I had spinach wraps on hand, since I had tried my hand at making wraps. I thought, how about homemade burritos?
I pressure cooked black and pinto beans with chipotle and ancho seasoning. I cooked brown rice with medium hot chili powder. I fried marinated flap meat. I pulled out the spinach wraps and layered everything on them. I added shredded cheddar. On Terry’s I added olives. On mine I added chopped tomato and onion along with guacamole.
It was a really tasty, very filling dinner.
First Plymouth Church, Lincoln Nebraska, Ariel Merivil, conductor.
The Gang That Wouldn’t Write Straight
Three Rivers Press, March 25, 2010, 338 pages
Amazon Kindle edition $4.99
I learned of this book in another book that included it in its references and bibliography. It was a fun and entertaining read.
The bulk of the book is about the new journalism of the sixties and seventies. The author goes into detail about writers such as Tom Wolfe and Hunter Thompson (friends and rivals) as well as the editor/publishers, such as Clay Felker and Jann Wenner, who bankrolled and supported them. Fascinating stuff.
But in the beginning of the book Weingarten takes pains to point out that Tom Wolf and his generation did not invent the new journalism, a methodology in which the writer inserts him or her self into the story rather that trying to remain objective. He describes how Charles Dickens did it in the nineteenth century and George Orwell did the same in the first half of the twentieth century.
At the end of the book the author describes how Felker for the most part, though not entirely, abandoned new journalism in New York magazine in favor of lifestyle stories catering to the Manhattan wealthy, and then in his overreach lost the magazine to Rupert Murdoch.
This is a fascinating read for anyone interested in twentieth century American journalism.
This is one of those years. Today is Valentine’s Day. It is also Ash Wednesday. This year Easter falls on April Fools Day. It is the sort of cosmic goof that Tom Robbins wrote about in Another Roadside Attraction. I never knew that the time between Ash Wednesday and Easter matched the time between Valentine’s Day and April Fool’s Day. There’s got to be some significance there, though I’m not sure what it is.
To add another layer, after reporting to training camp yesterday the Dodgers pitchers and catchers had their first workout today.
I’m not sure what it’s all about, Alfie, but maybe we can figure it out. Or maybe we don’t need to.
I have been sharing with you my attempts at simplified homemade pizza: weeknight pizza, if you will. It revolved around Trader Joe’s pizza dough and canned pizza sauce.
I think I finally have this figured out. Forget the Trader Joe’s pizza dough. Keep the canned pizza sauce. The Trader Joe’s pizza dough sticks to the pan unless I coat it with a thick layer of Crisco. Even then it’s difficult to work with.
In my latest iteration I made my own pizza dough using a recipe I’ve had for many years. It’s straightforward and not difficult. You just have to plan ahead. I baked the crust for five minutes before adding the toppings. I used half a can of pizza sauce. The real effort and time sink with pizza is when you try to make your own sauce.
It worked out really well. I was quite happy. I think I’ve got the formula down for simplified weeknight homemade pizza.
We lost one of the finest interpreters of the Great American Songbook on Friday. Wesla Whitfield died at age 70. She announced her retirement from performing some months back as she was working to overcome an infection. More recently she was diagnosed with bladder cancer, and not long ago her husband and accompanist, Mike Greensill, let us know in an email that she had chosen to go on hospice care. She had been a paraplegic since 1977 when she was hit by a bullet. She was tired and she left on her own terms.
Terry and I were both big fans of Wesla. We knew her as a regular guest on the West Coast Live radio program. We have many of her CDs. We saw her in person multiple time. I believe the first time was at the Carriage House, part of the Villa Montalvo venue in Saratoga. We also saw her at the Mountain View Performing Arts Center.
The last time we saw her was at the Plush Room in San Francisco. It was located in the York Hotel (if I recall correctly) and we made it into a date weekend, staying at the hotel. When we got there we were surprised at the lack of eating choices in walking distance. We ended up ordering a pizza from a shop down the street and taking it up to our room. But it was good pizza and it got us ready for the show.
We loved the performance. After it was over Mike came out and mingled with the guests. He said to us, “We saw you smooching.” We were. They were romantic songs. We saw Wesla turn a wheelie in her wheelchair (or so it seemed to me) as she left the room.
She has now left the room for good, but I trust she is performing the Great American Songbook somewhere else without the need of a wheelchair.
I’ve shared this before, and more than once. It’s time to do so again, however. Mostly because I need it for myself. And besides, I love the 1970s look.