Beef: it's what's (not) for dinner

I stumbled upon a slightly dated picture of a very delicious porterhouse steak I cooked a little while ago. I have been trying to find grass-fed, well-aged beef at my usual pitstops: the butcher on Smith, Wholefoods. The meat above was from Wholefoods on East Houston, and is corn-fed, hence the deliciousness...But I have sworn off it.

Nobody in any shop can answer this question: What, e.x.a.c.t.l.y. does, "No added hormones" mean? This is writ large on Wholefoods' butchery wall. It also shows up on miscellaneous packages of other meats in many stores. Added? So...there are existing hormones because of how the animal is raised (in its feed, for example), and none were added to those? That's my take.

No hormones is no hormones. "No added hormones," really irritates me. Otherwise it's just bad English.

What does everyone else take it to mean?

Tomorrow we'll meet in the mountains...

Near Mt Baker, a week and half ago, in another life. Three hours from Vancouver, BC.

September sunset

The luminous pink glow on the buildings across the way promised a good sunset so I grabbed the camera. Below, from the terrace - this was so pretty that I decided to climb up onto the roof.

I left the pleasant cooking smells of old fashioned raisin bars and lamb bolognese sauce (How to Use Leftover Lamb, Day 3), and was quiet for a bit with the roof, the cranes, the faraway harbour.

The sidewalks are darker now when one walks home. They begin to tell of people living in homes: the lights from within, the drawing-in.

Thomas Lux

- thank you, Jay...

The Hungry Gap-Time, by Thomas Lux

late August, before the harvest, every one of us worn down
by the plow, the hoe, rake,
and worry over rain.

Chicken Coop confiscated
by the rats and the raptors
with nary a mouse to hunt. The corn's too green and hard,
and the larder's down
to dried apples
and double-corned cod. We lie on our backs
and stare at the blue;
our work is done, our bellies flat.
The mold on the wheat killed hardly a sheaf.
The lambs fatten on the grass, our pigs we set
to forage on their own-they'll be back
when they whiff the first shucked ears
of corn. Albert's counting
bushels in his head
to see if there's enough to ask Harriet's father
for her hand. Harriet's father
is thinking about Harriet's mother's bread
pudding. The boys and girls
splash in the creek,
which is low but cold. Soon, soon
there will be food
again, and from what our hands have done
we shall live another year here
by the river
in the valley
above the fault line
beneath the mountain

"The Hungry Gap-Time," by Thomas Lux from God Particles: Poems. © Houghton Mifflin, 2008.

Pacific Northwest Plants

The post about flowers is still to come. I still have some ID'ing to do, with the help of the UBC's plant forum and a beautiful encyclopedia given to me by Himself.

The plant above was easy enough - Cimicifuga, or snakeroot, in Stanley Park, picture taken by Vince. For a lovely look at Mt. Baker in the meantime, though, look at his post and photographs...

Figs under siege

Since when do birds read blogs?

Maybe the raccoon told them that the figs were ripe. Bloody hell.

The vicissitudes of deep urban living...

I shall bring home some slivers of [link disclaimer: not for the faint of stomach] wafer-thin Serrano this evening in the hopes that they have left some for me.

[Ed: later that day...Ha! The cat and I apprehended the thief. A blue jay. Cat is on guard.]

Cat vs Raccoon

Estorbo 1
Raccoon 0