|I think that's even the same quarter.|
These are fresh from the store, but the lower one is kind of funky. The others had been around at least a week, and they were getting rotten at the end of the stem (you can even see this if you look closely: one has part of the outer layer of the stem missing). These weren't all shiny and plump, but you know what? They sure did the trick when they got stirred into the breakfast fixin's. Not peel-the-inside-of-your-mouth hot, but, shall we say, definitely present. Maybe one of them will turn red before it goes bad: I have a Chinese recipe that asks for a red jalapeno, and would seem to benefit from such a thing. I don't actually know, having not been in the presence of one for some years. We shall see.
* * *
Incidentally, making actual migas turns out to be really easy, as long as you pay attention. I naturally went to the method Robb Walsh uses in his Tex-Mex Cookbook. Tear up about three tortillas into what he calls "dime-sized pieces," and fry them in some oil (corn oil is good) over medium heat. He doesn't specify it, but I'd say this works best if you get them all the way to crisp. Then you throw in a baseball-sized onion and two (of the size in the photo) jalapenos, chopped, and let it fry til it softens. Next, a similarly-sized tomato, also chopped, stir to incorporate everything, a bit of salt (which I always forget), and then three scrambled eggs. Keep stirring and toss in a handful or so of grated cheddar, raising the heat just a tad. Once you get this down you can start tweaking proportions and playing with ingredients (chorizo, mushrooms, different cheeses, etc). It's weird that Texas seems to be the only place this amazing dish is made. (I once got into a conversation with an older Mexican guy in a San Francisco Mission-district supermarket about migas, and wondered why I couldn't get them in California. He gave me an odd look and said "You make 'em at home!")
Now to work up some of my other favorite Mexican breakfasts.
* * *
Owning a car is turning out to be a bit of an adventure. Not driving it around town and on the local highways -- I knew that'd be an adventure. No, the official stuff connected to it. First there was the cost of insurance: I hadn't owned a car in 20 years, so I pay the max, although I'm hoping it goes down after a while. Then there was transferring the title. Egads! Who knew that, because I bought from an individual, I'd be paying the sales tax? Ouch! But at least one sticker was up-to-date. My latest adventure was getting it inspected. Oh, boy, do cops like to stop you for out-of-date inspection stickers, and oh, boy do I not need a ticket. There's a place around the corner that does it, but I spent several weeks dropping in there and being told there was no time and I should show up at 7:45 so I'd be there when they opened. That wasn't going to happen. Finally, I was told of a place where that was all they did, and was in and out in 20 minutes, and that was only because there were two other cars ahead of me. Now to get the transmission fixed: I think I'd like to take a weekend off and go to Louisiana before it gets too hot and the crawfish disappear. Also bring back some sausage and tasso, because what passes for those things here is laughable.
There was one more surprise awaiting me, the naive car-owner. After I transferred the title, I got a postcard in the mail. A couple of days later, I got a postcard that looked like a government document. VEHICLE ALERT NOTICE: 2003 PONTIAC it screamed. VEHICLE DOCUMENT/ALERT NOTICE. The rear explained that my factory warranty "is expiring or has currently expired!" and that I was to call an 800 number to "speak with Motor Vehicle Division to continue coverage." I was a bit confused. After ten years, yeah, I'd expect all the warranties to have expired. Finally, I noticed that it had been mailed from St. Louis. The one in Missouri. And I got another from Sacramento a few days later, and another one shortly after that that I just tossed in the trash. (Excuse me: recycling. This is, after all, Austin).
I e-mailed a patient friend who often explains things like this to me and he wrote back "Didn't you know? The government sells your data to these people. It's a scam." Boing! Culture shock. I lived in Germany for 15 years, a country where your privacy is sancrosanct to the point where they won't send you an itemized phone bill because to do so would break the privacy laws adopted after the de-nazification process. (What the connection between finding out what Opa did in the war and your phone bill might be, I never was able to find out). France is a little looser, but this would be similarly unthinkable there. I suppose in a country that can get away with NSA data-vacuuming of ordinary citizens I shouldn't be too shocked. But it's a bit unnerving just the same.
* * *
One of the best times I've had in a while was two Saturdays ago, doing a workshop on writing for media like radio, showing the difference between the kind of thing people are going to read and what they'll listen to. It was all done for the Writers' League of Texas, and I hope to do some more stuff for them soon. Not only did I have a small but lively bunch of attendees, but I got to snoop around the campus of Austin's second-largest university, St. Edward's. Although I once had a friend who worked in its library, I'd never been inside. It's a Catholic school, but it seems pretty up-to-date in its offerings. And it does have a grand old central building, as any campus should.
|Too bad some photographers can't frame a shot better than this. Of course, it was shot on a phone.|
I naturally worried a bit, so I got there early, and among the things I did was shoot a photograph of Austin from the hill St. Ed's sits atop. I'm not sure I can name more than one or two of the buildings in this picture, and among the ones you can't see are the Capitol and the Texas Tower, both of which were integral to the cityscape when I lived here before. (I used to be able to see the Capitol dome from my bathroom window on 9 ½ St. if I stood facing the toilet, which made me think of a real estate ad that'd say "Capitol view, men only." Oh, and this was only when the leaves were off the trees.) Anyway, here's Austin, 2014:
|The real tall one with the hat on top, I'm told, is the one where Kanye West has an apartment.|
At any rate, I'll be doing another course starting on April 2, over at that larger, better-known university here in town. It'll focus on the history of Austin as a music town, four classes, four decades, starting in the 1950s. I'm hoping to line up a bunch of people who were there for most of this, and it should be fun. Only eight people have signed up so far, and that's not very exciting, so if you're in town (or plan to be here for the month of April), sign up here and come on down.
* * *
One more bit of self-promotion here and I'll go. Things haven't gone as smoothly as I'd thought on this move, and it's pretty tight around here, but one thing that's been making a lot of difference is my Amazon store, where a bunch of books I found in storage and shipped from France have wound up. It's a pretty miscellaneous collection of stuff for sure, but there could well be something there you or one of your bibliophilic friends wants. I ship the orders pretty much as soon as they arrive, and so far the feedback's been good.
As I write, I'm waiting on some additional stock, too: as soon as they arrive and I get them listed, I'll be selling some CDs from the eccentric but culturally valuable Revenant label, started by John Fahey and a young guy here in Austin. They've moved on to a partnership with Jack White's Third Man label, but the past output includes gems by the Stanley Brothers and Dock Boggs, collections of old gospel music, the unissued fourth volume of Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music, and much, much more. Stop by in a couple of days and start shopping!
|Dock Boggs as a Serious Young Man|
Late Edit: Turns out I have the John Fahey box set Your Past Comes Back to Haunt You (ten copies), the Harry Smith and Stanley Brothers, and Jim O'Rourke's Happy Days (many copies of each). Dock's record sold out long ago. Sorry to get you all worked up...