Girl Detective

The ostensible protagonist of Stieg Larsson’s posthumously published bestseller, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, is journalist Mikael Blomkvist. It’s true center, though, is the girl of the title, Lisbeth Salander, who doesn’t get fully introduced until page 38:

[Lisbeth] was a pale, anorexic young woman who had hair as short as a fuse, and a pierced nose and eyebrows. She had a wasp tattoo about an inch long on her neck, a tattooed loop around the biceps of her left arm and another around her left ankle. On those occasions when she had been wearing a tank top, [her boss] also saw that she had a dragon tattoo on her left shoulder blade. She was a natural redhead, but she dyed her hair raven black. She looked as though she had just emerged from a week-long orgy with a gang of hard rockers.

Larsson’s novel is a complicated one. Blomkvist is sued for libel by a shady businessman, then is asked to investigate a decades-old murder in a wealthy family. Salander, meanwhile, does her own investigations in other areas until her path crosses with Blomkvist’s. Blomkvist is engaging, the mysteries are involving, but it’s the character of Salander that’s truly bewitching. I enjoyed this book up to a point, then I flat-out loved it and begrudged putting it down. It’s in the spirit of Smilla’s Sense of Snow, the books of Henning Mankel, but it reminded me most strongly, in only good ways, of Tana French’s novels, In the Woods and The Likeness. Highly recommended, but not for the squeamish.

At the Sun Times (link from Morning News), Roger Ebert remembers wondering, as a student:

What do I really need that isn’t here in this room? Its dimensions are a little more than twice as wide and deep as I am tall. I don’t know, maybe 150 square feet? Here I have the padded wood chair in which I sit tilted against the wall, my feet braced on my straight desk chair. I am holding the three-inch-thick Paul Hamlyn edition of Shaw’s complete plays. This room contains: A wood single bed, an African blanket covering it, a wood desk and its gooseneck lamp, a small dresser with a mirror over it, my portable typewriter, a small wardrobe containing my clothes, a steamer trunk serving as a coffee table, and two bookcases, filled to overflowing. What more do I actually need?

I enjoyed reading Ebert’s description of his book collection and office, and his admission–only toward the end!–that he’d miss his wife. I am a reader, but also a weeder of books. This has led to moments of regret, though few compared to the number of volumes I’ve gotten rid of. My husband G. Grod is more of Ebert’s stripe. Given his druthers, he’d never get rid of a book. (Alas, we are not the king and queen of infinite space. Or many bookshelves.)

I was thinking along the same lines as Ebert just this morning, as I worked in my office, organized books on our shelves, and spent time in our back bedroom and porch. Those three spaces–bedroom, porch, “office” (aka closet) are about all I’d need in a living space. They comprise my fortress of solitude, for whatever scant time I spend there to read, write and rest. Food and company I find elsewhere. (The latter, in the form of my two boys, usually finds me, first.)

All recipes from Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone

Beet Salad with Ricotta Salata and Olives

1 1/2 lbs. beets, steamed or roasted, peeled
1 sm. garlic clove
salt
2 tsp. fresh lemon juice
2 Tbl. extra-virgin olive oil
2 handfuls arugula
8 Kalamata olives
4 oz. ricotta salata, thinly sliced (I used Shepherd’s Hope cheese from Shepherd’s Way farm. Ricotta salata is a dry, tart sheep’s cheese from Italy. Another good sub is feta.)

Cut beets into wedges or large dice, keeping different colors separate. Pound the garlic with 1/4 tsp. salt in a mortar until smooth, then whisk in the lemon juice and olive oil. Dressing should be tart. Toss beets in enough dressing to coat lightly. Arrange beets on platter and garnish with arugula. Just before serving, tuck cheese and olives among the greens. If any dressing remains, spoon it over cheese.

Here’s a detail of the salad. I thought the beets looked like tuna sashimi. They were from a chiogga beet I’d roasted alongside red beets.

For the main dish, I adapted one of my favorite dishes from the cookbook.

Chickpeas with Potatoes and Tomatoes (or, as 3yo Guppy says Chickpeas with Tomatoes and Tomatoes)

1/3 c. extra virgin olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
3 red potatoes, peeled and diced into cubes about the size of chickpeas
2 carrots, cut into 1/2-in. rounds
3-4 stalks celery, cut into 1/4 inch slices
1 pinch dried red pepper flakes
2 plump garlic cloves mashed with 1/2 tsp. ground coriander
1 c. diced tomatoes
3 c. chickpeas, cooked, or 2 15-oz. cans, rinsed
salt and pepper
1/2 c. water, broth or wine
1/2 c. chopped parsley

Heat the oil in a wide skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until it’s lightly colored, stirring occasionally, about 8 minutes. Add the potatoes, carrots, chile and garlic and cook for 5 minbutes more. Add the tomatoes and chickpeas, season with 1 teaspoon salt and a few twists from the pepper mill, and add the water. Cover and simmer gently until the potatoes are tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Taste for salt, remove from heat and stir in parsley.

For dessert, I succeeded in saving the failed batch of fig jam from last week that I botched by putting in too much (1 teaspoon) ground cardamom. Madison notes, “Everyone needs a dessert to fall back on in a pinch, and this is one.” This saved the jam, was easy to make, and turned out well even though I forgot the baking powder! Now that’s a useful dessert recipe.

Jam Bars or Tart (I used a 9 inch tart pan)

1/4 (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/2 cup packed light brown or white sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 egg
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 to 3/4 c. preserves
3/4 c. chopped walnuts, pecans or rolled oats

Preheat oven to 350F. Cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add vanilla and egg, beat until smooth, then add dry ingredients except nuts.

Set aside about 3/4 c. of the dough and press the rest evenly into an 8 x 10″ baking pan or a 9″ tart pan with removable bottom, or pie plate. Spread the preserves over the top. Mix the reserved dough with the nuts or oats and crumble it over the top. Bake until lightly browned on top, about 40 minutes. Let cool, then cut into squares or wedges. Serve with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.

The other night, 6yo Drake and 3yo Guppy took forever to fall asleep. When I checked on them before I went to bed, this is what I found:

The bottom bunk is Guppy’s; they’d fallen asleep while reading comics. I tried to remove the comics, figuring I’d leave Drake there to sleep. Unfortunately, Guppy woke. Also unfortunately, he’s going through another bout of 3-related insanity.

“Get Drake out! Get him out! OUT!” Screaming. Crying. Thrashing.

I managed to nudge Drake to consciousness, then put him on the ladder; he climbed to the upper bunk on autopilot. Guppy finally stopped screaming. He tried to shove the rest of the comics out of his bed; I hastily removed them to safety, and went to my own bed. A few minutes later, I heard Guppy again:

“I don’t WANT these friends!” This announcement was followed by a number of thumps as he threw the stuffed animals from his bed.

A little while later I heard him get up and go to the bathroom, then nothing more. I thought he’d gone back to bed and finally settled, but when my husband G. Grod came to the top of the stairs, Guppy was in the door to his room. He took one look at G and started to wail. He’d been standing in the hall, silent, trying unsuccessfully to get his pajamas back on. G helped him into them, and escorted him to bed. As per his usual, he insisted on the light staying on. After about ten minutes, I checked on him. He was asleep, for good this time, and I turned out the light.

Things ejected from Guppy’s bed:

Brothers: 1
Stuffed animals: 16
Comic books: 37

Inspired by the question posed by The Morning News about favorite books of childhood, and because I was too overwhelmed to send them my response, I dug through my kids’ shelves to unearth my copy of The Practical Princess by Jay Williams (better known as an author of the Danny Dunn series for children), illustrated by Friso Henstra.

This certainly was one of my favorite books as a girl, and is the one I choose as an adult because it’s entertaining and clever for all ages. Published in 1969, it’s now out of print. The princess of the title is a formidable heroine, and the main reason this book has endured in my affection:

Princess Bedelia was as lovely as the moon shining upon a lake full of waterlilies. She was as graceful as a cat leaping. And she was also extremely practical.

When she was born, three fairies had come to her cradle to give her gifts as was usual in that country. The first fairy had given her beauty. The second had given her grace. But the third, who was a wise old creature, had said, “I give her common sense.”

“I don’t think much of that gift,” said King Ludwig, raising his eyebrows. “What good is common sense to a princess? All she needs is charm.”

Nevertheless, when Bedelia was eighteen years old, something happened which made the king change his mind.

A dragon moved into the neighborhood.

Of course the dragon demands the princess as his due. How Bedelia responds to this dilemma is both laugh-out-loud funny and smart. When she is subsequently confronted with an unpleasant suitor, she also brings her wits and sense of humor to bear with excellent results.

The Practical Princess does a lot of things, and does them well. It turns fairy-tale tropes on their head, like the princess-demanding dragon, the ugly suitor, the difficult tasks, the suitor’s attempt to take what he cannot have, and a princely rescue. A more recent book, Princess Smarty-Pants, tried to do these same things, to worse effect, I thought. Bedelia is extremely likable, and an excellent role model for young girls, far superior to those namby-pamby Disney ones, who make me glad I have two boys and don’t have to fight against their encroaching influence. Also unlike those Disney damsels, Bedelia is not skinny with a Barbie-like bod. She wears a smashing orange empire-waist dress with pink boots, and could actually be pear shaped! Hensta’s illustrations are distinctive, a mixture of 60’s mod and cross-hatched detail, with brilliant colors that glow forty years on.

Keep an eye out for this treasure in library collections and used bookstores, especially if you suspect that the Disney-ification of the princess trope is as insidious as I think it is. I feel thrilled and fortunate to still have my childhood copy to share with my boys.

Here’s how I used last week’s box o’ veg:

Otsu, from Heidi Swanson’s book Super Natural Cooking:

Used up scallions and cuke, plus I added beet greens and blanched carrots to good effect.

Lime and Peanut Slaw, from Heidi Swanson’s 101 Cookbooks site:

Used cabbage and tomatoes.

Paolo’s Eggplant and Green Olive Tapenade:

Used up eggplant.

Foccaccia with chard and red/gold tomatoes:

I used Nick Malgieri’s dough recipe as the base, and added what I had on hand: chard, tomatoes, red onion and basil.

Green salad:

Used greens, thinly sliced chiogga beets, blanched green beans, chopped capers and goat cheese with green goddess dressing.

And finally, Roasted Cauliflower “Popcorn,” also from 101 Cookbooks:

3yo Guppy ate some! 6yo Drake tried it! And G. Grod and I fought over the rest. This is really a great recipe.

Inspired by this post at The Happy Accident (link from the inimitable Camille at Book Moot), I gathered my to-be-read (TBR) books in one place.

I organized them,* then borrowed the books from my husband G.Grod’s TBR shelf (yes, he has just one shelf) that I want to read too:

I counted: 151. Then I bought another graphic novel: 152. Then I remembered the Austen, Bronte, O’Brian and Shakespeare shelves downstairs: 183 (includes the 21 Aubrey/Maturin books), then I remembered the books I have on reserve at the library: 186.

I could read a book every other day and still not finish in a year. In reality, I read about 2 books a week; these alone would take me almost 2 years. Given future purchases/borrowings of graphic novels, new releases, and new recommendations, I estimate if I knuckle down, I could read what I have in three years.

Let’s say 3 years plus. Books, you are hereby on notice. I’m going to dust you off and read you by the end of 2012.

Hear that sound? It’s the books, laughing.

A few amusing books from the shelf:

A.S. Byatt’s Still Life, the sequel to Virgin in the Garden, which I read in 1997.

Iris Murdoch’s A Word Child, recommended to me by someone I no longer like.

Lonesome Dove, recommended to me by by JJ, a former co-worker and friend with whom I’ve fallen out of touch.

Ditto for Startide Rising and Zod Wallop, recommended to me by former co-worker CC whose cred is high with me because he recommended A Game of Thrones to me, and the Miles Vorkosigan novels, both of which I loved, albeit over a decade ago.

Children of God, the sequel to Mary Doria Russell’s The Sparrow, which I’m afraid to read in case it’s as emotionally wrenching as its predecessor.

And the most embarrassing entry: Getting Things Done by David Allen. Bookmark is at page 10.

And now I’ll get back to a recently purchased book, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, that I rationalized buying because it was for two book groups. Must stop buying books.

*in a manner that probably only makes sense to me (big books alpha by author, except Beowulf, which is by title, then mass market paperbacks (MMPB) alpha by author, and the rest of the big books by author, then graphic novels by size. The ones on top of the white bookcase are borrowed from G’s TBR shelf for illustrative purposes.

An informal poll of friends, culminating with local fashionista and vintage maven MD this morning on the street, confirms that this is my bag for fall:

which I’ve accessorized with this scarf:

Confession: I picked the bag to complement the scarf. Like the bag; love the scarf.

This weekend, my husband G. Grod took 6yo Drake and 3yo Guppy on a trip to Byerly’s, a local upscale grocery store. Inside, Drake complained it smelled bad and his stomach hurt. On the drive home, G. looked in the rear-view mirror. Drake turned pale, then threw up his breakfast.

Once home, a parental debate ensued. Was it a virus? His reaction to low blood sugar after mostly skipping supper the night before? The smell of the store? G. wasn’t sure about the third theory, but I think it might have been a combination of the latter two. I too have a sensitive schnoz, and Drake seems to have inherited it. Here are a things that make me feel as if I might lose my breakfast:

1. Scented laundry detergent, which I can smell as I walk by a house from their vent.
2. The smell of fried scrapple, which G. found at Byerly’s and cooked this morning for brekkie.
3. Most scented candles.
4. The smell of a Subway sandwich shop.
5. The smell of whatever onion dish they were making in my grocery coop’s deli last weekend.

Confronted with these, I breathe through my mouth. Perhaps that’s why I lose my breakfast less often than Drake does.

Once upon a time, I dated a smart, dark-haired computer guy. We got engaged, set a date. I bought a dress and planned a ceremony and reception. As the wedding date approached, the relationship got worse. He said if I didn’t convert to Judaism, he wouldn’t go through with it. If I didn’t agree to having a kid right away, it was a deal breaker. He asked me to lie to my employer and say I wasn’t leaving after I was accepted to grad school. We fought. We said mean things. We cried and yelled a lot. Things got so bad he moved out and we postponed the wedding. Then, a surprising thing happened.

People kept asking us when we were moving back in. People kept asking if we’d set a new date. Not one person asked how we were doing, or if we needed help, or if canceling the date had maybe been a sign. Everyone knew things had been rocky, though not the extent or the details. The only person who didn’t encourage us to move ahead with the wedding was my psychotherapist, who waited patiently for me to figure things out on my own. It took me a few months, but I did. The relationship was over, only no one wanted to acknowledge it. Not him, not me, not family or friends. Instead of noticing the disintegrating relationship, everyone obsessed about the wedding.

I thought about my “postponed” wedding a lot last week as I read Heather McElhatton’s clever and surprising Jennifer Johnson is Sick of Being Single. Jennifer is single and miserable. Her sister and her ex are getting married, both on Valentine’s Day, to twist the knife a little deeper. She’s in an unfulfilling cubicle job, and the only dates she gets are so bad they’re almost surreal. Then she meets Brad–handsome, rich Brad, who asks her out. And keeps asking her out. As their relationship unfolds, it’s not great, but not entirely terrible, either. But the hope of a pretty, shiny wedding is very alluring to Jennifer, as well as to her family, Brad’s family and co-workers. The pressure for their relationship to succeed is tremendous. As many couples would, Jennifer and Brad begin to buckle beneath the weight of all those expectations.

McElhatton does an exceptional job of skewering the soap bubble that is the wedding dream. She unveils the process for what it is: a machine-like industry, meant for couples to go in, get bounced about and homogenized, then sent out into marriage with nary a clue. The book wonders, again and again, what happens when people get what they think they want. Weddings are just one example of how characters in the book distract themselves from the realities and unpleasantries of everyday life.

The book recalled my fumbled first wedding attempt all those years ago (more than fourteen, now.) I was in a flawed relationship; planning the wedding created more pressure than it could bear. The wedding, its details and particularly its fripperies, were like anesthesia. They were distractions from the relationship, rather than accessories to celebrate it. Once I realized that, I was done. I broke the engagement and ended the relationship. He moved out and away, and I moved on.

A few months later, I met a cute, smart, dark-haired guy into computers. We dated. We got engaged. We got married. We moved to Minnesota. Several years after that, when I combined our comic book collections, he said he finally felt like maybe he wasn’t just the rebound guy. (NB: I organized the comics AFTER we had our first child.) My second engagement, and the second wedding I planned, were very different from the first time around. This time, I knew to focus on the relationship, not the wedding. McElhatton, in Jennifer Johnson is Sick of Being Single, advocates the same thing. In an interview with The Onion AV Club, she said:

This book is a sleeper cell. I know it’s going to end up on the chick lit tables. I know it’s going to be packaged that way. I’m slipping one in there. I’m really hoping this breaks up some weddings.

It might sound mean spirited, but speaking from experience, I think she’s onto something. Had I gone through with the first wedding, I doubt the marriage would have lasted very long. This weekend, my husband and I will celebrate 11 years of being married. I’m glad I got it right the second time.

I’ll admit it; I’m biased. I bought T-Minus: the Race to the Moon because it’s illustrated by a friend of mine, Zander Cannon, and his no-relation co-worker Kevin Cannon, both of Big Time Attic. But I introduced myself to Zander to compliment him on his comic Replacement God, from the mid-90’s, so in a way, I made friends with him based on admiration for his work. It’s a nice bonus, then, that T-Minus is a well-written, strongly told story of the US and Russian space programs as they compete first for space, then for the moon.

Jim Ottaviani has carved a niche for himself writing comic books about true-life science, and he’s an able storyteller, mixing fact with invention to move the book forward. The Cannons’ art skillfully assists. It’s clear and straightforward, with distinct-looking characters, a necessity in a tale that might have had a cast of 400,000, as Ottaviani notes in his afterward. The historical facts of the progressing flights and failures of the program are detailed in the outside of the pages, which allows for a facts-only skimming before, during or after reading the whole book. By turns funny, sad and touching, T-Minus does a good job of balancing story and history. It’s accessible for older kids and adults, and is a good jumping off point to learn more about the history of space travel, which Ottaviani aids by including a list of further things to read and watch along with brief summaries. I’ve already reserved one DVD from the library, and I think I may need to watch The Right Stuff again, soon.

I found Steven Soderbergh’s The Informant!, like the exclamation point in its title, to be surprising and funny. It is funny in the way shown in the trailer–Matt Damon plays a pudgy, earnest guy blowing the whistle on his company’s practice of price fixing in the corn industry. It further surprises by casting actors known for comedy, like Joel McHale, Buster from Arrested Development and Biff from Back to the Future, as straight men. Scott Bakula as the befuddled FBI guy is also very good. Damon’s bizarre character is the center the others orbit around, and I liked the effect of having these guys play against type and react to Damon, who was very, very funny. He gained thirty pounds for the role, but what stood out for me were his lacquered hair and his endless array of ugly but expensive ties–I know I bought ones just like them in the early 90’s for my boyfriend and father. It’s Damon’s character, who starts out bumbling and is gradually revealed to be much more complicated, that really made this movie for me. Not high art, but definitely enjoyable and worth paying full price for, especially some of the reveals would be easily spoiled between now and the DVD release.

I bought Alissa Torres’ American Widow after I saw it recommended at Mental Multivitamin and Entertainment Weekly. On 9/11, Torres was in her third trimester of pregnancy, and her husband had just started working in the Twin Towers the day before. This comic-book memoir tells of her relationship with her husband, Eddie, his death on 9/11 and its aftermath. It touches occasionally on the nation and world at large, but focuses mostly on Torres story, which bring the event into painful, individual detail. Most moving to me was the shift from the outpouring of goodwill and rage, to the backlash and pulling away of both friends and institutions. The black, white and blue illustrations by Sungyoon Choi are simple yet evocative. They’re a good complement for Torres’ text, which I appreciated for its honesty, ambivalence, and ultimately, its hope.

Frank Portman, author of Andromeda Klein (which I reviewed here) in an interview at Gothamist:

I just found out today that one of my school visits here (in Portland) was canceled because of parental worries about the occult elements in Andromeda Klein. It’s the first time I’ve ever been banned, and they’re worried about the occult.

I knew as I read Andromeda Klein that the centrality of the occult tradition to the book and its importance to the main character would be a problem for a lot of parents. Andromeda reads tarot cards, studies mysticism, tattoos herself with symbols, and performs rituals for privacy and other things. Andromeda’s interest and knowledge of the occult are thorough, and the depiction is presented realistically; some of the rituals produce results, and Andromeda has conversations in her head and in her dreams that are too relevant to be random. I’m not surprised this has ruffled some parental feathers. On the surface, at least, it comes across as pretty subversive.

I’d argue otherwise, though. Andromeda is an outsider–a skinny, clumsy girl with bad hair and worse hearing. It’s natural she’d gravitate to something off the beaten track, and something she could immerse herself in the study and practice of while on her own. While there are mentions of demons and Satan in the book, these are details of the historical tradition. Andromeda doesn’t worship or pursue demons or Satan. Instead, she uses the occult tradition to try to figure out and make sense of the world, especially because her outcast status means it’s senseless and cruel a lot of the time: she’s trying to come to terms with a friend’s death and an ex-boyfriend, while trying to deal with a crazy friend, a boy who admires her occult acumen, a clueless depressed dad and an intrusive insensitive mom. For Andromeda, the occult is a tradition of knowledge and ritual. She studies and practices to learn and grow. Other kids do the same with more mainstream things, like religion, sports, or academia. If Andromeda were interested in one of those, I doubt the book would set off any alarms.

I’m likely preaching to the converted and singing to the choir, here, but just in case: Andromeda’s interest in the occult might put off some readers, but I’d encourage them to actually READ the book, and consider how the occult tradition, as it’s practiced and studied by Andromeda, compares and contrasts to other traditions. Andromeda tattoos herself? I saw more than one teen swim teacher at the pool this summer sporting a Christian tattoo. Andromeda burns incense and asks questions, then “hears” advice in her head or in her dreams. Religious practitioners call this prayer and meditation. Andromeda reads a variety of books, many of which she disagrees with and all of which she tries to learn from. All traditions have some sort of sanctioned and recommended reading, as well as heretical texts that can help one “know thine enemy.”

Andromeda Klein is an interesting, thoughtful book with a wonderful, complex main character. It would be a shame if it were banned and people missed it based on prejudice. Tolerance of difference is a theme of the book, but it can also be applied TO the book.

We’ve had cooler autumn temperatures this week, so 3.5yo Guppy wore jeans to preschool. The combination of long pants, sneakers with socks, and the ball cap made him look very big-boyish. Several people wondered if he’d gotten taller.

The next day when he picked out his own outfit–plaid madras shorts and a clashing-colored striped shirt–he looked again like his 3yo self.

I’m in the midst of some vegetable anxiety. I still have nearly a full bin from last week (cabbage, scallions, onion, beet w/greens, carrots, lettuce, cuke) and just got the new box from our share at the farm: carrots, eggplant, onions, potatoes, squash, leeks, melon, tomatoes, basil. I will say again: buying a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) share seemed like a good idea at the time, but it’s a lot of work to keep up with even our half share, especially since the kids often won’t eat what I make. (They DO love the farm’s carrots, though, as do I.)

Here were a couple things from last week, mostly from the CSA box (not the figs).

Here, Roasted Potato Slices with Lime and Chili. I’ve posted the recipe before, but not with a photo. I managed to snap this before it was devoured.

Not so the Roasted Cauliflower and Broccoli Popcorn, which had a really lovely green and white contrast. Until it disappeared.

Our grocery coop had some lovely looking figs,

so I made fig jam from Super Natural Cooking again, served here with Bent River a camembert-esque cheese made by the Alemar Cheese Company, on slices of Rustica Bakery baguette.

Alas, I decided to experiment and added a whole teaspoon of cardamom (I’m on something of a cardamom kick) which turned the whole batch bitter. I’m not sure whether to add more figs, more honey or both. Here is the base recipe, which I made before with very good results.

Fig Spread with Black Pepper and Toasted Sesame Seeds from Super Natural Cooking by Heidi Swanson

1 1/2 lb. ripe fresh Black Mission figs, stemmed and cut into 1/2″ dice
1/4 c. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/3 c. honey
1/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1/4 c. toasted unhulled sesame seeds

Toss chopped figs and lemon juice together in a large bowl. Stir in the honey and black pepper and set aside for 10 minutes. The figs will start to break down and get soupy. Pour the fig mixture in to a large, heavy pot over medium heat and bring to a slow, gurgling boil. Cook, stirring constantly, until the figs start to reduce and thicken, about 10 minutes. Stir in the sesame seeds and remove from the heat. Let the spread sit for 5 minutes, taste, and add more pepper to taste if needed.

This spread may be canned as you would other jams, but it keeps well for up to a week in the refrigerator. Makes 3 cups.

And my friend A. corralled my friend The Hoff and me to make soup for twenty for a Kevin Reich for Ward 1 fundraiser. We made a quadruple batch of squash stew based on a recipe from Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone.

There were many compliments, and they sounded sincere, so I think the soup was a success. I’ve made it before, and would definitely make it again.

Thai Tofu and Autumn Squash Soup, adapted from a recipe in Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone

2 medium leeks, white parts only, cleaned, halved lengthwise and cut into 1/4″ slices
2 Tbl. peanut oil
2 garlic cloves, pressed
2 serrano chiles, minced
1 Tbl. finely grated ginger
1 Tbl. curry powder
1 tsp. light brown sugar
3 Tbl. wheat-free tamari
32 oz. mushroom broth
1 15 oz. can unsweetened coconut milk
1 1/2 lbs autumn squash (we used a mix of butternut and delicata) peeled and cut into 1/2 to 1 inch cubes
Salt
1 10-oz. pkg. silken firm tofu cut into 1/2″ cubes
Juice of one lime
1/4 c. chopped cilantro
1/3 c. chopped peanuts

Heat peanut oil in wide soup pot. Add leeks and cook over medium-high heat, stirring frequently, until partially softened, about 3 minutes. Add garlic, most of chiles, and ginger; cook 1 minute more, then add curry, sugar and soy sauce. Reduce heat to medium, scrape pan, and cook for a few more minutes. Add broth, coconut milk, squash, and 1 tsp. salt. Bring to boil, then lower heat and simmer, covered, for 15 to 20 minutes. Remove from heat Puree some or all of soup, in blender or with immersion blender. Taste for salt, add tofu, lime juice and cilantro.

Fry peanuts in a little peanut oil over medium heat in a small skillet, then chop. Serve stew over basmati or jasmine rice, garnished with peanuts and remaining chili.

This is a vegan, gluten-free soup. Plain yogurt with a little cardamom would make a nice garnish and you can try pepitas instead of peanuts. Serves 4.

From Jennifer Johnson is Sick of Being Single by Heather McElhatton:

Don’t think about the impending roundup meeting or my mother or my sister’s wedding or any of the things I was going to do and then I didn’t. Don’t think about the last ten years, which have collapsed in a lightning split-second, and even though I’m not sure what I was doing for ten years, we can be sure I wasn’t getting married or having kids or buying a house, or working on getting out of Minnesota.

We can be sure of that…

I keep thinking it’s not too late; I can still turn everything around. I could meet a guy any days now who would sweep me off my feet, and he would happen to be a millionaire just like Jane Austen planned for all us cheeky, uppity modern girls.

Jennifer is an everywoman: thirty something with a snide boss, a cubicle job writing copy for a Minneapolis department store, a Cinnabon obsession, and smarts she doesn’t quite know what to do with. Online dating is a nightmare, and she doesn’t have a date for her sister’s wedding. She’s Bridget Jones in Minnesota.

Then Jennifer meets someone, and he asks her out. He’s handsome and from a wealthy family. But as they date, her “gay bee” friend Christopher in the Visual department doesn’t like him, and her co-worker Ted is suddenly cold to her.

As I read this book, I thought I knew what was going on and where it was headed. I was puzzled by how unlikable Jennifer often was, but appreciated her sense of humor, her sharp observations, and wanted to see what happened to her. When I finally did, though, I was shocked. McElhatton utterly surprised me. Initially, I thought she was crazy. As the ending and the book melded together, though, I saw the method to the ostensible madness.

Jennifer Johnson, both the book and the character, show what we think we want, and what happens when we try to get it, and IF we get it. But there are no easy answers here, and I shouldn’t have expected any. I read and enjoyed McElhatton’s tart and clever Pretty Little Mistakes: a Do-Over Novel in 2007. What I enjoyed most about it were the unexpected twists and turns of karmic irony that seemed as much to do with fate than free will. Jennifer and her story would fit right into one of the “what happens next” scenarios from that book.

This book looks like chick lit, and much of it reads like that. Lurking beneath the surface and eventually rearing its head, though, is a complex, dark streak that takes this book another place entirely. This is not a sunny beach read, as I thought it would be. It’s something much more interesting and cool. Bravo.

Sandal season is mostly over, but for those remaining warm days, I wanted one last pedicure. Funds are short, so I knew this would be a DIY endeavor using materials on hand. You can modify this for time considerations by leaving out steps, but this list will provide a comprehensive at-home pedi. (Adapted from this article by Shandley McMurray at Kaboose.

1. Remove polish. Use acetone remover for faster results, and use cotton balls, not tissue for better absorbency.

2. Soak. I added kosher salt to warm water along with a few drops of tea tree and lavender essential oils and soaked for five minutes. I’ve also used milk beyond its expiration date with cinnamon and nutmeg with good results. Rinse and pat dry.

3. Buff. Use a pumice stone or stick, like the Diamancel Food Callus Rasp, on heels and other rough spots.

4. Exfoliate. Rub a mix of oil and salt or sugar. You can use olive oil, massage or body oil mixed with brown sugar or kosher salt. Rub upward toward the heart for a few minutes, then rinse and pat dry.

5. Trim nails. Use a clipper or scissors to cut straight across.

6. Moisturize. Use a thick cream.

7. Soften. Use cuticle treatment, like Dr. Hauschka’s Neem Nail Oil (the bottle, NOT the pen), or Burt’s Bees Lemon Butter Cuticle Cream. The oil for exfoliating also works. Rub gently into cuticles.

8. Push. With a washcloth or soft stick, GENTLY push the cuticles back to make room for polish.

9. Remove again. Sweep a cotton ball soaked with polish remover over each nail again, so there’s a clean, non-oily surface for polish to stick to.

10. Polish. Apply a base coat, two coats of polish and a top coat for best results. Be patient, and give each coat a minute or two to dry between layers, then at least fifteen minutes at the end. Seche Vite is widely regarded as the best quick dry top coat. Look for polishes without toluene, formaldehyde and Dibutyl phthalate (DBP), like Sally Hanson Salon Nail Lacquer, OPI nail color, and Zoya, which is vegan-friendly.

My friend E inherited a giant zucchini from a friend. Stressed from a recent move, she re-gifted it to me. I peeled, seeded and shredded it, which filled 6 3-cup containers–about 12 zucchini’s worth, I’d guess. I gave three containers away, then got to work.

First was having another go at the Chocolate Zucchini cake. I remembered the cocoa this time. And since I’d peeled the zucchini, there weren’t any telltale green flecks in the cake; my boys devoured this.

Next was a zucchini saute with fresh corn, tomatoes, onion and jalapeno in a chili-lime sauce. Better in theory than in its soggy reality. Zuke is just too watery to saute.

Finally, I made another go at zucchini bread, adding golden raisins and telling the boys it was raisin spice bread since there were no telltale green flecks. It was much more popular with the kids under its new name.

And that’s the end of that zucchini, and (I hope) zucchini this season.

Elaine Dundy’s Dud Avocado has been on my to-read list since it was re-published in 2007 by the New York Review of Books, and received all sorts of praise in the blogosphere (e.g., Maud Newton.) In his introduction, lit blogger Terry Teachout says,

It is the destiny of some good novels to be perpetually rediscovered, and Elaine Dundy’s The Dud Avocado, I fear, is one of them.

Our heroine is an American in Paris, sometime post-Hemingway. A rich uncle funds her adventure abroad, and she’s trying to get his money’s worth. She has a strong, distinct voice, and a great sense of humor, especially at her own expense.

It was around eleven in the morning, I remember, and I was drifting down the boulevard St. Michel, thought rising in my head like little puffs of smoke, when suddenly a voice bellowed into my ear: “Sally Jay Gorce! What the hell?”…

“Why pink?” he asked, studying my new coiffure carefully. “Why not green?”

As a matter of fact I’d had my hair dyed a marvelous shade of pale red so popular with Parisian tarts that season. It was the first direct remark he made about the New Me and it was hardly encouraging.

Slowly his eyes left my hair and traveled downwards. This time he really took in my outfit and then that Look that I’m always encountering; that special one composed in equal parts of amusement, astonishment and horror came over his face.

I am not a moron and I can generally guess what causes this look. The trouble is, it’s always something different.

I squirmed uncomfortably, feeling his eyes bearing down on my bare shoulders and breasts.

“What the hell are you doing in the middle of the morning with an evening dress on?” he asked me finally.

Sally Jay tries to disentangle herself from her Euro lover and entangle herself with an old friend. The book details the dubious results, and becomes utterly engrossing toward the end. Surprising revelations occur, not least of which are the ones Sally Jay has about herself.

This is an odd, funny book with engaging twists at the end and a weird, lovable main character. It’s a little Movable Feast-y, Great Gatsby-ish, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s-esque. I’m glad it’s back in print, and glad to have read it, finally.