Square 2

Well, FINALLY, after weeks of feeling like el crapo, it turns out I have one of the usual intestinal parasites that fly around, and in two days I will have finished with the ghastly medication.  The good news was that I felt well enough to hit the park today, thanks be to the Force.  I may be beginning yet again, but at least I am not at square one, but square two.  Every little bit helps.  My rheumatologist prescribed a goal of five days of exercise per week, and this after I told him I was so tired I was shrivelling up like a salted snail.  Did I get any sympathy? No! 

Some kind of equipment was bought by the largest running club at the park and installed at Narcissists' Corner.  They still have the barbells that end in lumps of cement, and the pull-up bars are still the main attraction, but now they have some kind of odd affair the purpose of which seems a mystery.  Two pieces of equipment:  you stand on a type of floating pedal arrangement, hold on to some bars at shoulder level, and you swing from side to side.  Since gravity is doing all the work, I couldn't figure out what the equipment was supposed to be doing.  There are always a couple of people swinging away every day at most hours, but no one was using them this morning since it was very early.  I looked at the lettering on the things.  Apparently the arrangement gives you some kind of massage.  Who knows how, but one day when no one catches me, I'll get on one and see if that swinging really does anything.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my Italian conversation classes consist of the teacher conversing and me trying to patch together enough words to say something.  It is unbelievably frustrating because I can read all kinds of things in Italian now, such as the short stories of Leonardo Sciascia, and I can understand someone who speaks fairly slowly, but converse??  It's probably because what the teacher and I talk about is way beyond my current abilities--I don't have enough verb tenses, to begin with.  Oh well, maybe if I eat enough homemade pasta a sort of cultural osmosis will occur and I will burst out singing O Sole Mio.

Italian and Chicken Soup for the Mind

No, this is not going to be one of those treacly, positive-thinking writings that claim to cure what ails ya.  I have a recipe for you if you like Mexican food (real Mexican food, not the Taco Bell stuff).

Chicken soup for two:

In a heavy bottomed pan, fry a single whole chicken breast, skin-side down first, until golden.  Turn and brown other side.  Remove from pan onto a plate.

Saute finely diced carrot, celery, and onion until soft; add diced garlic and fry only until fragrant.  Add low sodium chicken broth and the chicken breast.  Broth does not have to cover chicken, add enough for soup for two people.  Add salt and pepper.  Lower heat and simmer covered until chicken is tender.

Meanwhile, toast cumin seed until fragrant and grind in a morter or molcajete (I use a lot because I love it; play it by ear).  Chop coriander (also, according to your taste). 

When chicken is tender, remove from pot, strain out the vegetables, and return soup to pot.  Shred chicken and add to pot, along with coriander and cumin.  Add a small dose of chipotle chile powder or canned chipotle, check seasoning again, and heat until simmering.  Turn off heat.

Top soup with slices of avocado and shredded Monterrey Jack cheese, and serve with hot tortillas or tostadas.  If the soup is to be a whole meal, you can top the tostadas with refried beans and sour cream as well.  Delish!


It is possible that some people have a brain capacity for a limited number of languages; my limit seems to be two.  Now that I'm trying to add Italian, odd things are happening.  Yesterday before my conversation class I went to the store and found myself addressing people with an occasional Italian phrase, but once I sat down with my teacher, after a while I short-circuited and couldn't think in any language at all--no English, no Spanish, even less Italian.  As I ground to a halt, the girl took pity on me and carried the conversation herself--good practice for my listening, at least.  She seems to think I'm doing well, but compared to what?  My dog?  And even that is a risky assumption--since I've been using a little Italian with him, he may remember more of the lingo than I do. 

My running has also ground to a halt.  The weather and barometric pressure changed and put me out of action all week.  This may be a losing battle.  If I could run five kilometers the way I can run one, I would be down to 35 minutes for a 5K.  Ha!  The only remedy at the moment is to go off and make a chocolate pound cake. 

The Book List

Now that I have spent my little all on books for my Kindle, at least let me recommend some reading that can be found in the usual paper book form also.

For a magnificent and harrowing history of the Sicilician Mafia, right up to the present time, there is "Cosa Nostra: A History of the Sicicilian Mafia" by John Dickie.  Well researched and leaving out myths and silliness, it's enough to make the blood run cold--and abundantly.

Also, one of my discoveries is yet another Swedish police-novel writer, very different from Stieg Larsson (Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) and the creator of detective Kurt Wallander.  There is even a Swedish t.v. series about Wallander.  The author is Henning Mankell, and he has written several books about the Wallander character.

"Death in the City of Light" is a fascinating factual account of a serial killer (a doctor) in Nazi-occuppied Paris who spent his time convincing French Jews that he could arrange their escape across the border into free France and onward; after murdering them he took all their possessions.

And don't miss (on a lighter note!) the magnificent biography of Julia Child called "An Appetite for Life" by Noel Riley Fitch.  That was one marvelous lady!

We are off to the quinta today, and my back will be put to the test once more.  It should be a lot stronger now.  Enjoy your weekend, folks.

Venison Tamales II

Had one of the tamales this morning after a short run and weight training, thinking I had probably managed to boost my metabolism enough to justify such an indulgence.  It was very tasty indeedy!  Went down quite nicely with a cup of coffee and some orange juice made from oranges from our quinta.

Since the mornings are quite cold now, and since I've been going out early in the morning, the park is nicely scarce of people.  If I am going to continue eating venison tamales, this is a good thing, especially for any potential victims of my digestive turmoils as a result of chile consumption.  I think I can cut off two minutes per kilometer in my efforts to distance myself from the rest of the pack before something akin to a supersonic whoopee cushion kicks in.

Venison Tamales

The luncheon yesterday exceeded all my expectations in every way.  There was a nopalito salad that was stupendous, and my compadre gave a riveting talk on how the Mexican IRS violates the Constitution but you can do almost nothing about it.  It may have provoked indigestion in some listeners, but we were glued to our seats either in fascination or horror.

One of the members of the club that sponsered the luncheon is a vet who hunts, and each year he treats the whole club to venison tamales; he has a little old lady in some tiny town around here who makes them, and she hits gourmet heights.  Apparently the whole club waits eagerly for the date when the tamales are served.  It is complicated; on January 6th, day of the Three Kings, a big crown of sweet bread festooned with sugared fruit is shared with friends and family.  In the bread, at least one tiny doll is hidden, and if you get it in your piece (assuming you don't swallow it and choke on it), you then have to offer tamales on the Día de la Candelaria, or a festive day related to the Virgen of the Candelaria.  That occurs on 2 February.  Mexicans never miss an occasion to eat, you may have noticed, and every celebration of any kind seems to involve food.  Sort of like Italians in that way.

Anyway, the vet drove by my house this morning and proceeded to deliver an industrial quantity of venison tamales just for us.  He said some people just couldn't wait, and since he was doing the rounds, he included us in the abundance.  I'm not a fan of venison because not many people can prepare it well, but I'll eat anything in tamal form.  That probably means extra kilometers in my daily run....

The Best Laid Plans...

You know how everything you think of during the night seems like something huge and terrible?  It occurred to me very early in the morning that I needed to run, do weights, clean the refrigerator, go to the store, and get ready to attend a luncheon to hear a friend who is going to speak on a subject I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever--some kind of fiscal reform, but these things come along every five minutes or so because the Mexican equivalent of the IRS just can't seem to squeeze enough money out of the tax payer and spends its time thinking up news ways to throttle us.  I'm only going to this thing because I've never heard my friend and compadre give a talk, and it is going to be entertaining, one way or another.  Besides, the food is pretty good.

I got up around four-thirty, which was okay because I went to sleep around eight-thirty last night.  I'm going to have to start drinking coffee later in the day, dang it.  Anyway, I went out to run before six, and the attendance was pretty sparse at the park.  There was practically no traffic, either, so it was quite nice.  Then I got home and did some weight work while watching a season of the The Sopranos, and my fridge is now clean.  I don't really need to go to the store until tomorrow, but these things loom like the end of the world during the night.  What should have loomed, but didn't, was the book I need to finish translating into Spanish, and the Italian conversation classes I need to arrange so I don't forget every single thing I'm learning for lack of use.

And the dog's hair is so long he looks a giant bouffant stuffed toy.  His hair salon appointment has been made.  Heck, he looks a lot better than I do.

There is a 5K here in March, and since it looks like I won't make it to Austin in February, I'll enroll in that one and won't have any excuses not to run it.  Or walk it, as the case may be.

Gitano

This is Gitano, when we just brought him to our quinta.  He is underworked and overfed in this picture, thus his obesely barrel shape.  He's a lot handsomer now.  He's a sweetie.  Breed:Azteca, a combination of Spanish and quarter horse.