New Year’s Resolutions are always tricky. I am reminded by my high school friend Gina’s advice of “aim low to avoid disappointment”. Like all good advice, I wish I followed it more often. Instead, I’ve generally focused on tangible tasks (“finish my thesis”) or process-oriented resolutions (“to eat more healthy food” or “to exercise more”). Those ones are easy (well, finishing my thesis wasn’t, but that was due to powers out of my grasp at the end). Generally, you just eat more vegetables, and go for an occasional run, and you feel like you’ve accomplished your task by the end of January. I’ve always felt like I was almost cheating when I made those resolutions.
Due to this darned influenza, I’ve had an entire evening to come up with some good ones. And, needless to say, I am no closer to coming up with some grand, over-arching concept with which to frame my 2008 than I was this morning. There are the obvious ones, but since I do intend to start playing soccer again and possibly joining a swim team, that’s cheating. Same with publishing another paper or two. Turning 30 will happen no matter what I resolve, and taking it with dignity is perhaps so unlikely as to be out of the question and not worth my breath resolving. In general, I’d like to be a nicer and better person – but, again, that shouldn’t require a resolution. It requires me keeping the snark to myself. Which sounds easier than it is. Particularly early in the morning.
And my crowning thought of reducing my carbon footprint seems next to impossible, considering I’m flying to Manaus via Sao Paulo in a week or so. It requires an awful lot of compact fluorescent lights to compensate for that one.
So I give up on the resolutions. When asked, I will lapse to the answer of ‘I couldn’t come up with anything particularly brilliant or witty’. Which is true. Instead I hope to ring in the New Year asleep, allowing my immune system to finish off the last remnants of the flu virus. It gives me the chance to start 2008 well-rested and with a freshly-energized set of antibodies. Free of cheap resolutions and bad hangovers. (And with a lame social life that, really, can only get better... hmmm... there might be a resolution in that...)
Good night, happy new year and all the best,
Delphine.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Holiday Travels (Part II, or How not to spend Christmas… or Why the flu shot doesn’t work…)
Perhaps my title has given away the punch line. The day after I arrived in Rhode Island for my four day, fleeting Christmas visit to the parental units, I started to cough. The next day was Christmas, and I woke up with a full-out flu - the real thing: nasty muscle aches, fever, cough, congestion, headache, the whole nine yards. This all despite a flu shot. There’s also the coincidence that I seem to get sick every time I visit my mother, but I’ll choose to ignore that one...
My state didn’t really affect the Farmer Family Christmas plans – we’re quite devoid of traditions, aside from stockings, my father’s grumblings about the size of the Christmas tree, and late-morning present-opening. But I was unable to make the persimmon pudding cake I had planned on, and my mother had to cook the winter squash, which she’d never done before (she did a very fine job with both recipes. Though I would have added herbs to the squash… but my mother’s lack of fresh herbs and complete absence of garlic from the house is a different matter). More than that, my father was going to be alone in drinking red wine for dinner.
I made it to the living room for the annual stocking and prezzie opening. Highlights? My brother gave my mother a recycled-metal piece of art: a rather clever crab made of old horseshoes, giving no doubt as to the intended species. My brother received numerous books on the coming apocalypse (climate, oil, politics) with the delight and enthusiasm only a cynical lawyer could have on those subjects. My father reserved his usual grinchy comments as he sat on his spiffy new rocking chair. And I couldn’t be happier with a new selection of cookbooks (The Muffin Book was particularly amusing, and the accompanying floppy silicone muffin pan viewed great interest – with slightly rolling eyes, I was obliged to put on my chemist hat and explained that it wouldn’t melt in the oven), novels and the DVD collection of the BBC’s Planet Earth.
I’ll spare the details of five days spent in bed. I read a lot of books. The Abstinence Teacher by Tom Perrotta was quite excellent – funny, well-written and an interesting commentary on the role of born-again Christians and the American education system (a high school health teacher is forced to teach an abstinence-only curriculum while she battles with the local churches on post-soccer-game prayer).
So I managed to finally get on a plane and home yesterday. Still a little battered from the flu, and frustrated by having to miss the New Year’s festivities, but at least I have a bit of time to come up with appropriate resolutions – one of which will be not to bother with next year’s flu shot…
My state didn’t really affect the Farmer Family Christmas plans – we’re quite devoid of traditions, aside from stockings, my father’s grumblings about the size of the Christmas tree, and late-morning present-opening. But I was unable to make the persimmon pudding cake I had planned on, and my mother had to cook the winter squash, which she’d never done before (she did a very fine job with both recipes. Though I would have added herbs to the squash… but my mother’s lack of fresh herbs and complete absence of garlic from the house is a different matter). More than that, my father was going to be alone in drinking red wine for dinner.
I made it to the living room for the annual stocking and prezzie opening. Highlights? My brother gave my mother a recycled-metal piece of art: a rather clever crab made of old horseshoes, giving no doubt as to the intended species. My brother received numerous books on the coming apocalypse (climate, oil, politics) with the delight and enthusiasm only a cynical lawyer could have on those subjects. My father reserved his usual grinchy comments as he sat on his spiffy new rocking chair. And I couldn’t be happier with a new selection of cookbooks (The Muffin Book was particularly amusing, and the accompanying floppy silicone muffin pan viewed great interest – with slightly rolling eyes, I was obliged to put on my chemist hat and explained that it wouldn’t melt in the oven), novels and the DVD collection of the BBC’s Planet Earth.
I’ll spare the details of five days spent in bed. I read a lot of books. The Abstinence Teacher by Tom Perrotta was quite excellent – funny, well-written and an interesting commentary on the role of born-again Christians and the American education system (a high school health teacher is forced to teach an abstinence-only curriculum while she battles with the local churches on post-soccer-game prayer).
So I managed to finally get on a plane and home yesterday. Still a little battered from the flu, and frustrated by having to miss the New Year’s festivities, but at least I have a bit of time to come up with appropriate resolutions – one of which will be not to bother with next year’s flu shot…
Holiday Travels (Part I)
(author’s note: this was mostly written on my trip to Rhode Island for Christmas, but finished from my Boulder apartment a week later…)
I read the New York Times Travel section almost daily. It has become part of my lunch-time routine, having (temporarily, I hope) surpassed looking up the latest journal articles on atmospheric chemistry. That, I now deal with in that late-afternoon slump that plagues all post-docs.
But the ability of the NYTimes to crystallize interesting social commentary, new-worthy items, beautiful photographs and good grammar is unparallelled. Due to upcoming travels, I am of course obsessively interested in any mention of Brazil or the Amazon. And due to the sheer amount of flying I seem to do, I am also intrigued by the various articles on the trials-and-tribulations of travellers. There have been a growing number of rants in opinion articles and reader commentary about poor airline service and delayed flights. I'm currently sitting in Chicago airport waiting for a flight that is delayed by over two hours, and, while I get to sit in the luxury of the United lounge, I still had to pay an outrageous sum for a plain tuna sandwich. So the poor people who's flights were not just delayed but outright cancelled have my sympathy.
But, here's where this is going: I noticed a blog-post on the Times by a flight attendant - almost a response to the irate commentary about poor airline service. The FA pointed out that his job was a difficult one, balancing customer courtesy, safety in the face of a post-9/11 world and dealing with the ever-unreasonable demands for more carry-on luggage space. He reminded readers that most other service industries have the luxury of showing an unpleasant customer out the door, but, due to some pesky legalities, that's not possible for airlines. And he reminded readers that everyone can have a bad day or need a few moments of personal time, and unfortunately that's not a luxury for flight attendants. As I read the article, I had to sympathize with the Flight Attendants. It's not their problem that airlines no longer serve meals to Economy class, or that the snacks they hand out are unhealthy and vile, or that the aircraft was delayed and that there's turbulence in the air.
But there was dissent, debate and many, many reader commentaries. It seems that generally people want the service of Singapore Airlines Business Class for Southwest prices. They're fed up with being told that they can't go to the bathroom during mid-flight turbulence, that they don't get meals on short-haul flights (but, really, I remember the airline food from ten years ago. I can't imagine craving the indistinguishable soggy white mess that was either chicken or ravioli and no one could tell which is which.)
So here's my two cents. You get what you pay for - and for an extra $30, you can have extra legroom, and for an extra $300+, you can have an excellent meal and near-horizontality. I agree, the lack of in-flight services on some airlines (like making one pay for headphones) can be obnoxious, but in general, there isn't much anyone I typically talk to (gate agents, flight attendants) can do about it. So why make their lives miserable by berating them?
Economy class travel is pretty phenomenal – it’s cheap (and, from someone with a growing conscience about her carbon footprint, perhaps a little too cheap and easy). And the service is there to keep us safe and sound, not in five-star luxury. That’s for Business Class on Singapore Airlines (or so I hear). Case in point: on my flight back to Colorado from Rhode Island yesterday, the lady four seats over from me stopped breathing. Her neighbour called the Flight Attendants, who couldn’t have been more prompt in getting competent medical attention, and informing the pilot who immediately made arrangements for landing. Within no more than 15 minutes, we had landed in Omaha, NB (a city I don’t really intend to visit again – at least from what I saw in our VERY rapid landing), and shortly thereafter paramedics were on the scene. And we were delayed by no more than 45 minutes in total. Impressive. While some travelers actually had the gall to complain, my thought was that there could have been no better handling of the situation.
In this era of entitlement, we seem to expect the glamorous standards of the 1930's air travel, complete with cocktails and lounging chairs, but for the price of a cut-rate airline. In thinking about my impending 36+ hour trip from Denver to Manaus in January, I did a little web searching. And accidentally came up with a brilliant image: a 1920's poster advertising a trip from the US to Brazil on Pan Am Airlines. The giant slogan over the picture of the twin-engine plane circling the Christ-Redeemer statue: "Only Five Days To Rio". That put things in perspective for me...
I read the New York Times Travel section almost daily. It has become part of my lunch-time routine, having (temporarily, I hope) surpassed looking up the latest journal articles on atmospheric chemistry. That, I now deal with in that late-afternoon slump that plagues all post-docs.
But the ability of the NYTimes to crystallize interesting social commentary, new-worthy items, beautiful photographs and good grammar is unparallelled. Due to upcoming travels, I am of course obsessively interested in any mention of Brazil or the Amazon. And due to the sheer amount of flying I seem to do, I am also intrigued by the various articles on the trials-and-tribulations of travellers. There have been a growing number of rants in opinion articles and reader commentary about poor airline service and delayed flights. I'm currently sitting in Chicago airport waiting for a flight that is delayed by over two hours, and, while I get to sit in the luxury of the United lounge, I still had to pay an outrageous sum for a plain tuna sandwich. So the poor people who's flights were not just delayed but outright cancelled have my sympathy.
But, here's where this is going: I noticed a blog-post on the Times by a flight attendant - almost a response to the irate commentary about poor airline service. The FA pointed out that his job was a difficult one, balancing customer courtesy, safety in the face of a post-9/11 world and dealing with the ever-unreasonable demands for more carry-on luggage space. He reminded readers that most other service industries have the luxury of showing an unpleasant customer out the door, but, due to some pesky legalities, that's not possible for airlines. And he reminded readers that everyone can have a bad day or need a few moments of personal time, and unfortunately that's not a luxury for flight attendants. As I read the article, I had to sympathize with the Flight Attendants. It's not their problem that airlines no longer serve meals to Economy class, or that the snacks they hand out are unhealthy and vile, or that the aircraft was delayed and that there's turbulence in the air.
But there was dissent, debate and many, many reader commentaries. It seems that generally people want the service of Singapore Airlines Business Class for Southwest prices. They're fed up with being told that they can't go to the bathroom during mid-flight turbulence, that they don't get meals on short-haul flights (but, really, I remember the airline food from ten years ago. I can't imagine craving the indistinguishable soggy white mess that was either chicken or ravioli and no one could tell which is which.)
So here's my two cents. You get what you pay for - and for an extra $30, you can have extra legroom, and for an extra $300+, you can have an excellent meal and near-horizontality. I agree, the lack of in-flight services on some airlines (like making one pay for headphones) can be obnoxious, but in general, there isn't much anyone I typically talk to (gate agents, flight attendants) can do about it. So why make their lives miserable by berating them?
Economy class travel is pretty phenomenal – it’s cheap (and, from someone with a growing conscience about her carbon footprint, perhaps a little too cheap and easy). And the service is there to keep us safe and sound, not in five-star luxury. That’s for Business Class on Singapore Airlines (or so I hear). Case in point: on my flight back to Colorado from Rhode Island yesterday, the lady four seats over from me stopped breathing. Her neighbour called the Flight Attendants, who couldn’t have been more prompt in getting competent medical attention, and informing the pilot who immediately made arrangements for landing. Within no more than 15 minutes, we had landed in Omaha, NB (a city I don’t really intend to visit again – at least from what I saw in our VERY rapid landing), and shortly thereafter paramedics were on the scene. And we were delayed by no more than 45 minutes in total. Impressive. While some travelers actually had the gall to complain, my thought was that there could have been no better handling of the situation.
In this era of entitlement, we seem to expect the glamorous standards of the 1930's air travel, complete with cocktails and lounging chairs, but for the price of a cut-rate airline. In thinking about my impending 36+ hour trip from Denver to Manaus in January, I did a little web searching. And accidentally came up with a brilliant image: a 1920's poster advertising a trip from the US to Brazil on Pan Am Airlines. The giant slogan over the picture of the twin-engine plane circling the Christ-Redeemer statue: "Only Five Days To Rio". That put things in perspective for me...
Thursday, November 22, 2007
American Thanksgiving
Today is American Thanksgiving, and in the spirit of the day, I must give thanks. It takes a few moments to figure out how to do this properly.
I have been in this country only a few times for Thanksgiving: once was a disastrous over-regimented dinner. The other time was spent thesis-writing – but punctuated with a brief visit from my friend Julie, who brought me an entire pecan pie. That was one of the most touching and generous gestures I have received, but serves as a reminder of how important this day is.
America takes this day more seriously than Canada, and that’s not a bad thing. Sitting down for a shared meal with family and friends is a rare occasion these days, with my generation's tendency to move and scatter. Unlike weddings, funerals and most other holidays, there is little religious conviction involved with Thanksgiving (though the point was fiercely debated over appetizers), and, typically, less drama than other gatherings.
I spent this morning getting the fixings for an apple-pear pie (and a damn good pie, if I do say so myself). Because of my last-minute change of plans, my housemate kindly invited me to a Thanksgiving celebration – a group of families and friends that gathered in the Canyon. This dinner was the epitome of everything good about this country and this holiday: two turkeys (plus ham and a stew), 14+ friendly people, a game of Trivial Pursuit, several alcoholic beverages and some good music. All with a spectacular view of snow covered trees, a hazy day in the Denver area, and a couple of deer outside the window munching on the lawn.
It was the welcome I received today that I give thanks for: people who didn’t know me who were smiling and excited to say hello, strangers giving me mimosas and an inherent sense of belonging for no reason. In these moments I have to pause and reflect, I realize I am most thankful for the welcome I received in this country – no concern about where I’m from, who I represent or what I think. Just a genuine invitation to share a meal and tell a few stories. And a perfect reminder of why I choose to live in this country despite certain political and social issues with the way it works.
So I thank my host, Brian. A lovely, open and honest individual who cooks a mean turkey - which reminds me why I’m not always vegetarian. And who reinstores my faith in human nature for having such a large dining table. And for liking Amy Winehouse.
I thank Cornelius – the guy who mans the coffee bar at Wild Oats on Arapahoe and Broadway. He always makes me laugh in the mornings (not always easy). And he goes out of his way to make my morning tea from the extra-hot water behind the bar.
I thank my officemate, Mike. He always seems happy to see me in the morning, and that is a wonderful thing. Who is happy to share a small space with someone else every day? Not many individuals. Particularly not individuals who give me bike-fixing and program-solving advice.
I thank my past and present advisors, Jose and Ron. They always make me think, and that can only be a good thing.
I thank my Berkeley friends. They email me – almost daily I receive a note from someone out West (or out East, as the case may be). It makes me think of great baseball games, salsa dancing and evenings out at Cesar’s. Beers and pizza over Alias or Thursday Night Action Movie. Good, solid, supportive hugs at the end of a rough day. Handing me a glass of red wine on a really bad day, no questions asked.
I thank my family for unambiguous affection. A genuine – if on occasion slightly over-enthusiastic – interest in my non-existent love-life. A concern that I have enough pretty cocktail dresses and can feed myself more than mac and cheese. And a desire to see me at Christmas, coupled with a desire to eat anything I cook, no matter how odd.
I don’t think I can ever return all these beautiful moments and favours - and I don't think that's the point of them. But suffice it to say that today has reminded me to be thankful for where I am and whomever I have met over the last 29 years. I raise a slice of well-cooked turkey and a glass of good Pinot Noir, and say… Happy Thanksgiving!
I have been in this country only a few times for Thanksgiving: once was a disastrous over-regimented dinner. The other time was spent thesis-writing – but punctuated with a brief visit from my friend Julie, who brought me an entire pecan pie. That was one of the most touching and generous gestures I have received, but serves as a reminder of how important this day is.
America takes this day more seriously than Canada, and that’s not a bad thing. Sitting down for a shared meal with family and friends is a rare occasion these days, with my generation's tendency to move and scatter. Unlike weddings, funerals and most other holidays, there is little religious conviction involved with Thanksgiving (though the point was fiercely debated over appetizers), and, typically, less drama than other gatherings.
I spent this morning getting the fixings for an apple-pear pie (and a damn good pie, if I do say so myself). Because of my last-minute change of plans, my housemate kindly invited me to a Thanksgiving celebration – a group of families and friends that gathered in the Canyon. This dinner was the epitome of everything good about this country and this holiday: two turkeys (plus ham and a stew), 14+ friendly people, a game of Trivial Pursuit, several alcoholic beverages and some good music. All with a spectacular view of snow covered trees, a hazy day in the Denver area, and a couple of deer outside the window munching on the lawn.
It was the welcome I received today that I give thanks for: people who didn’t know me who were smiling and excited to say hello, strangers giving me mimosas and an inherent sense of belonging for no reason. In these moments I have to pause and reflect, I realize I am most thankful for the welcome I received in this country – no concern about where I’m from, who I represent or what I think. Just a genuine invitation to share a meal and tell a few stories. And a perfect reminder of why I choose to live in this country despite certain political and social issues with the way it works.
So I thank my host, Brian. A lovely, open and honest individual who cooks a mean turkey - which reminds me why I’m not always vegetarian. And who reinstores my faith in human nature for having such a large dining table. And for liking Amy Winehouse.
I thank Cornelius – the guy who mans the coffee bar at Wild Oats on Arapahoe and Broadway. He always makes me laugh in the mornings (not always easy). And he goes out of his way to make my morning tea from the extra-hot water behind the bar.
I thank my officemate, Mike. He always seems happy to see me in the morning, and that is a wonderful thing. Who is happy to share a small space with someone else every day? Not many individuals. Particularly not individuals who give me bike-fixing and program-solving advice.
I thank my past and present advisors, Jose and Ron. They always make me think, and that can only be a good thing.
I thank my Berkeley friends. They email me – almost daily I receive a note from someone out West (or out East, as the case may be). It makes me think of great baseball games, salsa dancing and evenings out at Cesar’s. Beers and pizza over Alias or Thursday Night Action Movie. Good, solid, supportive hugs at the end of a rough day. Handing me a glass of red wine on a really bad day, no questions asked.
I thank my family for unambiguous affection. A genuine – if on occasion slightly over-enthusiastic – interest in my non-existent love-life. A concern that I have enough pretty cocktail dresses and can feed myself more than mac and cheese. And a desire to see me at Christmas, coupled with a desire to eat anything I cook, no matter how odd.
I don’t think I can ever return all these beautiful moments and favours - and I don't think that's the point of them. But suffice it to say that today has reminded me to be thankful for where I am and whomever I have met over the last 29 years. I raise a slice of well-cooked turkey and a glass of good Pinot Noir, and say… Happy Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
sous la neige et sans passeport
So this is (now) a funny story, and I must share the tale. And perhaps as an introduction to what working in Brazil is going to be like. And, on that note, a progressive explanation of why so few people choose to work there….
You need a research visa. I’ve explained this one before. Difficult, tricky. And Al at the visa agency has been helping me out. And dealing with my daily phone call and/or email. Kudos to Al for his patience. The passport was initially due to be ready on Tuesday, so I’d get it today. So I could go to Canada tomorrow. So I could get my US work visa. Before going to Brazil next Tuesday. There’s something about the best laid plans…
First off, apparently making a visa is more difficult than it sounds. While my application was approved a week ago, the tortoise-like progress of the consulate means that the passport wasn’t ready until today… arriving on Friday (though fortunately Al called this morning to confirm my address – before sending it to my old Berkeley address…). So, fair enough. Delay my trip to Canada.
And, on a positive note, there’s no need to only go for one day. Because I cancelled my trip to Brazil. Because the Brazilian Customs Police are apparently on strike – so all our research equipment has yet to be released. Apparently, last year the same strike occurred and lasted for a month and a half. Whether that means our equipment will be released tomorrow or in mid-January has become the inspiration for a hot betting pool among a certain set of scientific researchers. Personally, I’m voting for the week before Christmas. Having talked to other scientists who worked in Brazil, I admit, I’m not surprised.
The result of this drama was a morning spent canceling plane tickets, changing flights, and generally preparing for the drama of a new work visa. I think my favourite part has been watching the reactions of the grad students, post-docs and PI’s involved in the project. For example, our fearless leader conveyed the news with a sense of progressively more hopeless frustration. One of the grad students: general bewilderment, but accepting. The British PI? An email of “Bloody Hell! And I thought the French were bad”. Slight gloating on the part of the more disorganized individuals who had not yet bought plane tickets.
But that wasn’t all the drama of the day. I’m putting together my application for a TN work visa. This requires a letter from my employer explaining that I’m especially qualified for a professional job, etc. The letter was written and sent across town on Monday. When I didn’t receive it by this afternoon, I got a little worried. Particularly since FedEx claimed that it had been signed for.
After numerous phone calls to FedEx and everyone else we could think of, the solution crystallized: Apparently there are two Farmer's who work at CIRES. Despite an obviously different first name, the CIRES Message Center decided to send the letter on to the other Farmer in the Geology Department. Since the Geology Department mailroom is already closed for the holidays, Ellie (who runs the Message Center) tracked down a graduate student to break in and “retrieve” the package in the other Farmer's mailbox.
So, lesson learned: If you're missing a package: check to see that you are the only person with a name like yours. Preferably, don't lose packages on or before holidays. In fact, just don't try to do anything involving immigration and passports before holidays.
You need a research visa. I’ve explained this one before. Difficult, tricky. And Al at the visa agency has been helping me out. And dealing with my daily phone call and/or email. Kudos to Al for his patience. The passport was initially due to be ready on Tuesday, so I’d get it today. So I could go to Canada tomorrow. So I could get my US work visa. Before going to Brazil next Tuesday. There’s something about the best laid plans…
First off, apparently making a visa is more difficult than it sounds. While my application was approved a week ago, the tortoise-like progress of the consulate means that the passport wasn’t ready until today… arriving on Friday (though fortunately Al called this morning to confirm my address – before sending it to my old Berkeley address…). So, fair enough. Delay my trip to Canada.
And, on a positive note, there’s no need to only go for one day. Because I cancelled my trip to Brazil. Because the Brazilian Customs Police are apparently on strike – so all our research equipment has yet to be released. Apparently, last year the same strike occurred and lasted for a month and a half. Whether that means our equipment will be released tomorrow or in mid-January has become the inspiration for a hot betting pool among a certain set of scientific researchers. Personally, I’m voting for the week before Christmas. Having talked to other scientists who worked in Brazil, I admit, I’m not surprised.
The result of this drama was a morning spent canceling plane tickets, changing flights, and generally preparing for the drama of a new work visa. I think my favourite part has been watching the reactions of the grad students, post-docs and PI’s involved in the project. For example, our fearless leader conveyed the news with a sense of progressively more hopeless frustration. One of the grad students: general bewilderment, but accepting. The British PI? An email of “Bloody Hell! And I thought the French were bad”. Slight gloating on the part of the more disorganized individuals who had not yet bought plane tickets.
But that wasn’t all the drama of the day. I’m putting together my application for a TN work visa. This requires a letter from my employer explaining that I’m especially qualified for a professional job, etc. The letter was written and sent across town on Monday. When I didn’t receive it by this afternoon, I got a little worried. Particularly since FedEx claimed that it had been signed for.
After numerous phone calls to FedEx and everyone else we could think of, the solution crystallized: Apparently there are two Farmer's who work at CIRES. Despite an obviously different first name, the CIRES Message Center decided to send the letter on to the other Farmer in the Geology Department. Since the Geology Department mailroom is already closed for the holidays, Ellie (who runs the Message Center) tracked down a graduate student to break in and “retrieve” the package in the other Farmer's mailbox.
So, lesson learned: If you're missing a package: check to see that you are the only person with a name like yours. Preferably, don't lose packages on or before holidays. In fact, just don't try to do anything involving immigration and passports before holidays.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Sunflower: an impromptu review
The last couple of days have been spent at a meeting with about a hundred scientists to discuss a new research program and potential field campaign. It was lovely to see friends from out of town for a couple of days. Rather than rant about the stubbornness of individuals to recognize the interesting problems, the ability of certain session chairs to push forward their own agenda, or the overly sweet continental breakfast, I should focus on what's really important: this evening's meal.
Jen is in town for the meeting, and we celebrated the end of the meeting by dinner on the town. We tried Sunflower, the very Boulder organic restaurant that I've been jealously eyeing for a few months:
The table settings are simple and chic, the service attentive but not effusive, and the ambience elegant, but friendly. The tables were well spaced, avoiding the echoy cavernous feel that so many eateries exude.
The food was, in an understatement, fabulous: we shared the 'breads and spreads' appetizer: I think Jen's favourite was the Israeli goat's cheese Feta, while I just couldn't get enough of the smoked baba ghannouj. But really, you can't go wrong with mushroom spreads, fresh bruschetta, or marinated olives. Though the sugar pumpkin (? it was orange and unidentified... but sweet and vegetably) spread they provide with rolls was... odd... As for the entrees, Jen tried the Buffalo Sirloin (with goat's cheese-mashed potatoes, a red wine-cherry sauce and spinach on the side), while I went for the bamboo steamer option: steamed vegetables, a piece of salmon, and a peanut-coconut sauce on the side. It sounds like such a simple idea, and yet steamed vegetables are so often poorly cooked: the asparagus left with too much crunch, zucchini too mushy. But this chef's seemed to hit the appropriate balance of crunch and mush for a nicely textured - not too mention beautifully coloured - meal, highlighting an interesting blend including kale, bok choy, asparagus and broccoli. And a pepper-crusted hunk of beautiful King salmon. Finally: a piece of salmon in this country that hasn't been covered in a sickly sweet glaze, but provided with a pungent coating that complements the flavour.
It is easy to forget what a good piece of salmon is: not oozing fat from fish farms, no falsely tinted pink dye... It is almost impossible to find a piece of fish that neither racks one's environmental conscience, nor invokes a sense of chemical enhancement. For the last few years, I've waffled on the wild versus farmed fish issue in terms of environmental concerns - flip-flopped, as you will. It seems that everyone has a strong opinion: there aren't enough fish stocks to sustain wild fisheries, yet fish farms are accompanied by a whole host of water quality problems. There are too many finer points to debate the issue in detail here - and frankly, it's become a bit tedious. If I didn't just love the taste of fish, I would abstain entirely, but I have finally come up with a compromise. Since I find the wild-caught fish tastes better, I at least eat seafood according to the eco-friendly guide handily provided by the Monterey Bay Aquarium. A compromise, but one I had to make.
But Sunflower takes all those concerns away, by having gone to extreme efforts to make sure that everything served, from the humblest potato to the most noble chunk of meat, was treated with respect and harvested sustainably. So a guilt-free meal. And, more importantly, a tasty one too.
So back to the important issues: Dessert. Melted chocolate cake. I won't waste your time with superlatives: there aren't enough to describe it. I am left searching for the excuse to go back just as soon as I finish digesting, feeling rather like a Burmese python after a large meal...
Brunch, perhaps?
Jen is in town for the meeting, and we celebrated the end of the meeting by dinner on the town. We tried Sunflower, the very Boulder organic restaurant that I've been jealously eyeing for a few months:
The table settings are simple and chic, the service attentive but not effusive, and the ambience elegant, but friendly. The tables were well spaced, avoiding the echoy cavernous feel that so many eateries exude.
The food was, in an understatement, fabulous: we shared the 'breads and spreads' appetizer: I think Jen's favourite was the Israeli goat's cheese Feta, while I just couldn't get enough of the smoked baba ghannouj. But really, you can't go wrong with mushroom spreads, fresh bruschetta, or marinated olives. Though the sugar pumpkin (? it was orange and unidentified... but sweet and vegetably) spread they provide with rolls was... odd... As for the entrees, Jen tried the Buffalo Sirloin (with goat's cheese-mashed potatoes, a red wine-cherry sauce and spinach on the side), while I went for the bamboo steamer option: steamed vegetables, a piece of salmon, and a peanut-coconut sauce on the side. It sounds like such a simple idea, and yet steamed vegetables are so often poorly cooked: the asparagus left with too much crunch, zucchini too mushy. But this chef's seemed to hit the appropriate balance of crunch and mush for a nicely textured - not too mention beautifully coloured - meal, highlighting an interesting blend including kale, bok choy, asparagus and broccoli. And a pepper-crusted hunk of beautiful King salmon. Finally: a piece of salmon in this country that hasn't been covered in a sickly sweet glaze, but provided with a pungent coating that complements the flavour.
It is easy to forget what a good piece of salmon is: not oozing fat from fish farms, no falsely tinted pink dye... It is almost impossible to find a piece of fish that neither racks one's environmental conscience, nor invokes a sense of chemical enhancement. For the last few years, I've waffled on the wild versus farmed fish issue in terms of environmental concerns - flip-flopped, as you will. It seems that everyone has a strong opinion: there aren't enough fish stocks to sustain wild fisheries, yet fish farms are accompanied by a whole host of water quality problems. There are too many finer points to debate the issue in detail here - and frankly, it's become a bit tedious. If I didn't just love the taste of fish, I would abstain entirely, but I have finally come up with a compromise. Since I find the wild-caught fish tastes better, I at least eat seafood according to the eco-friendly guide handily provided by the Monterey Bay Aquarium. A compromise, but one I had to make.
But Sunflower takes all those concerns away, by having gone to extreme efforts to make sure that everything served, from the humblest potato to the most noble chunk of meat, was treated with respect and harvested sustainably. So a guilt-free meal. And, more importantly, a tasty one too.
So back to the important issues: Dessert. Melted chocolate cake. I won't waste your time with superlatives: there aren't enough to describe it. I am left searching for the excuse to go back just as soon as I finish digesting, feeling rather like a Burmese python after a large meal...
Brunch, perhaps?
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
A weekend in Georgia (the state, not the country, that is...)
So I'd love to have some good stories from Savannah. I went for a long weekend to see my mom - she was at a medical conference, and, as has become our tradition over the last few years, I flew out to see her.
I'm not sure if the problem was my Saturday flu shot, but it seems an eery coincidence. On Wednesday morning, as I packed my bag for Georgia, I felt slightly unwell. By the time I got off the plane in Savannah, I was hit by a full-out bug that closely resembled a flu. We'll just leave it at the fact that almost my entire vacation was spent sleeping in the hotel room. I've heard of this happening to other people, and I guess I've been traveling enough that it was my turn.
My mother saw all sorts of interesting things in Savannah: old mansions, an Ansel Adams exhibit at the art gallery, historical plazas and monuments of note. I watched far too many re-runs of CSI and several nature shows on the National Geographic channel. Who knew that native caimans are in a battle with invasive pythons in the Florida Everglades for top predator, and that tapirs use their snout as a snorkel in the Brazilian Pantanal.
I did, however, manage to make it out of the hotel for a couple of brief excursions. The first was round the plazas - beautiful live oak trees covered in Spanish moss and surrounded by beautiful brick houses with elaborate iron-works (as my mother pointed out, just like the Haunted House in Disneyland. which is true. though perhaps intended the other way around). We had lunch in the Gryphon Tea Room - a fabulous old pharmacy-turned-teahouse. The service is restrained, the sandwiches beautiful and the tent-like ceiling decorations elegant. The best part, of course, being the other people: a bridal shower in the corner represented by every generation of women, a pair of young professional women gossiping about their mutual friends, and the rather loud group of tourists who were just so excited, and slightly baffled, about the whole experience of high tea.
On the Saturday I was up for a drive down to an old plantation. The plantation - now a state park - used to be a rice plantation before the civil war, and then became a dairy farm until the 70's. It was beautiful and fascinating - not quite as wealthy or sumptuous as Gone With the Wind, but a beautiful view and lots of scope for the imagination. However, the intriguing aspect being how glossed-over the role of slavery was. Parts of the exhibits almost made it sound like it wasn't that bad or, if not acceptable, at least not worth investigating or presenting in great detail. This seems like a gross omission - not discussed or addressed in the historical context. But perhaps I wasn't quite coherent enough to notice. Nonetheless, the large oaks are spectacular, and getting a feel for the rather dry and drought-affected landscape worth the expedition.
Of course, a day after I got back to Boulder, I'm perfectly healthy... minus the bike crash on the way to the dentist yesterday morning, but that's a different story...
So all in all, I will have to go back to Georgia and actually see these beautiful mansions. And eat a few more pralines... mmm... pralines...
I'm not sure if the problem was my Saturday flu shot, but it seems an eery coincidence. On Wednesday morning, as I packed my bag for Georgia, I felt slightly unwell. By the time I got off the plane in Savannah, I was hit by a full-out bug that closely resembled a flu. We'll just leave it at the fact that almost my entire vacation was spent sleeping in the hotel room. I've heard of this happening to other people, and I guess I've been traveling enough that it was my turn.
My mother saw all sorts of interesting things in Savannah: old mansions, an Ansel Adams exhibit at the art gallery, historical plazas and monuments of note. I watched far too many re-runs of CSI and several nature shows on the National Geographic channel. Who knew that native caimans are in a battle with invasive pythons in the Florida Everglades for top predator, and that tapirs use their snout as a snorkel in the Brazilian Pantanal.
I did, however, manage to make it out of the hotel for a couple of brief excursions. The first was round the plazas - beautiful live oak trees covered in Spanish moss and surrounded by beautiful brick houses with elaborate iron-works (as my mother pointed out, just like the Haunted House in Disneyland. which is true. though perhaps intended the other way around). We had lunch in the Gryphon Tea Room - a fabulous old pharmacy-turned-teahouse. The service is restrained, the sandwiches beautiful and the tent-like ceiling decorations elegant. The best part, of course, being the other people: a bridal shower in the corner represented by every generation of women, a pair of young professional women gossiping about their mutual friends, and the rather loud group of tourists who were just so excited, and slightly baffled, about the whole experience of high tea.
On the Saturday I was up for a drive down to an old plantation. The plantation - now a state park - used to be a rice plantation before the civil war, and then became a dairy farm until the 70's. It was beautiful and fascinating - not quite as wealthy or sumptuous as Gone With the Wind, but a beautiful view and lots of scope for the imagination. However, the intriguing aspect being how glossed-over the role of slavery was. Parts of the exhibits almost made it sound like it wasn't that bad or, if not acceptable, at least not worth investigating or presenting in great detail. This seems like a gross omission - not discussed or addressed in the historical context. But perhaps I wasn't quite coherent enough to notice. Nonetheless, the large oaks are spectacular, and getting a feel for the rather dry and drought-affected landscape worth the expedition.
Of course, a day after I got back to Boulder, I'm perfectly healthy... minus the bike crash on the way to the dentist yesterday morning, but that's a different story...
So all in all, I will have to go back to Georgia and actually see these beautiful mansions. And eat a few more pralines... mmm... pralines...
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