Of Two Minds

Rolling Thunder rolled through DC again, for the 29th time this Memorial Day. And Trump dumped his stump lump because of course he did. I'm sorry to report I did not attend the event, and not because my bike is in the shop.

As far away from this first-hand combat experience and ensuing lifestyle as I am, I think RT got started with some good goals: raise awareness of veterans' issues, put up some money and political pressure to fix same, unite people across the country. In that regard, it qualifies as an elder, pre-Internet, grassroots movement. And that's not a bad thing.

But then it gets weird, and it all has to do with war.

As I mentioned, Trump spoke today, with some fanfare and some vets sporting "Hillary for Prison 2016" pins. Because wars are apparently desirable. Because Trump has advocated for more nuclear states (Japan and Saudi Arabia specifically), and for cutting VA and other programs that benefit vets. And, of course, for chastising POW John McCain for being weak enough to be captured.

Let's unpack this a bit. RT is supporting a candidate who would put the next generation through the same or worse horror, with the same consequences in personal and societal trauma they claim to rally against, while cutting support services to the bone or excising them altogether. In other words, everything that stands against their 29-year history.

Let me be clear: this is madness, and it is a singular example. A cognitive dissonance rings through the body politic, built upon superstition, legends, and lies promulgated by a complacent, if not corrupt, media and America is deafened by fear, blinded to the past, and numbed to the rumblings of the very fascism it claims to stand against. If you are confused by the term "fascism," and how that might differ from socialism or communism or federalism or republicanism or libertarianism, I suggest you look those up now or consult your nearest political scientist, because that's the determination we, as an apparently highly civilized and educated country, are about to make.

Election 2016: Sacrifice your interests and your values because fear and hate are rooted in your reptile brain.

And this is the test of democracy*: can it be left to the people, as misguided, uninformed, biased, and simplistic as they are, or do we trust self-styled visionaries to determine our best course? Silicon Valley, Wall Street, and Big Oil would opt for the latter, because they "create value and efficiencies" per the Free Market**. But for whom? Or do we seek a better society by correcting the above?

I am not of two minds, but of one: the free flow of information, the ability to validate it, and the mechanisms to critically analyze it are endemic to our survival as a species. It begins with education, but we are all responsible for realizing it.

* Yes, for the pedants, I understand that we live in a republic, not a democracy. Everyone else can go read the Federalist Papers.

** The free market is to economics as the perfect vacuum is to physics: it doesn't really exist, but it's a nice sandbox in which to play.

The Temple of Heaven

It exists. It is here, on U St between 12 and 13. It has been a religion since 1958 and, among other offerings, serves a sweet perfection known as the Classic.



Inside it's loud. Old funk and soul blares--Parliament, Ohio Players--while the counter staff doesn't so much cook as perform a sacred ritual, highly choreographed and unspoken, in service to the half-smoke. Half pork and half beef (no one knows if it's half smoked--that's part of the secret), it's perfect meat in tube form, on a perfect bun, and you should get it with everything: mustard, onions, and chili.



It's the real deal: no beans, magically spicy, and viscous to the point that it holds everything else together with such will power that eating one of these things with one hand and never losing a morsel is easy, the way it should be. I ate two, which is past my legal limit, but they just slide down so nice.

We've done our usual dinner thing, first at Alfie's (good, blazing Issan Thai), then Momofuku (seriously overrated and not great), and Founding Farmers (simple and decent), but here's where it's at. When people have been packing the joint 16-20 hours a day (see their hours) for 60 years, that's all the testimony one needs. 

Memorials

On Memorial Day weekend no less. Let's say it's quite the intersection of the electorate.

Many have commented that the WWII memorial makes it appear as though Germany won.

The MLK is a new one for me. Simple and understated from the entrance...

...it gets a bit Stalinist on the reverse. Otherwise tastefully done.



Lincoln, of course, is ineffable, and TJ will be TJ. He always liked his domes.

For my money, though, it's Vietnam and FDR. But today the former was impenetrable while the latter looked like a Segway festival.

Once more, Karen is missing out, attending lectures on The Importance of Inter-Gender Monologues Within the Privileged Gallery Space, and I think a panel on Does Anyone Understand Any of This, and Can We Get a Drink Now? 

Something Different

In past years, it's usually been me getting the airfare and hotel paid for that lets Karen--for the price of a ticket--tag along (what, you think we pay for our travel?). Now I'm doing the tagging. I'm quite enjoying DC while she listens to people talk about museums in trendy, 21st century, invented jargon. Re-Compositing the Social-Community Invigoration of De-Imagined Dialogue for Kids. Or something like that.

So it's all good but for the part of landing in Chitown and discovering that our connection was cancelled and luggage lost. Surprisingly, this is my first missing personals incident, but I feel for those of you out there. After two hours, AA couldn't even locate it.

Anyway, Karen, always on point, found a place to sleep for an hour that wasn't O'Hare. Of course, she only slept for half an hour because she likes to shower, and now we all know why, in the seven-year history of this blog, there are precisely zero camping posts.

But we got our bag returned.

Back to the main story: the National Zoo is free as it's a Smithsonian gig, and the only bummer is when the cheetahs don't come out. And there was a lazy panda. Here's some Amazonian poison dart frogs having a nice shag instead.

Fish-Off

Haven't gone anywhere in a while, but we still tour the world, at least culinarily. Allow me to explain:

Six weeks ago, Jason challenged me to a friendly competition--the kind of amateur cook-off inspired by programs like Top Chef that have become popular around the country. Except he's a professional chef, and I'm, well, me. To make it easy on Karen, we decided on fish. Still, half the dishes contained pork, the most magical animal and the one that chefs have been pairing with fish for 5,000 years, and another one incorporated foie gras because of course it did. Here's J-than examining the menu, plus a copy for your perusal:

Thirteen diners. Jason opened with apps: pastrami-cured salmon with bread-and-butter pickles, sushi and foie, clam chowder shots, and something else. I don't remember as I was charging a cream whipper to foam the sea urchin and stuff it in squid ink cornets with wasabi tobiko on top.

Jason spent a good few hours on Friday making herbed pasta from scratch, with clams and his special slow-cooked pancetta. It is unreal. If you're getting worried about Karen at this point, she adores all forms of seafood, and her plates didn't include any land animals.

Next up, and I'll admit it, my salmon was the worst dish of the night. I forgot to take a torch to the skin, and the rice was a bit off. Probably just too many things going on in this one, but the dashi was on, and this one will return to future menus in a refined form.

At this point, our runners--Karen and Jason's wife Shannon--started reporting that people were suffering death by food. And we were only halfway done.

Jason's scallops with mussels, chorizo and peas were awesome. This is where stuff really got going, food was hitting the tables fast, the plating (thanks in no small part to Karen) was perfect, and the wine pairings were making a mark.

The octopus. Most highly rated of the night.

The skate wing. Jason's dish, and my favorite.

The Elvis Napoleon. This one requires a bit of explanation: four layers of puff pastry, two layers of zabaglione, one layer of caramelized banana, maple, and chocolate. The powdery stuff is peanut dust (tan) and bacon snow (white). It's designed to make you feel dirty, but in a good way.

J-than and Karen tallied the ballots and announced the winner. I'm not going to tell you who it was, because it was a friendly competition, but it was me.

The chefs.

Bruce Munro in Scottsdale

Thousands of CDs...

More Bruce Munro

This time at the Phoenix Botanical Garden.