Futility Now

We flew to San Francisco in incredibly cramped planes.

We went to a bunch of really cool places, including this phenomenon called The Albany Bulb, which I had never heard of back when I was living in SF.

As disaffected youth hurled parts of older artifacts into the bay, our guide, Gnarles M, said that the last time he had visited the area had been more whimsical and less apocalyptic. I suggested it was merely a sign of the times, and then stared across the bay, soaking up all the bleakness.

Then we got drinks.

On the west side of the West Side, we meandered around a bunch of places that I really miss about San Francisco. The highlight of these was probably San Francisco’s incredible Conservatory of Flowers, my ardor for which had been stoked to a feverish pitch by the fact that I hadn’t been there for fifteen years (it was closed for restoration the entire time that I actually lived near it.) It was totally worth the wait.

Truly one of my favorite places on the entire planet. After the conservatory we hit Golden Gate Park’s charming carousel (totally enhanced by it’s proximity to massive dumpsters) and the California Academy of Sciences, which was rebuilt recently with a very cool living roof.

(For you nerds: looks sort of like an ohmu, right?)

We also made it out the the Sutro Baths, the site of many disastrous mishaps in the life of my father. With us as his guardians he managed to visit without falling off of or into anything.

Eventually we came home to suffer the torments of our neglected kitten.

I was really tired of my office being bright blue, so over the break we did something about it. First we painted the middles of all the walls a sort of nondescript tan. After that there was a beautiful vision in which we would strip and stain all the wood, but basically the stripper was so toxic we gave it up. Even the curtailed version of the plan in which we only stripped the floor molding was pretty exhausting, probably more unctuous than all of the subsequent painting combined.

Then we masked things off, which actually looked pretty cool on its own.

Then there was the painting of the dark portions. I think it turned out pretty well.

And that’s good, because it ended up being pretty crazy. We actually finished on the 31st, just in time to put on more appropriate Champagne-drinking outfits, which is good because boy howdy.

And pictures are coming. It’s going to be great.

This being our first year in our new house (aka Futility Cottage), we decided to host Thanksgiving for friends and family. Thanksgiving weekend was also the end of the first trimester.  Before I could get my mise en place, there was some grading to get en place.

The first half of the break is always great, because the holiday is itself about things coming to harvest, and being at the end of a set of classes also feels very complete and satisfying.  And, all grading for those classes is done.  Forever.

Sylvia made place cards for each of the seventeen attendees, including a teeny one (upper right) for this teeny one:

Obviously I mean the baby, since Yoshi is now roughly the size of a cheetah.  And, while I know it’s been awhile since my last post, just to clarify, this is not my baby.  Except for when I’m watching her, and then I sort of pretend she is, but not in a creepy way.

So we decided to try a smoked turkey this year.  The turducken from last year was great, but I was a little anxious about coordinating a 1:00 mealtime with the meat being fully cooked.  Plus, the awesome Original Steer Meat Market had smoked turkeys, and I wanted to buy from them this year.

The turkey came fully cooked, and can be served cold, room temp, or warm.  I wanted warm; the trick is to heat it without drying it out.  Not a tricky business, just a matter of setting the bird on cookie racks over a baking tray full of water.  I made a simple glaze and sealed everything with foil.  Done.

It was handily the best turkey I’ve eaten; the dark meat in particular was amazing.  I’ve heard that smoked turkey can be overwhelmingly salty, but this wasn’t at all.

It is a shame I took the photo of the plated food this year.  The ‘08  shot by jmags was much better.

We had a million sides (was I secretly hedging against the turkey?) including a wild goose and a slab of ham, if those can be called sides.  Other dishes included the ghetto favorite, Santa Fe corn, chipotle sweet potatoes, stuffing with portabella mushrooms, green beans with caramelized  onions, almonds, and bacon, mashed potatoes with roasted garlic, sage and chevre, cranberry salad (of course), and apple cider gravy.

But best of all:

Look at those freaking pies.  No, I did not make any of them.  My Aunt Eileen did, and this Christmas break I am going to her house with my mom so we can both learn her ways.  Also, a strong showing by our good friend Matthew, who writes books AND makes incredible food.  Here you see his Pecan Chocolate Bourbon pie, holy cow.

Being a schoolteacher, I knew there needed to be at least one activity to help the group, many of whom were just met, bond (over something besides the prosecco & cranberry juice).  So we held a haiku competition.  The place cards, along with betokening the seating chart, were just large enough pen our verses on.  Happily, everyone complied.  Sylvia read them all aloud, we guessed who each author was (with surprising accuracy), and at the end she chose three winners.

I was planning on posting the winners, but I’m finishing this up at work and I don’t want to postpone things any longer.  My track record for completing posts is dreadful.

So, Hello November, and Goodbye.  You were good to me this year.