Krampus, Santa's Scary Friend

According to my Hungarian friend Kinga, today is the Name Day for Saint Nicholas in Hungary and other European countries. Saint Nick, AKA Santa Claus, apparently has a European friend who is a bit of a rotter. His name is Krampus and starting around Dec. 6th he makes his appearance along with Santa.

While Santa is supposedly sweet, grandfatherly and the bringer of gifts, Krampus is horned and hairy (sound familiar?), carries birch switches and swats anyone, especially children, who get too close.

Where have I been? I've never heard of Krampus. Apparently towns have grand spectacles where hordes of young men dressed as Krampus complete with fangs, red eyes, furry coats and horns, parade through the streets brandishing their switches and scaring young spectators.



Krampus is a holdover from pagan times and was originally a figure intended to shock children into good behavior. None of that "he's making a list and checking it twice" nicey-nice crap for our pagan forebears. It was behave yourself or Krampus will show up, snatch you with his long tongue, throw you in a wooden backpack and cart you off to hell where you will burn forever kiddies. The lucky few would escape with whippings.



It seems that in recent years Krampus has devolved into less of a scare-tactic for children and more of an excuse to party in the streets and get blotto drunk, much like, (at least in America), the Santa legend has devolved from a one-night-only gift stocking for kids into months of crass commercialism and spending frenzies.

If you want to put a bit of Krampus in your holiday cheer just log onto ebay where you can bid on Krampus "art"...



...or even a cute little Krampus doll...


Of all the bizarre European traditions we have embraced I'm not sure why Krampus has managed to elude us here in America, but I think maybe this Christmas I might get together with a few of my friends, all dress as Krampus, (and maybe one St. Nick to ensure nobody really gets scared), and march through the neighborhood for some good-natured holiday cheer and fear. I'll bet the neighbors would really appreciate a bit of old-timey tradition back in their holiday season!




krampus, european christmas

Autumn In The Golden State

A couple of weeks ago an acquaintancefrom the east coast was visiting us at work. She used to be our office manager and moved to Boston several years ago. She was bragging about the beautiful east coast autumn and how California has no fall season.

I couldn't disagree with her more. Perhaps we don't have acres of land covered with the traditional fall colors, but here in California we definitely have a distinctive fall season. Our falls consist of the greening of the mountains, rich purples from hummingbird sage and lavender, veritable waterfalls of red berries that grow in the hills and in our yards, and an abundance of fresh fall fruits that help ease us into winter. Here are some pictures of Autumn in the San Francico Bay Area, (the exception, the lobster shot was taken in the Channel Islands off Santa Barbara last weekend) most taken within the past two weeks:

My neighbor's tree turns a brilliant red in October and usually retains its color well into January.

Starting in September and continuing into the new year Northern California is blessed with a glut of many varieties of apples. This tree grows a block away from my work in an empty lot. The apples are delicious.

The pyracantha and toyon berries are plentiful and lush, providing the birds with weeks of gorging.

When the Buffleheads arrive to take up residence in our wetlands and marinas we know that Autumn has arrived.

My favorite fall fruits are persimmons. Last weekend my uncle gave us a box of persimmons from my grandmother's tree and some home-grown Indian corn.

Dungeness crab season!!!!

California Spiny Lobster season!!!!

(Nice job Steve and Tim.)

But the best part about autumn...Midwinter sailing on San Francisco Bay. The raging summer winds calm down to more moderate blows, the weather is usually warmer, and nearly every weekend you can see kids taking advantage of these friendly conditions by participating in lessons and clinics all over the bay.

Autumn in California means packing as much activity into the shorter days as possible and enjoying the blessing of our beautiful surroundings and temperate climate.

california autumn, California fall, pyracantha, persimmons, bufflehead, sailing, Dungeness crab, spiny lobster

Thanksgiving - it puts the FUN in dysfunctional!

Sunday 26 November

Another nod to my friend Betty for reminding me about my favorite part of the Thanksgiving holiday...wacky friends and relatives imprisoned together in an overheated house and forced to make nice for the sake of...whatever.

It's amazing how many articles are devoted to this very subject as we careen headlong into that period between Thanksgiving and New Year that brings out the best, and worst, in all of us.

This from last Wednesday's NY Times:
"Cooks can control the Thanksgiving menu, but when the dishes leave the kitchen, things can unravel fast. Family grudges buried by time and distance resurface. New girlfriends meet ex-husbands. Prius drivers make small talk with S.U.V. owners. And vegans spend the meal defending themselves."

I don't think of myself as having a dysfunctional family. Certainly my immediate family is "normal" for the most part and we actually enjoy spending time with each other. But when one looks below the surface there are little, quirks shall we say, that are revealed...

For years my Aunt Rosie prepared the Thanksgiving feast at her place, a double-wide stuck in the middle of the woods. It was crowded and fuggy but we made the most of it and generally had a great time. She was a very good cook and dinner was always the American traditional: a huge turkey, quivering can-shaped cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, stuffing, giblet gravy, green bean/crispy onion casserole, sweet potatoes with a thick marshmallow crust, fruit salad, at least one color of "suspended" jello salad (often more), uncle Walt's homemade rolls, and a plethora of home-canned pickles and preserves. Dessert was always pumpkin pie plus extras such as apple pie, berry cobbler, pumpkin cheesecake or whatever inspired the rest of us. Aunt Lynnette always brought her gelled Krab salad for an appetizer and Rosie always had bowls of Nuts 'n Bolts for snacking.

Rosie's husband Walt was a grouch, and every year he would decide to "fix" something and inevitably screw it up, usually permanently. One year he ruined my guitar, another year he broke my parents' tape player. We learned to keep all things of value out of his hands.

My cousin Stan could be counted on to massively put his foot in his mouth about nearly every subject. My uncle Paul and aunt Lynnette would sit on the porch chain-smoking, hacking violently and guzzling beers. The smokers always "forgot" to shut the door all the way so that disgusting smoke would waft inside to irritate us, especially my Grandma who was never at a loss to express her opinion about that, or any, subject.

Our cousins by marriage (Walt's girls) were white trash of the highest magnitude and were absolutely reliable for providing entertainment in the form of skanky boyfriends, ill-behaved thieving children, slutty and frumpy clothing (different sisters, different styles), general bad judgment at every level, and the worst apple pie known to humankind. "Please don't ask for the recipe," cousin Karen would boast, "it's a secret." Bleck. The pie usually went untouched except for Walt's pity piece and the huge wedge she would serve her boyfriend (Randy? I can't even remember his name), who would force it down while gazing longingly at the other desserts...and sis and I, I might add.

Many of my cousins have eschewed marriage, so there was never any shortage of "little bastards" (as my grandmother called them) running around the house. And Rosie, who couldn't resist a stray of any kind, inevitably invited some disheveled but grateful urchin from the neighborhood to join us.

Yes, it was as chaotic as it sounds, but Rosie would manage to coordinate the grand feast and get it on the table before her eyes blurred and her words slurred from the effects of her cheap jug wine.

I'm not sure when it all started going downhill, first Rosie started buying pies instead of making them, so my sister and I volunteered to bring desserts. Then Walt's homemade rolls started resembling hockey pucks instead of bread. Grandma began having mini-strokes and got kookier and scarier as each year passed. She was the guardian of the door that separated the smokers from the rest of us and she started to fall down on the job. One year Rosie tried to slip in a bowl of instant mashed potatoes but my sister busted her. We would be in charge of the potatoes from then on. I believe that same year Rosie put way too many giblets in the gravy and we all admitted to her we hated giblets so she lost interest in the gravy as well. Sis eventually took charge of that task too.

Walt died and his creepy daughters left the scene. Grandma passed away and took some of the holiday's personality with her. Rosie's food started tasting more like cigarette smoke and less like food.

Rosie's middle son, cousin Mark, built a house in Kelseyville and Rosie moved in with him, so two years ago we decided to have Thanksgiving in their real house instead of the double-wide. We arrived and everything was going along well, and going, and going, and going with no sign of the food actually reaching the table. The food was more or less prepared but there it sat, the turkey getting drier, crispy onions burning on the casserole, as Rosie sat on the porch smoking and chugging her rotgut. Finally Sis and I took charge, coordinating the dishes and getting everything on the table.

That year we realized that the balance of priorities between getting looped and getting the dinner on the table had shifted for our aunt Rosie. She loved having everybody there but she no longer loved being in charge of the feast.

Last year Sis and I had Thanksgiving at our own place with a houseful of friends and local family and we didn't even see Rosie and the gang.

This year Rosie's oldest son and his wife hosted Thanksgiving. Cousin Steve and Eileen put together a wonderful feast for a huge crowd, just like old times. Rosie was there (with her grumpy boyfriend Bob) and all she had to make was the green bean/crispy onion casserole. It tasted exactly like it was supposed to so I guess she can handle 3-ingredient dishes. Lynnette stopped smoking so there was one less hacker. The mashed potatoes were real, the cranberry sauce homemade, sis made fabulous gravy and as far as I could tell there were no food disasters. (Except that my aunt Merna, almost blind, destroyed the cheese crust on the broccoli casserole and tried to put cranberry sauce on her potatoes before I rescued her.) The pies were delicious and nobody had qualms about sharing their "secret" recipes.

This year all Rosie had to do was show up with her casserole, sit on the porch, smoke and sip wine, ignore grumpy Bob's glares (he thinks she drinks too much), and visit with her family.

Thanksgiving was a lot less dysfunctionally funny, but it was a lot more fun, especially for aunt Rosie.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!!


family dysfunction, thanksgiving dinner, tradition

Bulletin Board Philosophy

I was at the local marina today installing some boat canvas and I noticed this on the bulletin board tacked amidst the usual boat-oriented junk:





It's funny how sometimes the most seemingly inconsequential thing, a small flower that insists on growing in a crack of the street, a young man who gives up his shopping cart for an elderly person, a simple hand-written note on a corkboard, can make one pause and think that perhaps there is hope in the world after all. I saw all these things today and am happier for it.

Can You Smell That Smell?

I read this in the news over the weekend:

"A passenger who was taken off a flight out of the Hawaiian capital of Honolulu because of his body odour, on Wednesday lost a lawsuit he brought in Germany against British Airways.

A passenger complained to the crew about his smell before take-off and a flight attendant requested the sweating German to change into a clean shirt. However, his clothing was in a bag in the hold, so he and his luggage were left behind in Honolulu.

The man had demanded $2,800 in damages from the airline, alleging his time was wasted and he had to pay more after missing an onward connection back to Düsseldorf in Germany.

He lost his case in a lower court because the fine print on his flight contract said the airline did not carry people who "have extreme body odour". Martina Griebel, a lawyer for British Airways, said it was the only time the airline had ever applied the "odour" rule to a passenger."

I know someone who was once kicked off a plane for bad BO. A few years ago my boyfriend's brother, a vagabond by trade, tried to take a plane from Southern California to San Jose. He didn't have a car and had walked for several days to get to the airport. When he boarded the plane some passengers complained about his terrible BO. Can you imagine how BAD somebody must smell for other passengers to complain?

Anyway, the flight attendants asked the Bro-Un-Law if he could change into another shirt. He didn't have another shirt or any money so the airline gave him some money, escorted him from the plane, and booked him on the next flight to San Jose two hours later.

He bought a new shirt at the airport shop, went to the public restroom and cleaned himself up a bit, and waited for the next plane out. When he boarded the plane the stewardess who looked at his his ticket said, "Hmmm, nice shirt."


bad body odor, body odour, odor / odour rule, smelling bad

Tell Me What You Eat...

I got an e-mail today from my friend Betty (an outstanding cook by the way) in Oregon. She had just spent time with ladies of a different generation than she(ahem...older) and was impressed, not favorably, by their recipe exchange. Specifically, she was horrified and amused that people would still be exchanging recipes for such ghastly dishes as green bean casserole and salads with marshmallows.

Betty wonders:
"The question that comes to mind is what is it about the group of people out there who think that recipes [like these] are "normal"? (I'm not sure if normal is the right word to use). Who came up with the delicious dishes like green bean casserole with cream of mushroon soup, covered with crispy fried onions? or putting marshmallows in a salad? or covering a cake with goopy PINK frosting? Is this some kind of long running cosmic joke? "

Betty, I'm sure this is not just a generational thing, and to many folks, especially in the midwest, it's no joke. I believe that recipes like these are ingrained deeply in our culture's psyche. My cousins also serve that green bean casserole every Thanksgiving and the recipe is NOT to be changed.

One year my sister and I tried adding cheese to it...it didn't fly.

In our own home we do a version with roasted root vegetables in a homemade Mornay sauce. But we still put the Durkee fried onions on top and it is a hit like you wouldn't believe. Maybe because it's a variation on that horrid convenience comfort food but with a culinary twist. Honestly, it is delicious and it is those crazy fried onions that drive the guests wild. Betty, I hope you're not too appalled.

Apparently the historic green bean casserole was invented in 1955 by a recipe developer who worked for the Campbell soup company. She developed so many recipes she doesn't even remember inventing that one.

Moving on to pink cake, those same cousins make a gigantic pink monstrosity every Easter. It is made by tearing angel food cake into pieces, packing it back into the cake mold with strawberries, then pouring strawberry Jello over the whole thing and chilling until firm. It is frosted with Cool Whip to which food coloring has been added until it is a bright pink.

One year my cousin's kid made the cake and instead of coloring the Cool Whip she poured pureed berries over the top. It was a masterpiece of mess and looked like an accident victim but it still got devoured.

Neither my sister nor I care much for Cool Whip, it looks too much like Loni Anderson's hair, so one year they relented and frosted with actual whipped cream. You know what? We liked it!


The only problem? We missed the pink.

My bro-un-law took these pics. He says he has hundreds of this cake and all its iterations from over the years. Good on ya Sock Monkey!

green bean casserole, pink cake, retro food, strawberry jello cake, pink food

He's Ho Hum & Humdrum

Last week I ran across a website devoted to dull men and to "celebrating the ordinary." It is the Dull Men's Club and it is very amusing, or perhaps boring depending upon your taste. It has no (or little) color because that would be too exciting. The format is uninteresting which is appropriate.

They advocate many dull activities such as removing exclamation points, watching ants (when the ants aren't too busy), watching a grape become a raisin, extreme accounting and binge flossing to name just a few. Actually, I think anything with "extreme" and "binge" in it should be disqualified because they imply too much passion, just my opinion.

Women are not allowed because women are too exciting. I agree with this.

Imagine my surprise when this morning I heard this website discussed on NPR (exclamation point removed).

Now I'm concerned, if the club makes the news will they have to disband because they have suddenly and against their will become too interesting?


dull men, celebrate the ordinary, ho hum, humdrum

Mass Achoo Bits

I had the opportunity to take public transpo recently and I have but one question.. Why oh why must people look into their handkerchiefs and tissues after blowing their noses? Ick!

Honest to God you can google anything; it looks like there is a word for what I described above:

MASSACHUSETTS (pl.n.) Those items and particles which people who, after blowing their noses, are searching for when they look into their hankies.

Tongue-in-cheek of course, but check out this list of "spare words" coined by Douglas Adams and John Lloyd in their treatise "The Meaning of Liff." (click on the red)

"In Life*, there are many hundreds of common experiences, feelings, situations and even objects which we all know and recognize, but for which no words exist.On the other hand, the world is littererd with thousands of spare words which spend their time doing nothing but loafing about on signposts pointing at places.Our job, as we see it, is to get these words now off the signposts and into the mouths of babes and sucklings and so on, where they can start earning their keep in everyday conversation and make a more positive contribution to society. "



blowing nose, mass achoo bits, nose blowing, massachusetts, the meaning of liff

Mired in Despair - CA general election

Today is the culmination of the California 2006 Gubernatorial Race and it's another year of the stink test. These are our choices:

Ahhhnold, aka The Governator - our movie star incumbent who "can't be bought" because he's already rolling in dough. But we know that everybody has their price. The nurses hate him, the teachers hate him, and he wasted 300 million on his bogus special election, a pretty high price for the people to pay for one man's arrogance. But Maria Shriver married him so he can't be all bad, can he???? (ominous music in background)

Phil Angelides - another insipid Democratic from the Gray Davis regime. On the plus side he managed to stay out of the radar while those around him toppled. But does he have the nads to be our governor? Is he the least stinky of the lot?

Janice Jordan - possibly the only candidate who could kick Arnold's ass...really. Nearly every campaign picture shows her with her grappling coach or throwing some victim to the mat. Aligned with Leonard Peltier, spells womyn with a "y", promotes all noble causes, so basically not a chance in hell.

Peter Miguel Camejo - I don't remember the miguel, perhaps included it this year as a last ditch effort to get the hispanic vote. Even the latinos won't vote for the guy so why should I? Just because he's possibly the least corrupt of the candidates...since when did that matter?

Art Olivier and Ed Noonan - huh?


So there you have it, our list of stellar choices. It's pretty obvious who should be our next governor, isn't it? Sigh.

I supppose there are always the write-in candidates...

despair, stink test

For the Love of Grits

Just got back to California from a four-day "business trip" to Atlanta, GA. Business Trip really means the boss and I went to the International Fabric and Textile Trade Show to check out "new and exciting trends in the world of textiles and soft goods fabricators." Yawn.

I lived close to Atlanta about 25 years ago in another life. It was OK but this California girl only lasted a couple of years before she had to get her liberal backside back to the west coast right quick.

Still, it was fun to be in Atlanta once again. It was beautiful then and it's beautiful now. Great new additions are Centennial Park and The Georgia Aquarium which was outstanding. That's high praise coming from a longtime member of the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

One thing that hasn't changed in Atlanta...GRITS!!! If anything the grits are even better than I remember. How did I ever let grits get out of my diet?

Our first morning, jet-lagged and sleepy, we stumbled through the hotel cafe on our way to the trade show. There on the buffet table sat two chafing dishes, one with oatmeal and one with grits. Next to them sat bowls of brown sugar, raisins, cheddar cheese and pepper. The boss went for oatmeal with sugar and raisins and I went for grits with cheese and pepper.

Oh. My. God. I was in heaven.

After that I saw grits everywhere, grit cakes with gumbo, grits and grillades, fried grits with ham, grits and crawfish etoufee, Parmesan grits with shrimp in lemon-oregano sauce...

In fact my last meal was at The Sundial Restaurant at the top of the Westin Peachtree Plaza Hotel. I had Seared Maine Diver Scallops on Stone Ground Parmesan Grits, Caramelized Winter Squashes, Baby Arugula Salad, and Balsamic Butter reduction.

Tomorrow I'm goin' to the store to git me some grits!

grits, grits and shrimp, atlanta, sundial restaurant