Sunday, October 16, 2011

Garbage Land: read it


I have just finished reading Garbage Land, On The Secret Trail of Trash, by Elizabeth Royte. It is unlikely that I would have stumbled upon the title if I had not met Elizabeth via the every-other-Tuesday Litter Mob in Prospect Park, for which she has volunteered several times.

After some months of being acquainted with her and then her website I thought it silly that I had not read any of her books, especially one written about trash - we had met over litter, after all. First, I read The Tapir's Morning Bath, her first book, about a rain forest field station on an island in the Panama Canal - about which more, later. I was still working up courage for an entire book about our garbage and where it goes: and then I bit the bullet.

My verdict? Everyone who owns a garbage can should read it.

Instead of feeling consumed by guilt, as I had imaged I would be, I finished it on a note of optimism, feeling more inspired than defeated. The research and statistics are pretty jaw-dropping, but in a liberating, holy cow kind of way. She writes in the first person about what happens to her personal trash, which she weighs and sorts for a year, and from that extrapolates 294 pages of trashy, fascinating story telling. It has added appeal for me, as a New Yorker, because she writes about my backyard, beginning in Park Slope, Brooklyn, running down to the Gowanus Canal, paddling around Fresh Kills on Staten Island (the largest dump, ever, in the world, and now the largest park in New York City), moves to a high security and secretive Pennsylvanian dump, down to a Texan town where the air is so foul from our New York sludge that people throw up, over to the goody two shoes West Coast, which does everything better, and then back to that New York sludge - solid waste known as biosolids, which lands up in bags of fertilizer and on our crops!

It is a fascinating, entertaining, instructive story. It should be required reading in schools.

An Amazon copy of Garbage Land cost me, new, $4.95 plus shipping, which is a story in itself, I am sure. Let's just say that most people probably don't want to read about garbage. I know I didn't. I look at my kitchen garage pail with new eyes, and am far more interested in the sanitation workers who collect our trash than I ever thought I could be. "While the fatality rate for all occupations is 4.7 deaths per 100,000 workers, garbage collectors die at a rate of 46 per 100,000. In fact, they're approximately three times more likely to be killed on the job than police officers or fire fighters."

Yes, we must recycle. But even that is called into question. The moral of the story is to consider, carefully, where what we buy goes, when we're done with it. And how much waste was generated in the making of that thing we just bought. "For 100 pounds of product that's made, 3,200 pounds of waste is generated."

Hm.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Hen of the woods for supper


Travel hopefully. And always carry a paper bag.


Pizza dough is rising, and I'm about to start making a bechamel with parmigiano added, as the sauce base (don't want to kill them with strong tomato sauce). Hens will be sauteed in butter with lots of thyme, a drip of lemon juice, then added as the topping.

I may sound calm, but I'm not.

Prospect Park litter update


If you're dying to know what's happening in the woods of Prospect Park, check in at the Litter Mob blog for the latest news:

Litter Mob 12 results
The Messiest Log in the World
Asters

Mid October


 Rain, and wind, and Pat Austin's flowers are round, dewy balls of English roseness.


I'm hoping that the fig leaves hold on for a clear, blue sky. I suppose we should all hold on for clear, blue sky. Somehow, though, the other times are more memorable.

Friday, October 14, 2011

The most local salad


Perhaps, in a former life, I was a rabbit.

Anyway, these bowls of green leaves are making me very happy. 

But: I am having squirrel issues. First time, ever. Then again, I have never planted fall crops before, and this is acorn-burying season. The squirrel is going, Whoo hoo! All this nice fresh soil, unclogged by dying tomato plants! 

I know it's him, because he tosses about oak leaves as evidence. Not the brightest. 

So...chicken wire will be purchased. He's dug up my onions one time too many, and turned two of my precious sea rockets upside down. 

Occupy Roof Farm, says the squirrel. Inequitable division of resources.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Visitor


A single red rose petal lay on the gravel of the terrace this morning. It had blown over in last night's rain from the next door terrace where a red and a yellow climbing rose have been in late season bloom.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Consommé


I treated myself to this for lunch. It is precious stuff. A quiet, solitary indulgence.

After roasting a rabbit, a chicken and a duck carcass with carrots, onions, celery and garlic, I made stock, adding fresh thyme, parsley, bay, some allspice, peppercorns and salt. Then I strained that liquid and reduced and reduced and reduced. By the end I had three cupfuls, having started with about 12 (I'm guessing). It is intense, rich and deeply satisfying, perfect for this chilly, windy afternoon.

With the rest I will make wonton soup, stuffing each wrapper with a cube of the jellied consommé before poaching the wontons in some more homemade stock, chicken-based, this time. You get a spoonful of the broth, then you bite the wonton, and the melted, warm contents escape the wrapper and flood your mouth with the rich consommé .

Last night I added some spoonfuls to the spicy, roast tomato sauce I was making for our tacos. When the flavour is this concentrated, a little goes a long way. If I'd been feeling fancy, I would have clarified the broth with some raw egg whites whipped in before heating it again; the whites cook and rise to the surface, dragging all the clouding sediment and bits with them, leaving the broth tinted but clear. Good trick for dinner parties - serve in little cups.