It has been like a thousand years since I promised to post the non-pasta recipe. Yes I feel guilty, but posting constantly is a major headache sometimes because I put off other things, like living, to work on this post that I'm really not sure anyone is reading. This is going to be my last post for a while. I think I'll go on a two week schedule. That way I can have a life, and have something to say and test out new recipes for anyone who is following this post.
Ok. Here goes.
If you have a kitchen scrub brush for your dishes, soap it up, and get the cold water running at a good clip. Scrub all of the vegetables, except the broccoli, and rinse all soapy remains off them. Put them aside in some sort of container. Keep that water flowing because now you're going to rinse the hell out of the broccoli. Put that with the rest of the vegetables once done.
Take a breather, and put 5 - 6 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil in a skillet or frying pan. Swish it around on the bottom to coat the pan, and set it on low/medium heat to preheat while you slice the vegetables.
I hope you have a cutting board to slice and chop the vegetables on. If not, clean off a good portion of the kitchen counter as your work space. (Be careful if you're cutting on the counter top and you, like me, are renting the suite. The super is sure to notice the damage and ding you for it once you move out.)
Trim off, the ends of the carrot, and cut it into 3 little orange "logs". Discard the ends. Cut each carrot log lengthways in half, lay it on the flat cut end and slice or chop into 1/4" thick pieces, set aside. Do the same with the beets. Since the beets are nice and fat, slice into 1/4" sections lenghtways, and then cross cut those in 1/4" cuts. This will give you reddish french frie like things. Take those fries and chop into 1/4" to 1/2" pieces and set aside with the carrots. What you did with the beets, you'll do exactly the same with the potatoes, and set aside from the other vegetables. I think you pretty well know the drill with broccoli. Cut off smallish florets, and chop up the larger ones into managable bite sized pieces. Use the stem of the broccoli too, but discard the end as it tends to be yucky. Set the broccoli aside separately, as it cooks faster than the other root vegetables.
Throw all of the vegetables, except the broccoli and potatoes, in the pan, stir to coat with oil, and cover. Raise heat to medium.
Wipe off your workspace. Take 1/3 of a pack of bacon and slice cross wise into 1/4" strips. In a separate pan, or pot with lid, that has been coated with extra virgin olive oil, toss in the bacon and cover. Covering it keeps in the steam from the cooking process and makes it go faster. Stir the bacon now and again to ensure even cooking.... on medium heat.
Wipe off your workspace, and now it's time to make stir fry strips out of the pork. Make the meat look like it's sliced in a Chinese or Asian restaurant: that same width and length.
Check your vegetables. Poke them with a fork. Cool one off and have a bite. If it has a bit of a firmness to it and the colour is nice and bright they're almost done. Throw in the broccoli. Stir things around for a few minutes until the broccoli gets a nice bright green colour with a bit of sweat on it. All the veggies are done now, so set aside in a container and cover with something to conserve their heat.
If the bacon is curling up on itself keep the lid off the pan/pot and stir occasionally until it begins to get crispy. Remove from pan/pot and set aside/cover. Drain off the grease in the bacon pan/pot, and add another 5 or so tablespoons of olive oil to the pan, followed by the pork. This stuff cooks quickly so watch it. Cover for a few minutes, remove cover and stir, recover, and so on. It will be done when there's no pink showing on the outside or the inside if you slice a piece. Take it out of the pan/pot and put aside, not with the bacon.
Toss the potatoes into this pan, cover and raise the heat to medium/high. Keep covered to speed cooking time, but stir every now and again. The potatoes will be done when their skins start to come off or stick to the bottom of the pan. But you can always do the taste test thing as you did with the beets and carrots. Remove pan from heat.
Take two dinner plates: put a good portion of pork strips in the centre of the plate, veggies on one side, potatoes on the other. Crumble bacon on top of the potatoes, and dinner is served.
See I do know how to cook something other than pasta.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
I'm Sooo Sorry
I have to apologize to anyone who is following this blog. I was going to have a new recipe posted today, but life just got in the way. You know I'm a "starving writer type". I'm trying to get provincial and federal arts funding in the form of a grant so that I can complete the research for a collection of short stories I'm working on, as well as a novel-length manuscript. That process has taken over my life over the past couple of days. Everything about my submission (begging) has to be perfect. I've resorted to borrowing money to pay for editors to look at my work and suggest improvements. My partner has the day off tomorrow, so we get to do together stuff. I'll try for posting the recipe on Sunday.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
OMG We're NOT Having Pasta Tonight!
I discovered that Stratford is an even more happening little burg than I originally thought. It actually has a not-so-small store that sells only certified organic products. They even have red curry paste! Do you realize how hard it is to find that stuff? But curry is not the reason for this post. Rather it is to give you another shopping list for a recipe. What is different with this recipe is the fact that it doesn't use pasta at all. No offence to the Italian people, but sometimes even I have to give pasta a break.
The list is as follows, and should feed two people easily:
Produce
2 or 3 medium red potatoes (white or Yukon Gold will be fine as well).
2 large or 3 medium red beets.
1 eight-inch carrot (utility grade is just fine).
1 good fist-sized head of broccoli. (or you can substitute a couple of palm-fulls of green beans).
Meat
1 pack of bacon, divided into three equal portions (freeze two, and use one).
450 g or 1 lb, of strir fry pork strips.
Incidentals
About 10 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil (seriously use olive oil, it tastes great, is good for you, and makes your kitchen guests think that you really do know what you're doing).
About a tea spoon of freshly ground pepper. Orinary pre-ground is fine, but if you can afford a pepper mill and whole black peppercorns then that's great.
Things to Think About
Do all of your slicing and chopping ahead of time and put the ingredients aside separately in small containers (whatever works) because most of them have different cooking time requirements, so you'll be adding each at a different point in time during the cooking process.
How Much Does This Meal Cost?
Without a word of a lie, and thanks to my strategic shopping method, this particular meal for two (using fresh vegetables) works out to about $4.25 for two people, or $2.12 per person. What can you get at a fast food joint for $4.25: two or three strips of overcooked mystery chicken. Hey, this is an easy decision to make. Stay tuned as I post the actual recipe/cooking directions in the next day or two.
The list is as follows, and should feed two people easily:
Produce
2 or 3 medium red potatoes (white or Yukon Gold will be fine as well).
2 large or 3 medium red beets.
1 eight-inch carrot (utility grade is just fine).
1 good fist-sized head of broccoli. (or you can substitute a couple of palm-fulls of green beans).
Meat
1 pack of bacon, divided into three equal portions (freeze two, and use one).
450 g or 1 lb, of strir fry pork strips.
Incidentals
About 10 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil (seriously use olive oil, it tastes great, is good for you, and makes your kitchen guests think that you really do know what you're doing).
About a tea spoon of freshly ground pepper. Orinary pre-ground is fine, but if you can afford a pepper mill and whole black peppercorns then that's great.
Things to Think About
Do all of your slicing and chopping ahead of time and put the ingredients aside separately in small containers (whatever works) because most of them have different cooking time requirements, so you'll be adding each at a different point in time during the cooking process.
How Much Does This Meal Cost?
Without a word of a lie, and thanks to my strategic shopping method, this particular meal for two (using fresh vegetables) works out to about $4.25 for two people, or $2.12 per person. What can you get at a fast food joint for $4.25: two or three strips of overcooked mystery chicken. Hey, this is an easy decision to make. Stay tuned as I post the actual recipe/cooking directions in the next day or two.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
A Really Easy Mediterranean Dinner For Two: Greek Style
This recipe uses some of the same ingredients as the Mediterranean Dinner For Two: Italian Version.
Take away the diced tomatoes, and prepared marinara sauce. You will need 3 - 5 good-sized garlic cloves, 3 large pieces of sundried tomatoes, 3 large (preferably extra large) eggs, the same fusili (rotini) pasta, and 1/3 of a pack of good bacon.
The prep work is the same as well. Slice and dice the vegetables, and sundried tomato, as in the previous recipe, and do the same with the sausage. You'll cut the bacon cross wise into 1/4" segments and then chop it up coarsely. All of the chopped vegetables, with the exception of the onion and garlic can be put in the same bowl. Keep the onion and garlic separate from each other because they'll be added to the mixture at different times during cooking. Crack open the eggs and whip together so they are consistently smooth.
Cooking:
Coat the bottom of the frying pan with about 3 tablespoons of extravirgin olive oil on medium heat. Once heated through, toss in the bacon and mix about making sure to separate as many of the pieces as possible. Once the bacon is crisp, but not burned, take it out of the pan and set aside. Drain oil and bacon grease from pan and wipe with paper towel.
Add about 5 tablespoon of extravergin olive oil to pan and return to heat. Toss in the sausage balls, and cook until they are browned, but not burned. Once done, remove from heat and set aside with the bacon.
Using remaining oil in pan toss in the vegetables, except onion and garlic, olives, sudried tomatos, and artichoke hearts. Cover pan. Check occasionally ans stir. Once brocolli starts becoming bright green, add the onions. Cover pan. Once onions begin to turn milky white, add the garlic and stir the heck out of the mixture. Cover pan. Once the garlic is soft and turning yellowish, but not brown, take the vegetables out of the pan and put aside.
Cook up the pasta according to the package directions. Once done, drain, and put back into pot. Reduce heat to medium. Gradually stir in the eggs a bit at a time, making sure to coat pasta completely. Once all eggs have been stirred into the pasta, cover the pot for about 3 minutes to cook the eggs further.
Combining
Gradually combine vegetables, sundried tomatoes, meatballs, and bacon into the pasta. Stir well for even distribution. Add 3 to 5 tablespoons of drained sliced black olives, and the same with the artichoke hearts. Stir well for even distribution. Remove from heat. Put desired amount in serving bowls, and sprinkle each with a handful of crumbled feta cheese.
Go and eat!
Take away the diced tomatoes, and prepared marinara sauce. You will need 3 - 5 good-sized garlic cloves, 3 large pieces of sundried tomatoes, 3 large (preferably extra large) eggs, the same fusili (rotini) pasta, and 1/3 of a pack of good bacon.
The prep work is the same as well. Slice and dice the vegetables, and sundried tomato, as in the previous recipe, and do the same with the sausage. You'll cut the bacon cross wise into 1/4" segments and then chop it up coarsely. All of the chopped vegetables, with the exception of the onion and garlic can be put in the same bowl. Keep the onion and garlic separate from each other because they'll be added to the mixture at different times during cooking. Crack open the eggs and whip together so they are consistently smooth.
Cooking:
Coat the bottom of the frying pan with about 3 tablespoons of extravirgin olive oil on medium heat. Once heated through, toss in the bacon and mix about making sure to separate as many of the pieces as possible. Once the bacon is crisp, but not burned, take it out of the pan and set aside. Drain oil and bacon grease from pan and wipe with paper towel.
Add about 5 tablespoon of extravergin olive oil to pan and return to heat. Toss in the sausage balls, and cook until they are browned, but not burned. Once done, remove from heat and set aside with the bacon.
Using remaining oil in pan toss in the vegetables, except onion and garlic, olives, sudried tomatos, and artichoke hearts. Cover pan. Check occasionally ans stir. Once brocolli starts becoming bright green, add the onions. Cover pan. Once onions begin to turn milky white, add the garlic and stir the heck out of the mixture. Cover pan. Once the garlic is soft and turning yellowish, but not brown, take the vegetables out of the pan and put aside.
Cook up the pasta according to the package directions. Once done, drain, and put back into pot. Reduce heat to medium. Gradually stir in the eggs a bit at a time, making sure to coat pasta completely. Once all eggs have been stirred into the pasta, cover the pot for about 3 minutes to cook the eggs further.
Combining
Gradually combine vegetables, sundried tomatoes, meatballs, and bacon into the pasta. Stir well for even distribution. Add 3 to 5 tablespoons of drained sliced black olives, and the same with the artichoke hearts. Stir well for even distribution. Remove from heat. Put desired amount in serving bowls, and sprinkle each with a handful of crumbled feta cheese.
Go and eat!
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Nice Thoughts For Crappy Weather
It looks like winter finally hit South Western Ontario. It has been blustering for the last 12-hours, and there is actually snow on the ground (not much, but enough to make it look like winter). I thought that instead of popping hadfulls of anti-depressants for the rest of the season, I'd post some spring and summer photos of Stratford. You can see what my little town looks like.
The court house at Ontario and Huron St.
The East side of Ontario St. down town.
Some kind of flowering fruit tree behind the court house.
In spring and summer, this is the view from my window.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Mediteranean Pasta Dinner For 2: Italian Version (With Leftovers For Lunch)
Ok this is a very easy recipe to prepare. I don't use the full list of items that I purchased. I'll use 1/2 of this, 2/3 of that and so on. I tend to use the rest of the ingredients as I experiment in my kitchen. There is another version of this recipe that doesn't use diced tomatoes or tomato sauce, and it is even faster to prepare. Stay tuned for that post: coming really soon.
Let's start with the really easy part: slicing, draining and straining.
Take out 4 or so artichoke heats. Cut them lengthwise into quarters, and then chop them up into decent sized pieces (enough to give a bit of a bite, but not to choke you). Set them aside in some sort of small container.
Rinse the heck out of the head of broccoli, and snap, or cut off about 6 -8 decent sized florets. Chop these as you did the artichoke and put them aside in a different container.
Do the same with the cauliflower (you shouldn't use more than 1/2 the head). Put in same container as broccoli.
Slice the green bell pepper open lengthwise, take out the seed part and the spongy white bits. Rinse under cold water, and slice lengthways into 1/4" strips. Chop it coarsely and put in same container as broccoli.
Slice the sausage into small meat-ball sized pieces. Place in skillet/frying pan that has about 5 table spoons of extra virgin olive oil in it already preheated over medium. Make sure to separate the sausage balls or they'll cook funny and take a bit longer. Cover, but keep watch over them as it's easy to burn them, so you might wish to lower the heat at this point.
Trim and peel, slice/chop the red onion while the sausage is doing its thing on the stove. (I do the onion last so that my house doesn't stink too much.) Put in small container separate from other veggies and cover to reduce smell.
Every now and then stir and check on the sausage. You'll know it's done when you cut one in two and it's not pink inside. Try to get the outside a little crisp and brown without burning it. Once it is done, remove from heat and scoop out into a separate container or microwave safe bowl... stick it in the micro, but don't turn it on just yet.
Now is the time when you should have a pot of boiling water handy. I usually set it on medium as I'm chopping and slicing, and crank it up to high once the sausage is done. If the water is boiling, toss in the pasta.
Quickly drain the frying pan/skillet of used oil, and put in the same amount of fresh. Add all of the veggies except the onion, stir them around to coat them with oil, and cover the pan. Stir a couple of times over 5 minutes. When the broccoli starts turning a vibrant green, throw in the onion and stir the whole shebang again a few times. Don't over cook the onion. It's done when it sarts to take on a slightly pale/whitish colour. Once that happens, take all the veggies off the heat and transfer to the sausage bowl that's in the microwave. Don't turn on the microwave though.
The pasta should take about 8 - 10 minutes to get ready, so you'll have to work fast here. You'll use about 1/3 to 1/2 of the can of diced tomatoes, rinsed please, put them back in the same pan as the vegetables were in (no worries about draining the oil this time). Stir them about, keeping the stove on medium low. Pour in about 1/3 to 1/2 of the jar of prepared marinara sauce, stir together and continue heating.
The pasta should be ready about now so drain it and put it back in the pot, but not on a hot element. Nuke the stuff that's in the microwave on 50% power for about 40 seconds: put it in the frying pan with the sauce and stir together well. (If you like sliced black olives which this recipe really does need, scoop out about 5 good tablespoons out of the can, and drain as much of the liquid from them as you do so. Put them in the pan and stir them up.)
Take the pan off the heat, and while it is cooling a bit, chop up a couple of handful-sized portions of feta cheese. Once this is done, add the artichoke hearts to the cooling pasta mixture. Place desired portion amount on plates and sprinkle the feta cheese over each portion. If you have some nice crusty bread, with unsalted room temperature butter, have some as an accompaniment.
Go and eat.
If anyone on the planet ever reads this, let me know what you think. Oh I nearly forgot to mention that you can add a small amount of really flavourful red wine to the sauce (buy some really cheap plonk and use maybe half a cup or so) as it's cooking. It'll really punch out the flavours of the meat and vegetables.
Let's start with the really easy part: slicing, draining and straining.
Take out 4 or so artichoke heats. Cut them lengthwise into quarters, and then chop them up into decent sized pieces (enough to give a bit of a bite, but not to choke you). Set them aside in some sort of small container.
Rinse the heck out of the head of broccoli, and snap, or cut off about 6 -8 decent sized florets. Chop these as you did the artichoke and put them aside in a different container.
Do the same with the cauliflower (you shouldn't use more than 1/2 the head). Put in same container as broccoli.
Slice the green bell pepper open lengthwise, take out the seed part and the spongy white bits. Rinse under cold water, and slice lengthways into 1/4" strips. Chop it coarsely and put in same container as broccoli.
Slice the sausage into small meat-ball sized pieces. Place in skillet/frying pan that has about 5 table spoons of extra virgin olive oil in it already preheated over medium. Make sure to separate the sausage balls or they'll cook funny and take a bit longer. Cover, but keep watch over them as it's easy to burn them, so you might wish to lower the heat at this point.
Trim and peel, slice/chop the red onion while the sausage is doing its thing on the stove. (I do the onion last so that my house doesn't stink too much.) Put in small container separate from other veggies and cover to reduce smell.
Every now and then stir and check on the sausage. You'll know it's done when you cut one in two and it's not pink inside. Try to get the outside a little crisp and brown without burning it. Once it is done, remove from heat and scoop out into a separate container or microwave safe bowl... stick it in the micro, but don't turn it on just yet.
Now is the time when you should have a pot of boiling water handy. I usually set it on medium as I'm chopping and slicing, and crank it up to high once the sausage is done. If the water is boiling, toss in the pasta.
Quickly drain the frying pan/skillet of used oil, and put in the same amount of fresh. Add all of the veggies except the onion, stir them around to coat them with oil, and cover the pan. Stir a couple of times over 5 minutes. When the broccoli starts turning a vibrant green, throw in the onion and stir the whole shebang again a few times. Don't over cook the onion. It's done when it sarts to take on a slightly pale/whitish colour. Once that happens, take all the veggies off the heat and transfer to the sausage bowl that's in the microwave. Don't turn on the microwave though.
The pasta should take about 8 - 10 minutes to get ready, so you'll have to work fast here. You'll use about 1/3 to 1/2 of the can of diced tomatoes, rinsed please, put them back in the same pan as the vegetables were in (no worries about draining the oil this time). Stir them about, keeping the stove on medium low. Pour in about 1/3 to 1/2 of the jar of prepared marinara sauce, stir together and continue heating.
The pasta should be ready about now so drain it and put it back in the pot, but not on a hot element. Nuke the stuff that's in the microwave on 50% power for about 40 seconds: put it in the frying pan with the sauce and stir together well. (If you like sliced black olives which this recipe really does need, scoop out about 5 good tablespoons out of the can, and drain as much of the liquid from them as you do so. Put them in the pan and stir them up.)
Take the pan off the heat, and while it is cooling a bit, chop up a couple of handful-sized portions of feta cheese. Once this is done, add the artichoke hearts to the cooling pasta mixture. Place desired portion amount on plates and sprinkle the feta cheese over each portion. If you have some nice crusty bread, with unsalted room temperature butter, have some as an accompaniment.
Go and eat.
If anyone on the planet ever reads this, let me know what you think. Oh I nearly forgot to mention that you can add a small amount of really flavourful red wine to the sauce (buy some really cheap plonk and use maybe half a cup or so) as it's cooking. It'll really punch out the flavours of the meat and vegetables.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Ingredients For A Really Cool And Filling Meditteranean Dinner For Two
Ok, I don't have time to list the recipe steps right now as I am once again heading to my parents' place for my mom's birthday. However, just because I'm a bit of a slouch getting this recipe completely posted, I'll list the ingredients here, and post the rest of the recipe tomorrow.
If you don't have the following ingredients, you will need:
1. small jar of marinated artichoke hearts. (about 4 or 5 whole hearts)
1. jar of prepared marinara pasta sauce.
1. large can of diced tomatoes.
1. small can of tomato paste.
1. small container of feta cheese.
1. small head of blroccoli florets.
1. small red onion.
1. small sweet red bell pepper.
1. very small head of cauliflower.
1. 8" link of sweet sausage, or 3 shorter ones.
2 to 3 cups of dry pasta, preferably fusili, or penne rigate.
All of this comes together really fast. Dinner can be ready in 20 to 30 minutes if you do your prep work all at once.
Stay tuned to see how all of this comes together. And it really is super tasty.
If you don't have the following ingredients, you will need:
1. small jar of marinated artichoke hearts. (about 4 or 5 whole hearts)
1. jar of prepared marinara pasta sauce.
1. large can of diced tomatoes.
1. small can of tomato paste.
1. small container of feta cheese.
1. small head of blroccoli florets.
1. small red onion.
1. small sweet red bell pepper.
1. very small head of cauliflower.
1. 8" link of sweet sausage, or 3 shorter ones.
2 to 3 cups of dry pasta, preferably fusili, or penne rigate.
All of this comes together really fast. Dinner can be ready in 20 to 30 minutes if you do your prep work all at once.
Stay tuned to see how all of this comes together. And it really is super tasty.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Recipes are coming up again soon: try artichoke hearts, black olives, and sundried tomatoes on for size.
I feel guilty that I haven't posted any new "Well Fed Writer" recipes lately. I cooked up another two which were very well received, by my partner and guests. They weren't anything special, but the ingredients, while unusual, were very inexpensive. With my strategic shopping method - basically menu planning a week ahead of time we get to eat three or four different dishes each 4 to 7 days. And with alternating leftovers, it's like something different for dinner every day. It's a taste-bud treat. All of the recipes leave enough for one lunch the next day, or the day after if properly stored in the fridge.
Before I go further with this though, I will give credit to whom credit is due: my older brother, Tony. He is the one who first came up with this recipe from "Eating Well" magazine about a dozen years ago. I've just taken it up a few notches over the years by experimenting and substituting here and there so that it now is a very hearty meal for 2, with leftovers. Ya gotta stretch that dollar these days, and I've been doing a lot of stretching for the past few years. I'm a master now.
Just to get you in the right mindset, buy the following ingredients for starters: 1small jar of marinated artichoke hearts (should be 4 in there), 1 can of pitted/sliced black olives, a pack of decent bacon (you'll) only need 1/3 of it for this recipe - the rest you'll put in zip lock freezer bags and freeze for later use. Find some sundried tomatoes. They're usually in specialty food sections of grocery stores, but you might have to ask around. If you can't find the sundried tomatoes, try a small jar of sundried tomato pesto. If you can't find either, well they're not crucial to this recipe. They just add a bit of an interesting tang to this concoction. If you have 2 or 3 relatively fresh large or extra large eggs in the fridge, that's great. Otherwise, splurge and buy a dozen of the least expensive ones. (The brown egg conspiracy is all an evil marketing ploy, so white eggs are fine.) I highly recommend about 2 & 1/2 cups of dry pasta (go with Rotini, sometimes called Fusili, as a backup you can use Penne Rigate but the eggs won't cook up as nicely on them as on the Fusili.) And for a garnish, a nice shredded, as opposed to grated, parmesan cheese, to your taste, is fantastic (If you know your cheeses as I do, asiago is a nice treat instead of trusty old parmesan. Also you could crumble a bit of Danish Blue or English Stilton on top, but only after you've mastered this super easy recipe.) And a wee bit of coarsely chopped parsley (fresh preferred - since you can dry the unused sprigs yourself in the microwave, crush them and store them for the next time and not pay something like a million dollars for a little spice jar worth). Oh I almost forgot: 3-5 cloves of garlic, 1 small red onion, and I do believe that's it.
If I have time this afternoon, I'll post the recipe by this evening, but this writer has an apartment to clean, go out and enjoy this gorgeous, crisp early December day, come home to wash dishes and make another el-cheapo pasta dinner (thanks to all Italians) for me and my bug.
If I wake up again at 5:00 am again, I'll post this recipe early tomorrow morning while having my coffee and smokes. (Hey what would a writer be without coffee and smokes?)
Before I go further with this though, I will give credit to whom credit is due: my older brother, Tony. He is the one who first came up with this recipe from "Eating Well" magazine about a dozen years ago. I've just taken it up a few notches over the years by experimenting and substituting here and there so that it now is a very hearty meal for 2, with leftovers. Ya gotta stretch that dollar these days, and I've been doing a lot of stretching for the past few years. I'm a master now.
Just to get you in the right mindset, buy the following ingredients for starters: 1small jar of marinated artichoke hearts (should be 4 in there), 1 can of pitted/sliced black olives, a pack of decent bacon (you'll) only need 1/3 of it for this recipe - the rest you'll put in zip lock freezer bags and freeze for later use. Find some sundried tomatoes. They're usually in specialty food sections of grocery stores, but you might have to ask around. If you can't find the sundried tomatoes, try a small jar of sundried tomato pesto. If you can't find either, well they're not crucial to this recipe. They just add a bit of an interesting tang to this concoction. If you have 2 or 3 relatively fresh large or extra large eggs in the fridge, that's great. Otherwise, splurge and buy a dozen of the least expensive ones. (The brown egg conspiracy is all an evil marketing ploy, so white eggs are fine.) I highly recommend about 2 & 1/2 cups of dry pasta (go with Rotini, sometimes called Fusili, as a backup you can use Penne Rigate but the eggs won't cook up as nicely on them as on the Fusili.) And for a garnish, a nice shredded, as opposed to grated, parmesan cheese, to your taste, is fantastic (If you know your cheeses as I do, asiago is a nice treat instead of trusty old parmesan. Also you could crumble a bit of Danish Blue or English Stilton on top, but only after you've mastered this super easy recipe.) And a wee bit of coarsely chopped parsley (fresh preferred - since you can dry the unused sprigs yourself in the microwave, crush them and store them for the next time and not pay something like a million dollars for a little spice jar worth). Oh I almost forgot: 3-5 cloves of garlic, 1 small red onion, and I do believe that's it.
If I have time this afternoon, I'll post the recipe by this evening, but this writer has an apartment to clean, go out and enjoy this gorgeous, crisp early December day, come home to wash dishes and make another el-cheapo pasta dinner (thanks to all Italians) for me and my bug.
If I wake up again at 5:00 am again, I'll post this recipe early tomorrow morning while having my coffee and smokes. (Hey what would a writer be without coffee and smokes?)
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Saturday: I'm up this early??
I haven't done any serious writing for the past few days. I think I mentioned in one of my previous posts that I get a case of creative burn-out if I work on something to the point of obsession, as was the case with "Storm Drain". However, that doesn't mean that I stop thinking of other projects. They're always with me, fermenting in my brain until a critical mass is reached and out they come. My subission piece for the Arts Council is just such a case. I initially wrote it about 6-months ago, but, as is often the case with material written during a hypomanic phase of my bipolar II condition, the work is terribly overwritten. I actually am too afraid to look at it for fear of it being nothing but a rant. Usually, though, I can find usable material in my hypomanic ramblings. It takes ruthless editing on my part. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.
Otherwise, everything has been going well. I've tested more recipes that will be posted shortly. They're really inexpensive and tasty, so get a shopping list going and try some of them out.
Otherwise, everything has been going well. I've tested more recipes that will be posted shortly. They're really inexpensive and tasty, so get a shopping list going and try some of them out.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Techno-stupid
OK. Can someone tell me how to stop following my own blog? I was trying to do the friend connect thing, and lo and behold I'm a member of my own audience.
Writer's Block?More Than Likely It's Burn-Out.
I didn't work on any of my projects both yesterday and today. No, it's not that I'm lazy, it's called writer's block by some in this profession. That's not the case with me. I call it life just getting in the way. I recently finished the piece for my mom's birthday. I was at it every day for about two weeks for 10-hours each day. Man I'm cross-eyed, and feeling burnt out. It happens to me sometimes when I really focus on a project and think of nothing else. I put all of my creative energy into it, and more often than not I forget to eat. I just drink Dr. Pepper and smoke instead.
I know I'll be at it again soon. I'm working on my application piece for the Ontario Arts Council. I hope to get a grant from them so that I can finish the research and write a long work. The grants are worth peanuts. But when you make peanuts, any little bit helps. I'll post the application piece once it's finished. I hope someone will read it and give me feedback. It's pretty graphic, but sets up a very, very riveting plot. Jeez, I hope I'll make kajillions of dollars on it internationally.... Seriously, I do hope for that. More importantly though, it's a compelling story, based on actual events in January 2009 through to November 2009. It deserves to be told. I'm good at this sort of stuff. ... Here's hoping!
I know I'll be at it again soon. I'm working on my application piece for the Ontario Arts Council. I hope to get a grant from them so that I can finish the research and write a long work. The grants are worth peanuts. But when you make peanuts, any little bit helps. I'll post the application piece once it's finished. I hope someone will read it and give me feedback. It's pretty graphic, but sets up a very, very riveting plot. Jeez, I hope I'll make kajillions of dollars on it internationally.... Seriously, I do hope for that. More importantly though, it's a compelling story, based on actual events in January 2009 through to November 2009. It deserves to be told. I'm good at this sort of stuff. ... Here's hoping!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Well Fed Writer's Comments
I just posted the final, edited version of "Storm Drain", the story I wrote for my mother's upcoming birthday. I think it's more focused than the original version. I cut a fair amount of descriptive text as I tend to over write that way. I also restructured the sentences into more active voice. I think it moves better as a result. If you're visiting my blog please leave comments on the two versions and let me know which you prefer.
Storm Drain: Final Version
By: Gaspar Bartko
I had that dream again last night.
It was raining and I was sitting in a large old open-ended cardboard packing box. I had dragged it under the cover of a bridge to get away from the rain, but it offered little shelter. The downspout from a storm drain on the bridge deck above me channelled the downpour and sent it falling in a spraying veil around the box. It seemed to be raining harder than it really was. I couldn’t move out of the wet because I was paralyzed, staring trance-like over the sodden summer grass and scrub that grew on the small plain before me.
Everything was sopping wet: the sky, the ground, the cardboard box that enclosed me. Humidity penetrated everywhere, and I was like a passive sponge soaking it all in. My hair, once blond, platinum blond from summer sun when I was a small boy, was grey. It was matted and plastered to my skull from the dampness and slid its unwashed, greasy way down to my shoulders. Where it parted around my face it revealed skin that had the ashen, jaundiced pallor of the terminally ill.
I was wearing layers of shirts made of navy and green tartan flannel, pants of industrial polyester twill, and somebody else’s old shoes. My clothes were not fresh or new. Everything was pilled and torn and damp. I had scavenged them all from dumpsters and the reject piles at the back of a Goodwill store. The layers had moulded themselves to my form over the years. Time, sweat and accumulated filth had reinforced them making them surprisingly stiff and strong. They had become my armour and my prison: keeping others out and keeping me in.
I had no family to speak of. We had drifted apart. I hadn’t had contact with any relatives or friends in years. I just had vague and dim memories of what it was like to share someone else’s company. But a passing voice would sometimes penetrate the shifting layers of my consciousness and trigger a moment of clarity. A fleeting and vivid memory would become tantalizingly real: a particularly touching moment from my early childhood in Czechoslovakia where I spent the first eight years of my life.
It was a blistering day in mid August. I could feel the heat of the blazing summer sun trying to penetrate the cool shade of the immensely old and tired apricot tree under which I sat. The tree grew in the middle of my grandparents’ dirt back yard, and, as with all ancient things, it surprised everyone in that it managed to renew itself each spring, and bear sweet fruit each summer. I was facing away from the house under that comforting tree, as it shaded my impossibly blond head from the sun. I was hugging my legs tightly against my chest with my chin resting on my little-boy knees. My eyes were staring trance-like into the infinity of the potato fields that formed the outer boundaries of my universe.
My mother’s voice softly sang to me from far, far away.
“Gaško! Kde si?”
I heard her footsteps coming lightly, dustily near. Their dry, airy sound gradually drew me back to my childhood present, now past, the nearer she came. Closer and closer until, finally, she was beside me.
“Tu si moj mily.”
She knelt closely by and wrapped her arms around me. All was soft and warm. The sounds of the small world of my grandparents’ yard gradually came back to me while I was in her safe embrace: crickets chirping, hens clucking, the dog barking. But an eerie premonition dawned in my child’s eyes just before I reached full awareness. Half a world, and a life time away, the same awareness dawned in my homeless eyes.
“Mamka! Kde si?” I called out from the sodden box.
I heard no comforting response from the rainy gloom.
The future cried out to the present and I was zapped into consciousness with a sweat-drenched jolt.
“Mother! Where are you?”
I had that dream again last night.
It was raining and I was sitting in a large old open-ended cardboard packing box. I had dragged it under the cover of a bridge to get away from the rain, but it offered little shelter. The downspout from a storm drain on the bridge deck above me channelled the downpour and sent it falling in a spraying veil around the box. It seemed to be raining harder than it really was. I couldn’t move out of the wet because I was paralyzed, staring trance-like over the sodden summer grass and scrub that grew on the small plain before me.
Everything was sopping wet: the sky, the ground, the cardboard box that enclosed me. Humidity penetrated everywhere, and I was like a passive sponge soaking it all in. My hair, once blond, platinum blond from summer sun when I was a small boy, was grey. It was matted and plastered to my skull from the dampness and slid its unwashed, greasy way down to my shoulders. Where it parted around my face it revealed skin that had the ashen, jaundiced pallor of the terminally ill.
I was wearing layers of shirts made of navy and green tartan flannel, pants of industrial polyester twill, and somebody else’s old shoes. My clothes were not fresh or new. Everything was pilled and torn and damp. I had scavenged them all from dumpsters and the reject piles at the back of a Goodwill store. The layers had moulded themselves to my form over the years. Time, sweat and accumulated filth had reinforced them making them surprisingly stiff and strong. They had become my armour and my prison: keeping others out and keeping me in.
I had no family to speak of. We had drifted apart. I hadn’t had contact with any relatives or friends in years. I just had vague and dim memories of what it was like to share someone else’s company. But a passing voice would sometimes penetrate the shifting layers of my consciousness and trigger a moment of clarity. A fleeting and vivid memory would become tantalizingly real: a particularly touching moment from my early childhood in Czechoslovakia where I spent the first eight years of my life.
It was a blistering day in mid August. I could feel the heat of the blazing summer sun trying to penetrate the cool shade of the immensely old and tired apricot tree under which I sat. The tree grew in the middle of my grandparents’ dirt back yard, and, as with all ancient things, it surprised everyone in that it managed to renew itself each spring, and bear sweet fruit each summer. I was facing away from the house under that comforting tree, as it shaded my impossibly blond head from the sun. I was hugging my legs tightly against my chest with my chin resting on my little-boy knees. My eyes were staring trance-like into the infinity of the potato fields that formed the outer boundaries of my universe.
My mother’s voice softly sang to me from far, far away.
“Gaško! Kde si?”
I heard her footsteps coming lightly, dustily near. Their dry, airy sound gradually drew me back to my childhood present, now past, the nearer she came. Closer and closer until, finally, she was beside me.
“Tu si moj mily.”
She knelt closely by and wrapped her arms around me. All was soft and warm. The sounds of the small world of my grandparents’ yard gradually came back to me while I was in her safe embrace: crickets chirping, hens clucking, the dog barking. But an eerie premonition dawned in my child’s eyes just before I reached full awareness. Half a world, and a life time away, the same awareness dawned in my homeless eyes.
“Mamka! Kde si?” I called out from the sodden box.
I heard no comforting response from the rainy gloom.
The future cried out to the present and I was zapped into consciousness with a sweat-drenched jolt.
“Mother! Where are you?”
Friday, November 27, 2009
A Visit With My Parents: Conclusion
I've been back in Stratford for a couple of hours now. My visit to my parents turned out to be very nice. Generally visits with them are quite exhausting, but not this time. Yes I brought my laundry as usual, as well as my grocery list. But what didn't happen was the offers of my mom to do basically everything for me. I realize that the offers are made out of love, but I am an adult after all and can do things for myself. Perhaps gentle winds of change are blowing at my folks' place. I truly appreciate using their washer and dryer, and their car to run around London and do my errands. Cool. And I still appreciate mom's care packages. They really help this cash-starved writer out. But the nicest part happened as my dad dropped me off at my place.
"When are you coming again?" He asked.
"The week after next," I replied.
"Good. It will be nice to see you."
He helped bring my groceries and clean laundry to the elevator, and he was off back to London.
Yes. It was a nice visit.
"When are you coming again?" He asked.
"The week after next," I replied.
"Good. It will be nice to see you."
He helped bring my groceries and clean laundry to the elevator, and he was off back to London.
Yes. It was a nice visit.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
A Visit With My Parents
I love my parents. They're great. They've seen me commit countless stupidities, and still they haven't disowned me. You see, I can be a bit too much to handle sometimes. It's just me. I don't purposely go out to be an idiot, but life happens and idiocy does too.
I had a nice chat about nothing in particular with my dad on the way from Stratford to London: it's about 72km one way. No sooner had I walked in the door than mom asks if I'm hungry. I look thin. I really should eat something. I told her no, that I ate before dad picked me up. She wouldn't give... I have a secret weapon in this kind of situation. It's called Winners & Homesense. I said we should go. All thoughts of food evaporated and we went window shopping. That's kind of it: just another ordinary day. I'm taking a break from writing until tomorrow evening. I'm still not happy with the ending to "Storm Drain". If anyone reads this... make your way to that short, short story and let me know how the ending feels to you.
I had a nice chat about nothing in particular with my dad on the way from Stratford to London: it's about 72km one way. No sooner had I walked in the door than mom asks if I'm hungry. I look thin. I really should eat something. I told her no, that I ate before dad picked me up. She wouldn't give... I have a secret weapon in this kind of situation. It's called Winners & Homesense. I said we should go. All thoughts of food evaporated and we went window shopping. That's kind of it: just another ordinary day. I'm taking a break from writing until tomorrow evening. I'm still not happy with the ending to "Storm Drain". If anyone reads this... make your way to that short, short story and let me know how the ending feels to you.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Storm Drain
Storm Drain
By: Gaspar Bartko
Copyright Gaspar Bartko 2009
In Honour of My Mother’s Birthday.
I had that dream again.
It was raining and I was sitting in a large old open-ended cardboard packing box. Even though I had dragged the box under the cover of a bridge to get away from the rain, it offered little shelter. The downspout from a storm drain channelled the water from the bridge deck above me and sent it falling in a spraying torrent on and around the box making it seem it was raining harder than it really was. I couldn’t move out of the wet. I just sat there in a trance looking over the miles of sodden summer grass and scrub that grew on the flood plain of the river.
Everything was sopping wet: the sky, the ground, the cardboard cube around me. The humidity penetrated everywhere and I was a passive sponge, soaking it all in. My hair, once blond, platinum blond from summer sun when I was a small boy, was grey. It was matted and plastered to my skull from the dampness and slid its unwashed, greasy way down to my shoulders. It parted over my face revealing skin that had the ashen, jaundiced pallor of the terminally ill or the terminally drunk.
I was wearing layers of shirts made of navy-green flannel, pants of industrial polyester twill, and somebody else’s old shoes. Everything was pilled and torn and damp. There was no fresh newness about my clothes for everything was gathered from dumpsters and the reject piles at the back of the Goodwill store. Over the years the layers of cloth had moulded themselves to my form. Time, sweat and accumulated filth had reinforced them making them surprisingly stiff and strong. The clothes had become my armour and my prison: keeping others out and keeping me in.
I had no family to speak of. We had drifted apart. I hadn’t had contact with any relatives or friends in years. I just had memories of sensations of what it was like to be in someone else’s company. Sometimes, though, while dumpster diving for clothes, or waiting apathetically in a soup-kitchen line, a passing voice would penetrate the shifting layers of my consciousness and trigger a moment of clarity. A fleeting and vivid memory would become tantalizingly real.
I would remember a particularly special time in Czechoslovakia where I was born, and spent the first eight years of my life. It was August and I could feel the heat of the blazing summer sun trying to penetrate the cool shade of the immensely tired and old apricot tree under which I sat. The tree grew in the middle of my grandparents’ dirt back yard and, as all ancient things, surprised everyone as it managed to renew itself each spring, and bear sweet fruit each summer. I was facing away from the house under that comforting tree, as it shaded my impossibly blond head from the sun. I was hugging my legs tightly against my chest with my chin resting on my little-boy knees. My eyes were staring trance-like into the infinity of the potato fields that were the outer boundaries of my universe.
My mother’s voice softly sang to me from seemingly far away.
“Gaško, kde si?”
I heard her footsteps coming lightly, dustily near. The dry airy sound gradually drew me back to my childhood present, now past, the nearer she came. Closer and closer. Finally she was beside me.
“Tu si moj mily.”
All was soft and warm as she knelt closely by and wrapped her arms around me. The sounds of the small world of my grandparents’ yard slowly came to me: crickets chirping, hens clucking, the dog barking at the other end of the yard.
An eerie awareness dawned in my little-boy eyes, as I sat wrapped in my mother’s arms under the apricot tree. And across the Atlantic, sitting in an enveloping and sopping cardboard mess, the same awareness dawned in my homeless eyes: past meets future meets past.
“Mamichka kde si?” I called out from the sodden box.
There was no reassuring answer to be heard in the rainy gloom.
Future meets present.
I awoke with a sweat-drenched jolt.
“Mother where are you?”
By: Gaspar Bartko
Copyright Gaspar Bartko 2009
In Honour of My Mother’s Birthday.
I had that dream again.
It was raining and I was sitting in a large old open-ended cardboard packing box. Even though I had dragged the box under the cover of a bridge to get away from the rain, it offered little shelter. The downspout from a storm drain channelled the water from the bridge deck above me and sent it falling in a spraying torrent on and around the box making it seem it was raining harder than it really was. I couldn’t move out of the wet. I just sat there in a trance looking over the miles of sodden summer grass and scrub that grew on the flood plain of the river.
Everything was sopping wet: the sky, the ground, the cardboard cube around me. The humidity penetrated everywhere and I was a passive sponge, soaking it all in. My hair, once blond, platinum blond from summer sun when I was a small boy, was grey. It was matted and plastered to my skull from the dampness and slid its unwashed, greasy way down to my shoulders. It parted over my face revealing skin that had the ashen, jaundiced pallor of the terminally ill or the terminally drunk.
I was wearing layers of shirts made of navy-green flannel, pants of industrial polyester twill, and somebody else’s old shoes. Everything was pilled and torn and damp. There was no fresh newness about my clothes for everything was gathered from dumpsters and the reject piles at the back of the Goodwill store. Over the years the layers of cloth had moulded themselves to my form. Time, sweat and accumulated filth had reinforced them making them surprisingly stiff and strong. The clothes had become my armour and my prison: keeping others out and keeping me in.
I had no family to speak of. We had drifted apart. I hadn’t had contact with any relatives or friends in years. I just had memories of sensations of what it was like to be in someone else’s company. Sometimes, though, while dumpster diving for clothes, or waiting apathetically in a soup-kitchen line, a passing voice would penetrate the shifting layers of my consciousness and trigger a moment of clarity. A fleeting and vivid memory would become tantalizingly real.
I would remember a particularly special time in Czechoslovakia where I was born, and spent the first eight years of my life. It was August and I could feel the heat of the blazing summer sun trying to penetrate the cool shade of the immensely tired and old apricot tree under which I sat. The tree grew in the middle of my grandparents’ dirt back yard and, as all ancient things, surprised everyone as it managed to renew itself each spring, and bear sweet fruit each summer. I was facing away from the house under that comforting tree, as it shaded my impossibly blond head from the sun. I was hugging my legs tightly against my chest with my chin resting on my little-boy knees. My eyes were staring trance-like into the infinity of the potato fields that were the outer boundaries of my universe.
My mother’s voice softly sang to me from seemingly far away.
“Gaško, kde si?”
I heard her footsteps coming lightly, dustily near. The dry airy sound gradually drew me back to my childhood present, now past, the nearer she came. Closer and closer. Finally she was beside me.
“Tu si moj mily.”
All was soft and warm as she knelt closely by and wrapped her arms around me. The sounds of the small world of my grandparents’ yard slowly came to me: crickets chirping, hens clucking, the dog barking at the other end of the yard.
An eerie awareness dawned in my little-boy eyes, as I sat wrapped in my mother’s arms under the apricot tree. And across the Atlantic, sitting in an enveloping and sopping cardboard mess, the same awareness dawned in my homeless eyes: past meets future meets past.
“Mamichka kde si?” I called out from the sodden box.
There was no reassuring answer to be heard in the rainy gloom.
Future meets present.
I awoke with a sweat-drenched jolt.
“Mother where are you?”
It's like being in Vancouver
I woke up this morning in a bit of a fog. I managed to down some coffee, which on an empty stomach is not a good idea. I looked outside and saw nothing but low clouds and rain. Man it reminds me so much of winters in Vancouver: depressing. However, I'll soldier on and finish editing mom's birthday short story and see what I come up with.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Trials and Tribulations: self-editing is hell
I finally got off my duff at about 3:00 pm today to have a second look at a short, very short, story I'm writing for my mother as a birthday gift. Why don't I buy her something? Probably because I'm as poor as a church mouse, and would rather eat.
I formatted the story in triple space to make it easier to write in my comments and such. Holy s--t, I had so many deletions and rephrasings that I deleted the whole thing and re-wrote it from scratch. And I'm glad I did too. The new version reads much better (I tend toward melodramatic overwriting)and it makes much more sense structurally. I'll post it once it's done. Wish me luck in finishin by Dec 10th.
I formatted the story in triple space to make it easier to write in my comments and such. Holy s--t, I had so many deletions and rephrasings that I deleted the whole thing and re-wrote it from scratch. And I'm glad I did too. The new version reads much better (I tend toward melodramatic overwriting)and it makes much more sense structurally. I'll post it once it's done. Wish me luck in finishin by Dec 10th.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Putting Out The Fire With Gasoline
Putting Out The Fire With Gasoline
By: Gaspar Bartko
© Gaspar Bartko 2009
“Sell! What else can I sell?”
The question burned rubber as it raced around in my brain.
“Jesus Christ, just another hundred bucks and I’ll be fine. Fuck! What else is there?”
I desperately rifled through my stuff again to hunt down anything that I thought might be of value.
I inwardly cheered as I pounced on my antique Tiffany cigarette case. It was 14kt gold-lined sterling silver. I didn’t care that it wasn’t mine in the first place - I had pilfered it over 30 years ago from a guy I lived with in Montreal: my supposed boyfriend, Jacques, who at any given time was either too drunk to stand, or too busy fucking everybody else but me.
“Thanks for the good times, pal.”
I figured I deserved that little trinket for services rendered and it seemed appropriate to get some cash for it.
“But shit, is it enough? How much can I get for it? There’s no market for stuff like THIS in this sleepy town. Christ, does anyone here even know what Tiffany’s is?”
More stuff. I had to get more stuff. Something, anything to pawn. I needed more money. I scanned the room frantically. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw it on top of my dresser: a black leather presentation box embossed with a silver disk. My watch.
“Yeah, that has to be worth something.”
It was a gorgeous Movado my brother, Tony, had given me for Christmas back in 2005. He had blown me away with it.
It had been a dazzling mid-September afternoon: a perfect West-Coast day. The temperature had hovered around the low 20s and with the sun low in the sky the soft light lent its golden glow to everything it touched. We were driving to his place on Harwood Street, right smack dab in the middle of Vancouver’s gay West End. Yes, my brother, a straight guy was living in the middle of 60-thousand fags. At some point during the drive I casually mentioned to him how I was slowly, very slowly saving up for a Movado.
I told him how I had carried a torch for that watch ever since I first saw it in a full-page ad in GQ Magazine 25 years ago: the “Museum” watch. Man it was beautiful. I never seriously thought I’d have one. It was a case of lost hope and lost cause, but, God, I wanted one. Unknown to me, the bugger went out the next day and bought me one. He kept that little secret for four months biding his time until the right moment to give it to me came along. That moment came one day during the Holidays when he dropped me off at my place in New Westminster. He grabbed my wrist just as I was getting out of the car and thrust a crinkly plastic bag in my hand.
“Here you go. Just a little something to remember this day by,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”
I was trembling by the time I got up to my apartment. Was it what I hoped it was? The compact square bulkiness in the bag was about the right size. Oh please, God, don’t let it be just another package of good intentions. Tony’s track record of birthday and Christmas presents to me was questionable. There was that iridescent burgundy-green disco shirt in ’89, followed by a spectacular 150-piece tool set sometime later. Over the years I had learned to smile and open my eyes a little wider with mock anticipation as I unwrapped another one of his mystery gifts to me.
“Hey dude, thanks. This is great,” is what I’d been saying to him for the past I don’t know how many years.
I gently placed the box on top of the computer work station. It stayed there for three weeks. I went from hypomanic anticipation to deeply depressed disappointment and back again for days every time I glanced at the gift.
The phone rang one evening.
“Did you open it yet?” It was my brother.
“Uh, no,” I said sheepishly.
“What?” came back his crestfallen voice. “Aw, Jer, you gotta open it.”
I figured his anticipation of my reaction was probably on par with my trepidation. I caved. I cradled the phone in the crook of my neck and reached for the gift.
I can’t remember which jeweler’s wrappings enveloped the box in magic. Probably some place in Richmond Centre that catered to a wealthy Asian clientele. One thing I’ve got to say about my brother at that time. He made a ton of money, and he knew where to shop.
“Shit! It is, it is, it is…a Movado!”
I’m not sure if that was really me squealing like a little girl or if it was just my imagination. It didn’t matter. The fact was that I had wanted one of these beauties for so long and now there it was nestled in its leather case. The watch was stunning simplicity in stainless steel and 18k gold. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I had never owned anything so beautiful. I just stood there absolutely mesmerized by this work of art that my big brother had given me with all his heart.
“Thank you, Tony,” was all I said. I hope to this day it was enough.
A sudden awareness of traffic noises and people arguing instantly brought me back from memories past.
“I’ll give you sixty for the case, and forty for the watch,” said the snake behind the counter at the pawn shop. My heart caved in.
“I’ll take it,” I agreed robotically.
I knew there was no bargaining room. This was the last stop. I had reached my destination: a place called, “Desperation.” Yet somewhere deep in my mind an ember of pleasure began to glow. Its heat was the consummation of my hypomanic frenzy and frantic need. I was momentarily consumed by fire as soon as I touched the cash. But the feeling didn’t last. Pseudo-sexual as it was, there was very little afterglow. A little dejected, I put the money in my wallet and left the store.
Fifteen minutes later as I was on my way home, the race started up again. The stench of burning rubber filled my brain.
“Money! I need more fucking money!”
By: Gaspar Bartko
© Gaspar Bartko 2009
“Sell! What else can I sell?”
The question burned rubber as it raced around in my brain.
“Jesus Christ, just another hundred bucks and I’ll be fine. Fuck! What else is there?”
I desperately rifled through my stuff again to hunt down anything that I thought might be of value.
I inwardly cheered as I pounced on my antique Tiffany cigarette case. It was 14kt gold-lined sterling silver. I didn’t care that it wasn’t mine in the first place - I had pilfered it over 30 years ago from a guy I lived with in Montreal: my supposed boyfriend, Jacques, who at any given time was either too drunk to stand, or too busy fucking everybody else but me.
“Thanks for the good times, pal.”
I figured I deserved that little trinket for services rendered and it seemed appropriate to get some cash for it.
“But shit, is it enough? How much can I get for it? There’s no market for stuff like THIS in this sleepy town. Christ, does anyone here even know what Tiffany’s is?”
More stuff. I had to get more stuff. Something, anything to pawn. I needed more money. I scanned the room frantically. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw it on top of my dresser: a black leather presentation box embossed with a silver disk. My watch.
“Yeah, that has to be worth something.”
It was a gorgeous Movado my brother, Tony, had given me for Christmas back in 2005. He had blown me away with it.
It had been a dazzling mid-September afternoon: a perfect West-Coast day. The temperature had hovered around the low 20s and with the sun low in the sky the soft light lent its golden glow to everything it touched. We were driving to his place on Harwood Street, right smack dab in the middle of Vancouver’s gay West End. Yes, my brother, a straight guy was living in the middle of 60-thousand fags. At some point during the drive I casually mentioned to him how I was slowly, very slowly saving up for a Movado.
I told him how I had carried a torch for that watch ever since I first saw it in a full-page ad in GQ Magazine 25 years ago: the “Museum” watch. Man it was beautiful. I never seriously thought I’d have one. It was a case of lost hope and lost cause, but, God, I wanted one. Unknown to me, the bugger went out the next day and bought me one. He kept that little secret for four months biding his time until the right moment to give it to me came along. That moment came one day during the Holidays when he dropped me off at my place in New Westminster. He grabbed my wrist just as I was getting out of the car and thrust a crinkly plastic bag in my hand.
“Here you go. Just a little something to remember this day by,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”
I was trembling by the time I got up to my apartment. Was it what I hoped it was? The compact square bulkiness in the bag was about the right size. Oh please, God, don’t let it be just another package of good intentions. Tony’s track record of birthday and Christmas presents to me was questionable. There was that iridescent burgundy-green disco shirt in ’89, followed by a spectacular 150-piece tool set sometime later. Over the years I had learned to smile and open my eyes a little wider with mock anticipation as I unwrapped another one of his mystery gifts to me.
“Hey dude, thanks. This is great,” is what I’d been saying to him for the past I don’t know how many years.
I gently placed the box on top of the computer work station. It stayed there for three weeks. I went from hypomanic anticipation to deeply depressed disappointment and back again for days every time I glanced at the gift.
The phone rang one evening.
“Did you open it yet?” It was my brother.
“Uh, no,” I said sheepishly.
“What?” came back his crestfallen voice. “Aw, Jer, you gotta open it.”
I figured his anticipation of my reaction was probably on par with my trepidation. I caved. I cradled the phone in the crook of my neck and reached for the gift.
I can’t remember which jeweler’s wrappings enveloped the box in magic. Probably some place in Richmond Centre that catered to a wealthy Asian clientele. One thing I’ve got to say about my brother at that time. He made a ton of money, and he knew where to shop.
“Shit! It is, it is, it is…a Movado!”
I’m not sure if that was really me squealing like a little girl or if it was just my imagination. It didn’t matter. The fact was that I had wanted one of these beauties for so long and now there it was nestled in its leather case. The watch was stunning simplicity in stainless steel and 18k gold. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I had never owned anything so beautiful. I just stood there absolutely mesmerized by this work of art that my big brother had given me with all his heart.
“Thank you, Tony,” was all I said. I hope to this day it was enough.
A sudden awareness of traffic noises and people arguing instantly brought me back from memories past.
“I’ll give you sixty for the case, and forty for the watch,” said the snake behind the counter at the pawn shop. My heart caved in.
“I’ll take it,” I agreed robotically.
I knew there was no bargaining room. This was the last stop. I had reached my destination: a place called, “Desperation.” Yet somewhere deep in my mind an ember of pleasure began to glow. Its heat was the consummation of my hypomanic frenzy and frantic need. I was momentarily consumed by fire as soon as I touched the cash. But the feeling didn’t last. Pseudo-sexual as it was, there was very little afterglow. A little dejected, I put the money in my wallet and left the store.
Fifteen minutes later as I was on my way home, the race started up again. The stench of burning rubber filled my brain.
“Money! I need more fucking money!”
$6.15 Feeds Two
It has been a busy day so I hope I get this right. Here's the one-time grocery purchase for the ingredients I've used.
Grocery List
900g bag of Fusili-type pasta......$1.59
796ml/20oz can of diced tomatoes...$1.30
700ml jar pasta sauce..............$1.59
400g pre-packaged shredded cheese..$7.50
1-head of broccolli................$1.70
1 med/lg carrot....................$0.30
0.4kg boneless pork loin chops.....$4.08
TOTAL.............................$18.06
What I Used
1/4 of the Fusili..................$1.02
1/2 can of tomatoes................$0.66
1/3 of the pasta sauce.............$0.53
1/10 of the packaged cheese........$0.75
1/2 of the broccoli................$0.85
1 whole carrot.....................$0.30
1/2 of the pork....................$2.04
Total..............................$5.62
Preparation
1. I put water in my vegetable steamer and set the water to a medium boil.
2. I put enough olive oil to thinly cover bottom of fry pan, set on medium.
3. I cut off the broccoli florets and put aside in a small bowl.
4. I cut the carrot into 3 sort of equal lengths.
5. I cut each length down the middle.
6. I cut the sliced carrot into 1/4" pieces and put aside with broccoli.
7. Slice pork loin chops into strips to suit your taste/mouth.
Cooking
1. Put veggies into steamer and cover with lid.
2. Put pork into pan, spreading evenly along bottom, cover with lid.
3. Check veggies for desired tenderness/crunchiness ratio.
4. Stir pork occasionally until cooked through.
5. Put cooked veggies aside and cover to keep warm.
6. Top-up veggie water and put on burner on hi.
7. Once pork is done put aside and cover to keep warm.
8. Put diced tomatoes and pasta sauce in pan used for pork, mix well, simmer on med-low.
8. Once veggie water is boiling add pasta and cook for 8 mins.
9. Once pasta is cooked,drain.
Serving
1. Divide pasta into equal portions and put on plate.
2. Put still-warm veggies on pasta, spreading them around a bit.
3. Divide pork into equal portions and put on top of veggies.
4. Divide cheese into equal portions and sprinkle top of pork/veggie mixture.
You're done.
Grocery List
900g bag of Fusili-type pasta......$1.59
796ml/20oz can of diced tomatoes...$1.30
700ml jar pasta sauce..............$1.59
400g pre-packaged shredded cheese..$7.50
1-head of broccolli................$1.70
1 med/lg carrot....................$0.30
0.4kg boneless pork loin chops.....$4.08
TOTAL.............................$18.06
What I Used
1/4 of the Fusili..................$1.02
1/2 can of tomatoes................$0.66
1/3 of the pasta sauce.............$0.53
1/10 of the packaged cheese........$0.75
1/2 of the broccoli................$0.85
1 whole carrot.....................$0.30
1/2 of the pork....................$2.04
Total..............................$5.62
Preparation
1. I put water in my vegetable steamer and set the water to a medium boil.
2. I put enough olive oil to thinly cover bottom of fry pan, set on medium.
3. I cut off the broccoli florets and put aside in a small bowl.
4. I cut the carrot into 3 sort of equal lengths.
5. I cut each length down the middle.
6. I cut the sliced carrot into 1/4" pieces and put aside with broccoli.
7. Slice pork loin chops into strips to suit your taste/mouth.
Cooking
1. Put veggies into steamer and cover with lid.
2. Put pork into pan, spreading evenly along bottom, cover with lid.
3. Check veggies for desired tenderness/crunchiness ratio.
4. Stir pork occasionally until cooked through.
5. Put cooked veggies aside and cover to keep warm.
6. Top-up veggie water and put on burner on hi.
7. Once pork is done put aside and cover to keep warm.
8. Put diced tomatoes and pasta sauce in pan used for pork, mix well, simmer on med-low.
8. Once veggie water is boiling add pasta and cook for 8 mins.
9. Once pasta is cooked,drain.
Serving
1. Divide pasta into equal portions and put on plate.
2. Put still-warm veggies on pasta, spreading them around a bit.
3. Divide pork into equal portions and put on top of veggies.
4. Divide cheese into equal portions and sprinkle top of pork/veggie mixture.
You're done.
Saturday Night's Dinner
This past Saturday night's dinner was a hit once again. My partner Dave said it was really, really good. I'd like to thank the Italian nation once again for inventing pasta, my mom for her lessons in frugality, and myself for having a culinary imagination.
The total cost: $5.62 for feeding TWO, after calculation. And we were really stuffed! The recipe is coming later today.
The total cost: $5.62 for feeding TWO, after calculation. And we were really stuffed! The recipe is coming later today.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Starving Artist/Writer Types
I have wanted to write professionally since my early teens. It wasn't, however, until I started edging closer and closer to my 50's - not quite there yet - that I decided to say, "To hell with everything corporate. I'm going to do what I really want." I sold basically everything I owned, and relocated to the beautiful, small, and artsy city of Stratford, Ontario, from Calgary, Alberta.
It is this writer's dream. I found a great little apartment in a building that was put up in the 40's: right across a section of the river called Victoria Lake. The lake is bordered on both sides by really nice park-land, which, over the crowns of maple and willow trees, gives to a view of roof tops of large century homes and the spires of St. Joseph's Catholic Church to the left, and St. James' Anglican Church more to the centre of the field of vision permitted through my fourth-floor windows. It's an inspirational view, and my writing has begun to flourish. But not everything is as idyllic as the view might suggest.
One issue has plagued me since I moved here. Money. How am I supposed to eat well, and not start relying on food banks, without breaking the bank? It has been a struggle in that respect. I think I've come up with a strategic solution though, thanks in part to my own creativity, my mom's shopping accumen, and the Italian People for inventing pasta. I did not want to starve! And now I don't. I have become a well fed writer on a budget.
Stay tuned and discover how I manage to stay well fed, pay my rent and other assorted bills, post my writing, and still manage to do somewhat better than just tread water.
It is this writer's dream. I found a great little apartment in a building that was put up in the 40's: right across a section of the river called Victoria Lake. The lake is bordered on both sides by really nice park-land, which, over the crowns of maple and willow trees, gives to a view of roof tops of large century homes and the spires of St. Joseph's Catholic Church to the left, and St. James' Anglican Church more to the centre of the field of vision permitted through my fourth-floor windows. It's an inspirational view, and my writing has begun to flourish. But not everything is as idyllic as the view might suggest.
One issue has plagued me since I moved here. Money. How am I supposed to eat well, and not start relying on food banks, without breaking the bank? It has been a struggle in that respect. I think I've come up with a strategic solution though, thanks in part to my own creativity, my mom's shopping accumen, and the Italian People for inventing pasta. I did not want to starve! And now I don't. I have become a well fed writer on a budget.
Stay tuned and discover how I manage to stay well fed, pay my rent and other assorted bills, post my writing, and still manage to do somewhat better than just tread water.
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