Food Choices

From the Newsweek article "Divided We Eat":

"This is our charity. This is my giving to the world," says Alexandra,finally, as she packs lunchboxes—organic peanut butter and jelly on grainy bread, a yogurt, and a clementine—for her two boys. "We contribute a lot."

This is not just self-congratulatory masturbation. The "savings" of cheap food, brought about by way of equal amounts of cheap oil, are in reality buck-passing. Those "savings" are borne by the public in the form of healthcare costs (11% of which treat type 2 diabetes alone), pollution, and even directly out of our pockets in the form of subsidies for those "cheap" and very empty calories.

It seems self-defeating to give to charitable public health concerns while at the same time compounding those very problems with your own lifestyle choices. Instead, spend the extra on sustainably-produced foods that have far less negative impact on public health

Review: Cook au Vin

A few months ago, Patty bought two 2-for-1s on Groupon for a cooking school on Elston Ave, Cook au Vin. I’d not heard anything about it, so it was only a curiosity on my several rides past it over the past five years.

We decided to make a double-date out of it with her friend Emily and her husband Marcus. Once we agreed upon the menu choice – French onion soup, coq au vin (chicken and wine), scalloped potatoes, crème brulee – the date was set for this past weekend, Sunday afternoon.



I arrived first on my bike, with a couple bottles I’d just picked up from Wine Discount Center just down the street; very helpful, those folks. In 10 minutes I was set up with a bottle each of Bordeaux and Vouvray, total cost of under $60. I waited in the sunshine a bit for the doors to be unlocked at the appropriated time of 3 pm.

Right on schedule the door clicked open, and Chef Amanda welcomed me inside to the cool air-conditioning. I was impressed at how clean everything was. And that, despite the vast amounts of cooking equipment within, there was still an inviting amount of space, especially around the dining table and prep area; both a dining-experience and user-friendly.

Amanda immediately opened my red bottle after suggesting we chill the white and pair it with the chicken, and I let it breathe while waiting for everyone else to arrive. It was the prefect complement to the bleu and goat cheeses, plus the chorizo and grapes on the appetizer plate offered.



We started with the dessert first, since the crème brulee first needs to bake, then chill. Amanda gave easy to understand instructions and key visual queues; such as suggesting we notice the color the egg yolks become as we whisked in the sugar (pale yellow is the ideal). She never lost her professional air and smile, even while I constantly ADD’d through the entire exercise, missing lots of steps and direction. The smell of the real vanilla beans being hollowed out was almost as intoxicating as a bottle of extract, and soon we had our dessert dishes filled and ready for the oven.

Her little cook’s secrets added a ton of value to the class. One such tip is to place all the dessert bowls in a tray of water for a steam bath while baking. This keeps the crème brulee (or other desserts, such as cheesecake) smooth and free of caking and clumping. She was a great leader who had an entire team of four couples working together.

The French onion soup prep was just as easy. Onions sliced, garlic minced, and into the pot they went with lots of butter. Again, Amanda’s color cues helped out, and it was easy to tell when we needed to add more onion. This particular recipe was modified from the traditional, very filling one with which we are all very familiar. To keep everyone’s hunger stoked for the chicken and potatoes, we next added broth to the onion and garlic, and then set it aside to simmer. Rather than baking each bowl with large amounts of cheese and bread, we next made lightly-cheese-crusted toast points, with sliced French bread, to add to the soup just before eating.

Next we mixed up whole milk and heavy cream, while others sliced large brown baking potatoes and minced fresh garlic. We layered all of it, garlic first, then the potatoes, topped with a level of cream, finally salt and pepper, until the baking dish was filled. It was topped with a couple sprigs of thyme, and away it went to bake.

Since the chicken needed to be marinated a minimum of six hours prior to final prep, the initial roasting was already done, and set to work with a large, cold container filled with the birds, carrots & onion, and red wine. There was still plenty left for us to do.



First, the chicken came out and went into a pan with butter and oil. Another cook’s tip: the flavor of butter, with the higher temperature of oil, without burning. Then Amanda had us add the veggies from the marinade, and get some searing going on. Once we had the browning and heat, we transferred the meat and veggies to a larger dish, and we reduced several ladlefuls of the wine down, finally adding some flour in with a whisk for body. When it was smooth and thick, we poured the mixture over the chicken, carrots, and onion, and then put in the over to finish cooking through.

My stomach rumbled and grumbled more and more through the whole process, but Chef Amanda kept us on track. I only snacked from the left over appetizer plate a couple times, but Patty and I did finish of the Bordeaux fairly quickly. Finally we could sit down and eat what we’d been slaving over. I popped open the chilled bottle of vouveray, my hand becoming wet in its condensation.

I’ll simply let the pictures speak for themselves. Our toast? "Salud, Groupon!"

First course:




These were pretty damn good:




aaaaaaaaaand...




"Voila!"




The complete picture:




Using fire is always fun!




Fini!

Wheatless in Chicago

I've known for some time that Garmin-Transitions professional cycling team, led by Chicago's own Christian Vande Velde, is wheat-free while training and racing. But when the team's blog referenced a Men's Journal article on the team's wheat-free nutrition, I read it with great interest. There is some good information in the comments section.

As faithful followers of this blog know, I too am wheat-free, since 2003, and even more vigilant when I became a bike racer in 2007. Here is some background on why I made this life-changing switch to my diet.

I originally shared the article via Google and on Facebook, and received some comments that prompted me to outline what exactly I do eat. Here was my response, typed this morning:

Lemme start of by mentioning, at the risk of TMI - that I avoid wheat because it constipates me horribly. Nothing ruins a ride or training - or just your ordinary day - more than not being able to take a big dump first thing in the morning. However, not being a pain in the ass when eating as a guest plays into this too. If it's pizza, I'll sometimes eat it, knowing I'll have to deal in the morning if it's not going to affect a big ride or something. And, like VDV, I drink beer. Moving on:

There are tons of options - actually more - without wheat for carbohydrate than with. It's just that wheat is so ubiquitous.

That said, some celiacs (I think) need to avoid ALL gluten, so that is a caveat. Gluten is found in most grains. However, for me and most non-celiacs who are sensitive, wheat-gluten is offending protein. I've found that other more primitive grains such as oats, buckwheat, or corn does not affect me.

There is rice of course, but it's so much more than just risotto. Brown, jasmine, white, etc. Brown rice pasta is widely available (outside of Jewel). Gnocchi has a bit of wheat flour in it but it's mostly potato so it doesn't bother me much.

There's oatmeal, cornmeal (polenta, tamales, tortillas for tacos and enchiladas), buckwheat (nope, no gluten...LOVE making pancakes out of this).

Potatoes, especially sweet potatoes are a great wheat-free option. Sweet potatoes, gram for gram, are the most nutritious food you can eat. Then of course less-starchy, higher-glycemic fruits and veggies. Nuts too.

Breakfast is typically oatmeal or a couple slices of wheat-free kosher black bread (available even at Jewel), with some peanut butter or nutella, a banana, some yogurt, and a hard-boiled egg.

Lunch is usually leftovers from dinner, but sometimes I'll make sandwich out of the wheat-free bread, or just eat a loaded salad, no croutons.

Dinner is almost always home-cooked, never out of a box, unless I eat out. Some sort of rice or potato, with plenty of variety to chose from, as I mentioned above, with either sauce - made from a simple can of crushed or stewed tomatoes, spice and some red wine or vinegar, stir fry, or with steamed veggies and beef or some chicken.

Speaking of which, I eat a lot of protein. Beef, chicken, fish, wild game, tofu and other soy, yogurt (I hate milk, tho) and of course lots of Clif.

That's it. The easiest way I avoid wheat is to cook for myself, using almost 100% fresh food. The grains I eat are mostly rice, but I have such a variety available to me that I never get bored.

As well, I am trying to become more of a "localvore" this year, eating seasonally and locally when possible, and documenting it in a new blog, "Big City, Little Plate." While not nearly wholly practical or even possible, adding local, seasonal and home-grown foods is something I hope will add much pleasure to my life and I am already beginning to enjoy the benefits. I despaired through January and February, save for the grass-fed beef I was buying at the desolate now-indoors Logan Square farmer's market. Even the much-hyped local and organic co-op Dill Pickle had nothing local, even potatoes.

But just this week, the Logan market had fresh apples available in a dizzying amount of variety. Most I'd never heard of (Northern Spy?) I bought two bags for $7, about 10 apples. Very tasty.

More to come...

Big city. Little plate.

Now I've done it.

Stewed.

Shhh. Be vewy, vewy quiet.

Well, truth be told, I didn't kill da wabbit, but I sure did cook his ass...er, cottontail...tails. I've always wanted to make rabbit stew to serve with some quality French red wine, and I had chosen this weekend to make my fantasy a reality. I don't have much of a dining room, at all really, but as long as there's enough room to stand around my kitchen island, we can make a dinner party happen.

Friday night Tina and I picked up Peter and Mopsy from Paulina Meat Market ("Bunny killer's here!"), and then we got their trimmings from Family Fruit Market in Six Corners. Carrots, potatoes, as well as the holy trinity of onion, bell peppers, and celery, and several different kinds of wild and domestic mushrooms.

After a ride in the morning up to Highland Park with the team - there was no way I could squander yet another of the seemingly endless September sunny days we are having this late November - I sat on the stoop with a Refresco glass bottle Coke and smiled as Jack fooled around before getting down to business.

Jack and coke:



First, I had to peel and precook the potatoes. The recipe calls for a 12 to 24 hour simmer, I only had time for five. Then, it was time to chop the veggies and make the stock.



The Paulina butchers had quartered each of the rabbits, setting aside the visera, backbones, and liver in a separate wrapper. Reserving the liver for now, the backbone and other material went into my small pot, along with a red onion, two stalks of celery, carrot, and a liberal amount of salt and pepper.



While this simmered I turned to the rabbits. As it was my first time doing this, when I unwrapped their two packages I fully expected them to be deboned.



Not so. Just a couple of minutes trying to do that to raw meat first had me wondering if rabbit stew traditionally was served bone-in, and then washing my hands and turning to youtube, where I found this helpful demonstration:



Be sure to skip ahead to about 2.15 if you want to miss the guts coming out, and to 2.45 if you don't want to see the cute little rabbit turd on the cutting board.

Long story short, this wry Brit chef told me I needed to brown it first, and then the bones would come out quite cleanly. Thankfully Paulina Meat Market had taken care of the guts (and presumably the cute little turds) so soon I was happilyy browning away, nearly passing out from the extremely rich aroma of the meat searing in a large amount of butter.




Done, I set the meat aside to cool, and retrieved my trusty stock pot. I've made several good soups in this pot, including a beer and cheese, tomato basil, and most recently a butternut squash, with black beans and chorizo. I think even one St. Paddy's day I made some corned beef in there.



Into the loosening olive oil went, in order: onion, the julienne-cut (not bad for the first time, either!) celery, peppers and carrots, lots of garlic, tomato, and almost a full bottle of cheap white wine. More pricey viogner was called for. Right. After that came to a boil, I dropped the flame to let it reduce, and got on over to Tina's for some herbs.

Tina was in the middle of getting some broccoli from her garden, in order to make a souffle. Outside I snipped a big handful of parsley, and from behind her kitchen table I snagged some rosemary and thyme.



Back at the apartment I walked into a wondrous aroma: the rabbit stock, the softening veggies, and the cooling, golden meat just waiting to be taken off of the bone.



With the deboning mission accomplished, the meat, livers, the stock, herbs, and potatoes went into the pot, then it was time to make myself presentable and then wait for the arrival of guests while I finished the pear and Gorgonzola salad with the pecans I'd candied earlier.



Rick, a great friend living in Madison, Wisconsin arrived first, bearing must-haves for any menu featuring French provincial cuisine:




Rob's baked brie was decorated perfectly for the occasion:



Tina's souffle didn't exactly rise, but it certainly rose to the occasion, with it's cheesy, creamy, veggie goodness, the perfect side for any French-inspired menu:



Of course, the bachelor doesn't have enough bowls and spoons for his stew party, but does have two of his own cheese boards. Go figure. So many thanks for Susan, Cari, and Scott for the extra utensils and bowls, as well as more cheese and noshes.

Brian and Jamie brought two excellent bottles - a Cotes Du Rhone and a knock out Alsace Riesling.

And when Greg, Peter, Erik and Tracy arrived (with a bottle of Booker's 130 proof bourbon, I might add) it was officially a party:







Oh, and creampuffs and brownies for dessert! Rick attempted both at once:



And as I drank more, the disco jacket had to make an appearance:



It was an unqualified success. Thanks for coming, each of you. As I said in my toast, what good is a meal without good friends with whom to enjoy it?

Let's do it again soon.

Stream of Consciousness Friday

Watched Mel Brooks' "High Anxiety" last night before bed. Damn, is Cloris Leachman funny. And hideous too. But what hell is it with her and the witch costume at the end? That broom certainly didn't work...

The 70's were a strange time, when you think about it. So many modern conveniences and wondrous new things...747s and touchtone phones. But then the older generation at that time gave us plenty of institutional memory of The Great Depression, no phones, or planes...and ate Fruit Cup (yes, as a pronoun) before dinner. And don't be late.

I have been getting the best sleep ever in my life since returning from Camp last weekend. Last night after turning off the movie I was in bed by 9:30 and sound asleep by 10. All week I've been bounding out of bed by 5:30 at the latest, ready to start the day. It's the alcohol and caffeine, or lack there of. Wait, I'm not on some sort of wagon...I just learned from a friend that his doctor told him that caffeine stays in the system for nearly 12 hours, and disrupts sleep patterns.

News flash.

So during camp I banished all coffee to before the ride, and none when I returned, in any form. Whereas last year I would guzzle the stuff all day long. I slept so much better this year. I also didn't write anything before sleep - doing all of it before breakfast, which worked well because I was up and alert so much earlier from all of the great sleep.

I've been continuing here, at home, now that I'm back. One coffee when I get to work, on top of what I'm drinking now, and that's it. Alcohol I've banished to the weekends and only with friends. Everyone knows that it wreaks havoc on sleep as well. It's contributed so much to my recent start-of-season weight loss that to add it back in now would be moronic. That said, I will have a few, and did - at camp - to celebrate the great days' rides, but yeah, it interfered with sleep.

It's all quite surreal, considering that less than two years ago I could barely make it out of bed on time to be at work downtown by 9:30. Yet, here I sit with five paragraphs already in at five after six in the morning. Breakfast is already in me, constitutional behind me, and I'm halfway through my pot of French press.

I live for breakfast. It is my favorite meal and time of the day. To catch up the news, to write as I am now, and just have some free time and solitude before the chaos of the day begins. Usually I have oatmeal, with peanut butter and banana, and honey drizzled on top on days like today where I have time in the morning. Yesterday, I rode to work in Northbrook and leave at 6:15, so I have a couple of pieces of rye toast with nutella on them. Plus yogurt and at least one cup of coffee before I go, in either case.

But it's not truly a morning without the full pot of French press. My favorite post-ride meal is oatmeal as well, with everything I mentioned above, except I also drop in a fried egg, over easy, and stir it all up, with maple syrup. I know it sounds gross, but after a four hour ride and your body is screaming for food, it's the most fulfilling thing I could possibly imagine eating at a time like that. Then you just fall over on your couch and take a long nap.

I hope I can get enough packing in before I fall asleep tonight. Actually moving out tomorrow. I have about half the stuff I moved in with. Am going to try to get it all out this weekend and next. Seems strange, like I'm watching it all happen, but to someone else.

The change will be good. I am taking Jack with me, and I hope he adjusts well. We'll have a big park to play in plus a couple neighbors, both with dogs, to take morning walks with and who can hopefully look after him while I'm out. For me as well, I'm closer to work - by bike, as well as within walking distance now to the Metra, so I won't have to stress about the blue line making me late.

The neighborhood is super cool, chill, and I'll be very close to Smoque, the bar-b-que place I love and haven't been to in about a year. Not sure if that's a good thing. But, regardless, I am already looking forward some warm summer nights in Mark's backyard with other friends as Jack gets to run around and play with other dogs.

Food

I read a bit today from Michael Pollan’s January 2007 New York Times article, “Unhappy Meals.” Michael Pollan is the author of “In Defense of Food” and “The Omnivore’s Dilemma”. I haven’t read either book, but from what I have gleaned from people who have, Pollan has a strong stance on the subject of whole foods and food culture versus food reductionism and science.

That is to say, he argues that by reducing our foods to mere delivery systems for macro- and micronutrients we are doing more harm than good. By taking the vitamins and anti-oxidants out of their context and the systems in which they work, we render them useless or even harmful.

Take for instance, the Omega-3 fad. Touted as a benefit of eating fish, we don’t realize that fish obtain the nutrient from green algae - its primary source, along with other leafy greens. As well, the benefits of Omega-3 fatty acids come from the interaction in the body another essential nutrient, Omega-6, which is found in seeds and grains. Within naturally evolved food cultures this ratio is close to one to one and is linked to cell structure and function.

However, with the industrialization of grain-fed, Omega-6-heavy beef production, rather than free-range, grass-raised - and little to no consumption of green vegetables - the western eater receives almost no Omega-3s through intake of whole foods. Supplementing it in pill form is virtually ineffective unless Omega-6 consumption comes down.

The idea of food-culture resonates with me strongly. The so-called “French Paradox” contradicts everything about American food science: a diet loaded with fat, butter, and wine that produces, for the most part a healthy, fit population. The key is in whole foods, Pollan argues, in shunning heavily processed foods, in communal dining without snacking.

All food-cultures evolved along with their environment and available foodstuffs. For example, the majority of humans were once lactose intolerant, some entire populations still are, getting sick when they drink cow’s milk. Yet, certain genes that produce enzymes for its digestion were passed along over thousands of years as humans became agrarian, and spread until the populations adapted. This benefited the cows, too.

The reason I relate to so much to this idea is another book, published several years ago, called “Eat Right For Your Type.” I referenced in a past blog a cancer scare I had, years ago, that led to a massive and permanent weight loss. The falling of the Berlin wall in my life is the still that one life-changing event in 2001.

If you, in our time together, come to understand only one thing that defines me, it is this: I spent two months believing I had cancer and learning about what I had been putting in my body up to that point. It was like somebody had ripped off the heavy blanket covering me on a sunny day, and I will never go back. To eating like that, looking like that, or feeling like that. I don’t have so much of an issue with food itself - maintaining a pretty consistent weight and body size ever since - as I have with the food of the western diet.

Coming out of the battle victorious and armed with new knowledge I still had many questions for my doctor. Such as, why am I still so irregular? I felt terrible all the time, even though I was doing my damnedest to eat healthy, high fiber foods. His answer?

That’s just the American Diet.

Bullshit.

So off to find more information I went and ended up at the homeopathic place on Addison, a block east of Damen. I spoke with a gentlemen there who informed me of Peter D’Adamo’s book, “Eat Right…” and said I should give it a read, being a Type O. He said that Type O’s have trouble processing wheat gluten and it makes them irregular. So I bought the book, then the idea, stopped eating wheat products, and within a week, was shitting like a champion.

The idea is simple, and sound I believe, regardless of any doctors who scoff at the science. Type O is the universal blood, in fact, because all other blood types evolved from it. That is a Type A can receive Type O, but not visa versa. This evolution took place as humans agrarianized and began cultivating more complex and starchy grains, as well as animal for dairy production.

Type Os are a hold over from hunter-gatherers. Therefore they are much less tolerant of grains with gluten, and most dairy products. The more simpler grains - like rice, and rye, leafy natural greens, and lean protein, the better. I don’t know much about the methodology behind D’Amado’s findings, except that it’s worked incredibly well for me.

When I’m able to follow it.

Just try avoiding wheat gluten. It’s nearly impossible to do so without having to constantly explain that you are not some Atkins Diet jerkass. “Come on, have a cookie!” “What do you do about pasta?!” It’s so tiring that sometimes I’d rather just acquiesce, not give the lecture, and then suffer in silence with a copy of Katy’s “People” for an hour under the soothing hum of the bathroom fan.

But lately, I’ve really tried get gluten out of my diet. I didn’t have a single piece of pizza at our latest cycling team function last night, and I’ve avoided the cafeteria at work since Day One, 2009. I bring my lunch every day. And empowering myself this way, starting the day off right – “leaving it all behind you,” as Louis Armstrong used to shill - albeit naturally, is really making a difference, and giving me more willpower to keep on eating right.

When you have a hobby like mine, and performance is everything, an issue like this can really take on weight. And with the mountains of California approaching in the distance, having a lighter load makes all the difference in the world.

Sorry to take the tone of this one in a downward spiral, but seriously, I urge everyone to take a more thoughtful look at what they are eating. Think of food as whole food and the whole person it makes you.

The Orphanage

The clouds were giant white stacks, contrasted by the orangish haze of early sunset, moving like silent leviathans above us through the mugginess and humidity.

The sweat was already rolling down the small of my back and we'd only begun to move the first piece of equipment. The heavy stuff is always better first. The keyboard. The amplifier cabinets. Their corners are hard on the joints of your fingers. Your blood pools in the tips, behind your fingerprints as you try to keep your knuckles from scraping against the door jambs. The worst is going up or down the stairs. Backwards or forwards. The weight of the Fender Rhodes is either pushing you off your feet or seconds away from slipping out of your hands and crashing down on to the steps. Meanwhile, a single bead of sweat leaves your hairline, tickling it's way down your forehead, to be momentarily stopped by an eyebrow, yet inevitably run into your eye.

Once the big pieces have occupied their proclaimed space in the back of Rudy's Suburban, everything else knows it's exact place. It fills up like perfectly, like one of those 3-D jigsaw puzzles. The small places left over are the perfect size for the small things left waiting. Each piece goes just where it went the last time. Keeping that kind of order makes it easier to see what's missing. You always do an idiot check after loading, but if you don't have a system, you'll miss something if in a hurry.

The evening was probably the stickiest we'd had all summer. The heat wasn't so bad, but it was like walking through soup. Rudy's truck is about the biggest monstrosity on four wheels in the city, not something I'd want my bicycle-friends to see me riding in. But, with it's soft cloth seats and cool A/C, it was exactly where I wanted I to be, about as perfect a place for me at the nook the crate full of chords and tuning pedals was sitting in behind me. We were on our way to Bridgeport.

We got off the expressway at 18th street, and then turned left on Halsted by the Skylark. A few more blocks though the sleepy neighborhood and we were pulling up in front of the First Trinity Church Community Center. We all arrived at the same time, trying to figure out how to get into the place. I found the right door and was dismayed to find out we'd need to unload all the gear up 3 flights of stairs. Un-air-conditioned stairs. But, if you keep talking, and keep moving, and have little moments of laughter thrown in, it goes by pretty quickly.

Such as, once Charley and I got to the top of the stairs and the door that said, "Welcome to the Orphanage." Charley opened it, and immediately closed it after a quick, "Oops! Sorry."

"What was that?" I asked, laughing. "Was somebody naked in there?"

Then somebody behind the door told it we were OK and to come in. The door opened wide again, and I was walking though a kitchen, with two people at a giant steel counter preparing a meal. Veggies and bread were spread out and bowls of pasta were being filled. The color of the food was matched by the bigger room were walking into.

Decorative trees and rich red tapestries. Wall paintings, sculpture of all kinds, and Christmas lights. Tables and chairs. Sofas and loungers. And immaculately clean. And gorgeous, young woman whirling a hula hoop in the center of the room.

Borrowed from The Orphanage myspace.com page:


A large stage was at one of the of the room. This was the Orphanage. A performance space/art gallery/vegan kitchen in the heart of Bridgeport. And apparently, fairly undiscovered. The Orphanage only opens on Sunday nights, and tonights crowd was sparse, mostly made up of the performing musicians, or the volunteers working there. Yet, it was to be probably the most unique and fun gig I've done with The Midnight Shows ever. A classic night that could only come from within the underground scene, a pre-gentrification wave, of Chicago's Southside.

After we loaded in and had a drink of water, Charley, Tonya, Kelly and I headed up to the Skylark for a drink. I love that place. I've only been going there for the past 18 months or so. I always expect to run into people from my recent past in there, but never do. The vibe is chill, there's always a seat, and the food is great. Yet, we just wanted a drink to unwind and get a little louder music into our brains for a second. The space at The Orphanage was so radically different from what we were accustomed - quiet, smoke free, courteous staff - we needed to immerse ourselves is something a bit more familiar to ease the transition into the evening.

We headed back after an hour, and walked in on a pretty blond woman sitting solo at the piano playing a eclectic set. Rudy, Charita, Heather, and her boyfriend were sitting at the tables, along with the rest of the crowd enjoying the music and eating the vegan fare that came along with the requested $10 donation. She announced in between songs she mainly worked with a children's repertoire, and then went into several funny tracks from Super Mario Brother and the Legend of Zelda. She had a light, yet comforting voice, and even as she finished with a couple of darker tunes about misguided lust and love, we all tapped toes, bobbed heads, and rewarded her with vigorous applause.

It was then announced that Inkbat had apparently forgotten to show, so The Midnight Shows were next. It was simple set up. The room was box, as we say in the biz, which means "live" so no extra amplification was needed. We just plugged in, turned on, and away we went. Initially, most of the crowd (which was about 6 people) stood in front and danced, but halfway through, the lack of a bigger group to keep them there had them back in the seats, eating, lounging, and bobbing their heads. The applause got louder and louder, however, and they really seemed to enjoy the set.

It was roasting up there, as always. It didn't help that Charley needed the fan all to himself and that the nearest A/C unit needed to unplugged to accommodate the equipment. Any stage light, only one, will cause me to sweat profusely. Two songs in I was soaked. But dancing, smiling, and really taking in the sounds of us. A great mix, just like rehearsal. The best performance, musically, athletically, in any idiom, happens when you lose yourself in the moment. You just will it - huge thoughts, beautiful sounds - and your body takes over subconsciously and brings it all to fruition. When you stop thinking about your fingers, the frets, and just listen to everything but yourself, and that is when yourself is fully realized.

Heather played great behind her kit. Her first show, she made very few mistakes and took my cues very professionally for the most part, and brought all the style, bombast, and musicality that we loved so much to have her play with us in the first place.

We were cut off a bit early which was fine, for the school night. Grandpa Know was up next. Just a three piece, of two guitars and and drums (and looking for a bass player.) They gave us a mix of White Stripes and Pixies with a touch of very early uptempo Jesus and Mary Chain. Very treble-y, too loud to hear any of the vocals, it didn't matter. Performance-wise, it was hit or miss. Some songs were very together and others sounded as if they were being written right then and there. But it didn't matter. As the set came to a close it all came together and made complete sense and brought on raucous applause.

A few more people had stopped by for the evening, but the crowd remained very diverse and sparse. None of my northside friends, or southside for that matter had made it down. I would have loved for them to have experienced us in this environment - devoid of the usual falseness and pretension - i.e. meaningless shouting, bad-ass fronting, binge-drinking, (although in many situations this leads to some very genuine behavior!), and soul-sapping unoriginality - and filled with genuine expression and attention to detail and the essence of the presentation.

For this is what The Orphanage is. Originality and the true essence of presentation - qualities that only remain pure in small, handmade batches, and that do not last long once mass-produced.

Go there. Now. It won't be here forever.

...and speaking of hot dogs and sex:

I got news for you: what do you think was in the soil that the soy beans in yer veggie burger were grown in?

DEAD ANIMALS. Circle of Life. Fuck off.

My friend John says, "This seems perverse at first, but then you realize, 'Good, I don't want to have anything to do with you either.'"

Carnivore sex off the menu

By REBECCA TODD - The Press | Tuesday, 31 July 2007

No sex, please, you're a carnivore.

A new phenomenon in New Zealand is taking the idea of you are what you eat to the extreme.

Vegansexuals are people who do not eat any meat or animal products, and who choose not to be sexually intimate with non-vegan partners whose bodies, they say, are made up of dead animals.

The co-director of the New Zealand Centre for Human and Animal Studies at Canterbury University, Annie Potts, said she coined the term after doing research on the lives of "cruelty-free consumers".

Cruelty-Free Consumption in New Zealand: A National Report on the Perspectives and Experiences of Vegetarians and other Ethical Consumers asked 157 people nationwide about everything from battery chickens to sexual preferences.

Many female respondents described being attracted to people who ate meat, but said they did not want to have sex with meat-eaters because their bodies were made up of animal carcasses.

"It's a whole new thing – I have not come across it before," said Potts.

One vegan respondent from Christchurch said: "I believe we are what we consume, so I really struggle with bodily fluids, especially sexually."

Another Christchurch vegan said she found non-vegans attractive, but would not want to be physically close to them.

"I would not want to be intimate with someone whose body is literally made up from the bodies of others who have died for their sustenance," she said.

Christchurch vegan Nichola Kriek has been married to her vegan husband, Hans, for nine years.

She would not describe herself as vegansexual, but said it would definitely be a preference.

She could understand people not wanting to get too close to non-vegan or non-vegetarians.

"When you are vegan or vegetarian, you are very aware that when people eat a meaty diet, they are kind of a graveyard for animals," she said.

I love Hot Dogs

Sunday was Super Dawg.

Yesterday: Chubby Weiners. (If you haven't made it to this Lincoln Square addition, put it on your list. If only for the countergirl, if meat isn't your thing. I asked her what the difference was between the Chubby Hot Dog, and the regular Chicago dog. "Oooooh, it's thicker, longer..." she cooed. I love it when they coo. Get the chubby. It's worth it. And they have battered fries.)

So! Who wants to take an extra 30 minutes lunch and ride up to Hot Doug's with me this week to make it a hat trick?! "There's no two finer words in the English language that 'encased meats,' my friend."

Comment your affirmative.