A short bit of fantasy writing

“…and so Te’or said, ‘I told you, that’s no banshee, that’s my sister!’”

The court erupted in raucous, drunken laughter.  “I tell you, Carus, no matter how many times I hear that story, it gets me every time!  Banshee…hah!”

Carus grinned and saluted with his cup, “Thank you, dear Prince.  I’ve got a new one for you, about a busty tavern girl and a dimwitted dwa-“

His words were cut off as the enormous oak doors flew open, their iron bands ringing off the stone walls.  Standing at the doors with dusk gathering behind her was a disheveled, panting young woman holding a gleaming sword in her hand.  Struggling to raise the blade above her head, she breathed, “Prince Ekor, this is for you!”  Staggering weakly, sword in the air, she stumbled and was caught by the palace guard.  The last thing she heard before passing out was the clatter of the sword hitting the floor.

*****

Ekor stared at the woman’s prone form.  She was obviously a Westerner, with dark hair shot through with strands of silver, her skin the color of iron-rich desert sands.  The patterns of scars on her shoulders and arms marked her as a member of the ruling class of Kidhan.  Ekor wondered what she was doing in his lands; after all, Kidhan was a two-week ride across hostile terrain.  He’d been studying her for two days now, ever since she’d burst into his court with the sword.  ‘Two days,’ he thought, ‘and she hasn’t even opened her eyes once.  Gods, who is she?’  Perturbed, he walked to the window.  As he watched the sun fall below the horizon, Ekor barely noticed the lightning clouds in the far distance.

*****

“Aaahhh!!  Wh…Wha…Where am I?”

Ekor started from his chair, blinking as the woman sat bolt upright in bed, screaming.  “Easy, girl.  You’ve been unconscious for days.  You’re safe.  Who are you and what are you doing here?” 

Before she could open her mouth to answer, a trio of guards burst into the room.  “My liege!  We heard screaming.  Are you safe?”  Ekor waved them off with a nod and a slight smile, and turned back to the woman.

“Well?”

Gathering the covers around her, the woman began, “P…Prince Ekor, my name is Te’ara.  I’m from the West, from Kidhan.  My father sent me; he said you could help us.  He said that now was the time to call on the ages-old friendship between our lands.  He is certain that Ladrys will come to our aid.  Please, Prince Ekor, you must help, we will die otherwise.  We’re in dire need.  You must…”

Ekor held up his hand, “Hold on, girl.  Te’ara.  Slow down, you’re panicked.  Now, take a breath and explain what you’re saying.  First tell me, why did you burst into my court with that sword?”

Trembling, Te’ara began, “The sword, Prince, is a gift from my father.  It was presented to his grandfather by Prince Ralan of Ladrys after the Battle at Seven Elms, as a token of alliance and friendship.  We return it to you in kind, with the hopes that you will aid us in our time of need.”

Ekor leapt up, “By the hells!  You’re from the House of Te’or!  Long have we recounted the stories of Seven Elms.  What is the trouble that brings you to us?

A tear trickled down Te’ara’s cheek and she shuddered, “The dead…they, they came from the South.  Horrible, rotting creatures of flesh, marching in armies across our lands.  They’ve slaughtered our people and added them to their armies.  Our fields are burned, our army is shattered.  We have no one else to turn to…please, I beg you, help us…”  She broke down sobbing, her body trembling with each cry.

The guards burst in again but Ekor again raised his hand and stopped them.  “Fetch the doctor and tell him to bring a calming draught, then tell my chamberlain to assemble the Council.  We’re going to war.”

*****

A little bit of spooky fiction

Just a bit of raw fiction below...first draft, unedited, and a nice little vignette, I think.

Twelve years.  It had been twelve years since Aaron had been home, twelve long years since he’d felt the warmth of his family’s love, the warmth of a home-cooked meal, any warmth at all.  He didn’t even register the heat of the sirocco moving through the air as the desert surrendered the day’s swelter.

Night came fast in the desert; it was one thing Aaron was grateful for.  The sun was too hot, too bright, too oppressive.  It obscured details that the moon’s glow seemed to highlight.  Even on a moonless night, the galaxy of stars above provided enough light to navigate by.  Travelling by night and sleeping by day, Aaron kept mostly to himself.  He’d occasionally cross paths with a caravan, stopping to appreciate their hospitality.  The company was nice sometimes, Aaron thought, but he also knew he was safer on his own.  As much as there was safety in numbers, there were monsters that stalked the caravans.  A single traveler didn’t attract much attention; no braying donkeys, no large and smoky fires.

Whenever Aaron met a caravan, the Bedouins would invariably urge him in, offering one cup after another of strong, sweet mint tea, sticky dates, and morsels of the ubiquitous roast goat.  After a show of feigned humility on both sides, Aaron would at least sit down for some tea and conversation, trading gossip about the other tribes in the area, and intently listening to stories about the monsters that came in the night, the monsters that stole life from the tribesfolk, leaving them sickly and weak.  It was valuable information to Aaron; even as a lone traveler, it was important to stay abreast of the troubles of the tribes.  Being able to share news between the various families and tribes made Aaron a valuable visitor, and he never left hungry.

On this night, though, Aaron sat alone once again.  At the top of a dune, he stared off into the vast field of stars, remembering that night twelve years ago when he left home to explore the desert, and his decision shortly thereafter to never go home again.  He remembered every fright he’d had out in the desert, every death of a friend, every near miss.  He was roused from his reverie by the faint scent of incense wafting across the air, followed minutes later by the sight of a caravan some two miles distant.  Peering intently across the night-time sands, Aaron hungrily flicked his tongue over his needle-sharp fangs.  Yes, Aaron mused as he began hiking towards the flickering torches, there certainly were monsters in the desert.

Good Morning, Tehran!

I see that my blog's had a lot of visits from Iran.  Welcome and khosh amadid!  What brings you all here? 

A favorite recipe, and some seasonal musings

The advent of spring always excites me. It represents a renewal after the dead of winter, and anyone who's made it through at least one New England winter knows just how welcome spring is.  In the last week or so, the yards and tree-wells on my street have begun to explode with color, daffodils heralding the grape hyacinths, which in turn have announced the return of the tulips.  Petunias are beginning to poke through the mulch, and other, less identifiable flowers have returned as well.  The whites and greys of winter can only last so long, and they invariably give way to this incredible, bright natural palette.  The trees, which have lain dormant for so long, are now budding again.  There are so many metaphors for all this, the renewal of spirit, the rebirth of life, and so on, that I could write entire volumes about the turning of the seasons.  Instead, gentle readers, I'll leave it to you to draw your own, personal connections about the return of spring, while I talk about food for a little while.

The recipe below isn't necessarily spring-y, but if you like, I can certainly make something up about the vibrant colors, and the symbolism of the ingredients.  Again, I leave that to you.  I just wanted to share a personal favorite and invite you all to leave comments on your experiences with it.  Now, on to the cooking!

Warm Beet, Chicken, & Walnut Salad
 Ingredients:
* 1 bunch of beets, preferably with greens.  If you can't get greens, spinach or turnip greens can substitute
* Walnut or pecan halves
* 1 small roll chevre goat cheese
* Boneless, skinless chicken breast
* Brown sugar
* Olive oil
* Rosemary
* Mango chutney
(NB: This is very much a 'to taste' recipe, hence the absence of ingredient amounts/quantities.  By all means, feel free to play around to find what works for you)

Procedure:
1. Wash and peel the beets, removing and reserving the greens.  Cube the beets into bite-sized pieces and roast at 375°F for about 20 minutes.  The goal here is to get the beets to soften without becoming mushy.

2. When the beets are cooked, place them in the bottom of a large, flat-bottomed bowl.  A glass bowl is wonderful for this, as it gives a great visual when the dish is complete.  Layer the washed beet greens over the cubed beets.  Crumble the goat cheese over the greens, making sure the crumbles are evenly distributed.

3. In a saucepan, heat a tablespoon or two of olive oil, and add the nuts and some brown sugar.  Toss the nuts until they just start to caramelize.  I usually take them out of the pan when they've just started to brown/blacken on the edges.  Make sure you don't use too much oil, or you'll wind up with greasy nuts, and, well, ick!  Once the nuts are done, sprinkle them into the bowl, over the cheese.

4. In the same pan you cooked the nuts, saute strips of chicken breast with some rosemary (fresh is always better, but there's nothing wrong with dried for this recipe) and a few healthy spoonfuls of mango chutney.  Once the chicken's cooked through, place it in the serving bowl on top of the nuts.

5. That's it!  You're ready to serve.

Although it'd work equally well as an appetizer or an entree, this is really a one-dish meal.  There's no need to serve anything else, although some nice, crusty bread is a nice accompaniment.  The flavors and textures work on a number of levels, and I've never received anything but rave reviews when I've served this dish.

The variations on this dish are endless...instead of using just beets, a mix of root veggies could add a new dimension of flavor and color.  Imagine the gorgeous confetti effect from a mix of beets, carrots, and parsnips!  The sweetness of the chutney and the tartness of the goat cheese could be highlighted with dried cherries or cranberries, and slivered almonds in place of walnuts or pecans would change the nature of the entire dish, in a wonderful way.  Play around with my recipe, make it your own, and let me know how it turns out!


Bon appetit!

Cooking is love

I love to cook, but I don't do it often enough.  Not seriously, at least.  It feels like too much trouble to bang around my pots and pans and get really involved in it if it's just for me.  When there's someone to cook for, though, I leap into action.  For me, cooking's not only fun, but one of the best ways I can show someone I care.  Cooking is an act of love and friendship, it's me saying "Here, I made this for you.  I gave all my attention to this task so that you might enjoy it, because I care about you."

I've cooked for friends, family, and lovers, but the one person I love cooking for most is my son.  He's a couple of months shy of his third birthday, and he loves spending time in the kitchen with Daddy, helping him cook.  His enthusiasm is so contagious, and he insists on being put up on the counter to watch what's going on.  He helps sometimes where he can, stirring a pot (with careful supervision!) or pouring ingredients together.  I've gotten him stated on spices recently; cinnamon sugar and curry powder are hits, Tabasco isn't too popular.  He loves minced garlic straight from the spoon, and he's adept at stealing pinches of salt from the bowl.

Caleb's pretty much fearless, and the fact that he's so willing to try new foods makes me eager to keep experimenting in the kitchen.  Sure, I'll occasionally take the easy way out and drop a few chicken nuggets on his plate, or take him out for pizza, but more often, I'm there at the stove, tossing ingredients around while he asks me what I'm doing.  The other night I made a makeshift Pad Thai for him; first time he'd eaten it, first time I'd made it.  It turned out great!  Caleb helped grate the ginger, and he put the shrimp in the pan.  Later, he helped make chocolate pudding for dessert (his choice!)

In the past, he's helped me dredge fish for frying, and he's made hand-rolled meatballs. He's seasoned the hamburgers and requested tomatoes in his grilled cheese.  He knows that we have to wait for the butter to bubble before starting the scrambled eggs.  Despite his distaste for Tabasco, he does alright with heat.  I underestimate the boy sometimes when I give him something 'kid friendly,' when all he wants is my grown-up spiced food.

Spending time in the kitchen is a fantastic bonding experience for us; he puts so much attention into watching what I'm doing, and I focus my attention on him, explaining everything and watching his reactions.  We laugh and we learn, we watch heat transform raw ingredients into finished food, and we create memories to last a lifetime.  When dinner is ready, we sit, talk about dinosaurs and Elmo, and practice our manners.  The act of pouring my heart into dinner, of creating 'art' to nourish my son, is only one way I show the boundless love I have for him, but it's a special way, one that's uniquely ours, and one I look forward to at every possible opportunity.

Truly, cooking is love.

So, Either I Get the Job, or I'm Getting Locked Away

April 6, 2011

Yelp darling,

Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s going to work out between us.  I can’t just sit around in this relationship any more, reading reviews while you ignore me.  I need more, Yelp, and if you can’t give it to me, I’m leaving you.  I mean, Urbanspoon’s asked me out like eight times already, and Hotpot keeps looking at my OkCupid profile.  I love you, Yelp, but you’ve got to either make me your new Providence Community Manager or get off the pot. 

Sure, our relationship has been one of convenience; after all, I’ve been using you for years now.  I think it’s time to take our relationship to the next level.  We can’t be passive partners anymore, we’ve got to work together for our mutual benefit.  I’ve got to admit that all this time I’ve been keeping secrets from you; I haven’t told you where to find five duck heads for $2.00, or how to get cheap tickets for Trinity Rep.  I’ve been holding out on so many things, but I’ve got to be open with you.  It’s time for full disclosure.

You see, I’ve been seeing other people.  Lots of other people.  Now, I know what you’re thinking, “how could he?”  But let me tell you, Yelp, it’s the only way I’ve been able to expand my social network.  My people know people who know people, and I’m getting to know them all.  Don’t look at me like that; I’m no whore, just a flirt.  I know artists, accountants, chefs, and students.  I know the local kinksters, hipsters, and coffee-shop owners.  I can tell you who to speak to if you’re looking for a recipe for giant Thai waterbugs, or a private, in-home hair salon.  I’ve got so many options, Yelp, so you either put a ring on this finger or get walking.

I’m a college graduate, goddammit, and I need, no, deserve more than this.  I can work a room and plan awesome events, but are you ever there to see them?  No.  That’s because you sit there on the internet all day, and never get out of the house.  Come on, baby, let me take you out; let me show you what I know, and what I can do.  You know you want to.  Just trust me, Yelp, and we can make this work.  We need each other, we were meant to be together, can’t you see that? 

Call me, baby, I need to hear from you.  I need to know if I should keep you in my heart, or if it’s time to move on and see if those other websites can take care of the me way I deserve to be treated.  Whatever happens between us, you’ll be in my heart, always.

--Michael

PS – I can’t find my cell phone charger anywhere.  Did I leave it at your place the last time I spent the night?

A Roman Honeymoon, part 1

The travelogue below is the first entry in my account of honeymooning in Rome.  Re-reading it brings up some wonderful, if bittersweet memories.  I hope it gives some sense of the flavor of the Eternal City.
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8/17/06
Day two in Rome.  We arrived yesterday morning after a too-long plane trip and quickly found our home during our honeymoon, Hotel Raganelli, a charming little hotel on Via Aurelia.  We napped until early evening, then set out to explore this wonderful city, simultaneously old and moderns, familiar and foreign, strange but wonderful, and absolutely charming.

I've never spoken Italian before, but I've learned a few phrases that have been quite useful in getting around.  During last night's explorations, we walked from our hotel down to near the Vatican, to get a feel for the city and its people.  We had a lovely time, stopping for dinner at an hosteria, Ristorante da Vittorio il Ciociaro on Via Barletta.  Our first real Italian meal comprised of a lovely bottle of Italian shiraz, along with a plate of prosciutto and mozzarella di bufala.  It was followed with my spaghetti alla vongole and Debbie's dish, a heavy but excellent dish of penne with sausage and guanciale in a cheese and cream sauce.  We followed this with a light salad and some tiny cookies, then returned to the hotel.

Our plan for today was to first see the Colosseum and then find Bernini's Ecstasy of Saint Theresa of Avila.  With some help from our hotel's concierge, Sandro, we figured out the basics of getting around by bus and metro, and off we went.  We took the bus to the end of the line at Piazza Venezia, right by the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, an impressive monument by anyone's standards.  Near the tomb, we encountered the ruins of the Foro di Nerva and continued on toward the Colosseum.

I'd wanted to see the Colosseum since I was a little boy, and I wasn't disappointed.  The exterior is just like every picture I've ever seen, but to see it first-hand and up-close was incredible.  To think that it was build almost 2000 years ago, by hand and with non-machined tools, is amazing.  Even more amazing is that is regularly hosted capacity crows of about 50,000 people, whose admission to these events was comped by the Empire.  Being modern tourists, however, Debbie and I paid €11 each for admission. 

Inside, as out, the building is in various stages of, hmm, what's a better word than "decay?"  To walk the same stones trod by Emperor and commoner alike was an experience not soon to be forgotten, and the views from every angle, looking both inwards and out, were quite stunning. 

From the Colosseum we took the metro up to Termini Station and had a brief lunch before setting out to find St. Theresa.  To get our bearings, we set out to find Piazza della Repubblica, which had a stunning fountain and a beautiful backdrop of buildings.  It's also worth noting that we passed by Diocletian's baths, but chose not to go in after taking some great photo opportunities, instead.  

P. della Repubblica was also home to Santa Maria degli Angeli, a basilica with an entry so impressive that I was struck breathless on walking in.  It opens on a huge dome, lit on top by windows that cast rainbows of light around the entry.  As pretty as the "standard" marble inlays on the floor were, Debbie was struck by the astronomical calendar and astrological signs also inlaid there.  The basilica also hosts the largest pipe organ I've ever seen.  After exploring for a bit, we exited via the sacristy, which is on the other side of Dicoletian's baths, and began to search for St. Theresa's home, Santa Maria della Vittoria.


S. Maria d. Vittoria was hard to find, since our directions to it were sketchy at best, and it wasn't on our map.  When we did finally find the place, it was very small, but with decorations inside absolutely deserving of the term "baroque."  There were putti and angels everywhere, along with paintings and carvings galore.  I'd been wanting to see St. Theresa since I first learned of it, and when it finally came into view, I was surprised at how small it seemed, but also immediately awed by its beauty and workmanship.  Before now, I had never noticed the roughly carve, cloud-like stone that St. Theresa laid upon. 

After admiring the art for a good time, I joined Debbie in the small gift shop, presided over by an old Carmelite(?) monk.  Somehow I was able to convey to him that we had just been married, and he gifted us with a rosary that he blessed for us.  Thanking him profusely, we took our leave and first made our way to Il Fontina del Tritone, then happened to chance upon Via delle Quattro Fontane.  On the way, we also chanced upon Palazzo Barberini, but chose not to enter due to the fact that the would soon be closing.  I do very much hope to return to this museum during our trip, as our guidebook describes an outstanding collection of art. 

As amazing as these fountains were, we were determined to make it to the Trevi Fountain.  We did a little shopping along the way, picking up a few bottles of absinthe and some delicious fruit (grapes and strawberries, whose bag, later soaked through at Trevi, split open and ruined Debbie's clothes, much to her chagrin), and looking at Murano glass.  There was a glass chess set that amused us to no end - delicate and amusing figures, with the sides being represented by "Ashkenaziditi" and "Sefarditi." 

The Trevi Fountan was just amazingly gorgeous, and we arrived just moments before they lit it for the night.  Debbie'd been accosted by a high-pressure rose salesman, but I was able to talk him down to €1 for a single rose.  We hung out at the fountain for a while before throwing coins in, hoping for a return to Rome at some point.  The atmosphere there was incredible, tourists and Roman s alike out for the evening and in high spirits, enjoying both the beauty of the fountain and the jovial moods of all present. 

As we moved on, we stumbled upon the Piazza del Sant'Ignacio, whose construction was again touched by Bernini, and then the HQ of the Carabinieri, where we were able to see some recovered artifacts.  At this point we chose to go home, and made it back to where we started, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, lit beautifully for the night. 

Coming back to V. Aurelia, we wanted dinner, but we sat at a restaurant for 30+ minutes, having receive nothing but menus.  We went elsewhere, and were served almost immediately.  Returning to the hotel, we were exhausted after an amazing day.  Tomorrow we hope to see the Vatican, if we have the energy. 

Oh, also: Nocciolo (hazelnut) gelato = SO GOOD!

A Eulogy for My Grandfather

My grandfather died seven years ago this week (4/2/04); we miss him terribly.  What follows below is the eulogy I delivered at his funeral.  I nearly lost my handwritten copy in a house fire; I transcribe it here for posterity.
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In the few minutes I have to speak to you all, it would be impossible to adequately honor my grandfather's life.  He was many things to many people; to some, he was all things.  Burton leaves behind a large and loving family who already miss him dearly.  From the three generations of family here today, to his adopted children from all corners of the globe, to friends both old and new, Burton was a rock, an island of stability in a changing world.  He was temperate, loving, patient.  He was always ready for a conversation or a few off-key bars of "Old Man River."  The rock that was Burton Bronsther has been taken from us.  We now must look to each other for support and to honor his life, deeds, and accomplishments.

Burton was an incredible father, husband, grandfather, brother, and uncle.  He loved and fretted over each and every one of us, and looks to ensure that we we all doing well.  To see him smile, hear his deep bass laugh and have his approval was a blessing beyond compare.

Burt's kind nature and his strength of character can be seen not only in the presence today of people who knew him as a young man, but also in his ability to foster new friendships worldwide.  He touched so many lives around the world, and his appearance, his personality, were so magnetic that they drew even more to him.  Children often mistook him for Santa Claus; adults thought he was Raymond Burr.  He was such an amazing man that for decades people would approach him in the most unlikely places, remembering that he operated on their sons and daughters in years far removed.

As a surgeon, he had no equal.  His mentor, Dr. Willis Potts, would send out recommendation letters telling people that while Burt had the largest hands he'd ever seen on a doctor. each finger was a gift from God.  His surgical precision, ease, and speed were such that med students would place bets with each other on how quickly he could complete a given operation.  As a founder of SACOW along with my grandmother and as a professor of medicine, he instructed generations of doctors and saved countless lives.  He cared deeply for his patients, a fact I learned early on as he recounted the day's cases at the dinner table.

Now that he is gone, we must cherish our memories of Dr. Burton Bronsther, MD, PhD, FACS, etc.  His most important designations were father, husband, and friend.

I remember him not only as my grandfather, but as the man who raised me as his own son.  I looked to him and learned from him as a father.  He taught me all the things a boy needed to know: how to ride a bike, how to root for the home team, how to catch and hit and throw a ball.  He also taught me what is was to be a man, how to be patient, strong, loving, and compassionate.  He taught me to be unafraid, to face a problem head-on.  He taught me kindness and charity, and he taught me to believe in the strength and wonderment of humanity.  On a lighter note, those of you who were ever in a car with him can rest easy knowing that he wasn't the one who taught me to drive.

Please, take time today to share your memories of Burton with the rest of us.

Goodbye, Pop-Pop, and godspeed.