I’ll be chatting in approximately … well, now over at the Four-Letter.
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TV/radio today.
I’ll be on Outside the Lines (ESPN) on the 3 pm EDT show, wearing a plastic pig’s snout and lipstick. I’ll also be on ESPN 890 here in Boston at about 5:25 pm.
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Call It Sleep.
I’ve said before that I don’t really get Jewish-American literature, and Henry Roth’s Call It Sleep – on the TIME 100 and #67 on The Novel 100 – now joins that list. It is apparently considered one of the best, if not the best, depictions of the Jewish immigrant experience in America. There was, somewhere, a central theme or concept in this book that flew right over my head, which left me with a slow, difficult-to-read novel with very little plot until the very end of the book.
The protagonist is David Schearl, a perpetually terrified boy who, after arriving as an infant in the prologue, is eight years old at the start of the first section and eleven at the end. He has a vivid imagination, usually for the worse, is afraid of everything, and engages in incoherent internal monologues whose style I imagine is ripped straight from Ulysses. (They were reminiscent of Döblin’s Berlin Alexanderplatz, which supposedly took the technique from Joyce’s novel.) His father is a violent man who can’t keep a job because he does things like attack co-workers with an axe. His mother coddles him and tries to protect him from his father. His aunt comes to live with them for a few months, runs her mouth (not without justification), and ends up feuding with David’s father.
I look for a consistent plot to carry me through any novel, but Call It Sleep offers the thinnest of threads. In the final 60-70 pages, Roth finally gives us a story, a question about David’s parentage and the true pasts of both of his parents, leading to a confrontation and an accident that may have had some deeper symbolic meaning, but again, it was lost on me. While we’re waiting for something to happen, we have chapter upon chapter of David’s time in Hebrew school, or hanging around the other Jewish kids in his neighborhood. As a slice of life in a short story, it would be interesting, but as a novel, it’s a weak foundation. It might be that my own life experiences are too far away from those of the protagonists in novels like Call It Sleep, Herzog, or Portnoy’s Complaint for me to relate to them and to understand the central themes, but then again, I’ve had no problem with African-American classics, and I doubt that I am more in tune with Milkman Dead or Bigger Thomas than I am with David Schearl or Alexander Portnoy.
Next up: I’m halfway through Dave Eggers’ You Shall Know Our Velocity!, a reader suggestion from probably a year ago.
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Another Q&A.
This one’s with a blog dedicated to the various major drafts, although I only talk about baseball.
Sorry I’ve been light on blogging the last two weeks, but I should have a writeup of Call It Sleep (preview: I didn’t get it) over the weekend.
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Chrome, chat, radio.
KlawChat returns this week, but on Wednesday at 1 pm EDT. I’ll also be on ESPN 890 in Boston at 5:20 pm on Wednesday.
I just read about Google’s new open-source browser, Chrome. Have any of you tried it yet? I’ve got Firefox pretty well tricked-out the way I like it, and it’s pretty stable aside from a few disagreements with Shockwave, so I’m not sure I’m looking to jump to another browser … but it seems nice and new shiny and all.
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TV today.
Late notice (my fault, not the show’s), but I’ll be on ESPNEWS at 3:40 pm EDT today, discussing Sabathia, MVPs, and playoff teams.
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Q&A and a food rec.
I did a Q&A with a Miami-themed sports blog, City of Champions. The first comment is particularly priceless.
As for food … I’m not a big fan of the variety of spoiled milk known as cheese, but for some reason, cheeses from Italy aren’t included in that distaste. I recently discovered a sheep’s-milk cheese from Tuscany called, oddly enough, pecorino toscano (roughly translated as “Tuscan young sheep”), and have become a big fan. I’ve used pecorino romano for years, but as a cooking cheese, mixed into pasta alla carbonara, grated into polenta or risotto, etc. As an eating cheese, it falls short: it’s dry and slightly grainy, and extremely salty. The pecorino toscano, however, tastes like a younger romano, with a very smooth, creamy texture, and the same underlying flavor as the romano without the harsh saltiness. The taste and texture were both significantly improved by allowing the cheese to come to room temperature. A small wedge lasted five days in the cheese drawer, wrapped first in waxed paper and then in plastic wrap.
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Espresso.
My cousin from Italy came to visit this week – her first time in the U.S.; we’d met her nine years ago in Italy – and paid me the ultimate compliment by saying she liked my espresso … and that it was the first decent espresso she’d had in the U.S. I’m no expert on coffee or espresso, but I’ve got a system that seems to work for me.
I’ve said in the past that you need a burr grinder to properly grind coffee. Blade grinders smash the beans in an uneven fashion, and generate more heat the longer you grind, so to get coffee ground finely and evenly enough to use in an espresso machine, you’d have to grind the beans so long that they’d continue roasting and could even smoke, and you probably still couldn’t get the grind fine enough. If you can’t afford a good burr grinder, buy your coffee ground for an espresso machine, and buy it in the tiniest quantities possible.
I use a Capresso Infinity Burr Grinder, which, at $90, is the cheapest “true” burr grinder available. (I had a lower-end Capresso burr grinder before that one, but it couldn’t go fine enough for espresso.) The Infinity works for French pressed coffee, drip coffee, and espresso, and claims to be able to go fine enough for Turkish coffee, although I’ve never tried that. On the downside, it creates some coffee dust that spurts out when you remove the plastic receptacle where the machine deposits the ground coffee, and you’ll have to give the machine a good whack to get all of your grounds to fall. There are, of course, many more expensive grinders you can buy, from Saeco, Rancilio, DeLonghi, and other brands.
For the espresso machine itself, again, I own what I think is the cheapest legitimate model available here, the Gaggia Carezza. The Carezza makes a great shot of espresso. It steams/froths milk well, but I’ve found it takes two boiler cycles to steam enough for cappuccino or a caffe latte, so the lower machine cost means some extra time investment when you’re making drinks. The Carezza is still available, but Gaggia has introduced a slightly smaller and cheaper machine, the Evolution.
I also bought a heavier tamper than the cheap plastic thing that came with the Carezza, and I use a $5 instant-read thermometer when steaming milk. That’s about it for the specialized hardware. Have a double shot glass capable of holding 2.5 ounces of liquid ready to receive the espresso out of the machine, and get your cup(s) ready for the actual espresso drink(s). I do not recommend that you use the plastic splitter that allows you to divide the espresso coming out of the machine into two cups; it’s a crema-killer.
For coffee, the most important variable is not roast, but date: Coffee begins to go stale as soon as it’s done roasting. If you can buy beans where they’re roasted on the day on which they’re roasted, you’ll get better espresso, with more crema and a fuller body. Beans sold at Starbucks were roasted three weeks before the day you buy them. For making espresso, they suck. I buy my beans at Whole Foods, where they put the roast date on the outside of the bin; if I’m lucky, I’ll get beans that are still warm. I store them in airtight mason jars, loosening the lids once a day to let out the excess carbon dioxide.
To actually make the drink:
1. Turn on the espresso machine about ten minutes before you intend to make coffee. Make sure that the water reservoir has plenty of water in it, and that the portafilter is in place but (of course) has no coffee grounds in it. This allows the metal part of the portafilter to heat up before you put coffee in it.
2. The Carezza has three buttons: a power switch, an espresso on/off switch, and a steamer on/off switch. Unless the steamer switch is on, the machine assumes you’re making espresso, and a green light is illuminated when the machine’s boiler is hot enough to do so. (If you have a different machine, these steps may vary slightly.) When the green light is on, flip the espresso switch to “on” and open the steamer valve by turning the knob on top of the machine that controls steam pressure. I use my metal steamer pitcher to catch the hot water coming out of the valve, and I pour this into the shot glass and into the demi-tasse cups to warm them up.
3. When the boiler recovers, pull a blank shot – that is, pull a shot without any coffee grounds. This is a good time to turn on the coffee grinder and get the beans ready; I find that two scoops of beans yields enough for about 15-16 grams of grounds, which is the right amount for two shots of espresso. I’ve found it’s far, far better to use a little too much coffee than a little too little; in fact, going to 18-20 grams will almost ensure a good but imperfect pull. Always pull two shots at once.
4. Remove your portafilter from the machine, dump out any remaining water and rinse quickly with hot water if necessary. Add the ground coffee and press it down with your tamper, using about 30 pounds of pressure. I know what the right amount of pressure is now because I’ve done it for a while, but if you’re just starting out, try using a bathroom scale and pressing down on it with your tamper. Tap out any loose grounds and put the portafilter back on to your machine.
5. Put your shot glass under the portafilter. Wait until the boiler is ready and then turn the espresso switch on. You should get about 2-2.5 ounces of espresso in 25-35 seconds of brewing; I usually stop at 2 ounces, around 25 seconds when I’ve done everything right. The espresso stream becomes noticeably thinner beyond that point.
6. Wait 20-30 seconds and remove the portafilter. (If you don’t wait, the machine will “burp” and you’ll get wet coffee grounds everywhere, including up in the machine where you don’t want them.) If you’re just making espresso, you’re just about done – run a blank shot to clean the machine and that’s all.
7. To add steamed or frothed milk, turn the second switch to “on” and wait for the boiler to heat up. I leave the two shots of espresso in the shot glass to keep the liquid as warm as possible. Steaming is simple: With a thermometer in your milk, raise the pitcher until the tip of the steamer wand is touching the top of the milk. Froth until the milk’s temperature reaches 100 degrees, then plunge the wand into the milk until the thermometer reaches 160 degrees. The goal is pourable froth, and if you froth it too long the froth will become dry and spoonable rather than pourable. I’ve found this is easier to do with the steam valve most of the way open – trying to finesse it with a low level of steam produced coarser bubbles for me.
8. Turn the steamer switch off and run a blank shot of espresso. If you left the portafilter in place during steaming, wait several minutes for the pressure to dissipate before running the blank.
I think that’s it, although I may have missed a step or a detail. The product links above go to amazon.com; you can also find them at Whole Latte Love, where you’ll find buyer guides and more product information. For some coffee-making tutorials and a very active message board on coffee, check out coffeegeek.com.
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Vanity Fair.
Ah! Vanitus Vanitatum! Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied?
That would have to make the list of famous penultimate lines, as it summarizes Vanity Fair on its final page, number 809 in the edition I read. The book appears at #24 on the Novel 100 and #19 on the Guardian 100.
Thackeray’s magnum opus is a sort of anti-picaresque satire of pre-Victorian society – anti-picaresque because most of the “action” is decidedly dull and because the book lacks a hero, a satire for Thackeray’s unflinching looks at the hypocrisy and self-importance of both old- and new-money aristocrats. The novel’s twin centers are the kind, witless, and occasionally simpering Amelia Sedley, born to moderate affluence but with a father who is absolutely reckless with money, and her boarding-school friend Becky Sharp, an orphan with borderline personality disorder who views every person she meets as a potential stepping stone or obstacle to her rise to fortune and status. Both make questionable marriages, bear sons, and follow their husbands to Belgium where both men participate briefly in the war against Napoleon’s forces. From there, the storylines split, only to reunite towards the book’s neither-happy-nor-unhappy ending.
Thackeray’s characterizations are the book’s strength. He sets Becky up as the underdog, only to reveal her as a Machiavellian home-wrecking bitch over the course of a few hundred pages. Amelia might emerge as the heroine until you realize that she’s ineffectual and weak. Even Major Dobbin, probably the one clearly “good” character among the primaries, reveals his own character flaw with his childlike devotion to Amelia, even as she takes him for granted and marries another man.
On the other hand, the satire may have been rapier-sharp in the mid-19th century, but it’s hard to fully appreciate it with little knowledge of the society he’s lampooning. I got more humor from the wordplay (with some help from the footnotes), his knack for absurdly named characters (foreshadowing Wodehouse and Powell?), and his snarky narration. If you think lines like “And the worthy civilian being haunted by a dim consciousness that the lad thought him an ass…” are funny, you’ll enjoy the humor in Vanity Fair, which is much more of that sardonic variety than of a slapstick or other laugh-out-loud style.
Next up: Henry Roth’s Call It Sleep, a story about immigrant life in the U.S. prior to World War I. It’s also on the Novel 100.