One of the things is a bit of grocery shopping before everything closes tomorrow, I'm guessing, and if they're not closed, they should be.
I carefully got things down to nothing. To clear out space and clean it. Even extra space to experiment with ice.
The place was packed. Winter-cold outside. People urgent. In each other's way. And nice. Nice as can be. Workers and clerks engaged with children, spending time talking about what the children are stoked about that has NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING rational, nothing to do with shopping. The deli guy genuinely interested in what I intend with all that smoked applewood bacon. I bought all of it. What the heck.
But you know, I honestly do not understand the racial discussion as it comes to me across the internet and the television. It does not match my experience one single bit. So far. Two such examples tonight are baffling. I don't know what to make of it.
At this point I'm suspecting a conspiracy of a positive sort. This happened before once at work. I was accepted by the inner clique that had influence over other blacks and that changed the way everyone reacted to me.
That same thing is happening again. And it might have been the blue cart that I bought for Deena, the one like my own that she said she liked. She would have contact with them. She might have mentioned something positive that changed things. Because it's noticeable.
I cannot all be due to my own advancing age, can it?
My red pants?
I'm baffled.
The two incidents are back home. I'm unloading my first cart-load from the truck parked in the subbasement up to my apartment opening the door the precise moment my neighbor opposite is exiting his. He is exiting while engaged speaking with his mum. "What am I getting now?" They're making plans. He has to go fetch a crockpot. I should mention he's black.
And not just regular black.
He breaks conversation with his mum to ask me if he can give me a hand.
It's all so very odd being asked if I need help unpacking my groceries. This happens a lot. Loading the truck at the store, unloading at home, doors held open, all the rest. People see and react and the phenomenon crosses racial lines. There are a lot of Mexican people around here, a lot of blacks too, both male and female are exceedingly helpful. If I recorded it surreptitiously I'd be able to show you with no effort or signal from me people move in and offer assistance and for the love of God I don't need any. Yet.
On the second trip back down to the truck for the rest in my heavy duty cart for this purpose another person is parking their car as I loaded the cart. Without looking at whom I am speaking I said hello and the person moved in and asked me if I would like a hand at my task. Another athletic black dude who moves like a ghost in the night. Very well dressed ghosts these two separate dudes.
This is only part of it. Three helpful women come into my personal space offering assistance one way or another getting these groceries and getting them home. Altogether a pleasant experience. Always is. I don't know why I keep putting it off.
At any rate, the intermingling is nothing at all like I keep reading and hearing about every day.
I have had similar thoughts lately. For example, the lady at the drug store ringing up my sale. She was so nice, we were both just folks. It doesn't tally with the news in the bad parts of towns.
I have a burning desire for great white northern beans with bacon and swiss chard.
That was another pleasant interlude, another pleasant exchange with a woman of negroid persuasion. "Oh, you're going to make the same thing I am." and that got us started. Her two little girls were looking up as if peering into a tree, who is this dude Mama is talking to? I learned her Thanksgiving is just the three and they're having chard. And it's very nice chard too.
I keep meeting black women at the the piles of chard and mustard greens. It's a thing.
And I'm telling you, I've got a way to cook them that will make you a convert. If you don't love them already.
Pressure pot make it go fast.
Usually a smoked joint is used, but now I'm using this applewood bacon that I've become addicted.
Bacon in the pot first, fry to crisp, keep oil. Add water and beans. Cook in stages until done. Chop chard add. Pressure up to low, then cut heat and let the temperature drop. The leaves do not have to be cooked to oblivion as I first thought. They're quite nice with a little crunch left over.
Now the pot has beans infused with bacon and fat and its smoke and salt.
Here's the thing that nails it superlatively.
Test. So your mind is blown after adjustment.
It's so simple too. Just a touch of sweet and sour. Just a touch of vinegar and sugar. A teaspoon each max. Like one teaspoon rice vinegar, kind of sweet already, and 1/2 teaspoon white sugar. Test. Mind blown.
So that's what I'll make for pot luck tomorrow, for myself actually, and take a little bit for everybody else. Like a pie, one slice for you guys and the rest for me. That's the thing I learned over the ages, the more people then the less to bring or there will be way too much left over so plan it reversed, make a load what you like for yourself and share a smaller portion. It's what our fore-indians would have wanted.
6 comments:
One of the things is a bit of grocery shopping before everything closes tomorrow, I'm guessing, and if they're not closed, they should be.
I carefully got things down to nothing. To clear out space and clean it. Even extra space to experiment with ice.
The place was packed. Winter-cold outside. People urgent. In each other's way. And nice. Nice as can be. Workers and clerks engaged with children, spending time talking about what the children are stoked about that has NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING rational, nothing to do with shopping. The deli guy genuinely interested in what I intend with all that smoked applewood bacon. I bought all of it. What the heck.
But you know, I honestly do not understand the racial discussion as it comes to me across the internet and the television. It does not match my experience one single bit. So far. Two such examples tonight are baffling. I don't know what to make of it.
At this point I'm suspecting a conspiracy of a positive sort. This happened before once at work. I was accepted by the inner clique that had influence over other blacks and that changed the way everyone reacted to me.
That same thing is happening again. And it might have been the blue cart that I bought for Deena, the one like my own that she said she liked. She would have contact with them. She might have mentioned something positive that changed things. Because it's noticeable.
I cannot all be due to my own advancing age, can it?
My red pants?
I'm baffled.
The two incidents are back home. I'm unloading my first cart-load from the truck parked in the subbasement up to my apartment opening the door the precise moment my neighbor opposite is exiting his. He is exiting while engaged speaking with his mum. "What am I getting now?" They're making plans. He has to go fetch a crockpot. I should mention he's black.
And not just regular black.
He breaks conversation with his mum to ask me if he can give me a hand.
It's all so very odd being asked if I need help unpacking my groceries. This happens a lot. Loading the truck at the store, unloading at home, doors held open, all the rest. People see and react and the phenomenon crosses racial lines. There are a lot of Mexican people around here, a lot of blacks too, both male and female are exceedingly helpful. If I recorded it surreptitiously I'd be able to show you with no effort or signal from me people move in and offer assistance and for the love of God I don't need any. Yet.
On the second trip back down to the truck for the rest in my heavy duty cart for this purpose another person is parking their car as I loaded the cart. Without looking at whom I am speaking I said hello and the person moved in and asked me if I would like a hand at my task. Another athletic black dude who moves like a ghost in the night. Very well dressed ghosts these two separate dudes.
This is only part of it. Three helpful women come into my personal space offering assistance one way or another getting these groceries and getting them home. Altogether a pleasant experience. Always is. I don't know why I keep putting it off.
At any rate, the intermingling is nothing at all like I keep reading and hearing about every day.
Lovely. Red sky at night, sailor's delight.
I have had similar thoughts lately. For example, the lady at the drug store ringing up my sale. She was so nice, we were both just folks. It doesn't tally with the news in the bad parts of towns.
I have a burning desire for great white northern beans with bacon and swiss chard.
That was another pleasant interlude, another pleasant exchange with a woman of negroid persuasion. "Oh, you're going to make the same thing I am." and that got us started. Her two little girls were looking up as if peering into a tree, who is this dude Mama is talking to? I learned her Thanksgiving is just the three and they're having chard. And it's very nice chard too.
I keep meeting black women at the the piles of chard and mustard greens. It's a thing.
And I'm telling you, I've got a way to cook them that will make you a convert. If you don't love them already.
Pressure pot make it go fast.
Usually a smoked joint is used, but now I'm using this applewood bacon that I've become addicted.
Bacon in the pot first, fry to crisp, keep oil. Add water and beans. Cook in stages until done. Chop chard add. Pressure up to low, then cut heat and let the temperature drop. The leaves do not have to be cooked to oblivion as I first thought. They're quite nice with a little crunch left over.
Now the pot has beans infused with bacon and fat and its smoke and salt.
Here's the thing that nails it superlatively.
Test. So your mind is blown after adjustment.
It's so simple too. Just a touch of sweet and sour. Just a touch of vinegar and sugar. A teaspoon each max. Like one teaspoon rice vinegar, kind of sweet already, and 1/2 teaspoon white sugar. Test. Mind blown.
So that's what I'll make for pot luck tomorrow, for myself actually, and take a little bit for everybody else. Like a pie, one slice for you guys and the rest for me. That's the thing I learned over the ages, the more people then the less to bring or there will be way too much left over so plan it reversed, make a load what you like for yourself and share a smaller portion. It's what our fore-indians would have wanted.
You mean the pressure in the cooker forces the flavor into the beans faster than if you simmered for a longer time?
Yes, it shoves flavor in.
Cool beans.
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