Flat tire

I was driving from NYC late on the night of 30 March when I ran over a construction plate on Ft. Washington Avenue. As soon as I did it, as soon as I heard that noise of the tire hitting the corner of the plate, which was raised about two inches, I knew the tire was gone. I cursed loudly. I was not paying attention, I was tired and distracted. But I got onto the bridge and drove as fast as I could, and just as I reached the other side, the noise began. I limped onto route 46 where I knew there was a gas station and pulled into it. I could not have driven another hundred yards. The tire was flat; amazing that it held enough air to get me over the bridge. I went into the station and asked if I could change the tire there; it wasn't a full service station, just a gas pumping one where what used to be the station is now a convenience store. There was a young man who didn't speak English, and the girl at the counter; she told me it was ok. I went out and started, and the young man came out and gestured that he would help. He began to loosen the bolts while I jacked up the car. Unfortunately, a customer came in for gas and he had to attend to that. By the time he was done I had changed the tire. But he did tighten the bolts, and I noticed he was careful about it. So I gave him $20. I felt I was such an idiot that I had to do something right.

My hands were filthy and they made the steering wheel dirty. The next morning I cleaned the steering wheel before touching it. A lot of dirt came off.

I hate getting flat tires. But it always happens, at least twice a year. I suppose it's because I drive so much. But can you imagine if I had not been able to cross the bridge? I guess I am lucky.

Simple sugo rosso

Here is a great recipe for a simple, quick, and delicious red pasta sauce.

First, put on the water to boil for pasta. Be sure to salt it liberally, but not too much. The best salt to use is the large-grained sea salt, like 'Baleine'. By the time the pasta is cooked, the sauce will be done.

In a large frying pan, put enough olive oil to cover the bottom, and a few slices of garlic, salt, and pepper. Heat until the garlic sizzles. Then put in about a dozen small tomatoes - about two inches in diameter would be best; the smaller grape tomatoes will do also. Cook until the tomatoes have fallen apart; you may press them now and then with a wooden spoon to accelerate the process.

By now you should have put the pasta in the water. When it is al dente, drain. If the tomatoes are now completely fallen apart, you can add the drained pasta directly to the sauce. See the photo above for what it should look like at this point. Mix and serve. Best with grated ricotta salata on top.

Very simple, very good. Quite often, simple is best.

You Don't Know Me

Nat King Cole wrote a wonderful song entitled 'You Don't Know Me'. I came across some of the lyrics this past weekend in the newspaper, and tonight Iooked up the rest of them. It's a lovely song. If you have a category on your iPod called 'love songs', this one should be in it. You can pick your artist, though; it's been covered by many, many singers over the years. I can't say that I've sampled them all, but Diana Krall's version with Ray Charles is particularly nice.

YOU DON'T KNOW ME

You give your hand to me and then you say, "Hello,"
And I can hardly speak; my heart is beating so.
And anyone can tell you think you know me well,
But you don't know me
No, you don't know the one who dreams of you at night,
And longs to kiss your lips and longs to hold you tight.
To you I'm just a friend; that's all I've ever been,
Oh, you don't know me.

For I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you.
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by,
The chance you might have loved me, too.

You give your hand to me and then you say goodbye;
I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy.
You'll never, never know the one who loves you so,
No, you don't know me.

For I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you.
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by,
The chance you might have loved me, too.

You give your hand to me and then you say goodbye;
I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy.
You'll never, never know the one who loves you so,
No, you don't know me.

David Smith

One of my favorite sculptors is David Smith. The Guggenheim in New York is running a centennial exhibition of his work until May. I cannot wait to see it.

I was first introduced to Smith by my postdoctoral mentor, David Baltimore. It was 1981; I had just moved back to New York and was attending a meeting in Washington, DC. Baltimore was at the same meeting, and when it was over, he asked me if I wanted to see the David Smith exhibition at the Hirschorn. I went, and I was hooked. He told me that he always wanted to buy a David Smith for the Whitehead, the research institute he had started in Cambridge, MA.

After seeing that exhibition, wherever I went, I looked for Smith sculptures. Fortunately there are a few at Storm King, just upstate in NY. This should be a great exhibition at the Guggenheim.

Some Smith quotations:

"Art is made from dreams, and visions, and things not known, and least of all from things that can be said. It comes from the inside of who you are when you face yourself. It is an inner declaration of purpose; it is a factor which determines artist identity."

"If you ask why I make sculpture, I must answer that it is my way of life, my balance, and my justification for being."

Above is a photo of Cubi XXVII, which Smith made from brushed aluminum in 1965. His works in this style are among my favorite.

Borrowed Time

On Saturdays, when I bring the kids to karate, I have two hours to read the newspaper uninterrupted. With that kind of time, I read it slowly and carefully. It's the sort of activity that should be done in the quiet of one's home, with a cup of coffee. But I don't have a quiet home, not with three kids, at least it's not quiet during normal hours. And there are always interruptions. For example, it's now 10:29 AM on Sunday, and the two young children decided to start making a racket as I began this entry.

But I digress. On Saturday I read a review of a book by Robert Goddard called "Borrowed Time". I was completely taken by the story line. It begins when a hiker in Englad comes across a woman on the trail. She says to him, "Can any of us ever stop being what we are and become something else?" She invites him to walk with her but he declines; later she is killed and he regrets not going with her.

Here is the quote again, because it's terrific: "Can any of us ever stop being what we are and become something else?".

I think about this all the time. I often think about being something else. I find the prospect of being one thing scary and boring. Society today encourages being the same, so it takes effort to change. But I don't doubt that I can be something else. I just need to decide what I want to become. It's not easy because there are many interesting possibilities. But once I decide, I have no doubt that I will be able to change.

Frittelle di mele

To make frittelle di mele, select hard yellow apples, peel and core, then make 1/4 inch slices perpendicular to the core. Prepare a thick batter of flour, eggs, milk, salt, grated lemon rind, sugar, and baking powder. Dip the apple slices in the batter, then fry in hot olive oil until golden brown. Remove to a towel and sprinkle with sugar.

Here is an Italian version I found on the internet:

Preparare una pastella abbastanza densa con farina, latte, sale, zucchero e Rhum. Sbucciare le mele, togliere il torsolo e tagliarle a fette sottili. Immergerle nella pastella poi friggerle in olio bollente. Servirle subito, cosparse di zucchero a velo.

These are wonderful, hot or cold. They reminded me of a sweet that my Nonna used to make, which she called 'frittelle'. It was pizza dough made into small flat pieces and fried in hot oil, then sprinkled with sugar. I loved them, but have not had them in years. My Nonna was from Caserta, vicinio di Napoli. Actually not Caserta, but a small town nearby called Puccianiello.

Human partnerships

From the NY Times article today on why men get married, then after a number of years, their gay identity emerges and they leave their wives for other men - the 'Brokeback Marriage'.

"Helen Fisher, a research anthropologist at Rutgers University, said in an interview that human partnerships are shaped by three independent neurochemical brain-body systems, responsible respectively for sexual attraction, romantic yearning and long-term attachment.

"The three systems are very fickle. They can act together, or they can act separately," Dr. Fisher said. This, she said, helps explain why people can be wildly sexually attracted to those they have no romantic interest in, and romantically drawn to — or permanently attached to — people who hold no sexual interest.

"Once the system is triggered, it's so chemically powerful that you can easily overlook everything about that person that doesn't work for you," Dr. Fisher said. "Even straight people have fallen in love with people they could never make a life with," she said."

Shared misery

From the 'Modern Love' column in this past Sunday's NY Times':

"My head held high, I passed them, noting, with satisfaction, as I did, that they were neither holding hands nor standing particularly near each other. I thought about happiness, about how shared misery wasn't the same thing as intimacy.

"I had yet to entertain the much more radical notion that perhaps they weren't miserable, that whatever their difficulties (and clearly they had them) there might be something there worth preserving, that relationships were complex, imperfect systems. And that people were imperfect, that you might not have to be perfect to be loved, that you could be loved in spite of your imperfections or sometimes even because of them".

it may not always be so; and i say

it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be-
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

ee cummings