the fun a little; it would be cooler if it were still all in the de Latour family.)

Bob said the three of us have to go out to eat soon and drink the BV as our second bottle. The BV can be opening up in a decanter while we first drink a wine from the restaurant's list. Here's hoping this particular bottle has held up well. *fingers crossed*

And now some more pictures:

A group shot of the party crowd

Bob holding a photo of him next to his pickup truck in Trenton that Bill B. took several years ago

And Bob opening my present

A Food Post With Four Freakin' Kinds of Homemade Ice Cream and Maybe the Coolest-Looking Cupcakes Ever

I was planning to go to the gym Monday night after a somewhat productive day off. But Bob invited me over for homemade Swedish meatballs that he cooked up using a recipe from Cooks Illustrated, and I don't turn down homemade meatballs. They were really good and tasted authentic. And by "authentic," I mean "like the ones in the cafeteria at Ikea." :-) Cranberry sauce stood in for lingonberry sauce.

I took over some grapes from the farmers market for dessert—though we didn't get around to eating them because the kids needed to get to bed—and a rosé, which we did get around to drinking, because I figured it would go well with meat in a slightly spicy and creamy sauce. It was the 2008 Vega Sindoa Rosé, made from the Garnacha, aka Grenache, grape. We enjoyed it. Lots of cherriness.

Abbe made the Lego flower decorations for the table.

***

I've been up to some serious ice cream making these past few weeks. I made more mint chocolate chip last weekend because I didn't know how many more weeks I'd be able to get fresh peppermint at the farmers market. And the weekend before that, I made my second batch of lemon verbena ice cream for the same reason. And because it had become my ice cream obsession. 

I made the first batch after seeing a sign for lemon verbena at Berried Treasures' farmstand at the Union Square Greenmarket that noted it was great for ice cream. I'd heard of pastry chefs making ice cream with LV and took the sign as an indication I should try it myself, especially after giving the herb a good sniff. It truly has an amazing scent that, like the writer in the above-linked blog post says, is lemon plus something else that's hard to describe but is definitely "captivating."

I assumed the LV ice cream would turn out to be a novelty that I wouldn't eat up too quickly, but I couldn't get enough of it. I gave some to Bob and Jen to try (they weren't that fond of it), and as I wrote in one part of my birthday-post opus, I took the last of it to South Jersey so my family could try it. Nobody raved there but nobody complained. Why am I surrounded by people who don't appreciate the depth and breadth of my culinary genius? :-)

When Tracey tried it on the day she and David came to pick up Matt and Mike, she said she it felt odd to be eating something that tastes like lemon verbena because she wears a perfume that smells like it. I told Bob and Jen what Tracey had said on the pizza night I gave them the ice cream, and Jen said that the only time she'd heard of LV was in one of the Little House books she read to Abbe. Pa Ingalls splurged on a bottle of lemon verbena perfume for Ma one Christmas. Bob said he bet Pa got some action that night.

The LV ice cream was particularly good with some fresh fruit on top, such as blackberries or the wild blueberries I later bought from the same farmstand.

And speaking of fruit, my other big ice cream experiment this summer was pluot. It was a good solid effort, but considering how much I love pluots, the end result was a little bit disappointing. It hinted at pluot awesomeness but didn't totally deliver.

And ARROHK,* I made coffee ice cream for Dad's birthday, and it was a big hit as always. It occurs to me that I should try making mocha sometime. Not necessarily for Dad—unless I've got some coffee as a backup. :-)

***

For Jeff's birthday, I took Upside-down Chocolate-Spice Cupcakes With Chocolate Ganache Glaze and Candied Ginger Pieces in to work. Quite a name, and quite a cupcake.

It was all Martha's idea, from the Cupcakes book. Or more likely, of course, the idea of one of her minions. The cupcake itself is reminiscent of Martha's Chocolate-Gingerbread Cookies, the best damn cookies ever. The cake was tasty but was naturally more subtly flavored than the dense, buttery cookies.

You fill the cupcake tins only halfway, so the tops end up pretty flat after baking. Once the cupcakes have cooled, you flip them over and spoon chocolate ganache on them. Once that's set, you press bits of candied ginger onto the surface, and, man, do they look purty. I had fun making different shapes out of the gummy ginger and creating different patterns out of them. And I left some ginger-free for those who wanted a less-spicy experience.

I got a few rave reviews from my co-workers; the words "you've outdone yourself" were used. ;-) Only 10 were eaten, which seems to be the norm. Next time I take cupcakes in, I'm seriously going to bring only 10 and see what happens. Maybe that time, they'll eat only eight. *sigh*

I kept a couple for myself and gave a bunch to the Schultieses, who enjoyed them. It's definitely a sweet treat to make when you're looking to impress with something sexy-looking and delicious.

***

The other day, Joyce sent me a link to the This Peanut Looks Like a Duck blog, and we both agreed that this tomato was the most-impressive duck-looking thing. And then later that day, I came across this tomato that looked like a rabbit. Yeah, it was a slow work day. But a superawesome day for finding tomatoes that looked like animals.

***

STUPID RAISINS GET OUT OF MY COOKIE: I saw that phrase on the T-shirt of a teenage boy in my neighborhood. Fun.

***

Back in July, I questioned whether a farmstand at the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket was selling Tribute everbearing strawberries. The following week, that stand was strawberryless, so I didn't bother to ask any of the people working there about what they'd been selling. A few weeks later, in the 20s of August, I came across this sign at the Berried Treasures stand at the Union Square Greenmarket:

 

Both Tristar and Tribute strawberries are actually day-neutral, not everbearing, varieties. I got some, and they tasted almost identical to regular, June-bearing strawberries.

*As regular readers of Hawleyblog know.

Sexy Guy Picture of Men With Low Hanging Balls

I'm always checking to see how people find my blog. Other than the superfast word of mouth that spreads like wildfire when my friends/family members tell two friends about my blog, and then they tell two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on. Today, I found that two pictures I took this past summer ended up in Google Images searches of "sexy guy picture" and "men with low hanging balls." Dan's definitely a sexy guy, but I don't know how GI knows how low Pickles and Glenn's nads are hanging in that shot. Maybe it should have been on Google Imagination instead.

***

Later: Oh, I get it. I clicked through the obviously NSFW search results for the P&G pic, and on page 10, I saw that the search engine had picked up "hanging" from the phrase "But I still had fun hanging out with the guys." Dan's photo is on page 28 of the results for the other search, which found the words "Speaking of sexy guys."

The Last Flowers of Summer and the First Flowers of Fall

A few weekends ago, when Matt and Mike were visiting, I got some cockscomb and cosmos, because the guys both liked one of them. They went together better than this not-so-great picture would indicate.

The next weekend, I bought and "arranged" another example of the mishmash of sunflowers that I'm so fond of.

The next weekend was all about the peonies.

Then I got some gorgeous dark-red and white dahlias.

Two weekends ago, my usual flower people at the Saturday Greenmarket had a whole lot of dried hydrangeas.

I paired up my favorite combo of the summer, orange calendulas and yellow plumed celosia.

Some of the calendulas had bright-red centers. They brought to mind those butter cookies with the jam in the center.

They were my last flowers of the summer.

The first flowers of fall this past Saturday were these frilly marigolds.