Stacey's Southern Nostra

You say polenta, I say Bill Neal's Shrimp and Grits...

A recipe for crockpot grits in Saveur caught my eye. Put the grits in the crockpot, and the next morning you've got grits for breakfast. Stacey, ever practical, pointed out that grits take like two minutes, so what's the point?

Ah, but then after reading the article, and pondering artisanal stone-ground grits, rather than quick grits, she thought this might be worth considering. I yield to her grits acumen--her mother's side of the family is from Alabama, after all.

I persuaded her to buy some corn meal (labeled "also known as Polenta") at the store, then of course discovered (surprise, surprise) we already had corn meal in the cabinet. Stacey had already planned to cook fish, and the catfish looked the best (and had a price you couldn't beat). And, surprise, she cooked it breaded in cornmeal/grits/polenta, it was fabulous. Wonderful red chard on the side.

(Beat the heck out of Matrix Reloaded, our DVD for the evening. Yowsa!)

No End to the Steve Bartman Fun!

Cubs fan Steve Bartman using his powers for good rather than evil.

Back to Life and Cooking

OK, an observation. Baseball on TV and cooking are a great match in mid-season. You don't really need to pay attention to the game that much, you can be puttering, putting things together, and if anything important happens you can catch it. But with the Cubs in contention, forget about it. Everything came to a halt.

Chicago is the City That Works, cause we don't waste a lot of time being distracted in October.

Last night we went to hear the photographer Catharine Opie lecture. Here's a summary from the press release: "Catherine Opie first came to public attention with her portraits of cross-dressers, tattooed dominatrixes, drag kings, and other body manipulators. She has gone on to create a varied body of work that has in common its investigation into the nature of community and place." Nice change from the Cubs.

Onward

Tonight's win will make the fan cam a footnote.

Just Waiting

OK, we never promised that this was going to obsessively complete. Tons of really good Cubs blogs, just follow any link.

The weather totally sucked to start the day, and has been gradually improving. Good for Prior, in my book. Finally saw a shot of the ivy--looks like it's starting to turn, but it's not exactly crimson.

Meanwhile--life goes on. At 84, Merce Cunningham is still cooler than you. Or me.

Fish, Fish and More Fish

Well, it didn't help last night. We even had sushi for lunch. I was too nervous to watch the game so kept busy with Baked sole a la Anne McD and Peach Buckle. Hint: don't use dry mustard if the box has been through more than 2 moves (or more than 2 states)! Fortunately, we had enough butter to begin again with the sauce for the fish. Ah, buttah, there's nothing bettah. It was a revelation how good a simple fish preparation tastes. Even cold the next day for lunch. The buckle was good and it didn't matter that the peaches weren't the most flavorful around. I do miss the fruit of the Western Slopes. My family would always buy several bushels of peaches and my mom makes the best peach pie in the entire world.

Sunday's Rituals

We had tuna for lunch. Stacey made sole (Baked Sole A La Anne McD) which was fabulous. I had my Denver Zephers hat (with the Z for Zambrano) on. We tried to find Venezualian beer, no luck. Santana was poised on the CD player for post-win celebration. No luck. Back to Wrigley.

Acquiring the Crown

Saturday night we taped the game, and went to see an amazing theater production at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, Rose Rage. It's the three Henry VI plays condensed into a long evening--two hours, a dinner break, and another two hours.

This from a review in the Chicago Tribune:

"A half-dozen or so cabbages are axed in half as a stand-in for beheadings, and 20 pounds of meat -- hearts, intestines, livers and spleens -- are cleaved and flung about the stage at each performance, blood-drenched emblems of the pile-up of bodies in this saga of wartime carnage.

There are moments when the effluvium of butchered innards actually wafts its olfactory way into the audience. The dozen actors, clad in the smudged white overcoats of a Victorian slaughterhouse, wear gas masks, evoking fears of a contemporary toxic spill. Flanked on three sides by a two-story wire cage, the upstairs stage at Chicago Shakespeare Theater these days is a dank, metallic, industrial house of horrors." Full story.

Not unlike the Yankees v. Red Sox game, huh?

Revenge, envy, power. The Crown.

Supply and Demand

OK, so this morning I walked up Clark Street in search of Matt Clement chin music. It was pretty amazing, lots of people out. This has got to be good for the t-shirt economy. Anyway, to my surprise, nada on the chin hair. And the clerks were not amused. I'm thinking they're ticked that I'm coming in looking for a $4 item, when I should be spending 17.50 plus for a shirt, and a hat, and...

So, Matt Clement beard patches are actually a hotter commodity than tickets. I'm mean, there's ALWAYS a ticket, for a price. But no chin hair?

Come on, where, people, is our entrepreneurship? Are we not the City that Works? If this was NYC, there would be street vendors with painted brillo pads, for C*sake.

Well, gotta be flexible, and gotta love our neighborhood. A walk down Halsted, past the Elvis and Elvira mannequins, past the faux leopard skin thongs, past the costume jewelry and wigs, and bingo. Beatnix is my answer. Don't think the clerk had a clue who Matt Clement was, but I've got MY prop for tonight's performance. All the world's a stage.

Battered Fish

I'm convinced that it was eating the frozen fried halibut that helped last night. Oh, our little rituals. Actually, I went to bed before the game ended but the cars honking and the fireworks clued me in as to the end result. I'm eating fish all weekend.

Scarier Than The Name Pudge

Can you imagine Dennis Rodman living in Kate Hepburn's house??? There ought to be a law.

OK, but only if there is a digital remake of Adam's Rib, and Rodman gets to play the part of the lady from the circus who gets called in by Hepburn as a witness.

Hey, and Pudge, how about Pinkey? Even that's a better nickname.

I Hate that It's Hard to Hate the Marlins

So, I'm glad the Cubs are holding their own for all the obvious reason, but also because it's hard to hate the Marlins.

Before it was a Cubs v. Marlins series, didn't you just cheer for every play by Ivan Rodriguez? But, really, it's time to address a problem, Pudge. That name. Pudge. Come on, who is your agent? I can't keep that name in my head, and besides, it's just bad, bad, bad.

Let's play the name game. Bananna-ramma-bo-banna. Pudge. Sludge. Paunch. Midge.

That's my association game. (And, ooo, my spell check wanted to change it to Pudgy. Yikes.)

How about a campaign to change it to Punch? Just anything but Pudge. Or Chipper. Keep that off the list, too.

Epic Productions

Ok, still feeling a little tired from last night's epic production. I don't know how Julian does it, watching these games on the East Coast. I love being in Central Time, and even then, it was late for this old pupster. That being said, woke up early--had to get up to get the papers, and read the summaries.

Tonight, we are taping the game, and going to another epic production. Trying to figure out if I can get a Matt Clement beard patch and wear it to the Shakespeare Theatre. Stacey says she won't sit by me--maybe I can find someone with a portable TV to occupy the seat next to me.

Wacky Endings

Cubs 5-4. That had to be the wackiest ending of a game I've ever seen. They just have to keep it interesting.

Who Makes Me Happy?

Ron Santo makes me happy.
Randall Simon makes me happy.
Kenny Lofton makes me (skip) happy.
Doug Glanville, yes, makes me happy.