deep seated or deep seeded?

Thought you knew, didn’t you? I did too. But, when Lily raised to me the other day the notion that it was not “deep seated” at all but “deep seeded,” well, I won’t say I was rocked to my foundation, but I was taken aback that there was even another option. You would think that when you’ve been saying something all your life and you’ve never been corrected, you feel you’re pretty safe that whatever you’re saying you are saying correctly, right? The funny thing is that both versions of this phrase are virtually indistinguishable from one another to the naked ear, as it were. So - I had to acknowledge that it could have been the case over the years that other folks hearing me say this phrase may well have been thinking to themselves that I was, in fact, saying “deep seeded.” and, when you get to think about it, a solid case could be made for both. “Deep seated” meaning, of course, felt down to your very crotch -- to where it all began, the source of all things, down to one‘s true core. But, “deep seeded” evokes a very similar sentiment: a primeval thought, present almost at the creation. Naturally, the “experts” are all over the place although it does give me some comfort that dictionaries are solidly in my corner. one of life’s enduring mysteries? Probably not. But still…..

hell of a meal

Amazing dinner tonight. Inspired totally by my new cooking environment: new oven, microwave, cooktop, and sink. How could that not be inspiring, right? Sooo, here’s what I did. Sashimi-grade tuna, marinated in a mix of soy sauce, wasabi mustard, and fresh lime juice. Seared in a hot pan so that the tuna is crusty on the outside and raw on the inside. sliced fairly thin and arrayed on a bed of sauted leeks and shallots. Additionally, I roast some broccolini lightly doused in olive oil, balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with freshly ground pepper. Lastly, I do some sweet potato slices enhanced with olive oil, curry powder, cumin, paprika, and ground pepper and roasted to a crisp perfection. These three parts of the dinner have absolutely nothing to do with one another. No harmony here at all, no scheme, no theme. except that each part is delicious and each is what I want to eat. think of it as italian-indian-japanese fusion if you're looking for a label. No rules here, after all. Be governed only by what you want. They call that hedonism, don’t they?

the Charleston Food & Wine Show

With the possible exception of New Orleans, no city in this country defines itself through its food more than Charleston. So -- when the city hosts its annual Food & Wine Festival, you drop everything and go. No excuses. And so I went.

I had a plan. I would be disciplined. I would start with appetizers and salads, work through the heartier offerings, and then do a dessert round (or rounds). Well, that plan lasted about 9 seconds as I began with a microbrew beer followed almost immediately by a caramel gelato. From that point on, it was essentially pure, random chaos. The gloves were off. all normal dietary rules were abandoned. Prepare yourself for what follows: pig head remoulade, tomato basil soup, couscous with leeks and shrimp, artichoke relish, praline pecans, banana pudding, catfish stew, sweet tea vodka bloody mary, coconut jasmine rice pudding (getting dizzy yet?), pinots run amok: noir, gris, and grigio. Double duck salad of confit and breast, blueberries, strawberries, and a vanilla bean vinaigrette; chilled Yukon potato soup with leeks and pickled crab salad, sauvignon blancs and malbecs, dark chocolate toffee crunch, pizza on flatbread with prosciutto, arugula and sliced parmesan. And, as they say, so much more. After two full hours of what had long since stopped being a casual grazing but had become instead a food frenzy worthy of your typically ravenous shark, I waddled semi-consciously to my car, hung out the “wide load” sign and got home so I could fall down.

It’s good these events only come once a year.

the Artwalk

I always knew that Charleston has a thriving art community, but I had no idea how user friendly it could be made for relative cultural neanderthals like me. take the Charleston Artwalk, for example. a divine inspiration. so simple in design, so enjoyable in the execution. the premise is that many of the city's galleries, linked together within blocks of one another, form a sort of hedonistic chain as they entice passers by to come inside and not just enjoy their wares, but drink their wine and eat their food as well. they got my attention. and so began my early education in, and introduction to, the low country art universe. sometimes stacked 3 or 4 in a row, these galleries -- now morphed into cocktail party mode -- opened my eyes into a truly entertaining, and sometimes inspiring, creative surrounding. to see this region depicted in so many wildly diverse perspectives is to find new appreciation for the area we now call home. from watercolors to oils to etchings to mixed media to photography, they all reflect a true melange of color and ideas. if you close your eyes and try to synthesize all the different impressions you've just been exposed to, it really does create a sort of 3-D impression of this part of the world. sure, there were moments when gallery owners would drone on long enough to make you want to say, "yes, but are you serving any wine?" but, the show they put on was worth the occasional extended tutorial. and, we won't mention the one gallery where I mortifyingly tripped into one room throwing all of the red wine in my cup against a wall that just moments before was a perfect white. thankfully, my profuse apologies were quickly accepted although I have suspicions they deleted me from their mailing list the moment I walked out the door.

randomly speaking

so, what's this? what self-focussed, fatuous, self-indulgent, narcissistic fantasy is this? as if someone other than I would have any interest in hearing what I have to say. ridiculous. first, it was facebook, now a blog. have I any dignity left? unlikely. but, it could be fun, right?

let me begin with a few casual observations, of interest perhaps only to me.

1) as a recent emigre to Charleston, I have noticed how incredibly friendly the locals are. first, there was the guy, a total stranger, who offered to help me tote my new huge TV from the store to my house even though we had met 9 seconds earlier. this volunteerism included helping me tote this huge box up a flight of steps and into the living room. then, there's the very nice lady at the Piggly Wiggly who blesses me every time I check out on her line. my path to heaven is absolutely insured. and, there's the local postmistress who asked me just the other day to come over and cook dinner for her family on the strength only of a t-shirt I was wearing indicating I might know something about food.

2) the median age of the folks who live in my immediate community full-time appears to be 109. very nice, friendly folks, but not alot of mountain climbers here.

3) I find it a bit unsettling that the "experts" do not appear to agree on whether it's "butt naked" or "buck naked." shouldn't we be sure about this?

4) I discovered the other night how incredibly tasty a tilapia is when it is marinated in a chipotle sauce and, after a good saute, it is topped with sliced kiwi and banana that have been caramelized a bit in a pan with toasted sesame oil. try it.

5) I do believe there are more religious radio stations here than places where you can get shrimp and grits, and that's saying something. you got your religious music stations (traditional and rock), your fire and brimstone stations, your sermon-laden stations, and your chatty moral advice shows. it's all there, and it's a bit of a challenge to find stations to fill up those auto pre-set positions for the car radio, believe me.