I woke yesterday morning to find new flowers blooming all around my Magic Cottage.

I’ve decided these flowers indicate the time of year when Miami food comes into its own. Driving into Coral Gables, I picked up my weekly CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) box from Bee Heaven Farms; the fresh greens that smelled of earth, eggplant, and starfruit spilled out of the box.

(I’ve been noting the contents of each week’s box with a little video, below is yesterday’s.)

Craving local tomatoes to accompany the greens, I set off in search of Miami’s Upper East Side Market in Legion Park–and found it fronted by yoga practitioners stretching under wide tree canopies–

You’ll know a Miami market by the seafood stand; stone crabs are highly prized here. Securing my tomatoes (Brandywine and Cherokee Purples), I also found cranberry beans, baby zucchini, and burrata.

Friendly vendors greeted regulars while I considered orchids as I always do (another fixture of Miami markets).

I thought about next week’s opening of more farmers’ markets here—a moment I’ve been waiting for since I moved in April (Miami market season is January through March) while I made an afternoon salad with the fleeting pei tsai lettuce from the CSA and young radishes.

Later last night, my lovely friend Jenne and I ordered sangria at Sra. Martinez, a new restaurant in the Design District (4000 NE 2nd Ave, Miami) and tried to decide what combination of tapas might be best. My favorite was the white bean stew (below) with large beans and foie gras/duck sausage in a port reduction.

Chatting with Sra. Martinez’s passionate chef, Michelle Bernstein, renewed my sense of Miami food possibilities in this new year.

As I showed Michelle Brightkite, the location-based social network I use on my phone to update friends on where I am (and often, what I’m eating), I smiled to think how many locations I have yet to pinpoint here.

So many things to try, beginning with a further exploration of Sra. Martinez’s menu. Shall I order a house-infused ham bourbon on the rocks with crispy artichokes? A poached egg draped over kale and jamon? A pork belly cube? An uni sandwich? Let’s start with Shrimp Tiradito with popcorn…

Tonight, I sipped goat milk kefir, thought about modern womanhood and Dorothy Parker’s witticisms, and wrote this poem (as usual, still a draft):

Vim & Vigor

She shuffles the dating matrix,
dealing deftly for Friday night;
the Cowboy deserves Saturday;
the new guy just took a late flight.

I watch her play with those quick hands,
quite bored, she looks up, mock despair;
just then, then phone buzzes, asking–
she tilts her head; no, not a pair.

Unlucky nights, there is crying,
facedown are old pictures of Him;
business cards pile up, discarded;
a door slams: caprice, whimsy, whim.

She turns up the King of Diamonds,
draws him to her suite though she vowed
not to choose unavailable;
she’ll say, “I hope we weren’t too loud.”

In the American South, a bowl of collards = money in the new year. Here’s to a prosperous 2009:

Recipe: (for a houseful of people) Add four tablespoons olive oil or 2 pieces of bacon, diced to a large pot over medium. Heat 3 minutes. Add 1/2 small onion, diced, cook 3 min; add 5 cloves garlic, minced–cook 1 min. Add 6 to 8 cups of water (depending on how many in your house), bring to boil. Chop one bunch collards and one bunch kale into 1/2in pieces, add to water. Cover and simmer 25 minutes. (Throw in diced red pepper if you like.) Season and serve with cornbread. Update: And add a little splash of vinegar (I like apple cider) at the end, if you like. (Thanks for reminding me, Phil!)

Cornbread recipe recommendation: Mark Bittman, New York Times, September 26, 2008 Recipe of the Day
use: whole milk, substitute: 1/4 c light brown sugar, add: 3 chopped scallions to batter

reading recommendation: Why I Live at the P.O., Eudora Welty

listening recommendation: Lost Coastlines, Okkervil River

collards wallpaper on Flickr

drink pairing: whiskey and rye

salt recommendation: table

Resolutions? New Year’s Day traditions? What do you think should accompany cornbread?

I spent the afternoon with big headphones—ones that cancel out the noise—to find that which is not noise for the end of 2008.

In keeping with this year where kthread became (more) eclectic, some transitions are spotty; all songs pertain to a significant person or event in the past twelve months. You’ll likely know who you are or what life choice I’m referencing.

From balmy Miami, I wish you a lovely evening and beginning to “All the First Pages” of 2009—

 

 kthread end of 2008: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

“I Just Want to See You Underwater” - Here We Go Magic

“Hearts on Fire” (Aeroplane Pop remix) - Cut Copy

“Dancing Choose” - TV on the Radio

“Polite Dance Song” - The Bird and the Bee

“The Book of Love” (Magnetic Fields cover) - Catherine A.D.

“Five Years’ Time” (Daytrotter session) - Noah and the Whales

“Shooting stars” - Bag Raiders

“Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” (The Teenagers remix) - Vampire Weekend

“One Note Samba” (cover) - The Postmarks

“Blackbird” (Beatles cover) - Paul Dateh

“The Great Salt Lake” - Band of Horses

“Along the Road” - Radical Face

“All the First Pages” - Anathallo

Great Saturday mornings begin puzzling over vegetables I cannot identify (rutubagas?) at the Embarcadero farmers’ market at the Ferry Building in San Francisco:

From the green mystery vegetables, I walked to another bin and studied red rings, convinced root vegetables tell their histories like trees.

I found promising fruit,

and the dependable tumble of colored peppers.

Enchanted by purplish brussel sprouts (we’ll return to these) on the stalk,

and inedible greens fashioned into bouquets,

I ordered my usual side of bacon while I waited for my friend Eric to arrive.

With Primavera out of chilaquiles, we decided on bento boxes for lunch; my burdock/mizuna/lotus root salad and wasabi mashed potatoes were astringent and bracing, an explorer’s meal.

We sampled Miette’s macarons to try and redeem the cookie for Eric, but I think he was happier with the chocolate gift I had found for him at Portland’s wonderful Cacao.

Eric might have to unearth his signature ascot for this mustachioed look (so hot right now) in 2009.

The city was full of English literati this weekend for the Modern Language Association conference, and soon Eric was off to a conference panel—I wandered through the tourists and heard up-and-coming drummers:

playing across the street from Duncan and Dylan’s Bizarre Bazaar,

where the Poem Store had set up shop (this is the moment, when a new piece of paper yields a fresh poem from the typewriter).

Joining my friends Ben and Liz (here, exercising their formidable critical faculties staring down the street light), we analyzed the semiotics of shopping while swinging purchases and were successful in our quest for a “thick and dangerously delicious milkshake” I blogged about last year (inspiring Ben to leave one of my favorite kthread comments ever).

There was slightly louder music this weekend too, and a little dancing in Rockridge between old and new friends (I’m connected to this group through a guy that can rock a hat with ear flaps):

and as if those charmed brussel sprouts had sprung to life,

as I left Ben and Liz (hope to see them for much longer next time), I happened upon a literati painting come to life, a rollicking reminder of all the new years to celebrate in the next month…

I realized this week that my sister Kat’s boyfriend Reid is fearless.

Reid climbs in his spare time, so he likes hanging off of cliffs with his fingernails, but now I know he will also brave a foot of snow to pick up his girlfriend’s sister (thank you, Reid) at the airport.

Here’s our ride back on Tuesday morning on our way to Paradox Cafe (where friendly little stuffed monsters are suspended from the ceiling):

The Great Portland Snowpocalypse continued all week, as residents found actual reasons to put snow gear into service, dragging children to grocery stores in plastic sleds, skiing across intersections:

After exploring many of the great neighborhood markets and the wonderful chocolate shop where Kat works, Cacao (you need the spicy hot chocolate drink in your life, trust me), the three of us began the serious fun of holiday cooking. Reid prepped, made a soup, and cooked beets on Christmas Eve:

Then, we were off to wander downtown and end up drinking housemade moonshine at Urban Farmer, leading to some rather strange dreams.

And waking up yesterday morning, we made mimosas and clowned in our socks while fresh snow came down outside,

took the tomatoes I’d brought from sunny Miami out of my hat,

started with eggs and potatoes,

continued with croissant pudding (and more mimosas)—

we couldn’t wait for it to cool.

We spun cream into homemade butter; Kat chopped apples that we reduced into applesauce;

and Christmas latkes went nicely with roasted brussel sprouts while we debated what to put in the fresh pasta.

Roasted cauliflower might go into the latkes next time, but I find it too beautiful to hide it in shaggy potato threads for now.

The pasta with mushrooms and tomatoes (added at the last minute) fueled our race across the street to the car clear enough to back out and drive to the airport to pick up my sister Kassandra, who flew in from Atlanta and will be dancing in Portland all this week.

We danced in the elevator on the way up, laughing as we referenced obscure old movies we watched growing up and opened the presents my parents sent in Kassandra’s enormous bag.

As I type this in a coffee shop near San Francisco, I’m still smelling the bananas, cinnamon, and walnuts from earlier today, as Reid flipped French toast for his feat of the morning.

We all lingered around the table, not wanting to leave the breakfast or the small assembly of chairs where we sat next to each other, talking about plans for the new year—here’s to new family traditions and embracing inclement weather…

A few years ago, I spent a summer in Santa Cruz. I look back on those full months and the sleepy, strange town where I helped children build bots, learn computer animation, walk through the Redwoods, assume the banana slug posture, and smile.

This time of year I always spend thinking deeply about what might be next and what the past twelve months have taught me; returning to this place, I walked the beach, wandered the empty boardwalk, and watched as the gulls scattered.

Looking down, I saw succulents continuing their individual growing cycles;

looking up, purple roses crowned the walk down West Cliff Drive.

And then I headed over to Santa Cruz’s new coworking place, NextSpace, to see Margaret Rosas of Quiddities (a Knight News Challenge winner for a great Drupal/public radio project) and meet the SC crew, including the 12 seconds team (Saul and Beach):

I heard plans for sitcom scripts (Margaret’s on the right):

and felt the energy of a collaborative tech space that leads to creative work like 12 seconds and UserVoice.

Revving the silver Mustang, I headed first to Kelly’s Bakery for aioli and my next space: a fried artichoke cart somewhere off of CA-1,

(and a vanilla macaron)

and the Fried Artichoke Quest ended near Castroville off an exit only found heading north (I was originally heading south):

Bliss.

A few hours later, I joined Santa Cruz Twitterers upstairs at the Red Room and left even more impressed with the assembling talent in this town.

Before diving into tech work of my own, I spooned the wonderfully subversive Marianne’s Alice B. Toklas Fudge Brownie ice cream as the fireplace danced in a cozy b&b on Green Street.

The next morning, I followed CA-1 into the sunrise, thinking about where I’ll be the next time I see Santa Cruz…

Sailing through Coral Gables yesterday morning, I picked up this week’s CSA farm box to find tomatoes, greens, bok choy, avocado, sugarcane, and the first of the eggs:

My friends Jenne (here, Skyping with a friend in France) and Jess came over to help with the greens and make Abba gingerbear cookies:

Our friend Pilar arrived with dulce de leche pastelitos from Half Moon, the empanada shop she owns with her husband Juan. Pilar demonstrated how she refrains from eating these wonderful pastelitos all day long–

Jenne styled Pilar at an angle,

and these three friends laughed as we collected the requisite props for a flying trapeze outing…

Jess took to the air with her usual spirited energy;

I was happy that my pink tinsel hair swung with me:

Jenne and Jess danced through downtown Miami,

and I felt grateful for the amazing, silly, strong women I call friends here–

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides

rating: 4 of 5 stars

About a month ago, online buzz surrounded a “gender analyzer” tool designed to determine whether a Web site was written by a man or a woman.

I was reminded of the flurry of indignation and amusement caused by the tool (on my personal site: “We guess http://kthread.com is written by a man (58%), however it’s quite gender neutral. Is this correct?”) in the review my friend David posted of Jeffrey Eugenides’s Middlesex the other day:

Despite the fact that the author of the book is male - as is the narrator - I often thought of the narration as neither male nor female. As if the writing itself - like Cal - somehow transcended the very concept of gender.

For me, the story’s gender play nestles in poignant details–the unexamined mention that Uncle Pete’s suspect chiropractic practice in a 1959 Detroit wasn’t for clients “to free up their kundalini,” that the narrator’s grandfather chooses Sappho’s glyconic poetry to translate for decades.

Less playfully, the narrator observes restrictive male desire:

Jerome was sliding and climbing on top of me and it felt like it had the night before, like a crushing weight. So do boys and men announce their intentions. They cover you like a sarcophagus lid. And call it love.

Eugenides channels earlier, Italian postmodernism to write an epic novel that undercuts the epic, grandiose authorial fashion of recent years. Middlesex is, at moments, a heartbreaking work of staggering genius because the reader watches as grandparents Lefty and Desdemona create their genealogical fictions (as the narrator “dutifully [oozes] feminine glue”).

Piscine metaphors stream through the text, schooling Callie/Cal in gender assertion–key scenes include bathing suits, sea anemones in locker rooms, battles between gravity and bodies of water, faked menstrual cycles marked by catacomb fish symbols on a calendar.

While the protagonist’s childhood years are charted by a procession of family Cadillacs (the ‘boys & toys’ model), the novel scolds Dr. Luce (and by extension, the reader) for wanting to read straight toward one event in Callie’s life without the greater familial context.

The future is in bed in Schöneberg, but that’s not the end of the book. There must be a return to the matriarchal line first, a presentation of self in a book about self-presentation. The scratchy intercoms in the Middlesex house without walls reconnect mother and child: outmoded technology delivers comic relief.

And harkening back to the reverberating rustles of her silkworm chorus, the reader joins the vindicated Desdemona in the last spoken word of the text, as she looks at Cal and says, “Bravo.”

View all my GoodReads reviews.

I make latkes the wrong way, as you’ll see, but latkes always feel right as people crowd into the kitchen and surreptitiously select one from the growing pile, volunteering to grate potatoes for the next batch. This is an excellent reason to keep potatoes on hand and just the thing for happy hours in lazy late winter afternoons with visiting friends.

Recipe: (for 2 as a side, multiply as necessary) Peel one large russet potato, grate with microplane into bowl. Pour off juice. Finely dice 1/2 small onion, add to bowl. Stir in one tablespoon of flour, one egg. Heat 4 tablespoons of olive oil until shimmering in pan over med-high heat. Add batter and spread thinly; brown each side (~3 min/side). Rest very briefly on paper towels, then plate, sprinkle with salt, top with sour cream or applesauce. These are best made in batches for friends that have become family in a boisterous kitchen.

reading recommendation: Organic Furniture Cellar, Jessica Smith

listening recommendation: “The Chanukah Song” series, Adam Sandler

latke wallpaper on Flickr

drink pairing: raw mlik or a plummy red wine

salt recommendation: Hawaiian red

Latkes? Raggmunk? How do you like your potato pancakes?